Hank

The Elder Scrolls: Dawn

Gregor Mercurius

Gregor Mercurius

Race: Imperial.
Sex: Male.
Age: 31.
Family Origins: Bravil, Cyrodiil.
Birth Sign: The Ritual.

Appearance: At first glance, Gregor appears to be quite a typical, well-bred Imperial. He is of above average height and stature, measuring 6’1” from toe to tip and weighing a little under 190 pounds; his muscular physique is as common among Imperial soldiers and adventurers as it is among his fellow smiths, and an impressive amount of raw strength lurks beneath his clothes. His skin is light but his hair is dark, so brown that it is almost black, bringing out the color in his hazel eyes. Those intimately familiar with the slight racial and cultural differences among the Imperials would see at second glance that he is Nibenese, due to the way he wears his hair and his style of clothing and armor, but this is a nuance lost on most of Tamriel’s inhabitants.

He has been blessed with aesthetically pleasing genetics and Gregor’s face is one that catches lingering gazes often enough to be worth mentioning. His strong nose, high cheekbones and prominent, hawkish brow create a masculine, noble visage, complemented by his keen and deep-set eyes; their gaze, which fluctuates in color from pale honey in direct sunlight to dark ebony in the gloom of an unlit chamber, can be as stern as it can be kindly. He grows quite a long and full beard by Imperial standards and maintains it well, which adds to his authority and helps him look a little like his actual age. Gregor’s hair is also much longer than the austere crop favored by the Ruby Ranks and many others. It’s a little touch of Nibenese fashion. For practical reasons he wears it swept back and tied in a ponytail behind his head.

The rest of his body is nothing to sneeze at either. Gregor’s parents were well-off and his childhood was one of relative luxury, which shows itself in the strength of his limbs and the healthy lustre of his skin. It is obvious that he never went hungry. More recent years haven’t always been kind and he has gathered a few cuts and bruises along the way, including a row of scars on the left side of his face that extends over his ear; a souvenir from the claws of a Spriggan. It makes him look a little more rough around the edges but otherwise doesn’t ruin the impression of civility and masculine sophistication that he has cultivated. There’s something slightly mysterious and inscrutable about him, his quietly commanding voice and his gentle, unhurried movements, that belays a subterranean intensity that has seldom seen the light of day. There is fire in Gregor Mercurius, make no mistake, but it smolders in soft embers behind his piercing eyes.

History: He was born as the first child to Hector and Gaia Mercurius in Bravil in 4E170, just a year before the Great War broke out and the armies of the Aldmeri Dominion invaded the Empire from the south. As such, Gregor’s first memories aren’t of the ancestral home of his father’s lineage but of Bruma, in northern Cyrodiil, during the height of the war in 4E174, where his mother had fled to. Hector was a Legionnaire and had gone to war, so the family lived in fear every day that he might not return, for Gaia was a magistrate’s daughter with no appreciable skills to speak of and she relied entirely on Hector for her livelihood.

Fortunately, Hector survived the war. The family returned home to a Bravil that was mostly in ruins. The city had been besieged and conquered by the Dominion early in the war and the elves hadn’t exactly been kind to the place. Hector was a smart man, and instead of being dismayed he decided to focus on the opportunities presented by the situation. He accepted honorable discharge when it was offered to him and decided to begin a new life as a merchant with a little capital investment from his father-in-law. This was swiftly turned into a modest fortune by capitalizing on the rebuilding efforts in various ways that were, truthfully, too boring for young Gregor to remember. All he knew that his father was successful, that they lived in a nice house close to the castle grounds, that he ate well and that his education was much better than that of the street urchins he played with. His time in Bruma had been marked by uncertainty and a palpable fear in his mother, so the rest of Gregor’s childhood in Bravil was a welcome relief. He was described by all that knew him as a sweet boy, eager to please and to make people laugh.

When Gregor was five years old his younger brother Marcus was born, and he doted over the newborn endlessly, wildly excited to have a sibling to play with -- “and teach,” he would say, doing his best to copy the gravitas in his father’s voice, to the amusement of all. A sister would follow two years later, a girl named Julia, and that final addition made the Mercurius household complete. These long years, that lasted into Gregor’s adolescence and even well into his adulthood, were joyous and prosperous. His father’s small mercantile empire continued to line their pockets with gold and Hector came home with a smile on his face everyday, happy to see his family and satisfied with another day of honest work. Gregor was particularly fond of his memories of long, sunlit afternoons spent training with Marcus and his father, sparring with wooden swords, in the yard behind their house. Hector had been in in the Imperial Legion, of course, and thought it was important to prepare his sons for the worst, so every two hours of academic learning were balanced against one hour of martial training.

As Gregor’s childhood came to an end he remained unsure of what to do with his life. He had considered signing up for the Legion, following in his father’s footsteps, but Hector’s grim-faced silence when prompted with questions about the Great War scared young Gregor away from that prospect. Taking over his father’s business didn’t appeal to him either, and he would have to wait a long time for that to happen anyway since Hector derived so much raison d’etre and joie de vivre from his work that he wasn’t considering retirement for many years to come. Gregor would help his father out with the occasional errand, of course, but it didn’t amount to anything close to a full-time occupation, and certainly not a profession. At a loss for what to do and with no shortage of free time, Gregor took whatever other odd jobs he could get: cleaning the pews in the local chapel, picking fruit in the fields outside Bravil with his friends and even a little construction work during the summer months. He grew out his hair and carefully cultivated a beard to be proud of, and the scrawny teenager became a strapping young man that turned out to be quite a hit with girls his age.

The Bravil Riots of 4E188 brutally disrupted the lazy serenity that had settled over the lives of the Mercurius family and Gregor was finally confronted with the dark side of his beloved city. Their wealth insulated the family from the worst of the fighting, which took place on the streets, but Gregor was out of the city, working the fields, when all hell broke loose. His journey home was fraught with peril. Hector’s lessons came in handy that day and Gregor managed to defend himself with a reaper’s scythe and a lot of hollering about his total disinvolvement with whatever prompted the rioting. He encountered some of his friends among the rioteers and while they helped escort him to his home, Gregor was deeply disappointed to find that they weren’t the upstanding folks he’d always believed them to be. In turn, his friends were surprised that he didn’t join in -- a chance to ‘stick it to the man’, as it were, who’d pass that up? The difference between his own privileged upbringing and the strong sense of justice and appreciation for the law that came with it, and the more difficult lives of his friends and their more flexible morals, became apparent to him then. It was a sobering lesson about his place in life. Afterwards, Hector suggested that Gregor apply to become an apprentice to a family friend, Roderic Mero, who was a silversmith that owned his own shop in Bravil. Gregor had always been reasonably good with his hands and, more importantly, inherently patient and even-tempered, so the idea had some merit. He agreed to it after a few days of thinking it over. Fortunately, Roderic was quite willing to give the young man a chance. He’d always been fond of Gregor while the boy had been growing up and would be delighted to help him find his calling in life now that Gregor was an adult. Marcus, eager to step out of his older brother’s shadow, signed up to receive their father’s lessons in the merchant’s trade instead and be groomed to run the business one day. And Julia, sweet Julia, just wanted to become a mother.

Gregor enjoyed being an apprentice to Roderic when he quickly realized it was a profession he could actually see himself doing for the rest of his working days; creating beautiful things for others, especially women, to enjoy, sounded like a noble and useful profession to him. While he managed to focus on his work well enough for Roderic not to take issue with him, Gregor did what all young men do and spent more time than he should have with the ladies of Bravil. He continued to prove himself a hard man to dislike, though, and his reputation around the city remained that of a polite, thoughtful and personable fellow over the years that followed. He made new friends of better standing and it was among them that he encountered the love of his life.

Her name was Briar, a gorgeous woman with eyes as blue as the sea, hair as dark as the night and a pearly smile that made his heart skip a beat every time. She was the daughter of one the count’s advisors, a man of similar station to Hector and both fathers approved of the pairing. Gregor courted her with the first piece of jewelry he was actually proud of after years of hard work, a silver necklace with a pendant in the shape of a swan. For her part, she was simply irresistible and a pleasure to be around, full of life and compassion, and Hector frequently favorably compared her to his own wife. She was a good counterpart to Gregor’s more pensive, quieter personality, and his womanizing years were definitively behind him when he pledged himself to her at age 25. The Mercurius family welcomed her with open arms and the two lovers married the next year in a beautiful ceremony at the chapel, before gods and kin.

Alongside his work at Roderic’s jewelry shop and smithy, Gregor continued to assist his father here and there, acquiring rare alchemy ingredients or visiting bookshops throughout the province. Briar accompanied him on these trips, as they had had no luck with conceiving yet and her spousal duties at home were limited. They enjoyed visiting all the different cities in Cyrodiil so much that Gregor never really questioned why his father sent him on these outings, having readily accepted “because I’ve taken on alchemy and antique literature as a hobby” for an answer. Nor did he all-too-closely inspect the titles or the contents of the books he was meant to acquire, preferring to devote his attention to his lovely wife, the diverse people they saw and the places they found themselves in. One particular moment was so breathtakingly beautiful -- when he saw Briar walk ahead of him across the bridge to the Imperial City, the golden afternoon sunlight dancing in her hair, her blue dress tussled by a fresh breeze -- that he had her immortalized on his forearm with a tattoo, just the way he remembered her.

Because of Gregor’s relatively languid attitude towards finishing his apprenticeship with Roderic, and his master’s enjoyment of having the diligent and intelligent young man around, it took more years than strictly necessary to advance to the status of a journeyman silversmith -- with the eventual promise of Gregor becoming a master in his own right. Slow and steady wins the race, Gregor thought, and their life was good already; with a little financial support from his father the newlyweds were able to purchase their own home in Bravil, a beautiful cottage near the city walls in the district that was rebuilt after the Great War, and there they were happy. Gregor frequently spent his time working on side projects and indulging in his other hobbies, which explained the slow progression in his silversmithing career, but Briar didn’t mind; it was a quirk of his that she had grown fond of. The cracks began to show, however, when the couple continued to be unable to conceive. Was there something wrong with either of them? Briar had always wanted to be a mother and Gregor was quite looking forward to being a father at some point; though, like with anything else, he wasn’t in a particular hurry. Her frustration and fear of being barren turned into anxiety and emotional outbursts that Gregor wasn’t sure how to deal with, and he began to spend more time away from home, traveling in order to procure rare materials for Roderic’s smithy or on errands for his father. Hector did ask once if Briar didn’t mind him being on the road so much, but Gregor merely said it was fine.

When a caravan he was traveling with was ambushed by bandits, an eventuality that every traveler must answer to at some point in their lives, Gregor was forced to defend himself when the raiders threatened to overwhelm the caravan guards. With trembling hands, he drew the sword his father had given him for protection from its scabbard and jumped into the fray. Hector’s old lessons, and the fire magic that Gregor used at the forge, came through and the inexperienced silversmith was able to keep his wits about him long enough for the caravan to emerge victorious, Gregor himself having slain two of the bandits. His adrenaline ebbed away when he looked upon their corpses and a wave of nausea hit him. He had taken a life -- no, two lives. They might have been outlaws, violent and frightening, but they were still people and the idea was abhorrent to him. And yet… he had not felt fear or disgust when he had plunged his sword into their guts. A great, hitherto unknown satisfaction had flooded his limbs when he had asserted his dominance over them. The feeling was alien to Gregor and it repulsed him as much as it intrigued him.

Returning home with that tale brought approval from his father and deep concern from his wife. Briar had absolutely no interest in Gregor risking his life in such a way, but Hector, a born-and-bred warrior, was proud of his son for standing up for the innocent and defending himself. After some deliberation, Gregor decided that it was the duty of every able-bodied man of the Empire to defend its people and strike down lawlessness when it crosses their path and he resuming training the art of swordplay with his father during his free time and found a tutor in the magical arts to teach him a more varied arsenal of Destruction magic and the basics of Restoration, which all further contributed to delaying the completion of his apprenticeship with Roderic.

It is only now, already 31 years old, that Gregor is ready to finish his training and deliver his proof of mastery for Cyrodiil’s Guild of Silversmiths. His marriage with Briar has weakened over the years, the depth of his love for her blunted by her newfound fretful, melancholic nature, made worse by the birth of her nieces and nephews -- both Briar’s and Gregor’s younger sister have already given birth to several children. Gregor, for his part, enjoys being an uncle, and while Briar plays the role of aunt par excellence, she is wounded by her own lack of progeny every time she entertains the young ones in their family. For all of his understated charm and attentiveness, Gregor’s inability to properly comfort his wife betrayed a flaw in his character that Briar had never suspected he, of all people, would possess, and it has chilled her attitude towards him in turn. As such, Gregor turns to Jehanna to obtain the desired materials to create a truly excellent piece of jewelry to serve as a proof of mastery with a simmering disquiet in his heart. He is in no hurry to complete his task, even though he has promised Briar that it will be his last adventure, and who knows what he will find that might change his mind?

Personality: On the surface, Gregor is eloquent, friendly, polite and well-mannered: a faithful husband to his beloved wife and a devoted son to his wonderful parents. Gregor only seeks to help those in need; family, friends and strangers, in that order. It is not in Gregor’s nature to be a violent man and he never had any great inborn talent for martial prowess or desire to excel in that arena but the dangers of the world have forced him to develop these skills all the same. It is only very seldom that Gregor has need to be anything other than a soft-hearted romantic, an attentive silversmith from Bravil that rarely raises his voice in anger, readily abandons what he’s doing to assist the elderly, the pregnant or the infirm, and who appreciates beauty in the little things in life. He has never been very open or forthcoming about himself, or very talkative in general, but perfectly affable and he has practically no enemies. All of these positive traits have turned out to be shallower than expected, as when one digs truly deep into Gregor’s compassion they’ll find their shovels blunted on something else entirely.

For below the surface simmer the flames of a great and vengeful wrath, rarely stoked, but ever-present. Gregor was unaware of this quality until he was already a man and he is unsure of what to make of it. It undeniably feels good to exercise domination over those that would do harm unto him or other innocents, but dealing death goes against everything he thought he knew about the secrets of living a good life. This lack of empathy, if it can be described as such, is also responsible for the limits of Gregor’s ability to truly care for and take care of those he loves; he eventually reaches a point where he no longer knows what to do or what to say. He has lately begun to lament that not every problem can be solved with quiet tinkering or, bizarrely, and somewhat frightening to himself, violence.

He likes to play games that test his intelligence, like chess or a good puzzle box. Gregor’s favorite food is cheese and red wine, though he is a light drinker and tries to never drink in excess. Aside from his silversmithing skills, Gregor’s other hobbies include reading, gardening, woodworking, cooking and fishing with his father and younger brother; anything quiet and contemplative, in short.

Equipment:

Steel bastard sword: Also known as a hand-and-a-half sword, the length and the weight of the blade are perfectly balanced so that it can be wielded in one hand or with both hands. That makes it particularly suitable for Gregor’s style, which incorporates one-handed bursts of Destruction magic to wrong-foot his enemy and bolster his offensive capabilities. This used to belong to Hector and saw service all throughout the Great War, though Gregor’s smithing skills mean that it looks brand new; a shining steel blade a little over three feet long and a hand’s breadth wide, a T-shaped crossguard and the ancestral Mercurius ruby set into the pommel of the two-handed grip. It is Gregor’s most prized possession.

Steel dagger: Purely for emergencies. Gregor has almost never had to use this, but you never know.

Light Imperial battledress: A unique and custom-made ensemble that’s comprised of fortified leather and chainmail worn beneath a coat, an overcoat, a buttoned-up vest and trousers, fashioned from black and red wool and cotton, true to the latest Imperial fashion. It’s light enough for Gregor to wear everywhere and stylish enough to be appropriate in every situation, as the protection it offers is hidden beneath the clothes, just sufficient for his methodical and clever style of combat.

Armor

Misc. Possessions:

Rucksack and pouches: No adventuring outfit is complete without storage space and Gregor has plenty of it. The pouches are attached to his belt and the rucksack is… well, it’s a rucksack. You’ll find it on his back. Among other utilitarian things, Gregor carries 152 septims with him.

Map of Tamriel: As specified.

Food: Dried meats, berries and nuts are Gregor’s food of choice. Nutritional and doesn’t spoil. He treats himself to a real meal whenever he’s in town but Gregor spends so much time on the road, anything else would be impractical.

Family and Associates:

Marcus: Younger brother and the proprietor of the Mercurius family business.

Gaia: His mother.

Julia: Younger sister.

Briar: His beautiful wife.

:Roderic: Master silversmith to whom Gregor is apprenticed.

Attributes:
Major: Strength
Minor: Willpower

Favoured Skills:

Highly Proficient: Silversmithing: The ability to create, repair and polish all manners of jewelry, baubles and accessories. Some of this carries over into Gregor’s skill at keeping his weapons and armor in fighting shape as well.

Moderately Proficient: Two-Handed: Even if you have no talent, childhood training from a Legionnaire and some genuine practice at swinging a bastard sword at a few bandits will make one become reasonably good at it anyway. His skills are nothing worth writing home about but they get the job done, especially if Gregor uses his wits more than his arms. His fighting style is either defensive or decisive, and he prefers to use the element of surprise wherever possible, both outside of combat and in the thick of it, dismaying his opponents with unexpected blasts of magic.

Moderately Proficient: Destruction: While Gregor lacks a proper academic education when it comes to magic, he makes up for it in raw talent and intelligence. The sheer destructive power of his spells are limited but his creative and swift application in combat mean that they still frequently turn the tide and give him the advantage he needs to seize victory.

Moderately Proficient: Restoration: Healing wounds and protecting himself against magical harm are two essential skills that every traveler should possess. Gregor is no different, though he is far from an expert… and definitely not good enough to heal his father. He suspects he never will be.

Somewhat Proficient: One-Handed: While he is better with his sword when he employs a two-handed fighting style, he can make do with one hand if the situation calls for it -- like having to cast a Ward spell with his off-hand to protect himself against magic.

Somewhat Proficient: Light Armor: While he’s been wearing a light form of armor for a few years now, whenever he is on the road, Gregor still tries to avoid a fair fight whenever he can. It doesn’t slow him down and he knows which parts of the armor are stronger and more resistant than other parts, but that’s about where his knowledge and skills end. It’s kept him alive so far.

Somewhat Proficient: Provisioning: Gregor is far from a chef or a real hunter, but he knows how to cook a tasty, nutritious meal -- if somewhat rustic -- and he can fish to sustain himself in an emergency survival situation. Not that he’s ever had to.

Spell List

• Flames
• Fireball
• Lightning Bolt
• Ice Spike
• Flame Cloak
• Fast Healing
• Greater Ward

The Elder Scrolls: Dawn

Placeholder.

Name change

As you command.

Fallout: Rust and Steel

Their victory rang hollow and Laura’s joy turned to ashes in her mouth.

“No,” she said, her voice hoarse, as the vertibird began to ascend. Her eyes were fixed on McDowell, super sledge in hand, armor covered in blood and viscera. He had cleared the landing space, distracted the enemy sniper, dragged her out of the collapsing tunnel. He was stubborn, foolhardy and rude, but he was a brother. Wasn’t this a Brotherhood? “No!” Laura exclaimed, louder, and turned her head to lay the full weight of her accusatory gaze on the Paladin. Even within the confines of his unmoving armor, one hand on the railing to steady himself, she could see the stiffness in him. Something unyielding. He had made up his mind. She’d been so glad to see the vertibird and the others and shocked to learn that the pilot had passed, but all that paled in comparison to the emotions she was feeling now.

It would be so simple. One shot between the pauldron and the cuirass of the T60 power armor would shear his arm clean off; the Paladin would be dead within a minute. Then she could convince Lancer Brown to descend and rescue McDowell. For a long, horrible second she seriously contemplated the idea and her fingers tightened around the grip of her .50 caliber rifle. And then she looked away, the moment gone, her angry resolve broken. The Paladin was her commanding officer. Waiting for the Knight-Sergeant jeopardized the entire mission by exposing them to the risk of a lunging Deathclaw taking down the vertibird. It was his call to make, not hers. Her anger was replaced by fear. Now she knew what she was worth to the New Canaanite. What any of them were worth.

She trained her rifle on the landscape below, like a good soldier was supposed to, but she couldn’t see for the tears in her eyes.

---

_{featuring @Stormflyx}

After the vertibird had landed, Laura jumped out of it and onto the ground below with a wince and a groan. Her sprained ankle, heavily abused during her frantic sprint back to the warehouse after Chowder’s arrival, was protesting vigorously to the idea of carrying her weight. The same fear she’d felt before crept into her chest again. She had to be able to keep up. Moss wouldn’t save her if she got left behind, she knew that much now.

She listened to the Paladin’s orders impassively and kept her gaze averted. When he was done, Laura glanced at Owen and Patty and pointed to her foot. “I need the doctor to take a look at this. Be with you in a minute.”

Hobbling over to where Dr. Kinsley was, Laura grabbed her attention with a halfhearted wave and conjured up a wan smile. She couldn’t hide the fact that she had been crying, however, and made no attempt to do so. “Good to see you made it in one piece, doctor. I got your message.” She had recognized her handwriting from the ‘prescription’ that she’d written Laura earlier. “Chowder’s a real hero, you know that?”

The doctor eyed Laura's walk, the slight drag of her foot with each step. Another sprain, she thought - and Moss wanted her to do a search of the area, she had tsked at the suggestion, but otherwise kept quiet on it. She wasn't going to further upset the apple cart. Still, Harper had readied her medical roll, and gave the young Initiate a small smile.

Laura's appraisal of Chowder's deeds was more heartwarming than she'd expected it to be. Harper cast a glance to him, curled up and resting now under her seat. She thought on how proud Alex and Victoria would have been to hear that. Their ever present ghosts occupying her mind, "he's a good dog," she said softly in response, the words catching in her throat.

"Sit," Harper said, indicating to an empty chair with a wave of her hand. The wetness and redness on Laura's cheeks and in her waterline did not go unnoticed. "I'm glad to see you too, Grimshaw. Are you alright?" She asked, her brows arching in a measure of concern, her voice lowered more than usual.

The Initiate did as she was told and sat down on the appointed chair. She did not reply to the doctor’s question at first and it looked for all the world to see like she was sinking, deflating, into the seat of old wood and long memories. Then she sighed and wiped at her cheeks. “Knight-Sergeant McDowell and I explored the warehouse before you guys arrived. We found those Deathclaws that came out of the ground in there, chained up to the wall, with a bunch of Super Mutants watching over them. It was so strange…”

Her voice drifted off until her eyes snapped back into focus. “They spotted us and I collapsed the tunnel behind us with my explosives during our retreat. I thought that would keep them down there, but I guess you should never underestimate a nest of Deathclaws, huh? Well, anyway, he pulled me out of the collapse after the blast knocked me over. I’d be paste if not for him,” Laura explained and she smiled faintly. There is work left to do. So stoic. “I’d be dead if not for Gregory. Big, stupid, brave Gregory.”

Cradling her sniper rifle on her lap, as if the cold metal of the killing instrument could somehow bring her any comfort, Laura shook her head. He got his hero’s death after all. “So, no, I’m not really alright, doctor. I’m sorry.”

Once the Initiate had sat, Harper drew down to her knees to better assess her. While placing her hands on Laura's ankle, the doctor listened to her words. As she began undoing the laces of her boot she continued to listen without comment or interruption, carefully taking the boot off and placing it beside them both. It sounded like they'd been through their own share of hell, and perhaps those left with the aircraft had been lucky. Would she have survived the conditions they had been in? Would Brown, Algarin, and Brown? She looked over towards them, watching them where they were. With a shake of her head she sighed.

"Don't be sorry," she eventually said, placing a hand on Laura's leg gently, giving her a faint smile as she turned her head to face her again. "Everyone is in shock, you're allowed to process this however you need to. Don't be sorry."

Laura was a grown woman, and yet when Harper caught her eyes, she saw a young girl, innocent of all of this and untouched by violence and the reality of survival in the wasteland. It was an injustice to the woman that Harper knew she was, and the woman who had apparently blown the tunnel… But it was something she couldn't switch off. No matter how much she tried. With tears in her eyes and a choked voice, she was a child again. She withdrew her gaze with another shake of her head, focussing again on Laura's ankle.

"I don't really want you walking on this…" Harper remarked with a click of her tongue. "But I can bandage it, and you can do your mission… But then you rest…" For a moment, she found herself holding her ankle, running a thumb carefully over the bruised skin.

It was comforting and a little surprising that Dr. Kinsley said there was no need to be sorry. For all of its strength, that kind of compassion and understanding was rare in the Brotherhood. But then the doctor hadn’t been for the Brotherhood for very long, either. They were both relative outsiders and newcomers. Laura nodded and cleared her throat. “Thank you, doctor,” she said, a little more power to her voice. She looked down at Chowder as well and her face broke out into an earnest grin.

“You should’ve seen him, doctor. He came running so fast, faster than anything I’ve seen, barking all the way, guiding those ferals flawlessly into the ranks of the enemy. We were under siege by raiders, you see. That’s where I got this,” Laura explained, and lifted the large rifle in her arms. “The Paladin sent me out to hunt down the enemy sniper. Chowder found me after I was done, and then we ran back to the warehouse together.”

She fell silent for a moment and looked back at the doctor. A frown had appeared on her face. “There was a moment, before that… before the Paladin sent me outside… it was like he’d lost it. He was talking about going back down into the tunnel, speaking incoherently, jabbing his finger at everyone. Then he recovered and came up with the other plan. I wanted to do it right to help him keep his cool,” she blurted out and the tightness of her jaw suggested what she thought now, in hindsight, of her concern for the Paladin’s state of mind. Then Laura sighed. “Well, anyway, Chowder did great.”

That was a cause for concern. So the Paladin had lost it? She glared at him while his back was turned, unaware that there was quite as much ice in the stare as there was. Harper bit at the corner of her lower lip before she got to wrapping Laura's ankle. The wound the heavy bandage tightly, and, considering that the Initiate had quickly moved the conversation on, Harper would too. But she certainly wouldn't forget it.

"He was probably just showing off," she huffed dismissively, waving a hand at Chowder. Her words were harsh, but there was an uptick of a smirk across her lips. "Poor guy is tuckered out now, excitement has caught up to him… I'll let him sleep while Brown and I fix up the bird here."

Laura laughed at that. “He’s earned it,” she agreed before looking down at her swaddled foot. It felt much better now that it had some support. She just hoped that it would still fit in her boot. “Looks good, doctor. I’ll do the perimeter recon and then take that rest you ordered.” The Initiate tucked her hair behind her ear and wiped at her cheeks and eyes again, exhaling a deep sigh while she did so. “How do I look?” she asked suddenly, keeping a neutral expression while she presented her face to the other woman for inspection.

"Rest, and elevate it," Harper added, with a finger pointed at the ankle. "See me afterwards. I'll stick you and Brown together… Two working legs between you…" she commented in less of a structured sentence, and in more of a spoken train of thought, giving her forehead a rub with the back of her hand. "And you look good, all things considered. Better than me…" she grimaced, the ghoul splatter still present on her person. "But that's a given, you've still got plenty of years of youthful glow ahead of you."

“Says the radiant twenty-seven year old redhead,” Laura joked with a smile. “That’s what you look like, at any rate.” Talking to Kinsley had made her feel much better even though it couldn’t blunt the loss of McDowell completely. It was good to know that there was somebody among the recon team that cared about her as more than just a tool to complete a mission with. She hoped the rest of them were more like the doctor and not like Moss. She put her boot back on, got up and tested her weight on her foot. It still felt a little sore but it would carry her just fine for now.

She placed a hand on the side of the vertibird. “See you in a minute, doc. Take good care of her,” Laura implored with a smirk and gave the machine a hearty slap.

“Oh! I almost forgot.” Laura lifted the strap of her laser rifle over her head and held out the entire weapon for Kinsley to take, along with the fusion cells that powered it. “Take this, just in case any creepy-crawlies come calling, alright?”

Harper held out her hands and took the weapon, her eyebrows raised and her mouth hung open. "Huh," she said, shrugging her shoulders in surprise. It was a fancy gun - or at least Harper thought so. Big too. Her eyes widened at it, and it made her wonder when exactly had been the last time someone had willingly given her something. "Well, gee, thanks kiddo," she added, turning the weapon over to observe it.

Eventually she nodded, and looked back to Laura. "Be careful on it. You start running you risk further damage, you fall on it you risk further damage… If it gets too much, turn back around." The serious tone was back, as if it had made her feel uncomfortable to sit in the happiness of a gift for too long. "Definitely no setting explosives…" Harper warned with a sharp glance.

“No explosives, no running, got it,” Laura grinned. She waved the doctor goodbye and returned to the others, a little bit of a spring back in her step.

Fallout: Rust and Steel

_{featuring @Andreyich and @Stormflyx}

The door opened mercifully quietly and Laura slipped out with wide eyes and a low profile. It was quiet, save for the low rumble of the radstorms in the distance and the parched wind that haunted the hellscape of the wasteland. The raiders had stopped shooting for now. The first thing she did after she settled into cover behind one of the abandoned cars was to grab up a fistful of dirt and sand and rub it on her face until her skin had the same drab brown tone as the earth. Combined with the neutral dark-gray tones of her fatigues, the Initiate would be much harder to spot than the hulking power armored Knights had been.

She glanced sidelong at the warehouse and then risked a peek over the hood of the car towards the direction of the raiders and immediately spotted the tell-tale gleam of brandished weapons, trained on the damaged front door of the building. She ducked back into cover. There was no way to tell which of the rifles she’d seen was the .50 cal -- not from this distance, and not so briefly. She dared not risk a longer peek, however. Laura would have to trust that Estevez and McDowell would make for a suitable distraction.

Daniel for his part picked a suitable window, before waiting a minute or so until he believed Laura had enough time to set up in a good spot. Gregory of course went outside berserk as Daniel had come to understand was his nature and thus he wasted no time in peering out of his cover, checking the scene with his optics for the elusive sniper. "I'll look for him but chances are he'll find me first, then's your one chance. When I saw him he had a hood and bandana with the same raider armour as the rest but by know he could have done anything to change his look. He has the longest rifle though, easiest way to tell of course." The Knight said over comms. He shot two raiders, then a third who it seemed was looking to sneak up on the Knight Sergeant.

But nothing of the main target, until a shine of optics. Yet… The shine was far too much, and it became clear to the young Knight it was a propped shard of glass to give a reflection for deception. "He's up near a car Eastwards, the-... ." Alas, he didn't have a chance to finish his sentence. A bullet hit the lad square in the forehead, shattering his headlamp and sending him dazed to the ground. Through what he suspected was a concussion Daniel hoped Laura would kill the bastard and protect McDowell, because for himself Daniel was sure as hell as out of action.

As soon as she saw the muzzle flash of the large firearm and heard its report echo back from the hills, Laura sprang into action. She knew where he was now but she was too far away to get a killshot. For all of its advantages, laser shots don’t do well over long distances. Keeping her head down and her movements quiet, Laura advanced towards the sniper’s position in the carpark. Fear sank its icy daggers into her gut when Estevez’s voice cut out abruptly and she hoped it wasn’t because he’d been shot dead, but there was no time to contemplate that possibility. She focused on the mission, a clear objective, and swallowed away her emotions.

The .50 caliber rifle fired again, sounding a little closer now. Laura slipped from cover to cover like a ghost, moving perpendicular to the sightlines of the raiders and using the sloping quality of the foothill landscape to her advantage. She was presented with half a dozen opportunities to take down any of the other raiders that had their sides or their backs turned to her as she moved past them but she let each moment pass without incident. It wasn’t worth giving away her position to tackle lesser prey.

Once she was within a few dozen meters of the sniper, Laura took a deep breath behind the cyan-colored shape of an old vehicle and waited. Seconds crept by agonizingly slowly before the sniper pulled the trigger again, the noise of its discharge loud enough to be felt in her guts now. Laura jumped to her feet, the scope of her laser rifle practically glued to her face, and with a triumphant snarl she found the bandana-clad raider squarely within her sights, his own scope fixed on a target in the distance -- probably McDowell. The raider’s face was hidden behind a gas mask and he was clad in a black jumpsuit with strips of cloth, dyed green and brown, that broke up his silhouette. But not even the makeshift ghillie suit could hide him from Laura now. He caught her movement from the corner of his eye, however, and he turned his head to look at her.

Laura fired.

A perfect killshot. The sniper’s head dissolved into a molten pile of ash that blew away in the wind and the rest of his body went slack, spread-eagled across the hood of the car he had been using as a firing platform. Laura exhaled slowly and allowed herself a smirk. The first time she had taken a life had bothered her, but not anymore. Not when it was life or death. Her mission complete,Laura made to return to the warehouse but stopped and looked back towards the sniper -- and, more importantly, his weapon. The rest of the raiders were still distracted elsewhere, but not for long. She had to act now.

Laura sprinted up to the dead raider and wrestled the sniper rifle from the claws of his hands. It was a modified hunting rifle, surprisingly light and in excellent condition. She resisted the urge to whistle appreciatively; it was pre-war, military-grade, and she recognized the scope as being of higher magnification than her own and the switch on the side suggested it was night-vision capable. Glancing up quickly to make sure she still had time, Laura slung her laser rifle across her back and fished the rest of the dead raider’s ammunition from the pockets of his jumpsuit. His gear was homemade but it was clear he had taken his role as sniper seriously. Again, her eyes widened in surprise, as the man had been carrying enough .50 caliber bullets to keep the weapon supplied for the foreseeable future. “Thanks, pal,” she whispered.

Having finished stuffing her pouches with magazines and bullets, Laura began to sneak back to the warehouse in earnest, clutching her newfound prize in her gloved hands. She made it about 30 meters of the way back when something else made her freeze in her tracks.

A dog’s barking, getting rapidly closer.

Laura shot to her feet and looked out over the graveyard of cars.

Good. Good. Good. The four fast paws of the faithful blue heeler tore across the ground, the same dust he'd left Harper in had followed him, even if she hadn't. The same crowd of dead things too. He barked, continually, intermittently when he could. When he could catch up with himself, when he wasn't getting too close to the ghouls to nip at them and corner them in all of their mindless screaming. He had brought them so far from that danger.

The cracked ground below, and the obstacle course of branches and upturned things had given him a healthy distance and had allowed him to keep it. They couldn't clear a jump like he could. Most of the time they stumbled. The sniper shots had been like a welcome call to him, the sound of people and he'd brought his whole damned flock of forsaken with him. In his line of site, a shape - and on the air just enough of a scent to have him power through his fleeting stamina just a bit more.

It he barked for her attention even more, she was not alone but it was his job to get to her. With Laura in his sight, he had a new target and mission. He closed the distance between them, flock still on his mind and so he barked again, taking grip of her wrist in a gentle mouth, dragging her backwards, swiveling her incidentally to face the wave of rotskins clearing the mist now - their groans and agony like a deathly thunderstorm all of its own.

Chowder pulled at her to run.

“Chowder!” Laura exclaimed and mistook his tugging on her wrist for play fighting, as inappropriately timed as it was -- there was still a firefight going on. The noise of the approaching horde of ghouls was enough to disabuse her of that illusion and she cursed, eyes wide at the sights and sounds of the wave of abominations breaking on the far edge of the car park. The raiders were now well and truly distracted and gunfire broke out all over. It was heartening that the dog had survived the crash, but why on earth had he brought a horde of ferals to their position? By accident, or with a purpose?

There was no time to dwell. He was telling her to run, not asking to play. Laura clutched the sniper rifle to her chest and set off in a full sprint back towards the warehouse, the barrel of her laser rifle slapping against her butt, vaulting over cars and sliding beneath other obstacles as she went, pushing the limits of her lithe athleticism, with Chowder in tow. The screams behind her were straight out of a nightmare. With one last glance over her shoulder to make sure the ferals hadn’t followed them, Laura slipped back around to the side entrance of the warehouse, threw the door open, flung herself and Chowder inside and locked it behind her in one fluid movement. She was breathing hard and fast and wiped at her forehead with her sleeves, the dust she’d smeared on her face coming off with it. Chowder looked to be just as exhausted as she was, but fortunately unharmed.

She squatted down next to him. “What’s that you’ve got there, boy?” Laura muttered in-between sharp intakes of air and pulled out a piece of paper from an unbuttoned pocket in his (adorable) backpack.

Vertibird down. Algarin, Brown, Brown, Kinsley alive. Surrounded by ghouls. Fixing the vertibird. Look to the skies.

Laura read the note again, and again, and a fourth time, mouthing the words. “Look to the skies,” she breathed. A slow grin spread across her face as the reality of the situation sank in. Chowder had saved the others from the ghouls and brought them here, buying them time to fix the vertibird. There was a way out. Help was coming. Laura embraced Chowder in a spontaneous and passionate hug, showering him with kisses on his forehead. “Oh, Chowder, you’ve saved us! Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?!”

For that victorious moment, Chowder let Laura fuss him - but he was not as settled as he had been on the Prydwen. His eyes were alert, heart pounding in his chest and while he gave the woman a friendly lick, he soon made his way to the door. His nose was to the ground as he paced back and forth, sniffing desperately, his tail wagging lazily until he brought himself down to the ground and gave a cry. He couldn't relax yet. Not yet.

Exhaustion and stress threatened to overwhelm Laura for a moment and she had to bite back tears at the sight of Chowder’s distress. “They’re coming, they’re coming,” she whispered and blinked repeatedly. “The doctor and all the others, they’re coming. You did good. I have to tell the Paladin, but you did good. I’ll be right back,” she said and straightened up, swallowing hard and wiping at her eyes. She steeled herself with a deep breath and made sure that her helmet was fastened properly.

“Paladin Moss!” she yelled as she ran back into the front shop, brandishing her new weapon and the piece of paper she’d pulled from Chowder’s backpack, waving it around as if it was a talisman that would deliver them from all evil. “The others -- they’re still alive, and they’re fixing the vertibird! Chowder, the dog, you see, he’s here and he brought this message!” She paused to catch her breath and held out the paper for the Paladin to take. “Pleased to report that the sniper is dead, sir. Oh, and a whole horde of ferals came with Chowder and the raiders are busy dealing with them now,” she added. “That happened too.”

Without saying anything, or even accepting the paper to read it for himself, inscrutable behind the steel of his armor, Moss stepped outside and threw his vertibird signal grenade onto the dirt. It started beeping.

Fallout: Rust and Steel

_{featuring @Odin, @Lo Pellegrino and @Andreyich}

Laura bit back a curse after McDowell threw open the door, took a bullet and closed it again -- now was not the time, nor was it her place, to berate the Knight-Sergeant. She was relieved to see Paladin Moss and Knight Estevez but the confusing situation was killing her. Who the hell was shooting at them from outside the building now? Laura sidled up to the wall, away from the windows or the door, her laser rifle in her hands, a scowl on her face. Her eyes found Moss’ and she saluted quickly, but refrained from straightening up for fear of a .50 bullet taking her head off. The holes that had been punched through the door were warning enough.

“Sir, we’re sitting on top of a nest of Deathclaws and their Super Mutant masters,” the Initiate said without preamble. There was no time. She had to trust that he would simply believe her at her word. “There’s a tunnel in the floor of the docking bay that leads into their lair. When the Knight-Sergeant and myself were spotted, we returned and I collapsed the tunnel behind us to prevent enemy pursuit.” She paused and her eyes bounced between Moss and Estevez, noticing the impact marks on his suit of power armor as well. “Sorry, I have to ask; who’s shooting at us, sir?”

Daniel didn't particularly care that they were sitting on a nest of Deathclaws and supermutants when the path to them was sealed, more or less ignored that rather going straight to answering the Initiate's question. "Raiders. Most of them are just the same idiots you'll see in D.C., lower even than that given their guns. But there's a few of them that… They're trained. Professional, they've dealt with power armour before or at least learned how to." by way of explanation the Knight turned his head upwards to demonstrate the ricocheted .50 nearly having hit his throat. "What next, Sir?" he asked, turning to Paladin Moss.

They might as well have been talking to the wall. Hidden behind the bulky T-60 helmet, the paladin’s face contorted. He stepped forward, each step causing the ground to quake a little under the weight of his frustration.

“Are you suicidal, sergeant?” Moss boomed, placing a gauntleted hand onto McDowell’s chestplate. “Was I duped bringing you on? What in the hell kind of combat awareness consists of entering a hot zone and promptly revealing our position? This is my squad, soldier. Your life is mine. Risk yourself or my anyone else in the squad and I’ll put you down myself!”

The paladin lingered with his hand pushing firmly against the knight-sergeant. Stared long enough for any sense of cliché to dissolve, leaving only the unforgivingly cold promise of retribution. Then, with a small push, he turned away and cursed loudly. Paced the floor of the warehouse, glancing at the tunnel, then the doors, and back in an endless loop.

Finally, standing waist deep in the mouth of the tunnel, Moss pointed to Grimshaw. “You have explosives,” he stated, or was it a question? “Set them up here. We will blow the way back open. Whatever was down there will be killed. Suffocated or crushed or killed by the blast.” He began to nod erratically. “Escape into the tunnels. We’ll, follow them, down. We will retreat below ground and we'll, we’ll flank the raiders. That damned sniper.”

With those words the situation changed. While a pack of raiders moved ever closer to the warehouse, inside, the freshly christened paladin struggled to assemble a coherent plan. And it was obvious. Awkward to pretend it wasn’t happening, challenging to square the Paladin Moss from before with the trembling man there now.

“No, I’ve got it now.” Moss nodded and gestured toward Estevez and Grimshaw. “I want you two outside. You’ll hunt the sniper. Once the fifty is out of the way the rest of us will clear the stragglers. That’s.... That’s what we’ll do.” He ignored the prospect that another large caliber weapon could easily be hiding somewhere in the hills. Just continued nodding as he turned to McDowell waving a finger. “Knight-Sergeant, I want you to run distraction. Draw the sniper’s fire. Our guys’ll take them down first.” He glanced at Grimshaw and Estevez, noting their anxious looks. “This is how we survive, people. This is an order!”

Watching the Paladin lose his cool was unnerving and Laura had to resist the urge to look at the ground when he turned his attention to her. The first, rambling, incoherent ‘plan’ he came up with was impossible and she dreaded having to tell Moss that she barely had any explosives left. Fortunately, he changed his mind and Laura’s spine stiffened when he ordered her and Estevez to hunt down the enemy sniper. That was more like it. She hadn’t taken on a raider with a .50 caliber rifle before but creeping through the wasteland was one of her strengths. She knew that it was important for morale that Moss recovered his confidence and as such, she was determined to carry out his orders flawlessly and prove to him that his thinking was still sound.

“Yes, Paladin Moss. Ad Victoriam!” Laura said and saluted. She glanced at the Knight that was to be her hunter-killer partner and she nodded at him, as if to say ‘we’ve got this’.

Gregory had the equivalent of a wasteland thousand yard stare, not much seeming to penetrate the man at this point. It was unclear whether he’d given up hope -- which was unlikely given he was a soldiering type that did not think too much about the situation at hand to begin with -- or whether he was just confused on what to do, lacking any orders from above. The paladin did little to improve this, his rant against McDowell being more than justified, but the following ‘plan’ being something that an upstart initiate would’ve come up with in tactical training. Luckily, Moss recovered, and the plan afterwards made a little more sense. Still, it was iffy. All it would take was a good shot with the .50 cal, and McDowell would be a goner. Not something that was on McDowell’s mind, admittedly, but a realistic guess for anyone else all the same. Initiate Grimshaw and Knight Estevez would need to move quickly if they wanted to have the hulking tank of a man that was McDowell survive more than five minutes.

He reached down and grabbed the sledgehammer that he’d dropped, his fists tightening around the handle until his knuckles went white. Metaphorically speaking, because nobody could actually see whether they turned white, as they were clad in a good amount of steel. “Ad Victoriam!” he bellowed once again, and with newfound confidence he marched his happy self to the door, satisfied that the plan now made sense, and he no longer had to call his own shots.

Where Laura might’ve wished to execute the plan to restore Moss’ confidence, Gregory was more occupied with performing his task to regain Moss’ favour. It was for that reason he held back a little, did not give in to his idiotic, but strong, ways and instead stood by the door, ready to open it and go outside to draw fire. He glanced back and the comm lines would suddenly crackle, revealing a very out-of-character McDowell. “Ready when you are, paladin, knight, initiate,” he said, rolling his shoulders slightly, the mechanisms whirring and protesting as he did so.

An alarm blared in his power armour for the second time. Warning! Critical power! Replace fusion core! The beginning of the message might’ve been caught on the comms, but McDowell was quick to shut off the comms to make sure that the latter end of the message would not be heard. With some good luck, his power armour would last until they were clear. They could figure out what to do after that.

Looking between the Paladin, the Initiate and the Knight Sergeant Daniel kept quiet after recalling who they were up against. After mirroring the salute of his comrades to their leader Daniel turned to the Initiate with a resigned sigh. He felt it was best they wait their enemies out, perhaps kill them in a crossfire as they came inside the warehouse but orders were orders.

"Alright then." he began, grabbing his rifle. "They know about Gregory and the Paladin, they know about me. But they don't know about you, so you'll be our little trump card. Did you see any side entrances exploring this place? If I could bait him out, you could seal the deal. But we only got one chance, the report on that laser of your's will make you a target right away and the fact you're not wearing power armour will make all the other raiders see you as the best target. If we can't get him in the first try, then we'll switch with you the soft target becoming the bait. Deal?" Daniel finished, ready to spring into action.

That was a relief. “Deal,” Laura echoed in agreement. It was a solid plan and she was glad that Estevez seemed to be on the same wavelength as she was. He struck her as a level-headed sort, from what she’d seen of him so far, and that was a welcome change of pace after McDowell’s brash stubbornness and the Paladin’s emotional outburst. It helped to calm her down and steady her own nerves. She took a deep breath and brought the reassuring weight of her laser rifle to bear. For someone that had practiced with solid ammunition on the range her whole life, switching to an energy weapon and learning proper marksmanship drills had almost felt like cheating. Firing a weapon without having to accomodate for bullet drop or travel time was like running without training weights.

“There’s a side entrance in the loading bay,” Laura said, her eyes looking up and to the left as she brought the warehouse’s layout back into her mind’s eye. “I’ll slip out and use the abandoned cars for cover. They won’t see me coming.” She nodded to herself to reaffirm her plan. “See you on the other side, Knight.”

Fallout: Rust and Steel

_{featuring @Odin}

Laura took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before nodding. “Yes, sir.” Everything about the dark pit that yawned in front of them felt wrong, but it would be equally wrong to ignore it. What would they tell the Paladin? ‘We found a giant hole that led underground but we were too scared to explore it?’ They were Brotherhood, damnit, and that counted for something. If Knight-Sergeant McDowell wasn’t afraid then neither was she.

That said, she couldn’t follow him exactly the way he did, for Gregory threw himself into the pit feet-first, the battle cry of the Brotherhood of Steel echoing off the warehouse’s walls -- and the underground tunnel’s shaft as well. “Ad Victoriaaaaaaaaa...aa..aa..m...” She waited until she heard the satisfyingly loud and earth-trembling thud that indicated that he had hit the bottom before she turned around and began to climb down the hole. She wasn’t exactly a natural-born rock climber or anything, but there had been plenty of rough terrain to cross on her way to Washington and she was limber enough to have relatively little difficulty making her way down. The walls of the shaft weren’t smooth and provided plenty of hand- and footholds for her to use.

She reached the bottom and wiped her hands on her trousers before turning back to face the looming darkness ahead. Beyond the armored shape of McDowell a tunnel stretched away from them, surprisingly large -- wide enough for them to easily walk abreast and so high that the Knight-Sergeant didn’t have to crouch -- and remarkably… natural. The word popped into her mind and Laura took a second to ponder why. A soft ‘ah!’ escaped her as she realized why; it wasn’t just the shaft that led down to this level that was hewn roughly from the dirt and rock, but the tunnel too. The difference between this and the underground Vault that had been her home, her whole world, for most of her life, was remarkable. It was almost as if it hadn’t been carved out of the earth by human hands.

That thought did nothing to assuage her anxiety. She brought her laser rifle to bear and it hummed to life as she flipped the safety off. Without looking at McDowell, her eyes fixed on the gloom, Laura cleared her throat and said: “Ready.”

The bad juju vibe McDowell had been feeling hadn’t gotten any better, and seemed to only progressively get worse. It was like he’d swallowed a stone -- probably not outside of the realm of possibilities when McDowell was involved -- and it had firmly lodged itself both in his throat and his stomach. But the switching off of the safety of Grimshaw’s weapon pulled him back to where they were, which was to say a giant cave in a warehouse which looked suspiciously like a tunnel dug by fire ants, or something to that effect. There had been reports once, of a crazed scientist in a sewer somewhere asking for help with his crazy fire ant experiments. Perhaps they had escaped and moved here?

McDowell’s armour slowly whirred up and he began moving forward, the incessant thumping of his armour alerting everyone and their mother in the tunnel that he was arriving. Something like a knight in shining armour, or a tank rolling into a village. No matter the analogies he would come up with, it didn’t take the edge off. Whatever they were about to find was… bad. If even McDowell could realize that, it meant they were really in the shit.

After a few minutes of walking, things had seemed to be quiet enough for McDowell to presume that perhaps the place was safe after all, but he couldn’t have been further from the truth. The sound was characteristical, at least to McDowell, who had heard the sound a hundred times while he still lived out here in Boston. The burrowing under ground, that annoying screeching sound they made when they surfaced. He raised a hand momentarily, signalling to Laura that they were to stop. “Rats. Molerats,” he warned her, before mumbling off to himself, “fucking dirty creatures.” Well, no hammer to smash them. He pushed one of his feet back through the dirt, getting ready to start using his fists.

What came next was a group, no, a horde of molerats scurrying through, their sound drowning out any command or order McDowell could have given to Laura had he seen the need. There must’ve been ten, twenty, maybe even thirty of them, large and small, and even a broodmother somewhere in the mix. But rather than fight the would be intruders that were Laura and Gregory, they just sort of ran past them as fast as they could. In the distance, a soft humming noise was barely audible, just barely. More of them?

“What the…?” Laura breathed. Her finger was so tight around the trigger that the laser rifle could have gone off at the slightest provocation, but the sight of the molerats avoiding them, swarming past their legs, and even climbing on top of each other along the sides of the tunnel in their haste to get away, was enough for her to stand down. If they weren’t going to fight her, she wasn’t about to turn them into ash. But that left a burning question in her mind: what were they running from?

Slowly Gregories head turned back to see if Laura had come out unscathed, and once he confirmed it for himself, he lowered his hand and pushed onwards through the hundreds of particles of dust the molerats had kicked up. Disgusting creatures. Probably wallowed in their own shit, probably even used it to tunnel their disgusting little tunnel networks. He pitied Laura, who was probably breathing in shit particles as they moved.

Slowly but surely, they came closer to their mark, and slowly but surely, the markings on the wall would become clearer, more fresh, deeper too.

Laura stepped closer to the wall and ran her fingers along a jagged edge in the bedrock. “Sir,” she said, even a whisper almost deafeningly loud in the confines of the tunnel, and turned her head to look at McDowell. “These markings… don’t they look like… like claw marks to you, sir?” She took a few steps back to behold the wall in its entirety and followed a grouping of lines in the stone with her eyes. One, two, three, parallel to each other, four inches deep and six feet long. She had to crane her neck and look up to see where they ended, near the ceiling of the tunnel… easily ten feet from the ground.

All Gregory could do was shrug a shrug that went hidden by his armour. “Dunno.”

A memory flashed through her mind’s eye and she heard the words of men she used to know echo through time. A demon.

“I think we should turn back,” the Initiate whispered. Now, she was well and truly afraid.

For a moment Gregory would hold back while Laura worked on her little theory. He couldn’t deny that he felt the same way, or at the very least, that there was something to be wary about here. Fear did not consume him -- that was not his way -- so he held his ground as she studied the markings. The humming noise continued, as if something was deeper down, breathing. Perhaps a dragon, like the Grognak comics used to show, but minus the fire.

“Claws, maybe,” Gregory responded, “turn back, no. If paladin Moss wants to make camp here, the last thing we need is a horde of shit-tunnelers underneath us, disturbing the earth where we sleep.” He thought about what he said, his head slowly turning back towards the deeper end of the tunnel, where the breathing sounds came from. Admittedly, whatever was down there seemed a little bigger than a molerat. Maybe an overgrown one? With giant claws? It must’ve been pretty obvious to Laura what they’d find here, but McDowell did not seem to give the impression that he knew, or even that he cared.

After a meaningful silence of a few seconds, he turned back to face Laura. His entire body turned with it, the power armour whirring loudly. “You should go back and inform paladin Moss of what we’ve found,” he ordered her, and while his wording was friendly… enough… it was very clear from the way he used his voice that he wasn’t asking her, he was telling her. This was unusual for McDowell, who would usually be the first to resign command to someone else, preferably more senior and older and… just generally more like the leadership of the Brotherhood. He followed orders, that’s who he was and that’s what he did. But this whole situation stank. Maybe if Laura had been a lancer or scribe, or even a knight, he might’ve ordered her to stand her ground and fall in line. But sending an initiate to face off unknown threats was hardly realistic, even for a man like McDowell.

He turned back to face that great unknown darkness in front of him. If there was one way to convince paladin Moss and elder Maxson just how capable he was, Gregory figured, this might just be it. If only Atomic Annie was here. “I’ll hold the line here, see what I can’t find out. Ad Victoriam, Initiate!” He thumped his chest again, saluting her, and then turned around.

Laura straightened to her full height, as short as that might be, and cleared her throat. She wasn’t one to disobey orders readily but this was beyond foolish; it was suicidal. “Respectfully, sir,” she said, the sudden loudness of her voice even more penetrating than her whispers, “you don’t even have a weapon, and the only creature I know of that’s tall and strong enough to do this to bedrock,” she continued and gestured to the wall, “is a Deathclaw. I don’t say this to diminish your skill, Knight-Sergeant, but if that’s what’s waiting for us down there… I don’t fancy the odds. Our orders were to explore the warehouse, not to exterminate whatever we found. We should return to the Paladin. Both of us.”

Without any further commentary, he stepped forwards again, slowly but surely fading from Laura’s sight until all she would hear was that mechanical whirring of the pneumatic joints of the power armour, and the low bass of the breathing further down the tunnel.

“McDowell!” she hissed, using the man’s name for the first time. She almost set off after him, stopped, took another step and stopped again. “Fuck!” A hot flash of anger at Gregory’s dismissal of her words flared up inside her gut and that which had been made weak by fear in her mind turned to steel. “Oh, no you don’t,” Laura said through gritted teeth and raised her rifle to her cheek, her heart pounding against her ribs and her fingers tight around the grip of her weapon to stop them from trembling. She followed the Knight-Sergeant. The big dumb idiot wasn't getting a hero's death.

Not on her watch.

Fallout: Rust and Steel

Everything that was up became down and vice versa. A split second later, Laura became aware that she was falling. Bizarrely, her first instinct was to clutch the laser rifle holstered across her chest with both hands. What had happened? It had all happened so fast. The sky, the turbulence, the engine.. she remembered seeing the engine catch fire. But why? What was --

Something grabbed her, mid-air, something attached to a voice that the wind snatched away immediately. They were still spinning and falling but Laura suddenly felt strangely safe and sheltered. She couldn’t feel the air tugging on her skin and her clothes anymore. All she could do was clutch her rifle. All she could do was --

Her bones rattled inside of her skin and her brain felt like it was trying to escape through her ears. A terribly loud crash and a sudden sensation of having stopped in the most definitive sense of the word were the last things she heard and felt.

---

"Hey there, wake up Initiate. You alright?"

Laura’s eyes opened slowly, blinking as her swimming vision slowly resolved into focus. The expressionless helmet of a suit of power armor stared at her. “Paladin?” she murmured inaudibly and sat up straight, her hands going up and down her body and her head to check for injuries, her training kicking in and taking over. Fortunately, almost miraculously, she was free from grievous injury, but her left ankle felt tender and a patch of dark wool on her upper right arm told her that she was bleeding -- but not severely. She blinked a few more times and looked at the soldier again. Not the Paladin, she realized, but the Knight. What was his name? Estanza?

Her fingers found the grip of her laser rifle, its sling still across her torso, and she exhaled slowly, trying to steady her shaking hands. She was armed and alive and she wasn’t alone. That was already more than could be hoped for considering the circumstances. But… how had she ended up here? Where was she? The place looked like an abandoned warehouse.

"Something happened with the Vertibird. Paladin Moss, the Knight Sergeant, you, and I all fell out of it,” the Knight said. Esteves, Laura remembered, that was his name.

“Hey, kid. Shut the hell up,” came another voice, belonging to McDowell.

Laura glanced at him but said nothing. Even without the super sledge, the Knight-Sergeant was intimidating. She looked back at Esteves and nodded. “Yes,” the young woman managed, louder this time, and rolled her jaw. “Yes, I’m alright.”

She climbed to her feet, using the implacable steel of Esteves’ suit for support, and looked through the scope of her rifle. Even the glass lens had survived the descent, and a quick pat-down across her thigh confirmed that her 10mm pistol was still in its holster. That, too, was a miracle. She frowned and tried to recall the details. Someone had grabbed her… she looked at Esteves again and realized that it was his voice that had called out to her during the fall.

“You caught me,” she said. It wasn’t a question. The realization caused her heart to quicken; she’d survived a horrible crash-landing in the arms of a knight in shining armor. She’d be dead, if it weren’t for him. A mixture of gratitude, admiration and embarrassment washed over her. Forcing down the urge to look away and crawl up into a ball, the Initiate placed a hand on the Knight’s arm and conjured the bravest smile she could muster -- before realising that he couldn’t see it behind her gas mask. Maybe it'd extend to her eyes. “Thank you, sir.”

“Where's the Paladin?” McDowell said, but this time he was already gone before she could say anything, stomping out of the warehouse to look for Moss. Laura exchanged a glance with Esteves, his eyes barely visible behind the visor of his power armor, and she chuckled, grateful for the distraction. She desperately needed an objective, something to focus on, and searching for the Paladin was as good of a goal as any. After a final check to make sure that she still had all of her belongings and that she could put her weight on her painful ankle (which she could, but not for too long at once), she followed McDowell outside and took stock of their surroundings.

The sky was red to the south. That was the first thing she noticed. Laura’s eyes widened at the sight and she breathed a curse into her respirator. She’d seen something like that before, when they were forced to divert around the battered slag that was all that remained of Minneapolis. “Rad storm,” she said out loud, and only then looked away to find McDowell presenting himself for duty to the Paladin. Following in his example, Laura clicked her heels together and saluted.

Oddly enough, this was her forte. Deep into unknown territory, potentially surrounded by threats, with nothing more than a few allies to rely on. Laura steeled herself with the knowledge that she was useful now, even if she wasn’t wearing power armor or carrying a gatling laser. Figuring out the lay of the land, steering them clear of trouble and surviving out in the wilderness. It wasn’t what she’d expected out of the Commonwealth, but then again, none of them had.

“Ad victoriam! Initiate Grimshaw, ready for orders as well.” Having said that, Laura looked around and an icy sensation crept into her bones. “Where is the vertibird, sir?” Her thoughts went out to Dr. Kinsley and Chowder. She'd been so excited to see them again.

Fallout: Rust and Steel

_{featuring the ever-lovely @Stormflyx}

“Oh!”

Laura drew her arms up around her and stiffened in her seat as she felt something wet and enthusiastic pressing into her side. She pressed a hand to her mouth, embarrassed at her exclamation of surprise, and glared at Thaddeus as he sniggered into his beer. He stopped and cleared his throat as he looked away. Grown up or not, he was still the little brother.

The wetness turned out to belong to the nose of a very happy-looking dog. “Hey, boy, you gave me quite a fright there,” Laura cooed to Chowder and leaned down to pet him. That’s when she saw what it was that he’d dropped by her chair: her missing boot. Laughing, Laura pinched his cheek. “So you’re the little rascal that stole my stuff! And here I was blaming the Squires. It’s a good thing you’re so adorable! How can I stay mad at that face?”

Chowder expressed his gratitude by licking her hand.

Meanwhile, Thaddeus, aware of who the dog belonged to, looked around the mess hall and swallowed when he saw Dr. Harper Kinsley standing by the entrance. His head whipped back around and he whispered: “You do know whose dog that is, right?”

“One of the doctors?” Laura said absent-mindedly as she and Chowder were play-wrestling with the boot. It was already covered in drool, she reasoned, so a little more wouldn’t hurt. She would have to clean it up anyway -- but at this point she was just glad to have it back.

“Yeah,” Thaddeus hissed, “and not a nice one. Dr. Kinsley is her name. Just take your boot back and send the dog on his way.”

Frowning, Laura straightened up. “Surely this Dr. Kinsley person can’t be that bad.” As if sensing the doctor’s gaze on her, her eyes were drawn to the auburn-haired woman by the door. Putting on her most affable smile, Laura gestured for Harper to join them.

“Jesus Christ,” Thaddeus muttered.

From the back of the hall, Kinsley took in a sharp breath, drawing her lip into her mouth to bite down on it. Chowder had damaged the boot. At least, that’s what she thought as she pushed her pen back into her ponytail and slipped her free hands into the pockets of her lab coat.

She made her way to the table with measured steps, her eyes were heavy lidded and there was a ringing in her right ear, but she walked onwards regardless. Stopping but a pace from the siblings. Kinsley’s eyes switched between the two of them, and then landed on Chowder, who was rubbing up against Laura happily, his fur sprinkling out like snow with every pet and scratch. Kinsley’s brow creased and she groaned.

“Did he chew a lace out?” She asked, pointing her intense gaze at Laura. “Or did he pull a buckle free?” As always, her voice was mellow. She did not move from her spot, nor did she remove her hands from her pockets - her fingers twitching idly in the comfort of the fabric.

Just to be sure, Laura glanced at the boot again but confirmed that everything was still there -- just slimy and glossier than normal. “No, no, the boot is fine, it just needs a wash,” the Initiate said reassuringly. She felt her smile waver beneath the doctor’s piercing stare, however, and was suddenly aware of why Thaddeus had been so apprehensive. “I love dogs,” she blurted out and gave Chowder another vigorous rub on his head as if to emphasize her point. “It’s just... you see, we didn’t have any in the Vault, and most of the dogs we’ve seen weren’t exactly cared for very well--”

Thaddeus snorted and shook his head. “You can say that again. I’ll never forget that pack of ferals that took Donnelly’s leg off.”

Laura shot him a disapproving glare. “Hush, you,” she hissed and smiled back up at Harper. “I just wanted to say that your dog is very cute.” She scratched Chowder beneath his chin. “What’s his name? Where’d you get him?”

It had been Alex who'd found Chowder. It had been Harper who'd helped him to put the wriggling pup into a box with a ribbon for their daughter. She remembered cutting the holes in the box for the run beforehand. A breath caught in her throat when her mind conjured up the image of her then toddler's face pulling at the purple fabric.

She remained staring at Chowder, never blinking as she waited for the moment to pass. "I found him in the wasteland," she lied, following it up with as much of a smile as she could, for the second or two before it felt too heavy to hold up. "His name is Chowder," she said with a slightly embarrassed sigh. "He has his own backpack," she added, looking at the young Initiate again.

"He likes you," she commented, removing a hand from her pocket to gesture. "He likes most people… But he seems to really like you."

Laura audibly gasped. “You have your own backpack?” she asked Chowder and tried to picture him with it on. “Aww, that’s adorable!” She looked back up at the doctor and grinned. “Well, I really like him too. I bet he’s smart enough to tell. He seems like a man that knows who his friends are,” the Initiate said. Sure, the lady had an odd manner, but she didn’t seem so bad.

“You did a good thing, rescuing him from the wasteland,” she added with sincerity.

Still visibly awkward, Thaddeus got to his feet. “I saw someone I know at the bar. You mind if I…?”

Laura waved him away. Relieved, her brother made his way through the crowd. “I’m Laura and that’s my brother, Thaddeus,” she explained. “Don’t mind him. He gets shy around strangers. You’re Dr. Kinsley, right?” she asked and glanced at the now-empty chair.

Finally, Kinsley blinked - several times in quick succession before taking the seat. She watched Thaddeus walk away, sensing that it was her, and not something else that had really had him leave. It mattered not.

"That's me." Her eyes drifted to Chowder, who was in a state of absolute bliss with his new friend. Reclining himself onto her with his eyes closed and tongue hanging from the side of his mouth. Droplets of his own drool at their feet, beaded down his legs. Kinsley shook her head and laughed slightly. "It's nice to meet you Laura," she said as she placed her elbows on the table, pushing a thumb to the corner of her eye. "You may see his backpack soon… We're leaving for a mission before long. Off the Prydwen, that is."

Laura’s smile widened. It was her experience that people, even the gruff and standoffish types, opened up with a little effort. “It’s nice to meet you too, doctor,” she said, but what Harper told her next made her eyes widen. “Tomorrow morning at 0400?” she asked in a hushed voice.

Kinsley nodded slowly, "got my request today… I believe that's what it said. I have to pack our things tonight," she hadn't cottoned on to the implication immediately, not until there had been a pregnant pause. She twisted her head to Laura's direction, pointing a finger at her; "ah!" she realised. "You too. Well then, you'll have him with you for company." The doctor pressed that finger against Chowder's nose.

"Have you got your medical clearance?" She quizzed, shifting in her seat some. She hadn't seen this Initiate in the clinic before. Although, even if Laura had been there… Kinsley didn't always pay attention unless they were on her table. Maybe the girl had been along earlier and that was where the dog had got her scent in the first place.

Her initial excitement at the prospect of traveling with Chowder and Dr. Kinsley was replaced with a rush of heat to her cheeks as it dawned on Laura that she’d forgotten something. “Fuck,” she whispered and clamped her hand over her mouth for the second time that evening. “Pardon my language, doctor,” Laura added sheepishly and ran a hand through her hair. “That’s something I should do, isn’t it? I was so caught up making sure I had all of my gear and supplies and drawing Knight-Captain Reddon’s portrait that I forgot all about it.”

She tapped a finger against her lips and frowned. “Is there still a doctor on call at the med bay at this hour? Or… do you think you could…?”

So that's who she was. The artist. The doctor had heard whispers of an Initiate offering her services. It all felt a bit like the more narcissistic members of the crew were enjoying that a bit too much… Showing off their portraits to each other. It had become something of a fashion statement.

Kinsley stared at her again, differently this time - it was the stare of brief examination. She moved closer to the girl's face, squinting as she took in the details over her skin. "Hmmm… You're young, you look healthy. Unblemished. You won't need too much of an exam, Laura," she said, pulling away swiftly. "Come by whenever. I can do a formal sign off following some questions." She then got to her feet, and as if by a silent command, Chowder shifted from Laura's side back to Kinsley's.

Grateful, Laura nodded. “I’ll come by in a little bit then, doctor. Thank you.” It wasn’t just the willingness to complete the formal sign off that she was grateful for and she resisted the urge to smile. Unblemished. That she was, and proud of it, too.

Thaddeus returned to the table after the doctor and her loyal pet had left with two new beers in his hands and a puzzled look on his face. “Well?”

Laura sighed and flicked a beer mat at him. “She’s not bad at all, Thad! You should really be more patient with people. She agreed to sign off my medical clearance, you know.”

He snorted. “Better you than me.”

---

An hour later, after Laura and Thaddeus had said their goodbyes, the Initiate knocked on the doorframe of the med bay. “Dr. Kinsley? It’s Laura, I’ve come for that sign off.”

Meanwhile, the doctor had been keeping herself busy with the task of sterilising her tools. They were all lined up in a hot water bath, doused with disinfectant, doing their time until they were ready to be packed into her surgical roll. On the side of her desk, a number of bandages and other medical supplies - also waiting to be packed.

Having anticipated Laura's arrival, Dr Kinsley had placed a paper sheet over her exam table, and for good measure had rolled out a cloth partition. It was unlikely that anyone else would come by at this hour - but she was stringent in following her processes.

"Come in," Kinsley called out - her voice still quiet and slightly fragile. In the furthest corner, Chowder had curled himself into a tight ball, fast asleep. Only the bubbling of water and his snores could be heard within the med bay. "Just take a seat on the table… I'll be a moment," her tone and mannerisms pithy as always.

Laura did as she was told and made herself as comfortable as possible on the metal table. Even through the fabric of her fatigues she could feel the chill of its touch on her buttocks. That's one thing she didn't like about life with the Brotherhood. Everything was so spartan. But she smiled at the sight of Chowder fast asleep and forgot all about the cold metal. The idea that the bond between humans and dogs has survived the apocalypse gave her hope. Not all good things were out of the world just yet.

She considered Dr. Kinsley for a moment. The older woman was obviously intelligent, otherwise she wouldn't have been a doctor, but Laura couldn't help but notice a dullness where there should be a sharpness, in her mind, and a sharpness where there should be a softness, in her eyes. Laura had seen that look before, when she was a child. A recon team had come back decimated -- fortunately not her father's. It was the first time the Vault had learned of the existence of Deathclaws, though they came up with a different name.

It was all the men had been able to day. A demon. Dr. Kinsley had seen her own demons, but what could they be?

"Ready when you are, doctor," Laura said.

Kinsley picked up a tray carefully, several tools were placed across it. Nothing sharp, nothing that looked painful - just standard fare. A torch, a tongue depressor - amongst other things. The woman quietly shuffled to Laura, peering around the partition with a small smile. "I think you're fine, but I have some questions… Illness is commonplace in the wasteland. Better I know about you in case, well…" she stared blankly at the Initiate on the table, regarding her with a more curious gaze than she usually would - letting her eyes linger longer.

The doctor placed the tray down, and stepped in front of Laura, her eyes upon a pad of paper now, far from focussed on Laura at all. "Have you been ill before?" She asked first, and without waiting for an answer she followed it up herself; "are you prone to stomach aches, headaches, muscular pains, sore throat…?"

There was something about Kinsley’s gaze that made Laura want to squirm, as if to avoid her scrutiny, but she forced herself to sit still. “I had bronchitis once, as a child,” she answered the question and frowned as she tried to recall more instances of illness. “But I’m not prone to any of those things, no. I mean… I have nightmares,” Laura added, her voice dropping a little. “Sometimes… well, often. Does that count?”

“Depends,” Kinsley said with a shrug of her shoulders, placing the pad down as she placed her hands as carefully and unobtrusively as she could on Laura - starting with her neck, placing two fingers either side of her - just below the ears. “How often? Is it recurring imagery? Accompanied by other symptoms? Sweating, shaking, chest pains…?”

Satisfied with her findings, she picked up her torch, placing a finger below the girl’s chin to tilt her head upwards. She shone the penlight at Laura’s blue eyes - just enough to check that her eyes too, were fine. Her manner was meticulous and clinical - leaving little room for small talk or comforting words.

The way Kinsley went about her examination reminded Laura of the doctor in the Vault and she relaxed a little. “I get them about once a week. Used to be more frequent right after… right after we got here,” she explained and exhaled slowly. “Right after we got to D.C. And yeah, sweating, uh… what do you call that, shortness of breath? That, and it’s like I can’t move when I wake up.” She bit her lip. Her fingers fidgeted with the fabric of her pants by her knees. “Like there’s something standing at the foot of my bed.”

Laura took a deep breath and smiled. “Silly, I know, they’re just dreams,” she said, followed by a brave attempt at a laugh.

"Well, yes. They're just dreams. But once a week is well over excessive for such night terrors… Usually a symptom of another problem…" Kinsley explained, suddenly interested in gazing into Laura's eyes again, the clinical and cold visage slipping to reveal a worried frown.

"So," she began, clucking her tongue as she broke eye contact and looked up. "They're also not just dreams. If we're to leave and venture out I may need to prescribe you something to… keep the things away from the foot of your bed." With pen and paper in hand, she scrawled against the paper, the corners of her mouth twitching to a half smile. "Can't… Can't promise it'll cure you of it completely, but it will at least help…" she folded the script, and placed it beside Laura on the table.

She blanched at that and swallowed hard. Medication? Laura wanted to open her mouth and protest, to say that it wasn’t that bad, she’d managed this far, how being with the Brotherhood helped, they’d be with Paladin Moss, everything was going to be fine, and most importantly, that she didn’t want to look weak to the others. But she bit her tongue. She was raised to trust the doctor and their orders and if Kinsley thought that it was necessary to help her keep her wits about her in the field, then so be it. Seeing the doctor’s impassive expression momentarily reveal a glimpse of concern was unsettling enough.

“So,” Laura said, echoing Kinsley, and cleared her throat. “What else? I promise I don’t have any further medical concerns.” She looked down at her hands sheepishly.

Kinsley placed her hands at her sides and tilted her head, giving her one last look over. "No. You're in very good health. Good eyes, healthy nodes, temperature is fine, positive spirit… Is your cycle regular?" She asked, glancing sidelong at the girl as she began collecting up her equipment from the table.

Suddenly and without warning, Laura missed her mother terribly. She nodded at first before realising that Kinsley wasn’t looking at her as she was packing up her tools. “Yes, it’s fine,” she said. “It’s… I’m not…” Laura took a deep breath and conjured a smile. “I’m focusing on my work and my training. It’s regular.”

“It’s healthy to stay busy, but remember to rest,” the doctor answered - oblivious to the shifts in Laura’s demeanour, and especially so to the longing that she was experiencing for her mother. Kinsley simply walked away from the table, tools in hand. “Recreation is healthy too, a balanced life... You know, blah blah,” she found herself saying aloud - as if her words were simply recited from the same page she’d been reciting from for over two decades. She looked over her shoulder, “I just mean — don’t focus so much on one thing and miss out on others while you’re young, is all.”

Kinsley approached the back of the room, turning off the burner for her equipment. The bubbling subsided. “Monotony is...” her already soft voice drifted even more so as she found the irony in her own words, “a dangerous, slow burning illness.”

Laura considered herself pretty good at reading people and prided herself on that skill, but she thought that even a total blunt could have sensed the hard vacuum in the room centered on Kinsley. She felt a pang of sympathy for the doctor and wondered again what it was that she’d been through that had burned the life out of her eyes.

“Then maybe a change of scenery will do us good!” she said brightly, her use of the plural pronoun an educated guess. “Do you…. know anything about the mission? The message was so sparse, but, well, you’re a Senior Scribe, so…” Laura got to her feet and, before Kinsley could even respond, waved dismissively with her hand. “But if you’re not allowed to tell me, that’s fine, I understand.”

Kinsley sighed, narrowing her eyes to try to recall any specifics beyond the meeting time and place; if there were any within the message, she hadn’t paid enough attention - clearly. “Only the when and where, Initiate,” she answered, her tone slightly clipped as she remembered that - not only was she the doctor, but that she was seen as some kind of authoritative figure in the hierarchy of the Brotherhood. She didn’t care too much for it, not at all. Her mind was only ever occupied with the vial, and with Chowder’s remaining days. It was never too exhausting to act the part, however.

“Just the time and place,” she repeated as she looked down and away from Laura. “So I’ll see you there,” she spoke, setting an air of finality down between them both. No smiles, no goodbyes, just sterile silence.

“Oh,” was what escaped Laura’s lips without thinking. The tone that Kinsley adopted was sufficiently similar to that of the drill sergeants for Laura’s training to kick in and she straightened up, pressing a clenched fist to her chest. “Of course. Thank you, doctor. Ad victoriam.” She inclined her head in a final gesture of gratitude and she swiped up the prescription from the table before turning on her heels and marching out the door.

Once she was out into the bowels of the airship, Laura exhaled the breath she had subconsciously been holding in and rubbed her temples. “Damn,” she muttered. Overfamiliarity with a senior officer was an inherent risk in her personable way of dealing with people and it wasn’t the first time she had been subtly reminded of that fact. Pausing beneath an overhead lamp, Laura unfolded the piece of paper.

Canine companionship, each evening, as long as required.

Laura had to read it twice before it sank in and she began to laugh.

Hmmm.

Hi there, @Fugitive. Can you rephrase your question in proper English?