Letter Bee

Fallout: Orleans

@Ordure, @Ulstermann, can we talk in the link I gave ya both? Basically, once Par buys a Laser Rifle, I want him to talk to some Revolutionaries; try and get to know them better. Also, I want to elaborate on the Raider attack on Vicksburg that's keeping Par cut off, if only because it's both interesting and relevant.

Fallout: Orleans

MAIN QUEST

Sigh...the things I have to do for a cause, Par sighed; he wasn't going to complain outwardly, but inwardly, he knew that he had to make sure that the Revolutionaries win as soon as possible, so that they can get a better HQ. One of his bodyguards looked at him, before asking:

"Are you fine, Par?" Not 'Mr. Rapids'; Par. The bodyguards weren't mere Mercs, they were members of the Guild of Free and Fair Trade, direct beneficiaries of its attempts to rebuild civilization. They had been raised by the Guild, fed by the Guild, educated by the Guild, and armed and trained in their service as well.

For a brief moment, the 19-year old boy's thoughts turned to Vicksburg; was it okay? Were his uncles holding out against the Raiders? And, if they did, would the Guild of Free and Fair Trade still be a viable force in the Wasteland, with its profits reduced by the siege?

"Only one or two hundred caps left," spoke Par, "let's see if we can get a proper Laser Rifle this time." His bodyguards had regular, gunpowder small arms, submachine guns and an assault rifle at most. Nothing sophisticated; the Guild had advanced arms in Vicksburg itself, but those were mostly for home defense.

That Raider army must be large, indeed, were the Merchant's thoughts before leaving for an arms shop; he and his bodyguards carried decent food and water, and one of them had stimpacks on her belt, so arms were what they needed.

With those thoughts, Par ordered two of his bodyguards to stay near the room, while he and the remaining four went to look for an Arms Shop...

@Ordure, @Ulstermann

Fantasy 1775: The New World (looking for new players)

Is this RP dead?

Rogue: Battle of the gods

Is this RP dead?

Fallout: Orleans

MAIN QUEST

"Thank you," Par said, trying to hide his embrassment while letting the man-mountain escort him to where Napoleon V was. Already, he can feel it, the heady rush of adrenaline that came from driving change...

Once he arrived, the 19-year old boy would then wait for further orders.

@Ordure, @Ulstermann.

((Sorry for the short post; not really much to add.))

Fallout: Orleans

@Ordure, Thanks; will reply.

Fallout: Orleans

@Ordure, Edited.

Fallout: Orleans

@Letter Bee

Oh, nah - thought we were just waiting on Ulstermann and Tuxedo Fox before I begin a time skip, but I could try to make a post to get you to the main revolutionist base before the whole thing.

- think you could edit your post to add Letter Bee exiting the Wolfe Bar?

@Ordure

Thanks; I'll do that.

Fallout: Orleans

@Ordure, did your fever get worse?

Fallout: Orleans

SECONDARY QUEST-The Dogs of Dijon Street

((Collab post between Ordure, Letter Bee, and Lord Coake))

Par didn't protest as he was escorted unceremoniously from the bank; he had found out enough. Finding an alleyway to change from his noble's clothes to his ordinary wear, then making his way back to the Wolfe Bar with a triumphant smile, the 19-year old traveled through the dank and disgusting passages, which, in the glow of inspiration, seemed less dank and disgusting, and then spoke to Mike McNulty, utterly confident.

"I have a plan; it requires someone with my charisma or greater, but a different apperance and build, some authentic Order Uniforms, as well as your gang. Basically, we're going to use my faction's oncoming attack on the Bastile to our advantage; our conman - or me with a makeup job and clean contact lenses if you cannot find one - will go to the Bank, pretending to be an Order officer who's requisitioning Protectrons, Lasers, Flamethrowers, etc, in order to defend their prison-fortress better. Once we've dismantled or reprogrammed enough of their defenses, we then take the bankers hostage and force them to open their small-v vault."

"Hrmph." McNulty grunted, taking a deep whiff of a Sanfrancisco Sunlight - sure as hell glad that his developers had input a respirator into his hollowed, synth chest. "It sounds.. good enough, kid - I got a question, though - and I certainly hope you got an answer."

He propped up his feet on the flat, circular wooden table before him, kicking apart an hour long poker game and earning him a death glare from the ghouls and humans playing before him. "The bank obviously ain't giving up all of their defenses - in fact, I'd say half at most. They'll donate to protection, but they're still greedy sons of bitches; they ain't losing their defense system because some prison wants their help, no matter how charming "The Order" is. They'd much rather have the bank explode than let themselves get stolen from, and have their little spotless record get ruined." The synth snapped his fingers, and a super mutant holding a plate bent down, offering him a silver platter of drinks, one of which he took and promptly drank in it's entirety. Par Rapids would notice some leaking out of his stomach. "Now. How the hell do you expect us to deal with the remaining defenses? You managed to turn an impossible task into something that'll be hard as hell - so what's your plan, kid?"

"There's a terminal in the window by the main vault," spoke Par. "A closed-circuit system can still be broken to if you have access to something connected to said system. If I get that makeup job and contact lenses anyway, and your gang and my guards cover me once the shooting starts, I can rush that terminal and deactivate/reprogram the remaining defenses."

There will be casualties, but my bodyguards are better-trained than the gangsters. Thus, less people to split the bounty with, but I and my own won't be part of the 'less'.

"Anyway, if there's nothing more, can I meet whatever conman you have, now?"

"I certainly hope you ain't saying that I'm splitting this equal with your little body guards." McNulty growled, his artifical voice dropping in tone as he blew a thick puff of smoke ahead. "The money is for me - my surviving boys - the con man and his bud - and you. The deal is already at risk with the stupid con man's bodyguard. Back in Goodneighbor, our con men did deals with their guns and their wit, not flanked by some burly walls of beef. You can split your money yourself with your goddamned men - or cut them down to one at most."

"Now, our man is an interesting guy - our aggreement was less than peaceful, so his body guard broke the back of my muscle." McNulty said, taking a more relaxed tone, straightening the brim of his fedora and lightly brushing his pin-striped suit. "Old 'Vin had to be sent to the hospital. I hired him on the spot, and ended up getting a new muscle - protectron from the slums named Bud. Real card." He referred to a protectron in the corner, a fedora tipped on his glass dome, a tommy gun clutched in his stubby, servo-powered arms. "Anyway - our man should be coming any minute now."

And with that, as if on cue, walked in Franklin and Scar. Franklin gently removed his bowler hat from its perch upon his head, Scar taking a surveying position in the corner of the room. "Good evening, gentlemen." Franklin spoke, a sly smile cast across those present. He stopped at Par, seeing his face as one unknown, and took a quick moment to introduce himself "I do believe we haven't had the pleasure of meeting yet. I am Dr. Franklin Arlington, businessman." He would then look back to McNulty. "So for this plan of yours...You want me to persuade these bankers at the site to do away with some of their security, giving us the chance to bring in our more...muscular help to finish the job, correct?" As he said this, he would make a soft gesture to Scar.

"Happy to meet you, Mr. Arlington," Par smiled. "Did you ever pass through Vicksburg, by any chance? And, yes, I think that you'd be a good fit for the plan." He then turned towards Mike:

"Do not worry, my Bodyguards will be getting some extra arms from the Bastille at midnight, anyway, so they don't need a cut of this job." A reminder that I am part of the Revolution, and that if they cross me, personally, they'll be crossing Napoleon V as well.

"Oh, trust me - I don't give a flying fuck if I cross Napoleon V." Mike McNulty snarled - the entire room around him quieting. "I've crawled through hell. I've been through a nuclear meltdown. I've had a claw rammed through my goddamn spine. I've been almost ripped apart by some power-armored crusader who thinks I'm utter scum. So she can go ahead and scoop out my eyeballs and tear apart my components. I'm a synth, kid; I don't go to hell."

"And, uh, "Doctor" Arlington and Scar." He said, making air quotes as he referred to doctor. "You head into Captain Cade's stronghold - place is a pile of rubble right now - and dig through. You'll find a uniform in there somewhere. Clean up the ash and sew it back together - bam, you got an official that's asking to requistion some defenses for the Bastille."

"Anyway, you two - heist is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, twelve'o'clock on the dot. If you ain't there, you're square." McNulty said, straightening out his tie and adjusting his fedora, strapping his tommy gun to his back. "First Southern Trust Bank, kid. Remember it."

With that, McNulty strolled out of the bar. As his crew exited, gathering the poker cards and games while leaving the room primarily empty and oddly damp, his protectron stated blankly, "PROTECT. AND. SERVE." before punching a clean hole in the wall as he walked out. A reminder as to what would happen if he was doublecrossed.

Par felt...intimidated; Mike really was successful for a reason. Moving to depart from the bar, he couldn't wait to get back in the sun for a while before going to the Revolution's HQ to prepare for the Bastile assault...

@Ordure, @Ulstermann, [@LordCoake].