| ๐ฃ๐ ๐ณ๐ค : 11 APRIL 2018 | ๐จ๐ญ๐ณ๐ค๐ฑ๐ ๐ข๐ณ๐จ๐ฎ๐ญ๐ฒ : COUNCIL MEMBERS & THE HAWKGUYS | ๐ซ๐ฎ๐ข๐ ๐ณ๐จ๐ฎ๐ญ : HINOTORI HIGH |
โWait,โ Maki said, holding up her finger. โI had a chance to not show up?โ She gave a faux look of shock. It quickly faded as her sense of humor was brushed away easily. Duty was important to these kids. Duty. Doodie. This was just a pile of shitโhonestly.
โSimple as sugar.โ She crossed her arms. โSo, Iโm basically a helpline, but physically there?โ Oof. Maki was about to make a remark how it would be hard not to roll her eyes in the presence of people complaining at her, only for her to bury it on her tongue. Because honestly, she shouldnโt joke about such a thing, because she would probably be rolling her eyes and making slight gagging noises every time someone made a complaint. The Student Council membersโ only direction was that she had to listen and file. That didnโt mean she couldnโt react to peopleโs petty issues. So, Maki gave a salute. โSo, I return this information to you guys? Or do I get to go full vigilante and enact justice myself? If so, I demand a cat-a-rang.โ
It was then that their meeting was interrupted. Maki glanced behind her to see two students that she wasnโt familiar with. Apparently, this school was run by second years and their inability to keep their nose out of their own business. Her eyes scanned over the green-haired girl. โDid you guys run out of apples to shoot off of peopleโs heads?โ She tsked. โThen it is too bad that Nakano isnโt here because sheโs probably taken all of them to shine them up real good. Gotta make sure that all the teachers know sheโs their favorite su-student.โ Maki turned her attention back to the two student council members with a look on her face that simply said youโll regret allowing me here.
I'm currently working on my opinions for the group in my mind. This group is VERY ragtag. Good thing Jack is no longer shackled by the Brotherhood, though it won't stop her from being suspicious. Surprised we don't have any ghouls. But we have time and radiation.
Rex rolled over in his bunk at the wall muffled screaming that awoke him far too early. โI think Iโd take a rooster over PTSD screams any day.โ He grabbed his pillow and cushioned it over his head, burying his face into the soft sheets. Sleep sank her dirty little fingers into the back of his head again. Yet, the growing hum and chatter tickled those digits away, and he eventually opened his eyes to the roof of his room. He rammed the ball of his palms into his eyes, his vision bleary before straightening up. Never one to put his birthday suit into the closet, he let the blankets fall off his nude form as he stood. There were only a few biting seconds of the air chill before he quickly slid on his undergarments and took stock of his cabin. Lucky still snoozed. How the bird could sleep through this noise was beyond Rex. He let him have his restโthe gorgeous parrot needed his beauty rest.
As Rex dressed, the smells of breakfast hit his nose like a barrage of asteroids would hit a freighter. He almost gagged. In all these years, he thought heโd get used to the smell of cooking meat. It still bugged him. He glanced down at his hands, long fingers extended from strong palms and tanned skin. He brought them to his shoulder and down midway to his back. The slick and shiny texture of his skin felt new and old at the same time. He pulled a bright orange shirt on that had a blue Alliance logo on it. It was distressed and not meant to be praise. It was just a shirt. Theyโd be in the black, there was no reason for him to wear his finery. He slid on khaki-colored pants and tucked them into his worn black calf-high boots with fashionable straps. Anyone with a keen eye would note that they were worth a lot of credits. The jewelry went on, again. Large bracelets around his wrists, a clatter of rings on his fingers, and a necklace that he tucked under his shirt. A quick pass through his dark hair with his hand, and it looked perfectly mussed. He checked his beard in the mirror, it was still tight. No need to trim this morning. He slid his tinted glasses on, not fully awake and not wanting to hear the comments of his sleep addled eyes. Rex pulled himself out of his bunk.
The smells from the galley had shifted a little bit, but the tang of meat still permeated the air. Yet, his stomach made a weird noise of contemptโpartly from its emptiness and partly from his disgust. Heโd probably swing by when everyone had finished and scrounge something to eat when there wasnโt anyone to judge him. He hated having to explain his vegetarianism. โOnce you see how the sausage is made. You donโt want that sausage,โ is how heโd respond. The looks would be puzzling, but he knew what he meant. Instead, he thought heโd make his way to the cargo bay and work his way back. Super-secret cargo from Badger sat on the back of his mind like a fat kid on one end of a seesaw. No matter how he fought, he couldnโt budge it.
Rex tapped the framing in the hallway as he passed it, counting each one before he pivoted, took the ladder, and passed through the door to the cargo bay. He figured Cal Junior had the manifest, but that didnโt mean he couldnโt make sure everything was โsecured.โ Heโd been to enough brothels between the Core and Border worlds that he could smell illicit substances in space. Of course, that was if they were packaged poorly. If everything was in order, heโd get nothing from his perusing. But a complicit cat took naps in sealed airlocks. Curious ones found the vents and escaped being jettisoned into space. Rex was never going to be caught on his back foot ever fucking again.
He started whistling a song that heโd learned as a child to play on the violin to his mother. His lips couldnโt do the same justice as strings, but they triedโnonetheless.
Whelp. They had pissed off the gods. Which one was hard to tell, but when a demon and a dragon take to causing absolute and complete chaos in oneโs eyelineโitโs hard to fathom that youโve done anything right. Migi wasnโt the religious sort, and the dwarf seemed to have enough prayers for the lot of them. She was curious, though. A group of bandits razing a town to the ground shouldnโt have called down forces that paramount. If anything, the gods would have shown their attention by causing a mud stormโshitting on them further. Yet, Migi had no answers to the lingering questions that rolled around in her head like nuts in a hollow tree. Instead, she focused on their new travelling companions.
She was suspicious of them, to say the least. Of course, the most logical reason for their appearance was that their path had also been destroyed or waylaid by the colossal goings-on. Still, it did seem like they were luckier that a lot of people in the valley. Their ragtag group of prisoners had survived by relying on each other. Well, relying on all of them except the rich boy. How did these three make it? Yet, every time that Migi thought to open her mouth to question them, she paused. The half-elf was handsome. Migi didnโt know much about the art of romance but accusing someone of summoning a demon and/or dragon wasnโt the language of flirting. So, she kept her vitriol to herself. Correction, she kept the accusations to herself.
By the Blade, her feet were killing her. Something that everyone was experiencing, their wincing obvious with every step they took. It was an unspoken agreement that they were to get as far away from what happened as possible. โMy feet feel as raw as rich boyโs ass after a night with his martial staff.โ She grunted. โSo, letโs go. I donโt fear no city. Iโd take tall walls over being in eyeline with Lorcanโs stinky balls anymore.โ
Migi brushed her bangs out of the way enough to survey Raddek and the city behind him. She brought her hand to her hip, resting her hand on her newly acquired belt. She wasnโt surprised that there wasnโt an ounce of fabric her size across the wake of the bandits. Burrahobs rarely made it out of Pumpkin Hollow, and they werenโt the sort to fall in with tall folk and their contrary ways. Migi shot a look at their new burrahob compatriot. So, sheโd had to fasten together what she could out of the bits and bobs, making sure to leave the important parts intact. By the end of it, sheโd patchworked the sleeves on, cut most of the tunic off, shored the pants to the best of her ability, and well the shoesโshe was not a cobbler. The soles were intact and covered the bottom of her feet. That was the best that she could ask for. Sheโd need to see to a new set of clothes, quick. The weapon was fine. Despite her size, she was used to using the tall folkโs weapons.
โWe probably keep the flaps of our lips sealed tight,โ Migi said to Emmaline. โWhile youโre right, we donโt look well off enough to attract the attention of sticky fingers, if we go around talkinโ about dragons and demonsโweโll attract the attention of the looney zealots.โ She shot a look to the dwarf but didnโt follow through. โAnd if we talk to the smart and lawful ones, they could start askinโ questions why weโre there. Look. I got out from behind one set of bars, I ainโt goinโ back. Iโd rather be stuffed and mounted on Black Robinโs wall before that happens.โ
It was then walked past Raddek and patted him on the bum gingerly. โNow letโs get somewhere with chairs and booze. I could use a drink, some food, and a roof to take a shit under.โ
| ๐ฃ๐ ๐ณ๐ค : 11 APRIL 2018 | ๐จ๐ญ๐ณ๐ค๐ฑ๐ ๐ข๐ณ๐จ๐ฎ๐ญ๐ฒ : NONE | ๐ซ๐ฎ๐ข๐ ๐ณ๐จ๐ฎ๐ญ : HINOTORI HIGH |
At least the clouds obscured the bruises that were slowly starting to form on Makiโs face. Well, that and the makeup that she wore. The morning had begun with a rather startled jerk from sleep. Sheโd had a dream. It was a recurring one that kept haunting the periphery of her mind. Usually, her nightmares were the usual fare. Falling from an extreme height and being unable to catch herself. Struggling to swim to the surface. Being given a test that she knew nothing about because sheโd not attended the class for the entire year. Catching Shiro with Funai, or Nakano, or even the blind girl. It was all self-constructed obstacles that she dreamt about. They werenโt ever about โbeing awoken,โ and they never asked her to take care of herself. Her dreams didnโt give two flying shits about her physical or mental state.
Yetโฆ the whole thing felt real, in the way that an old memory from childhood did. Did your younger mind make it up, or was it real?
Though it weighed heavy on her mind, Maki filed it away to deal with her day. Repetition was beginning to settle in like her spine into a seat. Uncomfortable, but she couldnโt do a damn thing to change it. Sure, she could stand up, but what good would that do her? Sheโd already rocked the boat with her parents and the school. While Kyoto was fine to turn its head on a lot of things until she was older, she couldnโt keep leaning on the forgiveness of strangers or the law. No, she had to justโฆ exist in that fragile bubble that drifted between utter chaos and choking back the barf of being kind to assholes. Speaking of whichโฆ
Maki dallied as she made her way towards the Student Council room, pausing at many a window in hopes that something would burst from the sky and save her from this fate. Nope. No apocalypse or dragon to speak of. She blew warm air into the windowpane and traced a frowny face with her finger. She did that to a few different of them in probably the easiest to clean vandalization she could muster.
When she reached the Student Council room, she hesitated in front of the door. She ran a hand through her short hair, colored chunks shining through the darker tresses. Her black, smoky eye was fully on point because quite frankly she wanted to look as โfuck you and the horse you rode in onโ as possible. She loosened her tie and draped her headphones around her neck. To anyone looking on, itโd look like quite the pedantic charade. To her, though, it was what little war paint she could slap on.
Maki opened the door, not showing as much casual restraint as she had with the Teacherโs Lounge. She glanced around quickly, noting the lack of Chicken Guy, and frowned. Really? He was going to be the punk-ass? Dammit. She was assured that the breastbone of his favorite snack would be thoroughly up his butt. But man, she had to give him credit for flaking.
โHowdy,โ she said, her inflection filled with boredom. โHere to be locked into the academic stocks and have figurative tomatoes thrown into my face.โ She smiled that dark-lipped smile.
@psych0pomp Top notch character sheet, glad to have you aboard! Go ahead and post her in the characters tab.
And done!
Thank you. I love the Fallout universe, and it's nice to see an RP setup that feels like a gratifying narrative for it. A good mystery and a ragtag group sent out to find it. I'm excited to be here.
๐ฐ๐ถ๐ด & ๐ณ๐ฐ๐๐ด ๐พ๐ต ๐ฑ๐ธ๐๐๐ท 34, August 2252 ๐ถ๐ด๐ฝ๐ณ๐ด๐ Feminine ๐๐ฟ๐ด๐ฒ๐ธ๐ด๐ Human ๐ฟ๐๐พ๐ต๐ด๐๐๐ธ๐พ๐ฝ Gun for Hire
๐ผ๐พ๐๐ธ๐ ๐ฐ๐๐ธ๐พ๐ฝ & ๐พ๐๐๐ป๐พ๐พ๐บ Lacquer coats her tongue like an old game table in New Vegas. The lights shine off it just right, but it wasn't its original sheen. Jack likes it that way. The more people watching the spinning top of the roulette counter, the less they can see that they're getting swindled. The thrill of holding a win over her adversaries is what Jack lives for. A lucrative tryst with a few more bottlecaps in her pocket and a new hat. A wager set on a bottle of moonshine and a shooting contest where she forgets to shut just one eye as she blasts an old Nuka Cola bottle off someone's head. Lifting some old tech under the prospect that she's from the Brotherhood is a little close to home, her original one, but she knows all the jargon to make it work. Jack doesn't want to get by in the world with hard work. She wants to gamble and lie her way up. It's more interesting that way.
Maybe there's a flicker of altruism there, though. While she's slow to trust, if someone has paid her to care--she'll care. She can lie her way in and out of trouble, dragging her compatriots with her. But when it's time to put someone's hide on the line, she offers her's knowing she can get out. She's as slippery as a radroach. And even deeper, past all the lies and the sleight of hand, is someone that'll not care what your outside looks like. Jack's more interested in the intentions in your heart. ๐ฑ๐ฐ๐ฒ๐บ๐๐๐พ๐๐
Ever heard of the town of New Boone? No. Well, there's a reason for that. Jacelyn Mercy was born there under a different name entirely. Like every other kid in the wastes of the Mojave, she had to learn to be quick and cunning not to get gobbled up by the nearest sentient whatever. The town was established by an old prewar structure that managed to have some technology within it. None of it was worth anything or functional. The town wished to keep their findings a secret, and it would have probably stayed that way had it not been for various travelers. Yet, before that time came, Jack had the rare honor to play with whatever she found. Her thirst for knowledge was incapable of being parched. So, when the Brotherhood showed up, as they do, to relieve the idiots of their fool's gold, Jack wanted to go with the technology. As it stood, building a fledgling settlement around defunct machinery wasn't very lucrative. Her parents were more than happy to give her up. So, began her time as an initiate in the Brotherhood.
You don't want to know much of the next part. It's what you could imagine from a child being raised in a pseudo-religious-militant organization that would make out with their power armor if it didn't look so strange. Yet, despite Jack's begging to have joined the BoS, she began to resent that decision. She found that her interest in technology was more the interest in deciphering puzzles and "winning" the contest of who could explain what the hell the prewar contraptions did the fastest. She only ascended the ranks because she hated doing the grunt work and listening to the jeering that came with being low on the totem pole. She became a scribe of the Order of the Sword, interested in guns and why they shot (also why so many paladins practically married their armor.) It was during that time that she met a knight, Isiah Hillside. He'd grown up within the BoS, and he found Jack's stories about everything else and her rebuffing of the constant stick-up-the-ass demeanor to be hilarious. He even found her having to constantly mop the floors of the labs for disciplinary reasons humorous. Of course, he went out of his way to maybe tip a few liquids onto the floor. This was how their flirting went. To an outside observer, it seemed that Jack was going to knife him in his sleep.
They married in their early twenties. It was probably too young, but their thoughts ran the course of "how long are we going to live, seriously?" But again, you're not here to learn how much they actually loved each other. More so, listing out every mission that they went on would be redundant. Instead, let's skip to the inciting incident. In the year 2276, when Jack was 24, the NCR dealt a crippling blow to the BoS. Yet, that wasn't what would change Jack's course of life as much as what happened when their brothers were decimated. They had been sent to root out a small supermutant band that had been moving closer and closer to their base. It was a small contingent, and Jack went along to test a new modification to their laser guns. If it failed, she needed to be there to remedy the fact quick enough. Unfortunately, their intel was bad, and the band of supermutants was far larger than expected. The paladins went down, followed by the knights, and Jack only survived because Isiah drew their attention away from her hiding spot. When the commotion died down and the biting tang of blood was all that Jack could taste, she dragged herself out. She walked among the bodies, not wanting to really look them in the face. Inevitably, she steeled her nerves enough to start collecting dog tags and what valuable technology she could. What she noticed quickly, was that Isiah wasn't among the dead. She found where he'd been disarmed and armored and dragged away.
Jack followed the tracks the best she could, but it became apparent that she'd never catch up in enough time to find him alive or human. So, she headed back to the Brotherhood of Steel base. Remember what I said about the destruction? Assured that it had been decimated by the NCR, Jack found herself without cause or home. In one last attempt for normalcy, she headed back to New Boone. Well, I already telegraphed the sad ending to that. Jack was entirely alone. At that time, she was not called Jacelyn Mercy, but at that moment in the middle of the abandoned town--she became her.
More time passed, as it likes to do, and Jack found herself moving through the Mojave Wastes like a tumbleweed. There was no love for the Brotherhood, especially as she became more and more acquainted with the NCR. So, she had to rely on her knowledge, charisma, and fighting skills to get by. Jack's survival instinct served her well. She was able to work herself in and out of low society, and her teachings and manners allowed her to find purchase in high society. In the town of New Vegas she was looked at as the "Woman from the Wastes with Wit and Weapons." It was comfortable living. Yet, the feel of comfort itched something awful. She'd do jobs for whoever paid her. They all had varying levels of stakes and danger, but it was the only way to stay alive and entertained. It was easy to make her way around with what was afforded to her in New Vegas. She'd take care of the dirty deeds without nary a valiant hiccup in her way. She'd tried to play by the rules, and she'd been left with nothing.
Yet, as the years passed, maybe her consciousness started to weigh on her. Most of her dreams were nightmares. That battle ringing in her ears. The screaming. The dying. The last look at Isiah's face before nothing. Yet, her mind wouldn't leave the nagging fear alone. He'd always pop back up in her dreams, but his face was imposed with that of a supermutants'. Jack didn't know how, but she was sure he was still out there. Not that she could do much about it. But she didn't have to stay here.
So, Jack took what bottlecaps she could and left in the middle of the night. She needed to get out of there. Jack made some enemies with her flight, so letting her trail cool a while could help. And what better way to do that than to head to Oregan with a doctor that wants to track down one woman in all of the wasteland? A woman that was immune to radiation. Jack would have laughed, but her dreams enjoyed playing again and again her mind. So, she figured they needed someone that could get in and out of places without the need to turn everything into a lukewarm steak. That was her specialty, being cunning, charismatic, and caustic.
Brotherhood of Steel: She is technically still a scribe, though currently marked as MIA. Her relationship with them is good, occasionally using private channels to check-in, but she won't flip on a dime for them.
NCR: If she could spit into the mouth of a governmental organization, she would. While she has much disdain for them, it's not like she's planning for an all-out war. Jack is smart enough to know that she'd die.
New Vegas: Decent relationship with the city, and she has a name there. Of course, she may have dirtied it a bit with her latest antics. But they love her, right?
James & Virginia REDACTED: Jack's birth parents. With the dissolution of New Boone, she doesn't know if they're alive or dead. She had a rather fraught relationship while they were together, but they were family.
Ben REDACTED: Jack's baby brother that had been born shortly before she left. Honestly, she couldn't tell you anything about him. Other than the fact that he's blood... and... was born a boy?
Isiah Hillside [DECEASED OR WORSE]: A paladin in the Brotherhood of Steel and Jack's husband. Might still be out there...
Small Guns & Energy Guns: She has the knowledge of how to use them and maintain them. She isn't a crack shot, but she's not bad either.
Speech: Jack knows her way around a word two. She'll work them just as well as a ghoul stripper works a pole.
Bartering: A mixture from her days within the Brotherhood and New Vegas. She knows the real worth of something and can talk someone up or down. Now, she can't sell piss as Nukacola, but she'll damn well try.
Gambling Sleight of Hand: That makes it sound important, right? Being deft with one's fingers and not having a crippling debt addiction.
Lockpicking: She can't flavor this one any better, but give her some bobby pins and a minute... and she's in. The food lockers at the Brotherhood's base didn't break into themselves.
Repair: Only on weapons and other offensive technology that the Brotherhood of Steel would use.
๐๐ด๐ฐ๐ฟ๐พ๐ฝ๐
Primary AEP7 Laser Pistol
Secondary Modified 10mm Pistol (Reinforced with better mechanical parts, grip, and a fun little charm she found in a prewar gas station)
๐ด๐๐๐๐ฐ She wears her wedding ring looped around the same chain that has her dog tags. They're all tucked under her clothes. She's never without them.
๐ฐ๐ถ๐ด & ๐ณ๐ฐ๐๐ด ๐พ๐ต ๐ฑ๐ธ๐๐๐ท 34, August 2252 ๐ถ๐ด๐ฝ๐ณ๐ด๐ Feminine ๐๐ฟ๐ด๐ฒ๐ธ๐ด๐ Human ๐ฟ๐๐พ๐ต๐ด๐๐๐ธ๐พ๐ฝ Gun for Hire
๐ผ๐พ๐๐ธ๐ ๐ฐ๐๐ธ๐พ๐ฝ & ๐พ๐๐๐ป๐พ๐พ๐บ Lacquer coats her tongue like an old game table in New Vegas. The lights shine off it just right, but it wasn't its original sheen. Jack likes it that way. The more people watching the spinning top of the roulette counter, the less they can see that they're getting swindled. The thrill of holding a win over her adversaries is what Jack lives for. A lucrative tryst with a few more bottlecaps in her pocket and a new hat. A wager set on a bottle of moonshine and a shooting contest where she forgets to shut just one eye as she blasts an old Nuka Cola bottle off someone's head. Lifting some old tech under the prospect that she's from the Brotherhood is a little close to home, her original one, but she knows all the jargon to make it work. Jack doesn't want to get by in the world with hard work. She wants to gamble and lie her way up. It's more interesting that way.
Maybe there's a flicker of altruism there, though. While she's slow to trust, if someone has paid her to care--she'll care. She can lie her way in and out of trouble, dragging her compatriots with her. But when it's time to put someone's hide on the line, she offers her's knowing she can get out. She's as slippery as a radroach. And even deeper, past all the lies and the sleight of hand, is someone that'll not care what your outside looks like. Jack's more interested in the intentions in your heart. ๐ฑ๐ฐ๐ฒ๐บ๐๐๐พ๐๐
Ever heard of the town of New Boone? No. Well, there's a reason for that. Jacelyn Mercy was born there under a different name entirely. Like every other kid in the wastes of the Mojave, she had to learn to be quick and cunning not to get gobbled up by the nearest sentient whatever. The town was established by an old prewar structure that managed to have some technology within it. None of it was worth anything or functional. The town wished to keep their findings a secret, and it would have probably stayed that way had it not been for various travelers. Yet, before that time came, Jack had the rare honor to play with whatever she found. Her thirst for knowledge was incapable of being parched. So, when the Brotherhood showed up, as they do, to relieve the idiots of their fool's gold, Jack wanted to go with the technology. As it stood, building a fledgling settlement around defunct machinery wasn't very lucrative. Her parents were more than happy to give her up. So, began her time as an initiate in the Brotherhood.
You don't want to know much of the next part. It's what you could imagine from a child being raised in a pseudo-religious-militant organization that would make out with their power armor if it didn't look so strange. Yet, despite Jack's begging to have joined the BoS, she began to resent that decision. She found that her interest in technology was more the interest in deciphering puzzles and "winning" the contest of who could explain what the hell the prewar contraptions did the fastest. She only ascended the ranks because she hated doing the grunt work and listening to the jeering that came with being low on the totem pole. She became a scribe of the Order of the Sword, interested in guns and why they shot (also why so many paladins practically married their armor.) It was during that time that she met a knight, Isiah Hillside. He'd grown up within the BoS, and he found Jack's stories about everything else and her rebuffing of the constant stick-up-the-ass demeanor to be hilarious. He even found her having to constantly mop the floors of the labs for disciplinary reasons humorous. Of course, he went out of his way to maybe tip a few liquids onto the floor. This was how their flirting went. To an outside observer, it seemed that Jack was going to knife him in his sleep.
They married in their early twenties. It was probably too young, but their thoughts ran the course of "how long are we going to live, seriously?" But again, you're not here to learn how much they actually loved each other. More so, listing out every mission that they went on would be redundant. Instead, let's skip to the inciting incident. In the year 2276, when Jack was 24, the NCR dealt a crippling blow to the BoS. Yet, that wasn't what would change Jack's course of life as much as what happened when their brothers were decimated. They had been sent to root out a small supermutant band that had been moving closer and closer to their base. It was a small contingent, and Jack went along to test a new modification to their laser guns. If it failed, she needed to be there to remedy the fact quick enough. Unfortunately, their intel was bad, and the band of supermutants was far larger than expected. The paladins went down, followed by the knights, and Jack only survived because Isiah drew their attention away from her hiding spot. When the commotion died down and the biting tang of blood was all that Jack could taste, she dragged herself out. She walked among the bodies, not wanting to really look them in the face. Inevitably, she steeled her nerves enough to start collecting dog tags and what valuable technology she could. What she noticed quickly, was that Isiah wasn't among the dead. She found where he'd been disarmed and armored and dragged away.
Jack followed the tracks the best she could, but it became apparent that she'd never catch up in enough time to find him alive or human. So, she headed back to the Brotherhood of Steel base. Remember what I said about the destruction? Assured that it had been decimated by the NCR, Jack found herself without cause or home. In one last attempt for normalcy, she headed back to New Boone. Well, I already telegraphed the sad ending to that. Jack was entirely alone. At that time, she was not called Jacelyn Mercy, but at that moment in the middle of the abandoned town--she became her.
More time passed, as it likes to do, and Jack found herself moving through the Mojave Wastes like a tumbleweed. There was no love for the Brotherhood, especially as she became more and more acquainted with the NCR. So, she had to rely on her knowledge, charisma, and fighting skills to get by. Jack's survival instinct served her well. She was able to work herself in and out of low society, and her teachings and manners allowed her to find purchase in high society. In the town of New Vegas she was looked at as the "Woman from the Wastes with Wit and Weapons." It was comfortable living. Yet, the feel of comfort itched something awful. She'd do jobs for whoever paid her. They all had varying levels of stakes and danger, but it was the only way to stay alive and entertained. It was easy to make her way around with what was afforded to her in New Vegas. She'd take care of the dirty deeds without nary a valiant hiccup in her way. She'd tried to play by the rules, and she'd been left with nothing.
Yet, as the years passed, maybe her consciousness started to weigh on her. Most of her dreams were nightmares. That battle ringing in her ears. The screaming. The dying. The last look at Isiah's face before nothing. Yet, her mind wouldn't leave the nagging fear alone. He'd always pop back up in her dreams, but his face was imposed with that of a supermutants'. Jack didn't know how, but she was sure he was still out there. Not that she could do much about it. But she didn't have to stay here.
So, Jack took what bottlecaps she could and left in the middle of the night. She needed to get out of there. Jack made some enemies with her flight, so letting her trail cool a while could help. And what better way to do that than to head to Oregan with a doctor that wants to track down one woman in all of the wasteland? A woman that was immune to radiation. Jack would have laughed, but her dreams enjoyed playing again and again her mind. So, she figured they needed someone that could get in and out of places without the need to turn everything into a lukewarm steak. That was her specialty, being cunning, charismatic, and caustic.
Brotherhood of Steel: She is technically still a scribe, though currently marked as MIA. Her relationship with them is good, occasionally using private channels to check-in, but she won't flip on a dime for them.
NCR: If she could spit into the mouth of a governmental organization, she would. While she has much disdain for them, it's not like she's planning for an all-out war. Jack is smart enough to know that she'd die.
New Vegas: Decent relationship with the city, and she has a name there. Of course, she may have dirtied it a bit with her latest antics. But they love her, right?
James & Virginia REDACTED: Jack's birth parents. With the dissolution of New Boone, she doesn't know if they're alive or dead. She had a rather fraught relationship while they were together, but they were family.
Ben REDACTED: Jack's baby brother that had been born shortly before she left. Honestly, she couldn't tell you anything about him. Other than the fact that he's blood... and... was born a boy?
Isiah Hillside [DECEASED OR WORSE]: A paladin in the Brotherhood of Steel and Jack's husband. Might still be out there...
Small Guns & Energy Guns: She has the knowledge of how to use them and maintain them. She isn't a crack shot, but she's not bad either.
Speech: Jack knows her way around a word two. She'll work them just as well as a ghoul stripper works a pole.
Bartering: A mixture from her days within the Brotherhood and New Vegas. She knows the real worth of something and can talk someone up or down. Now, she can't sell piss as Nukacola, but she'll damn well try.
Gambling Sleight of Hand: That makes it sound important, right? Being deft with one's fingers and not having a crippling debt addiction.
Lockpicking: She can't flavor this one any better, but give her some bobby pins and a minute... and she's in. The food lockers at the Brotherhood's base didn't break into themselves.
Repair: Only on weapons and other offensive technology that the Brotherhood of Steel would use.
๐๐ด๐ฐ๐ฟ๐พ๐ฝ๐
Primary AEP7 Laser Pistol
Secondary Modified 10mm Pistol (Reinforced with better mechanical parts, grip, and a fun little charm she found in a prewar gas station)
๐ด๐๐๐๐ฐ She wears her wedding ring looped around the same chain that has her dog tags. They're all tucked under her clothes. She's never without them.
Qia
Fading Memory
Hound55
Wayward
Abstract Proxy
TheMushroomLord
Auz
Asura
Skai
SouffleGirl123
