QJT

Noble Arms - The ASEAN War, Second Thread

Mischief Reef – 11/01/2022, 08:23 UTC +8

Jasmine's sundress and flip flops were thankfully among the few luxury items she packed in her suitcase. The thought of roaming the sandy beaches in navy attire discomforted her. Those inevitable granules in her dress shoes... She shuddered as she strolled across the moist sandbar, silently delighting in what impressions her footfalls made. Nonetheless, the briefcase she carried had to double for a tote bag.

Her target was yonder cluster of Noble Arms Masters. Admiral Abasolo explicitly instructed to gauge and assist their well being, yet another reason why uniforms were a bad idea. Even so, her visage was drawn to the lone surfer on the outlying seas. Female, seemingly. Was it Lidmann? Jasmine squinted. Yes, apparently so! The Brit's rigorous determination to completing her task gave her an ironically graceful flow to her movement. Jasmine waved, though doubtless Callie's attention was directed elsewhere, judging by her own hand gestures.

Jasmine was so distracted that she almost ignored a massive pit in the sand. She approached it for inspection and was surprised to discover Orozco inside, busily shoveling away at the ground. The crevice was very clearly taller than he; otherwise she'd have spotted a head protruding off the surface. As she stood on the precipice, the sand underneath her began to give way. She staggered backward. Iker finally noticed as his bare toes were covered entirely. He glanced up and shielded his eyes. "What a pleasant surprise!" he announced.

"Yes, um," Jasmine stuttered. What response does such a situation warrant? "Apologies for refilling your hole."

Iker shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first; won't be the last. I wish to employ your assistance, if you desire penitence. Are those waves distant presently? I can't view them from my position."

Jasmine peered out towards Callie again. "I reckon the tide's coming in; it wasn't that aggressive previously. There's no urgency, however."

Iker snapped his fingers. "Confound it." He thrust his shovel into the side of his hovel.

"What's the matter?"

Sand flew out the opening. "So, when excavating this kind of structure, dampness composition is key. Water keeps the walls rigid. Too far from the waterline, and the dry sand falls downward and pours in. Too close, and-" To punctuate, a rogue wave stormed over the dreary gray plains, stopping just at Iker's construction. Jasmine yelped as the frigidity touched her. A foot's worth of progress fell off and slushed at the bottom, hardening to cement Iker's feet in sturdy sand. "That happens," he quipped.

"An exercise in futility, then," Jasmine lamented. "Why do you do it?"

Iker held up his hands. "It's a diversion. And eerily peaceful." Before resuming, he divined additional reasons. "I want to conclude my vacation with an accomplishment, you know?" He tagged a glint of white and blue. "Would you appreciate a seashell?"

Jasmine smiled. "That would be lovely; thanks!" Iker carefully extracted a pristine specimen out of the stucco and extended his arm upward. Jasmine collected and toyed with it, as humans often do with dazzling trinkets. "I'll cherish it," she promised, "but I don't suppose it's healthy to labor alone."

Iker surveyed his workspace. "I didn't bring a second trowel, and I doubt the spare space would fit you. But I'm certain you can locate tools in the abandoned Chinese base. That's where I got mine."

"No, I meant you should fraternize with the others," she laughed, pointing off to Qingshe. "A bunch of our friends gather beside that tree. You could use the social acumen."

Iker's countenance disagreed with that advice, but he had little rationale to support his objection. "The project isn't nearly deep enough for my usual specifications."

A sister wave dumped an extra load of sediment into the basin, ensnaring Iker to his knees. "Perhaps it's the will of God," he mused. Resigned to abandonment, he outstretched his palm. Jasmine squeezed it and pulled with her full strength. Iker was out in a jiffy. He dusted himself off and sighed in relief. "Lead me to this gathering."

The duo arrived in time to hear Callie's boisterous announcement, followed by instant regret: “…I have definitely interrupted something, haven’t I?”

"It likely wasn't important," Iker assured, scanning the scene for faces. He knew... probably two or three of those present, and none particularly well. "Our aim is to relax, and there's no relaxation in heavy talk. Certainly not while we have numbers for what constitutes a party, or maybe some manner of sports." He stretched. "Speaking of, 'twas you who rode the surfboard, wasn't it? Well performed!"

"Yes, you're quite deft!" Jasmine added. "Well, since the conversation is halted," she unbuckled her case, "I've been authorized by my superiors to distribute these for a job well done at Jinghong Dam." She opened her luggage like a book, displaying the vibrantly colored wrappers within. "Candies! Nothing that melts, of course. Select your favorites! They're American imports. I guess not everything from the United States is cutoff from us, eh?"

Iker perused the selection. "Anything watermelon flavored?"

"Gum, I think." Jasmine nodded to a lime green rectangular wrapper, and Orozco nabbed it.

"So, would anyone care for music?" Iker asked. "I don't possess instruments, but I'm sure our powers combined might assemble an orchestra of sorts."

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

The Meld - Late Afternoon, November 18th

Sister Genetta Williams - Followers of the Apocalypse

The door swung open and Genetta found herself staring down the barrel of a very serious-looking firearm. Time seemed to freeze.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Kings boys’ lightning reflexes kicking into gear, but even as their hands began the descent to their holsters, her brain had made the calculations.

Two women, who looked like ordinary frontier folk, albeit healthy and less radiation-scarred. One of them holding a rifle. No frightening military gadgets, no high-tech sci-fi apparatus. If they truly wanted strangers dead, or to make a terrifying display of force, this wouldn’t be their vanguard: a woman wielding a single rifle.

This was familiar to Genetta. It was no dystopian horror, such as an army of mechs or plasma-wielding footsoldiers that might be found in an Enclave bunker. It was a scene that she might encounter walking into a homestead, or a bar in a settlement that had just fended off Legion scouts. A single woman, whose practical frontier hospitality could turn into hostility at the sound of a Raider’s footsteps.

Genetta raised her arms in front of the Kings guards in a gesture of placation. Even as she did so, there was a sound from behind her, and she spun around to see another Vault dweller, a male this time. She just had time to process the axe he’d set down beside him (lowered is good! her brain interjected) when he broke into a warm greeting that seemed surreal, given their welcome.

The dark-haired woman holding the gun explained. It was as Genetta had suspected - recent aggression from outsiders, always a possibility on the frontier, had sent these three into high alert.

The Kings boys relaxed their muscles a notch, and everyone seemed to take a breath.

That was fortunate, because the second Vault woman almost jumped on Genetta and began dragging her away by the arm. Genetta did not resist, and the Kings guards trailed behind her, still primed for action, but mollified by the presence of a single unarmed woman.

When they were alone, the Vault Dweller burst into an extraordinary monologue. Despite herself, Genetta’s brain began making notes on the flood of cultural information issuing from the young lady’s conversation. Genetta knew body language and customs could vary wildly between settlements, but something told her this young woman was bored, lonely, and very keen for someone new to talk to.

I never thought about how lonely it must be for people with the wrong psychological profile to live underground, sealed into a single community. I’ve never met a young lady who’s quite this effusive and forthcoming. Vault-Tec definitely didn’t screen all their initial entrants, let alone their descendants. Quite the opposite - reports suggest that in some Vaults they deliberately chose individuals with vulnerable personalities and placed them in high-stress situations to observe the outcomes.

Genetta swallowed. “Um, Miss… Amber, I think the other lady called you? A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Thank you for being so friendly - I was afraid at first that our reception would be none too friendly. Do you mind if we backtrack a bit? Say, start with introductions? My name’s Miss Genetta Williams. And I’m with a group called the Followers of the Apocalypse. I would love to learn… well, everything about you. And as for us - well, I wouldn’t really say we’re America. We’re part of what’s left on the surface.”

@Cymbeline90

Amber glanced to the shut egress. If that comprised a tamer reception than expected, the Followers of the Apocalypse endured tragic lifestyles indeed. Pitiable creatures. Whatever this self described surface residue desired, she'd accommodate within reason. Amber mustered a smile, for their sake. "And a pleasure to meet yours! I'm Miss Amber Whitaker, eventually Missus Amber Floyd should my beau ever muster the conviction to pop the question!~" The last sentence's inflection trailed into a mournful sour note, which Amber quickly corrected.

"Everything about me… Well, I was born in Floor Eight's Birthing Facility to the King and Queen of Spades. I got assigned the Nine of Hearts, so they transferred me to the Bentons, who nurture hydroponics on Level Three." She whipped from her pocket an old yet nearly pristine condition playing card to that effect. "Mister Benton was a benevolent father figure after his spouse passed. I knew the Whitakers merely as loose acquaintances. As a Heart, I managed the dining facilities, so I had ample conversation opportunities in their daily routine. Apparently they're respectable folk among their kin, operating the electricity generators down on Seven.

"My heritage is likely my most interesting aspect," she stated. "The greater portion of my life was expended mopping the floors and sanitizing the machinery, as Nines are instructed. I cross stitch and crochet like everyone else nowadays. I fashion potholders and handkerchiefs at fifteen caps apiece." She snapped her fingers. "I was provided a solo assignment for the Women's Chorus! We compiled a Stephen Foster medley, and I was selected for one stanza of 'Swanee River.' My merit earned me a placement for 'I Heard the Bells' in the wintertime compilation!" She reflected on her prior deeds. "The diner once fended off a Radscorpion, but that's not exceptional, I don't think, certainly not in the wasteland. And furthermore a rather dreary subject." She shuddered at the notion.

----

After awhile, the Colonel Bogey March becomes less timekeeping than farcical. Danny’s and Eve’s footfalls lost rhythm, wholly off sync as their destination came into view.

Eve had better views at her height. “Amber talks with some cowgirl before the Meld. A couple strangers are with them.”

Nines stopped exercising his harmonica and stowed it. “You shall bring the strangers aside; I’ll discuss with Amber,” he stated. Eve halted, beholding her former subordinate with clear distaste. Floyd continued a few yards ahead before turning back. “Objections?”

They locked stares, and Eve blinked. “None… sir.” She resumed pace. Danny quietly exhaled, careful not to disclose how effortlessly she would have overwhelmed his gambit.

The Ace tromped ahead, touching Genetta Williams gently on the shoulder, increasing pressure as the Follower was made aware of her presence. “Redirect yourselves over here. We’ll answer your concerns shortly.”

Amber lit up at the sight of Eve Cannon in equal parts joy and panic. “Hey, Faye- sorry, Eve! What brings you to-”

Eve silenced her with a smile, though her eyes brimmed with curiosity. After stowing the three newcomers carefully at the side wall, she located Bradley and sicced him on them. She then opened the door and passed in.

Reflecting briefly on the new situation but reluctantly accepting it, Amber rushed to her beau and enveloped him. To keep from stumbling over, Daniel stepped back and twisted around, using his girlfriend’s momentum to lean her downwards. The gesture was far more romantic than he’d planned but nonetheless appreciated by both lovers. “Sweetheart,” he crooned. “It’s been a few hours. Already I missed you.”

Amber melted. This was the romance she sought for so long. She grabbed his shoulders and pulled herself up to kiss him. “For you, honey? I’d wait a lifetime!”

Daniel propped Amber up and dusted her off. For a brief moment, the world’s burdens had stepped aside, but he recalled his obligations. “Amber, might we converse in private?”

Amber checked the three visitors in the distance who tried to scrounge up discussion with the would-be axe murderer. “We are ‘in private,’ honey.”

“No, I’d prefer a getaway,” he clarified.

Amber gasped. Such a romantic showing, followed by the desire for privacy together, implied a very specific matter. She caught her breath. “Yes, certainly, as faraway as you desire.” She squealed silently as Daniel guided her.

Nines couldn’t get straight to business. “How’s everyone holding up?”

“Fine, fine,” Amber stated, restraining herself from bursting with energy. Amid the emotional commotion, a data point did arise. “Faye arrived today, recently in fact! She wants to live here in exile, if you’d permit. She submitted to your jurisdiction (her words). You’ve picked up her sister, it appears!”

Daniel looked to the Meld’s doorway. Whatever combustion he’d have expected it to cause, no heard no proof of ignition. Best not to ruminate on the situation.

Horowitz Farmstead - Evening, November 18th

He nodded towards his beloved to signal their destination. “So, I’ll cut to the chase. I talked with Don Omerta, who pledges to contribute soldiers and freshwater in exchange for pre-war technology and the technicians to utilize it.”

Amber cocked her head, staring blankly into a small patch of dirt. “To what end?”
Daniel nodded. “I’m usurping Vault 48, and concluding its infighting.”
“Okay.”
“That’s it? You’ve no qualms with the endeavor?” Daniel’s jaw was agape.

She fixated upon him. “Danny, honey, I followed you outside the Vault, to the furthest perimeters of our faction. I forfeit my life to venture beside you. I’d stick my head in a Deathclaw’s jaws if needs must. If we travel homeward to end this odyssey, then what a blessing it’s been! I’ll remember this in frailty and old age.” Amber clutched her beau’s palm for effect. "No ambition of yours will deter me. Nobody else on Earth valued me as you did. We huddled alone against the world's machinations; I would perish if I let go. Between you and any other mortal thing, you are my volition."

With his free hand, Daniel brushed his fingers through her fiery bobbed hair. Beyond upholding Henry’s legacy, far beyond the pacification, he now knew the end purpose of his schemes. “I will adorn you in gold and silv- no, platinum and rhodium. Silver is beneath you. You’ll wear the finest silks, or the comfiest fabrics. Fresh flowers will daily rest upon your head. You’ll bear gemstones crafted a millennium ago, a continent away. When those inevitably pale in luster beside you, I’ll hire tinkers to cut new gemstones to match your beauty. If the world comes to a second apocalypse, the survivors will recognize you by name. They’ll call you the Last Great Queen among Men.”

Amber chuckled as she parsed Daniel’s Dutch beard with her own digits. “If you intend to drown me in luxury, honey, remember me as I was now.” She pecked him on the cheek. “So, that’s all?”

Nines blinked. “Yes… that’s what I desired to share. Why do you ask?”

Amber deflated slightly, perusing her surroundings. The quaint scenery was serviceable. Streetlights from olden days failed their function in the nautical twilight. Vines clung to rustic ruins with vain intentions. “Well, in an area this secluded, I’d hoped for… a romantic benchmark of sorts?”

It took Floyd a full minute to realize the implications. “Ah. Okay, I mean, if you wanted it presently.” He pulled out a box and unveiled the brass fitting within. “Remember when the ice cream machine broke? You recruited me to find the missing fixture. I did, eventually, after it was already replaced. Anyways, I regarded those times fondly, as a first date of sorts. I’d saved this for an opportune occasion, but,” he shrugged, “What the heck. Wanna get hitched?”

The Nine of Hearts threw herself around the Nine of Clubs. “Absolutely! Of course, yes!” Daniel felt small droplets on his shoulder. “That is simultaneously the most romantic, yet charmless proposal! You truly are hopeless, aren’t you, Danny?”

Floyd grinned. “That bad, huh? If you don’t approve of it-”

“It surpasses all the gold in the world!” Amber seized the brass ring and placed it on her finger. Though Daniel had estimated cautiously, the perfect fit still astonished him.

“So, shall we go inform the troupe?” he propositioned.

Amber wiped her tears. “I will if you won’t!”

The Meld - Evening, November 18th

Charlotte’s cocked lever action was the least tense element regarding the reunion. Faye’s face was flush. Eve barely maintained composure. As an infant would take first steps, Faye paced herself towards her long lost friend. They promptly broke into lunges towards each other. In the split second between launch and impact, Isabel’s eyes beckoned Charlotte to pull the trigger. Charlotte strained her better judgment to avoid doing so.

The sisters embraced, with strong surety that only familial passion instigated. Palms outstretched across each other’s spines; their arms pressed themselves closer together. The kitchen chair creaked as Isabel relaxed upon it.

Faye’s words would be indiscernible amid her breaking voice had they not been repeated frequently. “I’m so sorry," "I’m glad you’re safe," "It’s good to see you again," "Please forgive me.”

Eve had had a brief moment to mentally prepare herself. Then again, she always managed her emotions more methodically. Her chin hovered over her sister's shoulder. Her mouth pressed against Faye's head. The same waterworks flowed, but her words started with “There, there;” “There’s nothing to pardon;” “It’s alright now,” descending in volume until the lone possible receptor in range of Eve’s voice was Faye’s ear. The length Eve took to speak to her former rival was slightly too long for sweet nothings. Gradually, Faye’s muscles weakened, until she less embraced her sister than clung to her for stability. Eve's firm, sororal grasp alone kept her from collapsing.

Isabel nodded to Charlotte. “That’s genuine leadership, there. I’m grateful to be honored by the presence of the Ace of Diamonds.”

Faye pulled away from her sister, struggling to keep upright. “I can do that,” she vowed. She passed an uneasy glance to Isabel, then to Charlotte.

“Be valiant for my sake. For both of ours,” Eve assured.

Charlotte took a deep breath. “Well. You both have ventured far. Can I fetch either of you refreshments?”

Eve complied with social norms, to a point. "I'll check the pantry, if it pleases you." She meandered over to the food cabinet to parse through the offerings. She pointed a digit at a small box, soon palming it as a basketball player would the ball. "Toast'ems. They don't serve these anymore back at base."

"Good riddance," Isabel countered. "Tasteless empty calories, the bunch. Give me bacon and eggs."

"Hey, I appreciate Toast'ems!" Eve protested. Isabel immediately surrendered the argument. "What will you have, Faye? Toasted Oats? Apple Bits? Fruit Rings?"

Faye had selected a chair and now silently perused the table's intricacies. "Whatever works, I guess."

"She likes Apple Bits," Eve covered as she fetched a bowl and poured out a decent helping.

"Milk powder didn't arrive with the latest shipment," Charlotte cautioned.

"She'll eat them dry." Eve pushed the bowl to Faye, who reeled it in in catatonic fashion. Spotting her sister's hesitance, Eve opened her own pack. "You know, Toast'ems come in packs of twos." She unsheathed a frosted thin rectangular pastry and with its corner poked Faye's nose.

Faye puffed out a small burst of air, revealing a smile. Whatever ailment befell her slowly evaporated. "Which flavor is this one? There are only a couple quality ones."

At once, the door opened. “I got engaged!” Amber exclaimed. Had she announced it from Black Mountain, they’d have heard it on the Strip. It filled the homestead with pure volume.

Danny with hands outstretched quipped casually: “She said yes! Can you believe a fellow like me would find a damsel that gorgeous, eh?”

“We must definitely have something special, then!” Charlotte commented, rattling her noggin to keep it from ringing. “How’s about pie?”

Rise of Rasalhague

Hamazasp Sulser

Perhaps the pleasantest aspect of the LCT-1V, besides zipping across the battlefield immune to targeting, was its utter inability to overheat. As Hamazasp fell into line with the other 'Mechs, he didn't fret his windshield's fogging but instead activated his air conditioning towards a cozy hearth. His glass windows tinted from slightly blurry to an opaque milky white. "Confound it!" Shaking his noggin, he halted his movement, lowered the temperature to its deepest setting, and resumed. He'd tolerate the frigidity fine enough.

He trekked directly behind Ulrik's Centurion, which physically blocked his viewport. He only detected the newfound enemy Medium class via his terminal, even after the translucence dissipated. He glanced sideways to see Karel's 'Mech storm the right flank, Zohra on his tail. "The left flank's mine for capture," he relayed, teeth chattering as he spoke. Still unaccustomed to the control network, he reared his Locust around his commander.

He emerged at the front to a busy view: four helicopters above him, a Hunchback beyond him, infantry before him, and his comrade's fiery inferno blasted in his general direction. Just one visage unnerved the Taurian. Ants: the most fearsome of arthropods. They lack the wasp's sting, the spider's venom, and the mosquito's incessant whir. Those frights fade when an apparently dirty floor unexpectedly moves. Quantity had a quality unto itself.

Instinctively, he triggered his dual machine guns upon the troopers. Largely, he was startled. He wouldn't roast such helpless creatures willingly. As his ammunition emptied into the masses, he attempted to justify his own actions. Sulser recognized their potential; he had slept with an ant queen. This horde wouldn't divert its course through reasoning or gentle guidance, which he obviously would've elected were it feasible. That explanation would mollify his recently acquired stowaways come bedtime, yes?

Having done a reasonably decent job both at placating his conscience and genociding the hapless insects, he gazed upwards. Those aircraft were getting away Scot free. He must rectify that error. He redirected his M Laser and casually pressed a button. Shot, hit, kill. He reactivated his comms. "Might I obtain assistance with those VTOLs?" he shivered.

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

Danny "Nines" Floyd - North Gate - Afternoon

The journey's initial mile bore nary a word between Danny and Eve. Cannon, a head above her peer, seemed to relish the silence, basking amid the newer landscape and reflecting upon her fortunes. She plotted each footfall, deftly maneuvering around debris along her path.

Floyd, already familiar with the scenery, languished in light terror, not that his countenance displayed any. He calculated the intricate sequence of events. Should he disclose the conspiracy to the Meld's comrades? The burden of withholding his secrets alone would grind him mentally. Amber was indisputably reliable. The Jack's Revolt was a source of mild contention among Charlotte and Bradley, Bradley supporting the insurrection and Charlotte siding against. Regardless, Charlotte commonly supported Daniel through even his controversial endeavors, and neither lover was overly invested in the conflict. Both could be entrusted. The question then was the order of disclosure...

"You mentioned revelry," Eve stated. "Let's have some." Apparently the placidity lost its luster.

In the absence of strangers, Danny withdrew his harmonica. "Name a tune, then."

"I'd rather not revel thus," she grinned. "Why parleyed you with Don Omerta?"

"As I said," he replied. "To congratulate his wedding."

"Come now," she countered. "You're not one to be chummy with men of such disrepute."

"He has unseen virtues."

"As do I," she pressed. "As do the NCR, and the Brotherhood of Steel, and all characters of the wasteland's remnant factions. Why not fraternize with them?"

"Well, I negotiated with Ambassador Watts prior. The painting expenses must have reached you."

"They have. So it's those with authority," she insisted, turning to lock gazes, looming downwards with that characteristic faint smile. "Are you attracted to folk like me?"

To repay the insult to his beloved, Daniel telegraphed a pommel, the bronze from his enclosed instrument promising an unpleasant experience. Eve swiftly dodged aside, though Daniel didn't intend to make impact. He relaxed his fist. "Infer that again, and you'll see how promptly I shed my decency."

"Then it's ambition," the Ace concluded. "And I desire to hear of it. You've always carried an affinity for self autonomy, but this is something quite separate."

"As if I'd expose myself to the Aces' champion."

"I'm banished in every way but officially," she eased, her hand stopping him in his tracks. "Whatever inner recesses you unveil, none will reach the Council, I assure you."

Daniel sighed. His journey would be halted while he remained aloof. Eve's inquisition proved piercing as ever. Better that his rival understand isolated and defenseless than, for example, in Isabel's presence. "Where lie your loyalties?"

Eve glanced elsewhere, as if the answer was obvious. As she fully realized the implications of Danny's demand, her legs began to tremble in weakness, and she clutched her stomach. After a minute, she summoned her resolve to respond merely: "With the Vault."

"Its inhabitants, or its management?"

She vomited at the roadside and staggered backwards. "Please don't force me to choose," she pleaded.

"They just exiled you! You owe them no allegiance!" Danny shouted, knowing before speaking he elected the incorrect route of argument.

"It was never about my power!" Eve cried, clinging to Floyd's shoulders. "I upheld the Vault's traditions, that our heritage might endure! Surely you agree!"

"And does the current status of 48 resemble that of your childhood?" Nines challenged. "You caused the downfall of our homeland. You and Faye together. Don't hinder my attempt to restore it."

Her vigor exhausted, Eve knelt at his front, still capable of maintaining eye contact at her height. He spoke truth; her eyes reflected her acknowledgement. "I've seen too many brethren perish in my quests. No matter my reservations, I won't contribute to more senseless death from my kin. You'll have my neutrality."

"And you won't inform members of the homestead without my express permission, yes?"

Eve swallowed. "Allow me to confide in my sister. I know she's escaped to take refuge with you. We have methods of silent communication; Isabel won't notice."

Daniel was unacquainted with this information, but he didn't reveal surprise. "Granted," he grunted, assisting his former adversary to her feet. "Gather your strength; we shall show the colony no dissension." The giantess had fallen. Perhaps he was scared for nothing. He resumed pace. To ease their nerves, he performed a tinny medley for the travel back: the Colonel Bogey March. The melody was harried but sure.

Noble Arms - The ASEAN War [Moved to New Thread]

GM Post

Angeles City - The Ritz Hotel - 10/25/2022, 6:10 UTC+8

As each future combatant presented concerns, the admiral shutdown his projector to prevent the blaring light from distracting him as he addressed the audience. Four questions were an ample bounty to tackle at once.

"Sergeant Janssens: We've routed your path linearly. Every obstacle receives the full brunt of the expedition. With overwhelming (metaphorical) firepower at your disposal, you can focus attention on maintaining a low profile, and be more selective as to who does what. Inevitably, there will be hiccups in the plan. With the sizable variance in these complications, premade squads wouldn't make sense. When they arise, we'll dispense teams impromptu in compositions and quantities necessary to handle those specific issues. Thank you in advance for your flexibility."

Abasolo had slightly glanced at Bautista during the Portuguesa's question, with a fleeting glint of "I told you so." That sentiment was absent currently. "Miss Rocha... We'd considered that, but it proved untenable to route you to a location where you can reliably target the dam while avoiding the ensuing rubble and water. This was originally designed as an air force mission, and we stand by that as the safest and most effective medium. Should you dismantle the structure yourself, you alone are responsible for any subsequent death. Otherwise, permission granted.

"Regarding Agent Makaraig, yes, exercise subtlety and caution as conditions of stealth. If this escalates beyond the level of engagement we anticipate, we'd invest a serious percentage of our airpower without guarantee of success, and potentially ground forces if this operation lasts days longer than the expected single night. You ought to consider that a state of failure. You have time to build team cohesion prior to launching. As for reaching the launch point, my colleague has arranged long range transports to ferry you to Louang Namtha, from where you'll drive to Wan Hkung and embark there. All matters with the Laotian government are solidified. Anything else?"

Iker still excavated his plate of starches, carbohydrates, and sparing amounts of fruits and vegetables. Regardless, he deemed the matter pressing and so set his tray aside and stood up. "Pardon, sir. If we sail upstream past a civilian city, would they get caught as the torrent floods downstream? How do we mitigate that?"

"Would you care to respond, Lieutenant General?"

Bayani ruffled his suit. "Certainly, Mister Orozco. We expect that the PRC has evacuation protocols in effect. Assuming proper subterfuge on your part, the Chinese will be alerted to your presence between the final dismantling of AAA and the fighter strike. Alarms will consequently be sounded with leeway to clear the citizens from peril. They can scramble their jets in an hour but evacuate in minutes. That failing, ASEAN conscripts embarking behind you will guide the civilians to safety. Don't fret over them; they have separate instructions."

Adrián scanned the room. "We'll linger momentarily; neither of us have consumed breakfast yet. Other worries may be directed privately. The planes liftoff in three hours so that the convoy will reach its destination by midnight. Godspeed, everyone. Dismissed."

@Lewascan2@Conscripts@Gerlando@Creative Chaos@Nimbus@QJT@Amidatelion@Digmata@Chiro

Rise of Rasalhague

Hamazasp Sulser

The emphatic clang of metal, the heavy rattle and soft vibration of automatic weaponry horrified the amateur when combined with the fear of death. As his adversary turned around and signaled its withdrawal, though, trepidation was washed away, leaving only the ecstasy of carnal pleasure. Having minimal combat experience, Hamazasp was swept up by the fervor of battle. “You ought not to flee, you daft doppelganger! You cannot escape my wrath! Oh, shoot, apologies. I had comms on. Pursuing bogey. Muting self.

“There. DIE, you foul creature! Cowardice reflects poorly on me, you overgrown bug! You shame all Locust pilots! I won’t have you sully my reputation!” He recommenced movement functions and avidly pursued his quarry, matching both velocity and his opponent’s footsteps. His mechanical noggin lowered, and Sulser gazed upwards to maintain a steady direction, his jaw slightly agape in a smile.

Pioneering the course for the two of them, the limbless foe needed to ensure that each footfall was accurate. One misstep meant contact. Alas, it stubbed its toe against a sizable boulder on the terrain. The Ayrshire pounced onto its counterpart, shuddering upon impact. A more rational Hamazasp would pity the grunt in the cockpit, and perhaps a later Hamazasp might say a brief prayer over supper. Overwhelmed by pure euphoria, the current Hamazasp could merely laugh maniacally, not from schadenfreude but simply from punching armor clean through the engine compartment. He didn’t even need to fire his machine guns, not that he remembered to do so.

He felt the urge to locate an object and throw it. He reached to the side and slid out a rectangular prism. He peered into its rustic cover. Oh. This was a printing of My Life as a War Correspondent, by Mercer Thomlinson. An autographed copy, in fact. How lovely. He replaced it, making certain to preserve alphabetical order within the ensemble. Books would keep him sane. He reactivated communications. “My target is incapacitated. Further orders?”

Rolls and Damage

Charge: Roll of 7: Damage = 2 x Distance traveled (6) = 12 Damage, Center Torso Chosen
LCT-1V: Center Torso: 2 Rear Armor + 6 Internal Structure - 12 Total Damage: Destroyed

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

Danny "Nines" Floyd - Gomorrah Mezzanine - Early Afternoon, November 18th

Daniel instinctively thought to direct the Omertas homeward, but he couldn’t guarantee the willing participation of all inhabitants. Isabel particularly would hoist his noggin on a pike. Who among the colonists would he entrust with such precarious secrecy? Amber was broadly apathetic to the internal struggle, and her adoration of him surpassed her loyalty to the homeland. Apparently the sentiment was mutual, as he’d committed high treason. "The Meld's diner (on Vegas's northern perimeter) closed for flood relief efforts. Have your envoy ask for breakfast and, failing that, express intention to converse with either myself or Amber. That should maintain confidentiality."

A free wedding, a further debt, was hardly Danny’s interest. Amber regaled her dream marriage aplenty to Daniel, and casinos were far from that vision. The only category beneath that would be Vaults, Dominic’s secondary option. Daniel would locate a facility independently, but nonetheless wished to part in amicability.

He stood up and refit his newsboy’s cap. “You humble me, Don. I’ll relay your choices once I propose to my beloved, whom I intend to give the ultimate decision on these matters. I do hope to introduce her; she’s the fiery beacon of solace in the wretched world post apocalypse. My own personal Lady Liberty.” He bowed humbly. “With your permission, I’ll arrange to set the pieces in motion.” With a faint smile, he departed.

Danny "Nines" Floyd - Gomorrah Front Entrance - Early Afternoon, November 18th

No sooner had he reached the exit than he spotted an unexpected, perhaps unwelcome familiar face of yellow hair and lightly tanned complexion. Her heated discussion with the doorway security likely centered around the canine sitting patiently at her hip. Was that Shuffles? Gosh, Daniel last encountered him as a puppy. The mutt had grown swiftly!

That mere distraction alone kept Daniel from a heart attack. At first sign of rebellion, the Aces' champion appeared at the conspiracy's location. Maybe the Gomorrah had a backdoor-

Eve Cannon hailed him. “Nines! What are you doing here?”

Daniel swallowed and approached. “Salutations, Eve. I could say the same.”

“I’m honorably exiled,” announced the Ace. “I’ll visit your base of operations soon. I figured it’s been a while since I enjoyed myself. A few drinks can’t hurt, right? What of yourself?”

Quick wit summoned, “Simply congratulating Dominic Omerta for tying the knot. I brought Amber’s potholders.”

“Pleasant,” the Ace remarked. “So, considering the pets policy at this establishment, shall we stroll back to your home?”

Several miles alongside the enemy. What fun. “It’d be an honor. I’m certain we’ll find revelry along the way.”

The Meld - Afternoon, November 18th

Charlotte focused attention beyond the wooden barrier. “I’m hearing footsteps and conversation. It's no lone wanderer.”

“Apologies for the accidental deception,” Faye explained. “I just saw the one.”

Charlotte inspected the chamber of her rifle. “I reckon two others, judging by the pattern of sounds. One’s currently monologuing. Amber, would you mind opening the door? I'd prefer both hands on my firearm.”

“Certainly, boss!” Amber complied, her perky demeanor unfitting of the potentially tense situation. When the entrance was opened, Charlotte lifted the barrel toward the newcomer’s forehead. “State your intentions.” The reckless and astute might notice no loaded cartridge through the tube.

Charlotte spent a moment to glance past her guests. At a most inopportune time, Bradley had returned from collecting driftwood, softly arriving at the ensemble's rear with his ax in hand. Misinterpreting the scenario, he’d discarded his bounty and prepared to strike. He raised his chin, expectant of a signal to commence.

“Why haven’t you pulled the trigger yet?” Isabel demanded.

Unruly ebony strands of hair fell across Charlotte's countenance to hinder her view, but she wouldn't deviate from gripping her lever action. “Be patient,” Charlotte insisted. "I'm waiting."

Bradley interpreted that he was to instigate the combat. He swung his ax backward and silently charged forward. Thank God that his wife's keen perception caught him. “Stop, Bradley!”

Bradley redirected the metal head's momentum to his left, striking the soil beside the visitors. His stealth purposely ruined, he acquired an air of joviality and extended a formal salutation. “Pleasure to meet you! I’m Bradley Lewis, Jack of Diamonds.”

Charlotte sighed. “And I’m Charlotte Lewis, Queen of Spades. Matrimonial relations, not blood. Please forgive our… unorthodox greetings; this is the second gun related standoff we’ve weathered in under an hour. I still ought to deal with fallout from the former, so, if you’ll excuse me,” she provided a wry, mildly embarrassed grin. “Bradley, I need strength. Inside. Amber, would you-”

Before Charlotte concluded her sentence, Amber jumped out from behind the door, grabbing the female Follower’s shoulder and walking her away from the structure and towards the homestead's quieter parts. Finally, an opportunity to unload her gossip! She watched for Bradley to close her egress, then rattled off her baggage. “Alright, so for Failfest – it’s a festival on October 28 that celebrates multiple things malfunctioning simultaneously; don’t worry about it – for that, Danny – he’s the leader of our local branch – decided to declare independence from Vault 48 for a day. Now, we unanimously enjoy that idea. So, how do Americans celebrate freedom?”

Amber didn’t wait appropriately for an answer; her speeding mental faculties must have implied a response from her guest. “Fireworks and apple pie, exactly! But they stopped exporting apples a year ago, so Charlotte resolves to bake a cake instead. Fair enough. I design the Pinochle Expedition's flag, which adorns the confection via the icing. We have orange, black, and green for food coloring after celebrating the Fourth of July because those luxuries are usually shipped in April – go figure – but I fabricate something that looks decent. And to top it off, we have sparklers that will be inserted into the batter. We constructed a makeshift table outdoors, so we place our creation outside and light the sparklers. Thing is, Bradley had placed the fireworks below the surface so they wouldn’t get soaked in any potential rain. A spark flies off and hits the explosive powder. The table, the dessert, the entire assortment gets blown to smithereens! Thankfully we revel at a comfortable distance, so none are injured. Charlotte cries for hours, but, I dunno, I suppose that matches the spirit of the holiday, don’t you?”

Amber blinked and paused, as if to refresh herself. In her vain desire to talk from weeks of relative silence, she’d overlooked the desires of her newfound acquaintance. “I’m sorry; did you have anything to share?”

Noble Arms - The ASEAN War [Moved to New Thread]

New Clark City - 10/18/2022, 19:38 UTC+8

Jasmine exited the vehicle first, bearing an ample knapsack and wearing a sundress. She heralded the disembarking military personnel and Noble Masters as they descended the steps onto the fresh concrete below and encircled her. Iker was last and lingered longest. His shorts and collared T-shirt caused him to stick out unfashionably from the ensemble. On the final step, he inhaled the twilight air. "Fresher than that of urban landscapes; lovelier than the sea's," he commented, "our transport's exhaust notwithstanding."

The streetlights at that moment happened to flicker on, and Jasmine announced: "Welcome to New Clark City's inaugural evening shift!"

The following awkward pause hampered the cheerful introduction. "It feels so... empty," remarked a traveler. "It's eerie."

"As I'd suspect of a pet development project during wartime," Jasmine supposed. "It's nighttime, as well."

"So... What do we do?"

Jasmine lacked a fitting answer. "Well, um, walk around. Check out the facilities? Enjoy yourselves!"

"I recommend locating the restrooms and whatever amenities have food and drink," Iker intervened. "Remember this location relative to key landmarks, such as that government complex over yonder. I'd otherwise identify what work was needed and assemble a squad, but, since I'm to relax... Is there a tennis court present?"

"It's largely track and field, or alternatively a covered Olympic size swimming pool," Jasmine suggested.

"Oh." The minor assembly returned to silence.

A soldier signaled for attention. "I'm running laps in the amphitheater, if anyone wishes to join." He jogged off. Stragglers trickled behind him until Iker and Jasmine comprised the remnant.

Jasmine bowed in deferral. "You have experience with this!"

"Most employment in my adult career started by departing a bus," Iker explained. "You learn to unravel alien environments. Not everyone and everywhere is identical, but they do share certain aspects."

"Wonderful!" Jasmine affirmed. "Meanwhile, as the stadium's occupied, what say we visit the aquatics center?"

"I'd rather not," Iker stated. "And, I apologize, but I'd be a poor lifeguard if you sought to utilize it yourself."

"Why is that?"

Iker swallowed, hesitant to disclose the information. "I can't swim."

Jasmine instinctively laughed at the absurdity and tried to rein herself in. "Wait, but I heard you manned the lifeboat?"

Iker nodded. "That was a boat."

That was hardly an explanation. "So you risked your life, knowing how dangerous failure was for you especially?"

"It's what you do everyday, isn't it?"

Jasmine reflected on Iker's comment. An attaché had the luxury of safety, merely tasked with supporting from the sidelines. She motioned for Iker to follow. "If you're in the employ of the navy, that won't do! Let's remedy that, shall we?"

New Clark City - Aquatics Center - 10/18/2022, 20:49 UTC+8

Jasmine had packed a modest two piece swimsuit with her gear, and the grounds thankfully possessed official spare shirts and trunks for Iker (which an hour of rummaging and scrounging exploration would produce). They forewent the massive professional lanes for the humble training area. Iker submerged his bare feet. Jasmine lay herself astride the edge. "How's the water?"

"I anticipated colder." Iker recalled a prior gig in the wintertime, beside a frozen lake. He had doubted the frigidity that the rumors detailed. Curiosity nearly succumbed his digits to frostbite; his comrades saved him. He shuddered in remembrance. "It's quite warm, actually."

"Doesn't look it from my view," Jasmine teased.

"Recognized." Iker ventured further, pausing as it touched his waist and just before it reached his bearded chin. "I await your instructions, maestro." Iker glanced aside. "Maestra?"

"Either works," Jasmine chuckled, kicking her legs up in alternation. "I want you to mimic this." Iker's mimicry resembled an a old fashioned march. "No, off the ground, and much faster," Jasmine corrected.

Iker jumped up and followed his teacher's directions, bobbing himself upward while suspended underwater. He teetered into the ledge, bumping close to Jasmine and catching himself with his hands. "Apologies."

"No, that was adequate," Jasmine assured.

Meters away, her backpack vibrated, emanating a repeated fragment of a heavy metal tune. Iker pointed to it. "Is that important?"

"It's my cellphone," she dismissed, mildly embarrassed. "No, we're on a roll. I don't wish to disrupt that."

"What if it's an emergency?"

She peered back as the device chirped. "There's naught we can accomplish out here," she countered. "Admiral Abasolo mandated productive relaxation, and we're doing that. If he demanded us specifically, he told me he'd send an escort to recall us. Perhaps a helicopter! Return to your exercises; you were doing swimmingly. Next, you'll outline circles with your arms, cupping the surface and pushing it underneath you. Lie on your belly for this, as I am."

Iker breathed deeply and planked flatly. Despite splashing Jasmine, he successfully propelled himself forward. Jasmine beheld him sputtering like a toy mechanism to the opposite side, where he bounced innocently off. He floated backwards, motionless. Jasmine stood up in alert. After a few seconds passed, he flailed about, a flurry of white foam obscuring the helpless whelp.

Without skipping a beat, Jasmine dove in, wrapped herself across his abdomen, and kicked herself to shore. As Iker coughed up the chlorinated solution, Jasmine exhaled. "Don't forget to breathe, you fool! Tilt your head sideways!" She embraced him. "You had me worried there!" In the distance, the telephone reiterated hard rock.

"It's not my only brush with death; simply my sorriest," Iker quipped. "Regardless, I appreciate it. Permission to commence again?"

Jasmine waited for her heart to stop pounding as she vacated and dried herself off. She investigated her pack. Not looking at its screen for notifications, she shutdown her phone and stowed it. Her matters settled, she crisscrossed on the pavement. "Alright. Don't scare me this time."

Iker's second attempt was noisier and splashier but smoother. He remembered to collect oxygen, and he clung to the finish line once his crown bumped into it. Jasmine applauded. "Excellent; it's a start!" She stopped herself. "Sorry, that sounded condescending. Are you okay with... all this? I'm treating you as a child."

Iker inspected his watery reflection. "I was in Argentina, the Cordoba region if you're familiar with the geography. The hired help were intended to carry these enormous bales of hay." He outstretched his arm for effect but lost balance and reclaimed his position. "Raul was a street rat, down on his luck. He migrated to the countryside because none would hire him in Buenos Aires."

His eyes grew misty. "He wasn't strong, but he was willing. He never adapted to the climate, though. When he hauled it up to the truck with his partner, his allergies forced him to sneeze. He relaxed his grip, and the bale slid and crushed his chest. He died in the hospital." He looked to the sky. "It gave me perspective on the world. Something as simple as that can kill. A mining incident killed my father, and I figure I might die from another triviality. Humans are fragile creatures, indeed."

He smiled. "So I don't mind mockery, or mocking others in kind. The sheer scale of things beyond us, or that can be made so, renders any arrogance fruitless. My quest is to guide other folk through the hazards, that by my sacrifice my neighbors may prosper." He refreshed his mindset. "That was far too heady a topic for my intention. Whoops."

Jasmine arose and circumnavigated to Iker's place. "No, that was beautiful." She extended her hand to pull Iker out. "I suppose that's enough practice for tonight. It's getting late; we should change, and notify the land athletes."

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

Vault 48: Fallout of the Jack's Revolt

"You agree with the Council's resolution?"

Even in the calmest alcove on the fifth floor, the hissing pipes and churning machinery hampered the tension. Eve pushed out her chair and ascended. "I stand with the Council."

"And you grasp our logic?" confirmed the chairman.

She dissected her peers. "I believe so," she commented, "for select members. For the rest, I'm unsure."

Her apparent indignation rippled murmurs through the surrounding Aces; she remained stoic. The conclusion was hurried, lest the scene lose control. "Then we declare you honorably banished, Eve Cannon, Ace of Diamonds. Fare thee well, that you spread our majesty to whatever destination the winds of fortune lead you."

A gavel struck wood, and gentlemen with rifles appeared to flank her. She identified them: Mark fought beneath her; Kyle revolted against her. She reported to neither and vacated the premises of her own accord. The riflemen hastened to follow.

She spotted a mass of fur down the corridor. She halted and knelt. "Shuffles!"

The canine bounded to meet her; his tail whacked both sides of the hallway. She caressed the hair on his noggin. "The emblem of loyalty and innocence. I'll miss you terribly."

Mark reminded her of the law: "Among your privileges is the right to requisition an animal companion."

Eve contemplated the opportunity but literally passed it by. "I'm relieved of my obligations, and grateful for it." Whether she meant it was an enigma.

The vault entrance was a minute's journey away. Eve touched the firm fortified bulwark. "You can laugh, Kyle. I won't take offense."

Kyle attended to the panel that maintained the locking mechanism. "Recognized. If it were a laughing matter, I would."

As the round behemoth rotated outward. Eve gazed at the ceiling. She whistled, and her familiar mutt rejoined her. "Not every duty is a chore. I accept your offering, Mark. Prosper in my absence."

Mark saluted. "Best of fortunes. Where shall you travel?"

She peered into the verdant wasteland. "The colonies, I reckon," she answered, "to atone for my sins."

Danny "Nines" Floyd - Gomorrah Mezzanine - Noontime, November 18th

Daniel lifted his index finger. He intended to fulfill the don's errands and earn gratitude. This collateral absent, there was a nonzero percentage of leaving Dominic empty handed, and affronted crime lords yielded, ahem, unique repercussions. What was a straightforward venture had devolved into a catch 22. Scylla was a heavily guarded nuclear bunker upon which he'd bash his ambition to pieces. Charybdis was the bottomless cavalcade of torture methods a robber baron possessed. Floyd's navigation must be damn near immaculate.

Daniel racked his brain to reevaluate the risk. With decades of experience, Paul stood apart from his colleagues. Stubbornness or social ineptitude kept his innermost professional secrets from the fresh recruits, who resorted to dusting off the ancient manuals for wisdom. The latter would placate but ultimately disappoint the don. Convincing Paul, however, would be nearly as monumental a task as the Vault's conquest, a strict factor to the negative.

To the affirmative, in negotiations, Omerta showed nothing but earnest courtesy, defying the caricature his reputation implied. He acknowledged Danny's trepidation and dismissed his spouse to assuage his guest. His reasoning aligned with genuine interest in nurturing the community, regardless of underlying intent. Perhaps he wouldn't be so unforgiving if Floyd returned with naught but a broken sword.

Victory was attainable. Failure was tolerable. And yet...

Vault 48: Dawn of the Reforms

Vault 48 - Floor Ten Hospital

"I present the prototypes, as requested," Daniel announced with a tray. It clattered onto the stainless steel hospital table.

An unruly screw preoccupied Henry Hinshaw. The deathclaw assault last month demanded that he supplement the strained workforce. He lowered his product. "Excellent, Nines. Grace, would you fetch a random sampling from Drawer Fifteen?"

Unused to the manufacturing environment, the Ten of Clubs anxiously embraced her clipboard in the background. "Yes, sir." She skimmed the organizational cabinets for the appropriate marker. The floor's employees assembled as she arrived.

Daniel noticed Isabel's condescending akimbo stance but expectant countenance. She'd wring him via compressor if this was a wild radgull chase. Noise from four placed stimpaks hitting metal disrupted his vivid imagery. He swallowed. "Ready, boss?"

Henry selected from Grace's bounty. "When you are."

They each injected a device into their non-dominant arms. Daniel's arteries pulsated with biologic regeneration. Exhaling in relief but wasting no time, Daniel grabbed a second and repeated the process to similar effect. He hastily fetched the third and final prototype and compressed it.

The sealant broke loose, and red ooze splattered across his abdomen. The peanut gallery towards the rear exclaimed a festive "Opa!" as Grace retrieved a rag. Unbeknownst to them, Danny's palm had jammed into the syringe's glass, which shattered on impact. Henry rapidly applied his leftover stimpak to heal his subordinate. Daniel hissed as he clutched his wrist.

"Two out of three," Isabel noted.

"Ow... But using half the material, and fewer assembly steps," Daniel countered, watching the wound dissipate. "A net gain for production."

Henry discarded the used containers into a hazardous materials bin. "Gains are appreciated, but these aren't dispensed in a vacuum. Expeditions can't afford to carry faulty devices. Critically urgent scenarios necessitate a hundred percent reliability."

Isabel wandered to her station as the gathering dispersed. "I expect overtime to compensate for the delay. We're stretched thin as it is without your useless experiments."

"Overruled," Henry stated. "The attempt was admirable. If the template cannot be improved, though, I'm afraid the project is terminated."

"Thickening the cylinder or tacking scrap to bolster it would be cost inefficient," Daniel lamented, rubbing the scar. "Unfortunately, I concur. Where am I assigned?"

"Making thousands of regular models alongside us, as you could have done had you ignored this vanity entirely," Isabel quipped. "That's efficiency for you."

Henry sighed. "Daniel, let's debrief in the old Radaway facility."

Vault 48 - Floor Six Science Center

The dim indigo enclosure hosted a thousand spiders; Daniel circumvented the cobwebs as he entered. "I apologize for the error. I promise I'll-"

Henry dusted off a centrifuge. "How progresses your relationship with the Diamond girl?"

Daniel blinked. "You know about us?"

"It's obvious to anyone paying attention, Danny. Discretion isn't your specialty."

"Then why hasn't-"

"Charlotte's and Bradley's scandal trump a Nine's affairs. You're dodging my inquiry. Answer."

Daniel shrugged. "Our inaugural outing was yesterday. Far edge of the diner. She had a Reuben; I had a burger."

"Those things can get messy. Did you prepare for that?"

"Took small bites, ate once she was distracted."

Henry inspected a set of test tubes. "What portion was allocated for conversation?"

Daniel reflected on the evening, tabulating the night's topics. "Five parts of seven, I think."

Henry wiped them off with his shirt. "Did she have the larger focus?"

"Yeah, we explored Renaissance sculptures."

Henry filled them with water. The rickety faucet he employed sputtered in reactivation. "And the leftovers-"

Daniel vented his frustration. "I'm sorry. Are we discussing my recent failings or not?"

Henry began assorting various ingredients. "We are. I'm gauging your personality to see where you fit."

A demotion. Danny's dejection was visible. "Please, another chance. I assure you, I'll change for the-"

Mildly irritated, Henry motioned for silence. "Everyone assumes that they fully comprehend the concept of 'change;' I expected better from you. Where's that mortar and pestle?" He found his quarry and mashed the components into fine powder. "Do you recall the evolution chapter in the science curriculum? Specifically the moth story."

Daniel nodded. There were rival genetic variants: white and black wings. For millennia, the dark ones were easier to spot while resting on trees and were consequently hunted easily by the local birds. In the Industrial Revolution, the forest was covered in soot. The light moths were exposed on the bark and thus faced the brunt of new predation. "Sure."

"As much as it'd help our survival, people cannot modify their core natures more than insects their color," Henry declared, pouring his concoction into a vial. He capped and shook it prior to inserting it into a slot on the machine. "We don't change; environments do. We adjust. Folk like Isabel will endure anywhere. Praise be unto them; they are the foundation on which glory is constructed, and will relieve us if we fall."

He packed the remaining slots and activated the contraption. The ambience was a mechanical whir. "We are restless. We are hardwired differently: strong in certain disciplines, weaker in others. If we match our surroundings, our society advances. Otherwise, we're stored for a later age or circumstance as 'diversity.' It's not merely individuals. Ideologies, personalities, skill sets, creeds, you name it: they function the same way. Alas, some perish never properly utilized."

Henry pressed the off switch and held the result to the twilight. He dumped excesses into a sink. "48 notoriously has no built in storage, physically and philosophically. He who doesn't work doesn't eat. Fair enough, I suppose. It simply pressures me to reorganize. You and I recognize that you can't handle the mundane, not that your keen eye and book smarts should be wasted on such."

"Quite fortunate, that your talents have landed you a leadership role," Daniel challenged. Lesser leaders would have locked him in solitary for less, but philosophical aggrandizement warranted his flippant jabs.

"What, you invoke my Ace?" Henry sniffed his creation. "You don't understand. We cannot tell our grand purpose unless we commit to our position wholeheartedly. We push ourselves to our utmost. Enlightenment is realized under stress. Mash concepts together, and cling to what survives. You are my ward not for your intelligence or perception, but because you can weather a beating from the cosmos and bounce up again. Makes experimentation rather convenient for me."

"So, what's my next 'trial'?"

Henry slapped the walls with his free hand. "You'll start on these very grounds. We've exhausted most options but management. I'll assign you a few compatriots, and we'll find your true mettle. Success begets greater responsibility."

Daniel scoffed, "I clearly lack the charisma for that."

"Well, treat it as a date," Henry callously replied. He approached Daniel and gripped his shoulders. "Drown in complacence. Ask 'why?' and die. Relentlessness doesn't guarantee anything, but it's the only path to the promised land. To acceptance or rejection, demand a choice from Fate."

Fumes from the flask tickled Danny's nose. "That's sweet. What is it?"

"I'm going to dump it in the ice cream mixer; this flavor idea lingered in my head for a week or so," Henry guffawed as he stepped toward the egress. He stopped in the doorway. "I have loftier designs than the petty prestige of an Ace. I suspect they'll bear fruit shortly. I might face the fundamental question on everybody's mind but nobody's lips."

"Which is?"

Henry pulled from his pocket a worn card, decked with his signature. "That these are mere slips of laminated paper after all."

Danny "Nines" Floyd - Gomorrah Mezzanine - Noontime, November 18th

Daniel came to realize that he'd already reached the precipice, that he was obligated to steer. Striking the sails would drag his vessel and his beloved comrades to the depths. Defeat was preferable to inaction. As the self alleged "King of Sin" highlighted, the firmness to quell differences was his alone. He was heir to Hinshaw's memory and legacy. His other digits unraveled, and he firmly reciprocated Dominic's extended offer. "We do indeed. God bless our partnership. We'll provoke Fate as one."

He reseated himself, invigorated by the thrill of a life altering decision; he needed a moment to relax. He then finished his points: "If I may, I seek to marry my girlfriend in short order. I've arranged the proposal, the wedding lists, the catering, et cetera." He presented a minuscule box and flashed a piece of an aged brass fitting. "Everything except the location. Having recently married yourself, you've likely perused several. Amber admires proper traditional styles, so I figured you'd have advice. Is there any candidate you rejected for its quaintness? That sort of venue ought to sate our tastes."

The Meld - Afternoon, November 18th

Amber's ears perked up. The rapping on the door was rhythmic but uncommon. Charlotte recalled the sequence. "It's Faye," she concluded.

"I'll retrieve my shotgun," was Isabel's blunt reply. She disappeared around the corner. In a flash, she reappeared, placing cartridges in her gun's chamber, to discover herself in the sights of Faye's pistol. The rogue had barged inside. "Look," bargained the Jack, "you loathe me for my revolt. I consider you a mindless lackey. We have reasons to press our triggers, but I'm prepared before you.

"That granted," she explained, "I submit myself to the jurisdiction of the Nine of Clubs. We can either live in sleepless paranoia for our stay's duration, or lower our firearms and assume goodwill. Or would you prefer that I expose to the world here and now the vast emptiness in that thick skull of yours?"

The aggrieved hulk considered her choices, then extracted the bullet. "It'd be a waste of a Vaulter. Goodness knows there's a shortage." Her gun dropped.

"Kick it," Faye commanded.

Isabel kicked it.

"Charlotte, I entrust you with her weapon," Faye holstered her handgun and removed her belt, "and mine. Is that agreeable?"

The newfound responsibilities perturbed but didn't unnerve Charlotte. "Agreed."

"Welcome back, Faye!" Amber diverted.

Isabel attempted a brief levity. "Been ages since I had an arm wrestling partner. No man or woman in attendance can challenge me!"

"We'll spar soon," Faye assured. "First, Charlotte: a singing lady is heading for the Meld. I caught a glimpse of her, but I can't give you a description. She bore a guitar, at least. I figure you have an hour until her arrival."

"A customer? We closed weeks ago," Charlotte hypothesized. "Thanks. Duly logged. For the worst case scenario, I'll grab my husband's lever action rifle. Can't be too careful in Vegas," she winked.

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

Vault 48: The Jack's Rebellion

"They engage the generator!" rung across the corridor.

Faye recognized that voice: Walter, Ten of Spades and a reliable confidante. She'd scheduled an assembly with her faction amongst the bunks; that information must have leaked. As she scanned the sleeping quarters, her fellow Vaulters' faces reflected her concerns. The placid council retrieved armaments with a cool vigor. She handpicked the five readiest: "Doris, Uriah, Carol, Kyle, and Eric. Follow me. The rest of you, assemble a replacement wave."

"Damn, my shotgun's jammed," Eric lamented.

"So you four will accompany me," Faye addressed the remnant. She obtained her own pistol and headed out. The radicals' single power station lay tragically a few paces from the front lines. Their only margin was a minuscule strength center which Walt guarded. She hoped he bore the tenacity to withstand a proper assault until the cavalry relieved him.

Faye stopped at the generator's entry and ushered her vanguard in. The thunderous shock of emptied cartridges reverberated throughout the halls. Tardy stragglers occupied the preceding hydroponics garden, anxious for their chance at glory. A pixie cut brunette marched through the doorway; Faye nabbed her collar and dragged her back. "You are dismissed, Nancy."

Nancy held up her laser rifle. "Granted, I wasn't the most competent operator, but I managed the circuitry here. I want to defend my workplace!"
"It's not that," Faye explained. "You turned nineteen a month ago. I won't expend you."
"So what? You're 24!" Nancy retorted. "I order you, from a King to a Jack!"

The distant thump on the ground signaled Walter's final act of valor. In olden times, Faye couldn't refuse Nancy's command, but rank mattered little nowadays. Far too strong to resist, Faye pried her underling from her energy weapon. "My decision is resolute. Paul, confine her."

"Yes, Ma'am," the Nine of Diamonds affirmed. He wrangled Nancy's arm behind her and pressed her against the garden's confines as his commanding officer vanished into the next enclosure. "Remain still, Nan. Don't muck it up again for the professionals." Nancy resisted for a moment but limply resigned. Confused about Nancy's sudden submission, Paul remained wary of breakout. Amidst the sounds and shakes of conflict, his keen senses detected not resistance but a slight tink, tinking.

He loosened his grip and, looking down the hall, relinquished completely. His face grew pale, and words escaped him. He unholstered his revolver and directed it with trembling hands. Finally, he summoned his nerve to yaup: "Radscorpion!"

Faye heard battle cries before her and shouts of terror behind her. An Ace assaulter tromped in and identified a nook within which he hid from bullet fire. Eager to calm the storm, Faye boldly stomped forward, grabbed her adversary out of his cover by his shirt, and tossed him into the dumbbells outside. Her allies' supporting projectiles kept her immune. Overwhelming force pushed the Aces' minions safely past the weight room. "Hold!" she commanded her supporters as she investigated the rear.

Calmness she would have. Upon return, the entire hydroponics section was dead or dying, including the beast. Clutching a baseball sized hole in her gut, Nan staggered towards her leader. Her former captor had died protecting her, judging from his lifeless corpse encompassed by chitin claws.

Faye reached out her arms, and Nancy fell into them. As the King of Spades was lowered, Faye analyzed her for hope of potential salvation. She found none. Her sibling Eve's faint soprano arose from beyond the weight center. "What's the issue? Do you request truce?"
"Scorpion!" Faye announced.
A moment's silence. "You have three minutes' respite to attend to the wounded. Afterwards, we shall advance to occupy the reactor."

Faye grit her teeth. This disaster handed the opposition an insurmountable military and numbers advantage. A secure monopoly of power could halt any food production and water purification systems in the facility. Her cause in this civil war was doomed to suffocate to extinction.

"Flee this place," Nancy weakly interrupted Faye's musings. "Henry's legacy is lost without you."
Faye smiled gently. "And go where, Nancy? The Aces control the elevators, and the outdoors is wilderness and Green."
Nancy pointed above her. "Use the-" she coughed, "the vents. You're thin enough to traverse them, and they lead to open air."
Faye's gaze followed Nancy's direction. Wishful thinking, but not altogether implausible. She shook her head. "I should care for you first."
A wheeze prevented Nancy from hearing Faye's protest. "See? Handy advice. If just for that, my life was worthwhile, right?" She briefly flashed a grin. Her countenance slackened, and her muscles went limp.

Uriah appeared beside her, his heavy flamethrower luminous with heat. "She speaks truth, you know. Try the Vegas Meld. Floyd was equally Hinshaw's apprentice. If not support, you'll at least find compassion and haven."
Faye's fallen tears soaked Nancy's dress. "That her sacrifice not be vanity. What leeway can you provide?"
Uriah shrugged. "Eve adores negotiation. Possibly an hour. That failing, I have a flamer. Half that."
Faye nodded. "Recall Doris and Kyle. Some parts of me can't fit in the vent otherwise."
Uriah chuckled. "Yeah, that'll be quite the squeeze. I'd love to learn how the hijinks played out, but I probably won't survive to bid you safe journeys. With that, instead, adieu." He disappeared. "Eve! Fancy a parley?"

Danny "Nines" Floyd - Gomorrah Mezzanine - Noontime, November 18th

[Charisma: 7]
[Speech: 60]
Success!

Marjorie had departed when Danny responded, "Indeed, a pleasure to... Have me for dinner, yes..."

Danny refrained from dropping his jaw, but his wide eyes betrayed unfocused panic. Physically, the don exposed himself. On a whim, the loose acquaintance might hurdle the table and strangle Omerta, beheading the criminal syndicate by the time security reacted. Impossible, of course; the notion dodged Danny's mind entirely. Psychologically, a handful of brisk quips from the "King of Sin" paralyzed the Nine of Clubs in equal portions trepidation and contemplation. What mastery. The grizzled rogue master's secret to prosperity was readily apparent.

Daniel blinked to refresh his mental faculties, which sounded logical alarms. "No, this is ridiculous. What, I waltz in and announce my dominance? We don't operate the radio speakers; my buddy Kyle's exclusively safeguarded that since..." Daniel paused. Kyle was an old comrade, partial to neither Cannon. He was likely coerced out of necessity, not fanaticism. He'd implement anything Nines proposed.

"But I'd require leverage," Floyd countered himself. "I manufactured stimpaks. They wouldn't permit me near something as vital as..." Thomas was Amber's brother, Daniel's soon to be in-law. He alone comprehended the pipe network's dizzying schematics. If he sabotaged the system, discovery would last days; repair, years. He was overly protective of his sister, and would obey her every plea. Amber was similarly loyal to Danny, so by proxy Nines controlled the hydraulics.

"Desperate folk come out shooting, and we've garnered a mighty arsenal over the centuries," he considered. "A well positioned frontal ambush ought to mitigate that. I'd need twenty armed men at minimum, and the Meld can field six." He instinctively relaxed, perusing the ceiling in his calculations. "On second thought, it wouldn't take excessive effort to switch the locks on the armory closet, certainly not with an insider."

The Gomorrah was unusually serene. "Shit," Danny remarked. He never cussed. He glanced at Dominic, recalling the scenario in which he'd placed himself. Turns out he did possess a favor to ask of the crime lord. "Sir, I'm not excessively fond of indebtedness. I'd like to earn what favors you bestow. I'll allocate space in my schedule to ensure it. My price is a week's usage of a couple dozen experienced soldiers, and two hundred gallons of freshwater. You'd score a valuable ally in exchange, and your pick of the finer elements of our coffers, even after the square trade of labor." Vault 48 famously had no allocated storage area, but his compatriots had garments and weapons to spare.

He cocked his noggin as his superego resumed ownership. "Wait, why do I crave authority now? I didn't desire this prior. I've no grand machinations!" He focused his attention to a nit on a nearby wall. "But it's possible..."