SkrtWithAWeapon

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

FRIEDA RICHTER -- town square

“Old man said Rook could be here! Rook is here to trade! Why lady shoot at Rook? What Rook do now?” He yelled, waving the white flag once. “Flag mean no shoot! Why lady shoot anyways? Does lady not know what flag means? Flag... White... No shoot at Rook.”

Frieda grit her teeth, narrowing her brow. "My mistake," she replied cooly, "where I come from, we're not familiar with the notion of surrender." She kept the gun trained on the mutant, unconvinced of the truthfulness of his words. "I don't see any old man."

The mutant didn't move. Suddenly, figure from before came tearing out from behind the church, a rifle in his hands and aiming at the mutant...then he paused. The man turned to address Frieda, directly.

“Woah! Ma'am! Relax. Rook here just got here. We here at Salem are all about giving people a chance. He has been living near by for about a week. While I don't trust Super Mutants usually, Rook here isn't looking to cause any trouble. I saw him in his armor on his way here, was worried for a while. Then he killed a Mirelurk king and claimed it's home for his own. Damned sight that was. Can we lower the guns and talk this out?”

“Yeah! Rook not do anything bad. Rook has caps to trade. And muscle to move things!” He said. Frieda thought the mutant had puffed up as he spoke.

"This is insane," she muttered to herself. "You're telling me you're just letting this...mutant...integrate into society? As if he's harmless?"

The man chuckled. "Way I sees it, you shot first, did you not?"

Frieda balked. "Well -- sure -- what else would any other, reasonable person have done?"

"Reasonable folk use their words."

Was he smirking at me? He most definitely is smirking at me. Frieda felt an angry flush rise within her cheeks. She put her pistol back into her belt. "I'm not going to apologize."

The man shrugged. "S'fine. Just don't do it again, or next time, someone's gonna shoot back."

She mumbled something rude sounding but unclear.

"Now, welcome to Salem. I'm Barney Rook of the volunteer militia, and that there is...er, Rook. No relation." He looked over at the super mutant. "No offense."

"Motherfucking insane," she breathed. She readjusted her bag once more. "I'm Frieda. Been travelling for a spell looking for work, if you think you could use another member of your...militia, was it?" She glanced between the mutant and Barney as she awaited the response.

"Depends. We don't let just anyone join up."

"Did you not just say you were a volunteer militia --"

"We still have a screenin' process. Gotta have some standards. Folk are gonna depend on you to defend life and limb, you gotta be competent."

"Fine, fine," Frieda waved him off. "I'll do the screening. Then I can watch our friend here more closely," she finished, glaring at Rook.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

FRIEDA RICHTER -- entering Salem

First, it had been Highway 28. Then, 114. Ancient signs said she was heading southeast to Salem, MA, and she hoped for the best. It had been nearly 7 days since she crashed in the terrible rad storm she had neither predicted, nor plotted correctly.

She would be the first to reflect on the irony of one of the Enclave's best pilots being waylaid by a mere bout of bad weather. Frieda would also, for a moment, allow herself the luxury of admitting a lesser pilot would be dead, whereas she merely stepped out of the wreckage with scratches. She had become a little sloppy, as of late. The loss of her brother made for a terrible distraction. He had been one of the best at what he did, too, and yet the wasteland had won.

It would score another point from her, and soon, if she didn't find some water, work, and some more goddamn cigarettes.

She plodded on. She wouldn't let the wasteland claim her without a fight.

The general lack of population was confusing, to her. Frieda had been in the field several times but always had some inaccurate idea that the wasteland was just flooded with tribals and mutants. That had not been the case on her journey from the southern border of what had been New Hampshire, into Massachusetts. She passed a handful of homesteads, but none of the residents would give her the time of day, let alone the chance to earn some caps or trade. The rest of the buildings were in shambles, or just simply unoccupied.

Signs beckoning travellers to ancient tourist attractions in Salem began to pop up more frequently as she walked along. Frieda could only imagine that she were coming up to the place, and soon. Her skin felt greasy and dirty, not having had any real bath since she broke ranks, and the heaviness of how much she had taken for granted was starting to weigh on her, too. She shifted her knapsack uncomfortably, one of its straps snagging on a piece of armour she relieved from a corpse off the side of the road.

Disgusting. It's all disgusting.

She sniffed. Homesickness? This won't do. You'll survive this. You trained your whole life, for this.

In her brooding, she nearly missed the turnoff to enter Salem, almost tripping over the low, ruined fence outside the Museum of Witchcraft. She looked down the road and was impressed to see some signs of life: various figures moving between and around the buildings down the way. Glancing back to the south, the rear end of a caravan was shrinking into the scenery. Perhaps there was some hope, after all.

Frieda walked down the road, sand and gravel crunching underneath her boots. She noticed a woman sitting on the beach, drinking a soda and humming to herself. She raised an eyebrow but continued on. I'd rather avoid what looks like the village idiot. She passed the diner, but paid it little mind, though she noticed a tall man with dark hair and a moustache walk towards its entrance. She'd try the diner later, if the rest of the place seemed empty.

Frieda rounded the corner, and passed the ruined church to enter a town square, proper. She thought she saw someone at the back of the church, too, but on second glance, no one was there.

The town square was quaint, if anything. Ramshackle, and abandoned, trading stands stood proudly in the sun. It looked as though some giant child had placed them there as part of a play-village setting. Once the cute thought had passed, she sighed, heavily. A breeze echoed her, stirring up dust and debris at her feet, to blow down the pathway.

A figure in a touque was retreating past the back of the church -- but more importantly, they were chugging on a cigarette. Frieda's mouth practically started to water at the sight of it. I'm sure I've got something I could trade for a single smoke. "Hey!" she called, thrusting her left hand into the air and waving. "Hey, excuse me! Hold up!"

The figure she called to seemed not to hear a word she said. What did surprise her was what she had thought was an old tree turned around, instead.

Worse. A goddamn greenskin! Frieda's right hand dropped like a flash to her plasma pistol, popped it from her belt, and squeezed off a single round to land in the dirt next to the creature's feet by way of warning shot. "I don't know how you got into town without anyone noticing, but I'm giving you this single chance to get the hell out of here, before my next two shots take out your knees. Do I make myself clear?"

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

CORRINE DOOLAK - Far Harbor docks

"Fine," Rose said, with a weary sigh. She gave a stern look towards Doc Teddy and held up a finger, "You take care of him. Understand me? He's not some dog you bury out back. He's family."

Teddy gave an understanding nod, "I'll make sure he's given proper respect."

Rose nodded, and waved for them to leave. Corrine hung back with Steve, behind Rose and Longfellow, as they wandered back into the town. She drew close to Steve and murmured into his ear.

"The dead man, his name was Bishop. He and Rose held James and I at gunpoint up in Acadia, when we went up there looking for the synths." She watched his reaction and jumped back in, quickly. "Oh, they thought we were threats. We decided to come back down the mountain together, when we all found out we weren't, well, enemies or somethin'. Some mainland group called, hmm, Train Tracks...Engineers...oh! 'Railroad.' They help the robot people. Or, people robots. Whatever they are." A breeze picked up off the water, particularly cool, causing Corrine to shiver and jam her hands into her pockets. "I didn't really know him, but he was, eh, civil enough." She sighed.

Rose made a beeline for the nearest open booth, and sat down. Longfellow sat next to her. Corrine motioned to Mitch for a full round for all four before sliding onto the bench. She reached out and took Steve by the hand and gently pulled him onto the bench next to her.

"I don't know for certain," Rose began slowly, after a few moments, "But I don't think Bishop was killed on coincidence. And I don't think the cultists did it either...it doesn't make sense. We were up in that observatory for nearly two days and they could have finished us off whenever they wanted....but they didn't. And they even let us walk down the mountain with Corrine and that Enclave bastard."

Corrine wouldn't object to James being called a bastard, and nodded. "That's true. They confronted us, but withdrew. Even when they came to the Hull, even when James shot at them, all they did was withdraw. If one or any of 'em made it into the town, someone would've seen it."

"It has to be The Institute," She said, shaking her head and clasping her hands together, partly in fear, "It has to be them. They're still looking for me..."

"What was it you said? We're stubborn, usually good people, but keep to ourselves?" Corrine smirked, repeating Rose's words back to her. "Why would the Institute be tryin' to kill you? What, really, is the Institute? I assume it's some kind'a mainland thing?" She shook her head. "Thing is, harborfolk can spot a mainlander from a mile away. Plus, after the cult showed up at our doorstep, everyone's a lil extra...suspicious." She shot a glance at Steve, and softened. "Well, most of us," she corrected.

"But with good reason, otherwise," she continued. "Don't rightly know what any of them Institute folks might look like, but none of 'em would get past anyone without bein' noticed, I'm pretty sure. Longfellow?" Corrine drew the attention to the old hunter. "What do you think?"

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

CELESTE BROWN -- Sandy Coves Inn

The robot led her through the nearest door and down the hall. They passed a dining hall to the left, and a ruined room on the right. Up ahead, a portion of the upper hallway had collapsed, blocking the way. The robot paused. "Huh. That's...odd." It spun around and began going back down the way it had come. Celeste merely followed. It led her back through the foyer, up the stairs, through the rest of the facility, back down on collapsed flooring, into the foyer, and...back through the nearest door, past the dining hall, to the destroyed section of the hallway.

"Huh. That's...odd," the robot repeated, turning to go back down the hallway yet again.

"What's odd?" Celeste panted, feeling winded from having to tail the robot's quicker pace. It stopped and turned around to face her.

"You see, Manager Celeste, there used to be a manager's office right around...here..." It turned around slowly, seemingly distracted by its own thoughts. "I was certain it was here. It seems strange that it would just disappear."

"What about that room right there?" she pointed. "I don't need an office, just a room like that. Wouldn't that be okay?"

"I do suppose that might be all right. Let's ask Mr. Orleans what he thinks, hm? It's his room, after all."

Celeste followed the robot into the room. It was as dusty and ruined as the rest of the building, but the window was surprisingly intact and the furniture was in decent condition.

"Ah, Mr. Orleans! It appears that you are in. Manager Celeste is in need of some accommodations and she was asking about your room...if you don't mind relocating?"

Celeste popped out of the small bathroom, unused for centuries, turned the corner, and screamed. "Mr. Orleans" was no more than a dried out skeleton, still slumped in an armchair. Blood spatter stains were sprayed behind its head, the .44 pistol in its lap. "Oh my god!" she shrieked. "He's dead!!"

"He's what?" the robot asked, leaning forward to peer curiously at the skeleton. Processes within the robot whirred and clicked, suddenly it rose and turned. "Indeed you are correct, Manager. Many apologies for this oversight! It would seem my last system check is quite overdue. Please stand by..."

Celeste blinked. She had no idea what was happening as the robot suddenly became very quiet for several moments. Eventually, it's "eyes" opened wide and the robot was back online.

"Ah, there we are. It seems my temporal sensors had been frozen for quite some time." It turned and looked at Mr. Orleans' skeleton once more. "Poor bastard. Well, let's get this cleaned up then, shall we?"

It took a good few hours for Celeste and the robot (mostly the robot) to get the skeletons of humans and broken down robots alike tossed out of the back door and into a trashy looking pile outside. Celeste flopped onto the couch in the foyer, letting out a deep breath and wiping sweat off her brow. The robot produced a Nuka Cherry from its stores and offered it to her.

"What should we do next, Manager?" it prompted. Celeste sighed.

"Oh, I don't know. I'm pretty tired."

"Ah, that is understandable. Humans do have a tendency towards physical exhaustion, it's only natural. I'm here to assist you, just say the word, and I'll do it."

"Huh." Celeste took a sip of the soda while she thought. "Well, it's dusty all over the fixtures and the floors. It probably makes sense to get those cleaned up, first, so we stop just pushing it around while we work." She tapped her chin as she spoke. "The linens are filthy. Those should be the next to be changed."

"If I recall, there is an overstock of clean linens in the basement with the laundry facilities. I will begin cleaning the rooms and then change the linens. Any other requests, Manager?"

Celeste took another swig of her soda. "Not yet. I might go take a walk to get some fresh air. Get those things done, and we'll go from there."

"Most reasonable, Manager. See you soon, then!"

Celeste exited the double doors and took a deep breath of the outside air. It had an unfamiliar, tangy scent and taste to it, but it was still refreshing compared to the dust and death of the interior of the inn. She walked across the road and onto the sand, perching herself onto a rock. She had lived near water her entire life, but the shoreline was rocky and unfriendly. Something about the sandy beach was thrilling. She stretched her legs out in front of her, sighed contentedly, and sipped on her soda.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

CELESTE BROWN -- entering Salem

Celeste didn't want to admit it, but she was starting to dread spending more time on the road. She'd grown up hearing countless stories of the wasteland and its creatures, pitfalls, and other ugliness, and yet it wasn't until she saw it for herself that it felt much less exciting and far more terrifying. The caravan and its guards kept her perfectly safe against the mutated beasts and drugged out raiders, but she found her enjoyment of the experience draining out with every passing moment.

The wasteland was barren, the water was poisonous, and if it lived, it wanted you dead.

By the tenth day of straight travel, she wanted nothing more than to find a decent settlement with some room and set up shop. She was terrible at travelling, but serving those who did? She was a gosh darned professional.

The crew began muttering about stopping in Salem for some water and a rest. She perked up, immediately. "What's Salem? Is it a town?"

"It's on the map," was all that she got from the leader, Cairn. Celeste also decided that travelling with the same people who told magnificent stories was much less fun than just serving them drinks and socializing.

It would be another hour before the caravan marched into Salem. They paused, standing in the road in front of the Museum of Witchcraft, looking further down the road. Satisfied the place must be empty, they merely squat in the sandy patch just off the road, busted out some provisions, and talked quietly amongst themselves.

"Is it okay if I just go take a walk?" Celeste asked, gazing down the road.

"Just don't go where we can't see ya," chuckled Cairn. The others stifled laughter.

"Great! Be back in a bit," she chirped, making her way down the road. She found herself fascinated by the sight and sound of the ocean. "This place sure is quiet." Celeste meandered east and saw a tall, intact sign that read DRUMLIN DINER. A gruff looking man stood outside the building, leaning against the wall, and puffing on a cigarette. "Hi, there!" she called to him with a wave.

The man turned towards her call and paused. He nodded in response but said nothing.

"That yer diner, there? Also, what is this place? Isn't it a fantastic day!" she chattered gleefully.

Another pause. "This is Salem, girl."

"Salem," Celeste repeated with a happy sigh, making her way up off the road to stand next to the diner, itself. "A proper settlement?"

"With any luck. Ain't you with that caravan up there, though?"

"Hmm? Oh, no. I just paid them to let me travel with them from Niagara Falls to Diamond City, but, ah...well, I just think this place is interesting!" She nodded at the diner. "I've been cooking, baking, and bartending my whole life, if you're lookin' for someone to run the place."

"I'm not. Fella who goes by 'Ace' has spent a few weeks working on the place, by all rights the place is his."

Celeste's face and heart fell at the news. "Oh, I see."

The man gave her another once-over before grinding his cigarette out with his foot. "If you're sure you want to just set up shop, there's a fine set of rooms in the pre-war convalescent home. The inside needs some cleaning out, like anywhere, but the place has got lockable rooms and whatnot."

Celeste blinked.

"You could run an inn, or a motel. Probably could still have a bar and serve some light meals, if you wanted."

Celeste blinked once more.

The man sighed as if he had come to a realization. "If you want to stay in town, you could run the inn. Miss...?"

"Celeste! Oh, I mean, Brown. Celeste Brown." She thrust out her hand for a shake.

"Barney." He did not accept her hand and instead lit up another cigarette.

"So nice to meet you! Now, where's this cova...conva...convent home?"

"Convalescent -- never mind. It ain't that any more. Come, I'll show you."

"HEY!" yelled Cairn from behind them. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Celeste? The caravan's leaving and it's going the other direction."

"Ah, oh. Right! I'm not coming with you!" Celeste replied with a smile.

Cairn rubbed his forehead between his eyebrows. "What?"

"I'm stayin' here! I don't want to go to Diamond City. I don't want to go anywhere. This place has a spot for me and I'm gonna take it. Diamond City might not have even had work for me right away, you know?"

Cairn regarded her for another moment or two. "You sure about this? Diamond City is probably the safest place you could ever be."

"This place looks pretty safe! It's empty, after all. Right, Barney?"

Barney raised his hands and shook his head. Celeste looked back to Cairn.

"I'll be fine, really! You guys will come back through here with the caravan, right? I'll see you lots!"

"Well, all right, then. If you're sure..."

Celeste wrapped her arms around the caravaner and gave him a tight hug. Her head barely came up to his chin. "Sure as anything. I'll be just fine!"

A few minutes later, Celeste was standing in the road, waving goodbye to the caravan as they set off to the south once more. Barney led her to the convalescent home and immediately made to leave.

"You're not gonna come inside?"

"Nah. The place is yours, now! But maybe you should come by the diner later today. Ace is out huntin' as we speak."

"I see. Well, thanks, Barney! You've been really helpful!"

Barney waved her off and walked away. Celeste turned to the double doors, took a deep breath, and pulled them open. The foyer was caked with a layer of dust and grime that she somehow hadn't expected. Sunlight filtered in through the ancient windows, tempered by the dirty glass. There was a ruined couch and an armchair set up in the corner with a small coffee table. On the other side was a broken down Eat-o-Tronic, and a Nuka Cola machine, centuries empty.

"All right...not bad..." she breathed, seeing the potential in the place, once she had cleaned it up. Celeste made her way to the receptionist desk and rest her arms up on the counter. She glanced to the object sitting next to her right elbow.

Please RING for service!

"Don't mind if I do!" She reached over and pinged on the little button, chiming the bell. It sounded quite loud in the emptiness of the foyer.

There was a sudden clattering from somewhere deeper within the building. Celeste jumped, then ducked in front of the counter, waiting.

"Coming, coming right away!" buzzed an amplified voice, followed by the hiss and whirr of hydraulics. Celeste covered her head, not even considering just running back out the way she came. The sounds stopped approaching and sounded as though they were suspended in space. She remained unmoving.

"Hello, there. Are you quite all right? Did you wish to check in?" the voice continued from the other side of the counter. Celeste slowly stood to look across the counter at a fully functioning Mr Handy. She blinked.

"Check in?" she repeated. "No, I was told I could, uh, manage the place."

"Manage? As in, site manager?"

"...y-yes...?"

"Wonderful! That's most pleasant news. We lost our previous site manager ten, twenty..." The robot paused, calculating. "Hrmph. Records indicate it has been over two hundred years since we last had a proper site manager. That just couldn't be right. Anyways!" It turned and began pulling open small drawers beneath the counter before producing a key hung on a chain featuring a miniature, faded plastic Nuka Cherry rocket bottle. "This is yours, and if you'd follow me..."

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

CORRINE DOOLAK -- the docks

Longfellow arrived on the scene, which was when Teddy beckoned them both over and said in a very low voice: "Right now everyone is thinking he drowned. But I examined him, and he didn't die from a long dip in the ocean. He was dead or dying before he even hit the water. Someone sliced his throat almost to the bone. I thought it best if we didn't tell everyone just yet...don't want to start a panic after all. People start thinking there's cultists all around, and folks are paranoid enough as it is...we don't want to give them more cause to lash out at people."

"Can't keep that up forever Ted," Longfellow said disapprovingly, "Folks got a right to know."

"Damn right," Corrine agreed.

"I know...I know," The Doc said shaking his head, "But its just temporary. Just until we can figure out what..."

"LET ME THROUGH! LET ME THROUGH GODDAMNIT!" The angry voice of a woman broke through the crowd and shortly afterward, Rose came barreling down the steps towards her dead partner.

Teddy was about to stop her before Longfellow intervened,

"That's her friend Ted, let er' go."

Rose keeled down and examined Bishop's dead body. She shook her head sorrowfully as she noticed the knife wound and stood up angrily, stamping her foot with such force that she cracked the rickety wooden boards on the docks, "Bastards...I knew it. I knew they were here somehow. They must have tracked us from The Commonwealth. Tracked us the whole damn time."

"Who's here?" Teddy asked both confused and shocked by the woman's reaction.

"Something alot worse than those cultists," Rose snapped back, "The Institute."

Corrine exchanged a look with Longfellow, Teddy, and Steve, then finally, at Rose. She reached out and gently touched Rose on the arm. "Listen. I know he was yer partner and things didn't go so great for y'all on the island. Why don't we all -- " she made a point of making eye contact with Longfellow, and Steve once more -- "head back up to the Plank, have ourselves another drink, and you can tell us about this 'Institute' and what makes it so bad. Leave the doc here to do what he needs to do for yer friend."

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

FRIEDA RICHTER

Name: FRIEDA RICHTER

Age: 30

Race: Caucasian

Sex: Female. Approximately 5’ 11” tall, with blonde hair, steel grey eyes, and an athletic figure as per her military pedigree. Objectively quite stunning in her attractiveness.

Skills: ace pilot, energy weapons

Personality: highly intelligent but generally, socially clueless. She comes off as cold and unfriendly but truly, she doesn’t have a natural propensity towards small talk and casual conversation. Smoker.

Weapons & armor/clothing: Enclave-issue plasma pistol, mismatched light armour pieces suitable for a travelling merc. Also carries a small knapsack full of items of sentimental value, such as a photograph of her and her twin brother, various medals and pins earned within the Enclave (including her dog tags), and a pocket watch featuring an engraving.

Occupation: Mercenary/security guard for hire.

Faction (Minutemen, Institute, BOS, Railroad, None. Etc): Formerly Enclave, now unaffiliated.

Backstory:

Frieda was born seven minutes before her fraternal twin, Brian, but spent the majority of her life living in his false shadow. Their father was a high ranking official who lost his life during a mission while the twins were young. Subject to the same vigorous physical and weapons training through her life in the Enclave, no matter what she did, somehow her brother was favoured even when their skills and scores were on par. Where Frieda was more acerbic in personality, her brother’s stoic demeanour tended to be extolled. Eventually, she was to be trained as a pilot, whereas her brother was destined for the front lines and recon. Her natural ability to focus on her task at hand while under pressure and make clear, logical decisions, saw her rise quickly through the ranks as one of their best pilots.

Despite the artificial rivalry their peers and superiors tried to place upon them, Frieda and Brian were inseparably close. They celebrated each other’s achievements and differing designations. Brian was the only person in her life constantly validating her own skills, when so many others preferred to compare her to her brother. They held up and supported each other. When her brother left on a recon mission, never to return, his loss was a devastating blow. The Enclave considered his and his team’s mission a failure, and did not send a rescue team.

Frieda wandered through the months that followed in a total daze, unable to find any peace in the thought that her brother was gone for good. He had been a grounding presence in her life, and without him, she found it impossible to find meaning in staying with the Enclave. In a daring move, she packed her most valuable things into a knapsack, stole a Vertibird, and decided to look for her brother, herself. Unfortunately, she miscalculated the trajectory of a rad storm, and found herself completely off course and crashing into the woods of what used to be New Hampshire.

Alive, but without any caps to her name nor desire to return to the Enclave, she wandered east, taking small mercenary type jobs from various settlements until she reached the ocean, and arbitrarily chose to wander south. She found herself wandering into Salem, hoping the sparse settlement could use some full-time muscle, until such time she was able to begin the search for her brother anew.

and:

CELESTE BROWN

Name: Celeste Brown

Age: 24

Race: Caucasian/mixed western European

Sex: Female. Barely 5’1”, with shoulder length, very dark brown, curly hair, and bright blue eyes. She carries a stout figure with a noticeably voluptuous chest.

Skills: cooking, bartending, bartering

Personality: very charismatic, friendly, and genuinely sweet to everyone she encounters.

Weapons & armor/clothing: Wasteland settler garb including t-shirts, sweaters, skirts, dresses, slacks, and sneakers. Carries small sentimental trinkets, such as a pair of her mother’s earrings and other inherited jewelry, and her father’s first set of knives.

Occupation: Barkeep/innkeep

Faction (Minutemen, Institute, BOS, Railroad, None. Etc): None

Backstory:

Celeste has a very plain and lackluster backstory. Originally from a settlement on the Canadian side of Niagara Falls, she was born to two, loving, hard working parents. Her mother operated a successful trading business, having set up at the border, and her father was a talented baker and chef. She learned the best of both occupations from a young age; the art of the deal from her mom, and how to create the flakiest pastry and well-balanced soups from her dad. Through her late teens, Celeste started to feel the wanderlust. While a steady stream of folks came through Niagara Falls between the two pre-war countries, so did their stories. Celeste started to dream of the world beyond the river and the escarpment, but for many years, seeing it for herself remained a dream. A caravan travelling from Burlington near Ronto, en route to the eastern seaboard, thrilled Celeste with their talk of the bright and beautiful Diamond City, that she insisted she go with them. She chipped in her own caps for the protected passage, said a bittersweet goodbye to her parents, and was on their way.

The travel would prove to be very harsh on sweet, tender Celeste. Slogging through the terrain, surrounded by hostiles at every turn, and fearing for her life, all had begun to tarnish her shiny impression of the world outside her childhood home. Chronic optimism kept her going, but a very small part of her began to consider that she had made a huge mistake.

Celeste would never make it to Diamond City. The caravan made a stop in Salem in an attempt to top up on purified water, and Celeste would fall in love with the town. The setting, the buildings, everything felt so beautiful and comfortable to her. She had a pocket full of caps and stars in her eyes. After a convincing conversation with the caravan, who assured her that Salem could become part of their regular route, she decided to settle back down and merely travel through the wasteland as she always had: by the stories and tales brought in by others.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

For your consideration:

FRIEDA RICHTER

Name: FRIEDA RICHTER

Age: 30

Race: Caucasian

Sex: Female. Approximately 5’ 11” tall, with blonde hair, steel grey eyes, and an athletic figure as per her military pedigree. Objectively quite stunning in her attractiveness.

Skills: ace pilot, energy weapons

Personality: highly intelligent but generally, socially clueless. She comes off as cold and unfriendly but truly, she doesn’t have a natural propensity towards small talk and casual conversation. Smoker.

Weapons & armor/clothing: Enclave-issue plasma pistol, mismatched light armour pieces suitable for a travelling merc. Also carries a small knapsack full of items of sentimental value, such as a photograph of her and her twin brother, various medals and pins earned within the Enclave (including her dog tags), and a pocket watch featuring an engraving.

Occupation: Mercenary/security guard for hire.

Faction (Minutemen, Institute, BOS, Railroad, None. Etc): Formerly Enclave, now unaffiliated.

Backstory:

Frieda was born seven minutes before her fraternal twin, Brian, but spent the majority of her life living in his false shadow. Their father was a high ranking official who lost his life during a mission while the twins were young. Subject to the same vigorous physical and weapons training through her life in the Enclave, no matter what she did, somehow her brother was favoured even when their skills and scores were on par. Where Frieda was more acerbic in personality, her brother’s stoic demeanour tended to be extolled. Eventually, she was to be trained as a pilot, whereas her brother was destined for the front lines and recon. Her natural ability to focus on her task at hand while under pressure and make clear, logical decisions, saw her rise quickly through the ranks as one of their best pilots.

Despite the artificial rivalry their peers and superiors tried to place upon them, Frieda and Brian were inseparably close. They celebrated each other’s achievements and differing designations. Brian was the only person in her life constantly validating her own skills, when so many others preferred to compare her to her brother. They held up and supported each other. When her brother left on a recon mission, never to return, his loss was a devastating blow. The Enclave considered his and his team’s mission a failure, and did not send a rescue team.

Frieda wandered through the months that followed in a total daze, unable to find any peace in the thought that her brother was gone for good. He had been a grounding presence in her life, and without him, she found it impossible to find meaning in staying with the Enclave. In a daring move, she packed her most valuable things into a knapsack, stole a Vertibird, and decided to look for her brother, herself. Unfortunately, she miscalculated the trajectory of a rad storm, and found herself completely off course and crashing into the woods of what used to be New Hampshire.

Alive, but without any caps to her name nor desire to return to the Enclave, she wandered east, taking small mercenary type jobs from various settlements until she reached the ocean, and arbitrarily chose to wander south. She found herself wandering into Salem, hoping the sparse settlement could use some full-time muscle, until such time she was able to begin the search for her brother anew.

and:

CELESTE BROWN

Name: Celeste Brown

Age: 24

Race: Caucasian/mixed western European

Sex: Female. Barely 5’1”, with shoulder length, very dark brown, curly hair, and bright blue eyes. She carries a stout figure with a noticeably voluptuous chest.

Skills: cooking, bartending, bartering

Personality: very charismatic, friendly, and genuinely sweet to everyone she encounters.

Weapons & armor/clothing: Wasteland settler garb including t-shirts, sweaters, skirts, dresses, slacks, and sneakers. Carries small sentimental trinkets, such as a pair of her mother’s earrings and other inherited jewelry, and her father’s first set of knives.

Occupation: Barkeep/innkeep

Faction (Minutemen, Institute, BOS, Railroad, None. Etc): None

Backstory:

Celeste has a very plain and lackluster backstory. Originally from a settlement on the Canadian side of Niagara Falls, she was born to two, loving, hard working parents. Her mother operated a successful trading business, having set up at the border, and her father was a talented baker and chef. She learned the best of both occupations from a young age; the art of the deal from her mom, and how to create the flakiest pastry and well-balanced soups from her dad. Through her late teens, Celeste started to feel the wanderlust. While a steady stream of folks came through Niagara Falls between the two pre-war countries, so did their stories. Celeste started to dream of the world beyond the river and the escarpment, but for many years, seeing it for herself remained a dream. A caravan travelling from Burlington near Ronto, en route to the eastern seaboard, thrilled Celeste with their talk of the bright and beautiful Diamond City, that she insisted she go with them. She chipped in her own caps for the protected passage, said a bittersweet goodbye to her parents, and was on their way.

The travel would prove to be very harsh on sweet, tender Celeste. Slogging through the terrain, surrounded by hostiles at every turn, and fearing for her life, all had begun to tarnish her shiny impression of the world outside her childhood home. Chronic optimism kept her going, but a very small part of her began to consider that she had made a huge mistake.

Celeste would never make it to Diamond City. The caravan made a stop in Salem in an attempt to top up on purified water, and Celeste would fall in love with the town. The setting, the buildings, everything felt so beautiful and comfortable to her. She had a pocket full of caps and stars in her eyes. After a convincing conversation with the caravan, who assured her that Salem could become part of their regular route, she decided to settle back down and merely travel through the wasteland as she always had: by the stories and tales brought in by others.

Let me know if I should change anything!

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

CORRINE DOOLAK -- Far Harbor

"Terminals?", Steve replied", "I know a bit about that....Regina's electronics still worked...most of the time...so I got some hands on with that. As far as robots, it would depend on what's the matter with it....didn't get much opportunity to program them." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

Corrine nodded as he spoke.

"But elevators and conveyor belts? I could probably puzzle it out...is there a particular place you have in mind? A factory or something?"

Corrine's mind was wandering. "Mostly I was just thinkin', there's all kinds of those things out there that maybe people could use on their homesteads and the like, make things just a little less hard out there. People'd probably be pretty thankful...and we'd be livin' pretty nicely..."

"Speaking of terminals", Steve said, "I have recently come into possession of an old Pip-Pad 3500 that won't power up...if you could help me figure out a way to repair it, I'd be suitably grateful."

"Hah. You're the one who makes things work. But that sounds like it could be a worthwhile project." Especially while I have no idea what a Pip-Pad even is... Her gaze drifted back up to the ceiling. "Those pre-war gadgets seem to, mostly, just end up with parts corroding more than anythin'." She paused. "But I assume you already took it apart, to see what it could need?"

Corrine heard the quick step of someone hurrying by the shop. She glanced out to see a familiar head pop in the open door to look. He shot a dirty look at Steve, until he looked around and saw Corrine, then his expression brightened.

"Corrine!", the man exclaimed, "Been looking for you all over town! Doc Wright sent me to fetch you...he wants you to come down to the dock right now, he says it's important!"

The man's name eluded her completely, but he was clearly quite certain of hers. She tried to play that off as casually as possible. Corrine cleared her throat and tilted her head towards Steve. "Is it really necessary? I'm not exactly free, at the moment."

"Yep. Doc insisted. I'm sure the outsider will wait," he gestured at Steve.

"He's with me," she replied curtly.

The man paused. "Well, go on, then, but you best get yourself down to the dock, and right away."

Corrine exchanged a look with Steve. "I suppose the sooner we check this out, the sooner we get it over with." First, she made a point of putting her tools back into the crate and locking them up with her key, before she exit the former gun shop with Steve and walked with him towards the dock. There was a cluster of people loitering about, muttering between each other. The atmosphere was anxious. Corrine spotted the figure of the doctor, who was engaged in keeping others from approaching...

...approaching, what, exactly?

"Doc, I'm here, what is it?" she called, approaching the throng. She couldn't see anything past the heads and shoulders of the others gathered around. "Do you mind? Step aside, please," she directed the harborfolk as she wedged her way in between bodies. "I said, I am coming through, could some of you just -- "

At that moment, someone moved right when Corrine expected them to move left, and she stumbled over their rubber booted foot, to flail past the doctor, and catch herself just before landing on the corpse of Bishop. She stopped, cold.

"Wh-what..." she breathed, her eyes widening. "What is...but he just..." Corrine clutched her stomach and spun around, grasping Teddy by the arm. "What happened?"

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

CORRINE DOOLAK -- formerly The Gun Shop, Far Harbor

Corrine had stood back, more to stay out of his way than anything else. Steve accepted the crate and didn't balk or flinch, simply laid out all the parts along the workbench and went straight to work. He went between the tool box, to the bench, and back, with the fluidity of a seasoned tradesman.

She wasn't testing him more than she truly wanted to see if he were honest about his claims. Plus, there was some kind of satisfaction at watching another person work. It made her think of all the time she spent with her dad, the two of them hanging over junk with their screwdrivers, the way his tongue would poke out of the side of his mouth as he concentrated. Dad always denied that, and no one else ever noticed it.

Steve laboured steadily for some time, lining up all the wiring, even testing it properly. Eventually, not only did he have it put together, but installed a battery and even turned it on. He stood back regarding his finished product, then seemed to almost double-take as he remembered she was standing there.

"if you can find a container to complete it", Steve said sheepishly, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the whine of the blender, "Mitch would probably pay you a pretty penny for it once you show him what it does. With the power it's rated for, it should be able to crush ice or grind up just about any kind of meat or produce."

"Is that what it's for?" she replied. "I found it in the kitchen over at the old bowling alley. Might be worth the repeat trip for that container you're talkin' about. I won't take any caps for it, though. You did the work, you earned the profit."

Besides, if the extra caps helped keep Steve in town longer, then she could afford the generosity.

Assumin' we don't die tomorrow. The thought hit her like a ton of bricks. She swallowed and pushed it away.

"So, Corrine", Steve said with a wink as he pushed the off button, shutting the device down, "What do I win?"

"Win? You're a harborman, now. Your prize is...more work!" Corrine teased, giving him a playful nudge and flexing her arthritic fingers. She gently lifted the blender base and turned it around, appreciating his handiwork rather than inspecting it. "You sure weren't kidding, though. Definitely can handle yer tools."

She replaced it into the crate it had started in and looked over her shelf. Corrine became painfully aware of how long it had truly been since she'd salvaged any whole items out of the island. The blender base was one of the last things left from her final haul, which had to have been two...maybe three...months ago.

"I watched you work. It's nice to see someone else who just...hm." She paused, feeling awkward. "Who just gets it." Corrine smiled, shyly. "Lots'a folk can use a tool but don't really care for the job. You know?" She rubbed her knuckles out of habit. They were starting to ache. "You tinker with those...ah...terminals, an' such? Robots?" Her mind was running with dozens of things she'd never seen run as she babbled excitedly. "Oh! Those lifts in big buildings, those...elevators? Found all sorts of 'em, never tried to use one let alone fix it. Or what about, like, a...conveyor belt?"