SkrtWithAWeapon

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

FRIEDA RICHTER - Salem diner

The young woman spun on her heel, “SURRREEEE AM!” She juggled the cartons to offer her hand, dropping one on the floor it broke open spilling the ten packs of cigarettes, “Just a sec please.”

Frieda bit her lip to keep from chuckling. She glanced around the diner but saw that no one was paying attention. Suddenly, the younger woman was standing again and had thrust her hand out in front of her. “You’re new in town, I’m Brandy Brooks, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Frieda blinked. "Ah -- oh. Thanks. I'm Richter," she replied reflexively, before she could catch herself. "Frieda, I mean. Frieda Richter." Could I sound any more awkward? She took Brandy's offered hand and shook it.

Brandy leaned her left shoulder towards her, “Take one, you can have it as a welcoming gift. I’d like to personally welcome you to Salem. A growing community of likeminded people looking to better the world we live in,” she smiled brightly, using her free hand to push her glasses up.

It felt as though Frieda's heart had stopped. Brandy's generosity threw her for a loop. "Are you sure?" The look on Brandy's face showed she was serious. Frieda gently removed the top most pack and offered what she hoped was her warmest smile. "You're a lifesaver, Brandy." She stepped just outside the door and searched her pockets. It was with extreme relief that she found her lighter. Frieda wasted no time in lighting up her smoke, relishing everything about it. The crackle of the dry tobacco. The heat. The taste. She all but sighed in delight, though she restrained herself for fear of drawing any more attention.

Frieda watched as Brandy spoke with someone else, wearing an overcoat, who then left the diner with that creep Steve. She wondered that she should be suspicious, but then thought nothing of it. Let the others make their own decisions about prying weirdos.

Brandy and Rook were both at the bar. Frieda considered a second cigarette, but decided to save that until a bit later. Unsure of what else to do with herself, she looked back into the diner, her eyes falling again on the quiet man with familiar features. His softer-than-most complexion nagged at her.

She decided to sit down at the bar. Before the shop keep could even notice her, Barney cried out, "hey! Well if it isn't Little Miss Trigger Happy, huh?"

Oh, no. She didn't reply.

"Best you not shoot that gun in here, you're liable to hurt someone innocent," he continued. "Rook's a bonafide payin' customer."

Frieda quickly looked between Rook, Barney, then Brandy. "Look, I'm not going to apologize for earlier. Anyone --" she stopped herself, looking again at Brandy, "well, most anyone, would have done exactly what I did. White flag or otherwise. Besides, it was just a warning shot, too."

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

CORRINE DOOLAK -- The Gun Shop

By god, did Corrine love watching the man work. There they were, again, in that gun shop, with him hunched over the work bench, moving parts around her dad's old pistol, mumbling to himself as he worked. His breath puffed out in little grunts and huffs as he laboured.

"It'll do nicely", Steve said to Corrine after several minutes and testing the mechanics. She peered over his shoulder to watch was he was doing, but she as yet couldn't make sense of his actions. Finally, he turned to her, holding the weapon and speaking in a gentle, but informative, tone.

"Here's how you load the magazine, Corrine", Steve said as he demonstrated by loading one magazine with twelve rounds. he then handed her the other magazine and pushed the box, now with only thirteen rounds in it, towards her. "now you load this one."

"Ahh...okay..." She quivered slightly as she took a hold of the pistol. Corrine mimicked his demonstration as best she could, and was impressed he hadn't corrected her. He took it back to show her a couple more things before handing it back.

"It's loaded now", Steve said, "You have twelve shots, once the last one is fired, the slide will lock back and you remove the empty magazine and insert another like I showed you. Make sure you put the empty magazine in your pocket so you don't lose it...you can reload it later. To fire, disengage the safety. With the safety off, it will fire if you pull the trigger, so watch where you point it." He then handed her the other magazine. "Unless you can open up one of these cans, that is all the rounds you have...don't waste them."

Corrine took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she merely held the gun in her hands, staring at it. She cleared her throat, remembering her manners. "Thank you."

"A few questions", Steve said, "Is there a pre-war military base on this island? I've noticed a lot of stuff that has US Government markings on them, usually that stuff only turns up if there is some sort of military facility in the area."

"A base? Uhhh..." Corrine thought carefully for a moment. "Not sure what exactly you mean by that. Only military type spots were the vehicles. One bein' that atomic sub the Children live on, and the other the great big rig out on the far coast that was overflowin' with trappers, last I heard. MS...flower...somethin'. Aster? No. Azalea." She shrugged. "Seems likely my previous family would'a scavv'ed the place out a long time ago."

"Also", Steve continued, "I've got an idea about rigging that boiler they're using to cook Mirelurks to spray scalding water on those giant critters you mentioned.....nothing that can feel pain will stand still for that...who would we talk to about getting permission, not to mention the tools, to do that?"

"What sort of tools would you need? Tools are easy -- Brooks has all sorts of stuff, and the Mariner had quite a collection back in the day..." She drifted off, daydreaming about tools momentarily. "Uh, anyway. Only person I can imagine cookin' mirelurk in such volume would be Mitch. If it ain't him, I'm sure he'd tell you who it is."

"Lastly", Steve continued, "Back in the Last Plank, Rose said something about meeting a "Enclave Bastard".....any idea who she meant by that?"

Completely uninvited, Steve burst in and interrupted their conversation. “She was referring to me.” Steve replied as he stood in the doorway, his overcoat wide open like he were some kind of exhibitionist.

Several moments passed, silently, and awkwardly, before Corrine spoke. She grit her teeth. "What the hell is the meaning of this? You just put yerself into any conversation you want?" She shook her head and pointed a finger at James, accusingly. "Well, he ain't lyin'. Up in Acadia, he flat out told Bishop and Rose he was 'Enclave'." She paused for a moment, reflecting on the exchange that happened all those hours ago. At the time she was anxious to rest, or leave, and hadn't become too involved in the conversation. "Didn't mean much to me, but now that I think about it, Bishop and Rose weren't too happy about it."

"Now," she all but growled at James, "what do you want?"

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

CORRINE DOOLAK - The Hull

Twilight had set in while Corrine dawdled on the Hull. She fidgeted for two reasons: one, out of nervousness; two, the joints in her fingers seemed to ache worse around sunset. She was acutely aware of the pistol in her jacket, its weight foreign. She wasn't even sure why she'd kept it all those years, considering she never used it, let alone knew a thing about what to do with it to take care of it and so forth.

She idly tapped her foot while she waited. Corrine wondered what she should say to Steve when he arrived. Should she apologize? Explain herself? Both?

Longfellow was right, but Steve was also right. She turned at the sound of footsteps to see the latter, himself.

"I knew you'd come", Steve said with a sigh, looking around. "I promised I'd explain, so here goes. Back in the Capital Wasteland, I grew up in a settlement called Rivet City, as I told you. About ten years ago, before I left something happened....."

Corrine listened curiously as Steve recounted the story of someone called Harkness, and how easily the harbor could have one or more synths living among them with everyone unaware. "And however you cut it, letting this killer roam free weakens this town..in fact, it already has. When the Cult comes we're going to need every last man, woman, or child who can handle a gun if we want to make it. Bishop could have helped...but he's dead. Rose needs our help....not only because it's the right thing to do, but because we need her as badly as she needs us." He then looked at Corrine hopefully. "What do you say?"

Corrine swallowed, her throat dry. "Look, I don't know anything about synths, other than a bunch of 'em went up to Acadia to live in peace. But..." She sighed. "I agree. Synth or person, we need folks to help stand up for our home, and if there's someone lurkin' about trying to take us out before we get that chance, then...you're right."

"What do we do, though? It's not like I know anythin' about tracking a killer. Longfellow's probably the best hunter in these parts and he made his opinion quite clear back at the Plank. What's next?"

She shifted her weight and as she did so, was reminded of the gun in her pocket. "Oh, right," she mumbled, as she fidgeted the pistol out into the open. "You asked for a gun, well, here it is." She smiled sheepishly. "I don't know anything about how it works or what to do with it, though."

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

FRIEDA RICHTER - still Salem

Frieda had to all but dive into a shadow between some buildings when the young woman had charged down the lane and directly towards Rook. She squinted and could hardly believe her ears -- the young woman was, in fact, talking to the super mutant. Engaging him in a conversation as though he were like any other dirty tribal wastelander.

She clamped her eyes shut and gave her head a small shake. Don't ever let anyone hear you say that. You need these...people...if you have any hope of finding Brian, dead, or alive. Frieda took a breath. When she opened her eyes, the woman was gone, but Rook seemed to be waiting for her.

Instinctively, she searched her pockets for a cigarette and some matches, immediately remembering several hours of angst. "Ugh." She turned her attention back to the road. The young woman returned having changed clothes and toting --

...Frieda nearly rubbed her eyes. Her keen pilot's vision didn't lie: the woman was carrying cartons of cigarettes.

Time to make a new friend.

Be cool, Richter, just keep it cool.

Frieda smoothed a hand over her blonde bangs and stepped out from where she had stashed herself, only to see the two begin to walk away from her and directly towards the diner. She sighed, cursing her terrible timing, and simply followed.

The diner already had several people in it that Frieda hadn't yet encountered in town, plus Barney, and that creep Steve. She hung back in the doorway, behind Rook and the young woman. She glanced between all the faces gathered there, who had turned their attention to Rook. Her eyes rested just a little longer on the man at the bar with a slice of pie. There was something distinct, almost familiar about him, though she didn't flat out recognize him. His mannerisms were fluid, rather than edged and deliberate, causing Frieda to suspect he wasn't from some other unit of Enclave. Vault Dweller, perhaps?

Her thoughts were snapped back to the immediate company in front of her, and she realized she'd been staring. She hoped no one had noticed. “Rook is here to buy meat. Does Cooker Man have radstag? Or maybe man has found something better? Bhamin meats?” He paused. “Rook has caps and small things to trade, if Cooker Man is open to that as well. Rook is hungry, and building wall takes so much energy.”

It seemed most of the diner was fixated on the greenskin. Frieda leaned forward and gently tapped the young woman on the arm. "Psst. Hey." She motioned towards the cigarettes. "Are you selling those? I'll give you five caps for a pack."

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

FRIEDA RICHTER -- Salem and so on

The call to a cigarette was strong. So strong, she found herself distracted enough that it took not one, not two, but four glances south towards the beach for her to see the image of Rook moving back and forth, hauling all manner of large junk around.

Aha! she thought to herself, triumphantly. Now we'll see what you're really up to. The cigarette temporarily forgotten, Frieda inched her way down the alley and towards one of the buildings. An intact fire escape caught her eye, snaking its way up to the flat roof of what seemed to be some mixed-use building before the war. She climbed the steel stairs, greatly aware of how loud her feet sounded on them in her boots, and hoped the mutant was too busy hauling junk to notice. Frieda crossed the roof and found a dried out skeleton sitting in a patio chair with a teddy bear in its lap and a children's story book in its hand. She wasn't sure if she should feel sick, or confused.

Movement on the beach below recalled her attention and she hunkered down next to the edge of the roof to watch.

She became so bored, she wondered that the old man had been right to just leave the greenskin alone. He paced back and forth, hauling huge steel containers, for what seemed to be to build some kind of wall. Frieda had taken to picking at her nails when she heard an unfamiliar voice speaking to the mutant and snapped her attention back to the beach. Sure enough, a young looking woman with dark hair was chatting and smiling with the mutant, going so far as to offer to 'help.'

I'll never get used to these idiotic tribals. She watched in revulsion as the woman spent several minutes with the mutant. Frieda wasn't close enough to pick up each and every word of the conversation. Something about walls? Her eyes went between Rook and the containers, and something clicked.

"Well, I'll be damned," she breathed. The greenskin sure seemed to be trying to build fortifications around the town. But,
is he trying to keep other bad guys out, or keep the rest of us locked in? It seemed too good to be true.

Flashbacks of super mutants clad in their ugly armour, shouting and shooting at her Vertibirds over the years were enough to doubt very much that there existed one who actually didn't have nefarious intentions.

"I'm still going to keep an eye on you," she muttered. Frieda idly scratched at the aged concrete in front of her, wondering what her best course of action would be. The extent of her field expertise was limited to the basic "how not to die in the wasteland" kind of stuff they raise everyone on, and her heart sank at the thought that Brian would know the answer. He always knew the answer.

Rook had picked up his white flag once more and walking past the building she had perched herself onto, seemingly headed towards the diner. She ducked as low as possible, watching him pass. Once he was well on his way, passing the church, she rose and descended the fire escape to follow him. Frieda hit the ground heavily, her bag bumping against her body as she landed. I really need a better place to stash this stuff. She continued to tail Rook as he walked down the street, in the direction of the diner.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

CELESTE BROWN - Sandy Coves Inn

Celeste watched a female-looking figure walk down the main road, eye her up, but keep going. Celeste waved, but the figure didn't seem to notice. She shrugged, gathered her empty soda bottle, and stretched.

Maybe I should walk around, a bit? See who I can meet? Celeste turned to face the doors to what would become her inn, and she frowned. Forget that. I should make sure the place is in decent shape before I go find folks to stay in it. She made her way back into the inn, pausing briefly at the large standing sign and thinking it would make sense to find a way to cross out, or cover up, "convalescent home." She'd ask the robot.

Celeste entered the small lobby and went up the immediate staircase to the upper floor. She could hardly believe the changes the robot had managed to make in the short amount of time. At least four of the rooms had already been dusted down, the linens changed, and where possible, the windows opened up to allow fresh air to enter. She could hear the robot singing some song she'd never heard before, while he worked in another room.

He was working so well, she thought she'd just leave him to his task and instead, tackle the kitchen and dining hall. Celeste went back down to the main floor and entered the kitchen. She flicked a light switch and was pleasantly surprised that the ancient fluorescents above her head illuminated themselves to life. Then, she took a look into the kitchen, and groaned. The entire place looked as though it hadn't been cleaned properly once before the bombs, and centuries of dirt and dust had attached themselves to a layer of grease and grime that would need to be scraped off. She couldn't even imagine what it could look like if it were clean.

Celeste decided to start small. She looked around and located a trash bin, and started tossing in all the broken dish pieces, empty packaging, and other pieces of trash left strewn on the counter tops. Then, she found an old mop bucket and a third of a carton of ABRAXO industrial grade, and a crusty old dishrag in the cupboard beneath the sink. Celeste tried the faucet, but nothing came out. She tried to think if she saw a water pump anywhere nearby, when she remembered the ocean was just outside her door. She took the bucket, filled it with water from the sea, then dumped in the ABRAXO. The water fizzed slightly and let off a powerful floral, but medicinal, scent. Celeste clumsily plunked the bucket onto the counter, slopping water onto the surface. She rolled up her sleeves and got to work.

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

CORRINE DOOLAK - The Plank

"Fine," Rose retorted angrily, "I'll handle this myself then. Its not like I'm not used to it. Its been this way from town to town across the wastes. People just shut their doors and hold their ears, and hope that The Institute doesn't take them. Nobody wants to fight back and nobody is willing to risk their lives to help a Synth. I'll figure out what's going on here one way or the other, and I WILL find the person that killed Bishop. All of you 'tough' harbor folk can go back to drinking yourselves into a stupor."

She then slammed some caps on the counter, then picked up her weapon and stalked out, the door slamming shut behind her. The other locals in the bar looked up for a moment, then back to their drinks.

"Well", Steve said quietly to Corrine, "That could have gone better." He then added. "I don't live here, so I figured I'd keep my mouth shut and follow your and Longfellow's lead...that was clearly a mistake."

It...what? Corrine made to ask him 'how do you figure' but his sudden eye contact stalled her mid-thought.

"You have a gun? Get it if you don't have it on you and meet me at that spot on the Hull we talked at in fifteen minutes. I have a story of my own about "synths" from the Commonwealth that I'll explain to you then....if you don't come looking I'll assume you don't care. In any case, if what she says is true...and I have my own reasons for believing it is...she is next. And whatever this Institute is, I think I can safely say it doesn't have our best interests at heart. I have no idea who killed Bishop or why...but I'll be damned if I sit around and twiddle my thumbs while some bastard goes around killing people that we, frankly, need badly if we're going to see the sunrise the morning after next."

She watched dumbly as the young man swept off the bench and walked to the door, peeping out for a moment before slipping through it. Corrine rubbed her face, wondering what had just happened. Two people in two minutes accused her about not caring about others' problems before storming off, was the gist of it. Typical mainlander attitude, was her first reaction. None of 'em ever try to understand us, but the moment we don't react the way they think we should, it's a hearty 'well, fuck you, too!'

She sighed, deflating slightly onto the table, eyeing her empty glass. "If I care," she mumbled to herself, feeling hurt and defensive at the same time. "Didn't I make a point of showin' you how beautiful my home is, an' why I'd rather die protecting it than flee?"

The patrons at the next table turned to look at her with quizzical expressions. Corrine realized she had been muttering out loud. "And?" she growled at them, her face flushing in embarrassment.

As if it couldn't get more embarrassing, the door flung open as Errick strolled in from a return to the outhouse -- which, more accurately, meant he likely just pissed off the side of the pier -- and he stopped the second he spotted her sitting alone. "What's this?! Where's yer date, Corrine? He get back on a boat after he figured out yer age difference?"

Corrine clenched her arthritis-riddled knuckles and trembled. "Seems I missed the part where that were any of yer business."

Errick leaned against the opposite bench, grinning. "Maybe he was looking for more of a...carnal tour?"

Corrine rolled her eyes and showed herself out, but not before flipping a certain finger over her shoulder at Errick. Several patrons burst into laughter.

"We love ya, Corrine!" someone called at her just before the door banged shut.

She took a deep, calming breath, before she marched herself to her bunk in the common house. The gun she owned was no more than some antique by that point. It was her father's and hadn't been fired, let alone maintained, for several years. She sat brooding on her bunk, turning the firearm over and over in her fingers, frowning.

Perhaps he's a gunsmith, too. Otherwise, I guess I could hit someone with it, or throw it at them. Her stomach fluttered as she looked at it. Corrine couldn't determine if she was nervous about what he'd say to her, next, or the thought of a terrible battle was making her worried.

She took a deep breath and swallowed on her dry throat. She put the pistol into her coat pocket, stood, and made her way back to the Hull to wait for him.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

FRIEDA RICHTER -- Salem town square

In response to her question, the man reached into his Leather Jacket pocket and took out a box of embassy cigarettes, opening the box he held it out for Frieda “Sure, you can have one -- if you tell me your “pedigree” as you called it.”

Time froze still for a moment as she regarded an entire box of cigarettes, held so casually before her. She licked her lips and refused to become too distracted.

"How about," she drawled with a smirk, "you tell me what the word even means, and you toss a girl a smoke, and we call it even?"

“Well then No smokes for you.” Steve teased as he shut the cigarette box. “And these are some high-class smokes from England...good luck finding someone else with them.” he added on as he put the smokes back in his jacket pocket.

Frieda's brow twitched. Whatever. There's bound to be at least one pack of smokes in this place.

“Well regardless of whatever mysterious group you seemingly worked for I was a combat engineer in the Talon Company, 3rd company for 17 years, worked my way up to Staff sergeant before those Tin-can dicks ruined everything.”

Frieda tensed, and realized he might have been referring to the Brotherhood. She bit her tongue and nodded politely, though she wasn't sure what exactly he was referencing.

“But that was life time ago now...” Steve said as he took an puff on his cigarette “if your plasma pistol breaks or you want to upgrade it I should be able to fix it ... Brotherhood weren’t the only one to get some of those enclave toys.”

Frieda smiled and pointed to the scar in the dirt where she'd shot at Rook. "I have a feeling the Enclave wouldn't call them toys, and neither would --" She paused to look up, intending to call attention to the super mutant himself, but found he was gone.

Long gone, by the looks of it.

"Dammit!" she swore, whipping around, looking frantically for Rook. "Where did he go?" Frieda walked the length of the square to the other side and looked around. She rounded on Steve and jabbed an accusatory finger. "If not for your unnecessary babbling, that mutant wouldn't have just walked off like that!"

"You better hope he doesn't end up killing someone, or that blood's gonna be on your hands," she growled. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find a fucking cigarette!"

Frieda stormed off, realizing most of her irritability stemmed from her cigarette craving. Her unit back home used to ridicule her for the habit she started once Brian had gone missing, saying things like "Two hundred years of perfect genetic grooming, wasted on you and that disgusting habit."

Easy for them to say. None of them lost their closest family, and best friend.

She found herself coming back towards the diner. Didn't they tend to be like general shops, most of the time? Or, they would at least attract other people who might be smokers...

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

CORRINE DOOLAK - The Last Plank

"I mean this town has enough trouble with them damn cultists. Now you're telling us we got to start turning on one another like animals? Just who the hell do you think you are anyway? I know I'm human, and I know the friends and neighbors I've lived with all my life are human and that's all there is to it. Its you mainlanders I'm concerned about and frankly, I'm starting to think you should all just get in a boat and go back where you came. Take your problems with you. Hows that sound?"

With that Longfellow stood up abruptly and stormed out of The Last Plank. Corrine cringed as the door slammed shut. Other patrons turned towards the sound, then went back to their drinking and mumbling amongst themselves. She swirled the whiskey in her glass as she contemplated everything Rose had just divulged to them. When she suggested they meet for a drink and talk about "The Institute," she had no idea it would sound like the plot of one of the film reels salvaged from the old movie theatre. Despite what she knew about Acadia and those who occupied it, Corrine didn't once consider trying to find out what being a "synth" really meant, and after everything she heard, she was sorry she had asked.

Longfellow certainly had that part right. Mainlanders and their problems really should just stick to the mainland. She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry for your friend. Ain't too many folk around here these days who haven't lost a friend, or a loved one, so in that way, many of us can relate." Corrine took a swig of her whiskey. The alcohol burn was a welcome feeling that oozed down her throat and into her core. If only it chased the cold and stiffness from her other joints so easily.

"The codger's drunk, but he's right. Many of us come from generations of folks who have toiled on this island, in the fog, against its creatures and worse. We've got enough to handle on our own, and especially right now." She tried to speak softly, though her words were harsh. "You got someone stalkin' you? As of tomorrow, this whole town full of people may be dead or at least without a place to live. You can go back to wherever yer home is, but us," she gestured to the rest of the patrons in the Plank, "this is our home."

She drained her glass and placed it gently onto the table. "I don't wish ya any ill will. Sad to say, though, if Longfellow doesn't have a lead, chances aren't good there'll be more to do about this bad bit of business. We've got other fish to fry."

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

FRIEDA RICHTER - Salem town square

“It’s pretty clear hot stuff has served before," the stranger stated as he turned to Frieda “Along with the impressive figure Just look at how she stands, holds that plasma pistol, a plasma pistol....”

Frieda looked between the taller man with the moustache, back to Rook. Steve, she thought it was? She narrowed her brow but did not immediately reply.

“What outfit where you with? I don’t see any stupid tattoo so it’s not the gunners Brotherhood perhaps? The operators? Or maybe perhaps the Talon company?”

Frieda blinked. As if this wasteland tribal deserved to be endowed with the knowledge he was in the presence of an officer of the true American government, especially when he had the nerve to suggest she was, perhaps, Brotherhood.

I made my choices, but my roots remain. Still, I have to try and dislodge a lot of that...thinking. Frieda went with the safe response. "I failed to catch how my pedigree was any of your business. Ever consider I may in fact be, naturally gifted?" She nodded at his lit cigarette, trying not to show her desperate craving too obviously. "Spare a smoke?"