Fallout: Louisiana

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The battle ended. The shots petered off and there was no sound of aggression to be heard for quite some distance. Beau lifted his head over the car to see the swarm of raiders that were around the woman were incapacitated. He slid back down. Honestly, he didn’t know how she’d feel about him intervening. Of course, it was only a few moments later that she rounded the car.

In another life she may have been a beauty, but in this one she was a gladiator swathed in muscle and bone. Beau found her face pretty, but her demeanor challenged him to say so. She’d snap him in half—surely. She was wrapping her wounds, and she paused to cuss him. Beau blushed and pushed his rusty blond locks back.

“Apologies,” he said, standing. “It was never my intent to do all of that. I was just trying to help. Yet, I believe those are the words of many a unhelpful grunt. I assure you, my talent echoes beyond that of marksmanship.” He reached out his hand. “I’m Beauregard Arsenault.” Yet, he withdrew his hand as she continued to bandage her body. Right. She didn’t seem like the type that enjoyed jovial handshakes and camaraderie. Beau swallowed hard.

A ghoul pierced the silence like most ghouls did, with importance and gruffness. He gave quite the look to Beau as he passed him and dragged a female raider behind the barricade of cars. The ghoul explained his reasoning for his manhandling. Beau shrugged. It was hardly his place to question his saviors. Still, if they were as capable as they looked, he might do well to join them. He’d joined Steve because the other had a massive machine gun he pulled out at will. Of course, the machine gun shut down two towns ago and Steve was actually a shit shot.

Yet, he’d watched the both of the strangers handle situations that had nothing to do with their weapons but with their talent. The ghoul leaned into the female raider. He pulled his pistol and pressed it flush against her face. He was trying to get her to wake so he could question her. The ghoul shot a nasty glare towards Beau along with a line of accusatory words.

Beau held up his hands. “Apologies,” he said. “You remind of this ghoul I knew. His name is Baldo, he was terribly frightening, but he got things done. Still, do you need someone to talk to the raider? I’ve been told that I’m a convincing sort. I have to say that it must be the face. Of course, minus the scratch. That’s usually not there.” He slid one of his upheld hands into his vest. He then realized how that looked. “Oh, I assure you, my laser rifle is the only thing that’s harmful to you and it’s on my shoulder.” He slowly drew out makeshift smelling salts. “I use these more often than I should.” He knelt in front of the female raider and extended the smelling salts towards the ghoul. “Beauregard Arsenault at your service. My friends call me Beau, though.” He winked.
 
Hearing Beau speak was jarring. Scout's breath caught in her throat for a moment and her chest tightened again, all thoughts stopped in their tracks and the single sentence rolled around her head; he sounds like a vault dweller. He seemed so educated, formal and polite - nothing like the usual wasteland scum which roamed the cracked earth here. Scout exhaled in what seemed to be a pained sigh, because it was - why was it whenever she tried to escape that damned vault, it kept dragging her back? It hurt, and it hurt more than the superficial cuts scattered across her body. She had tasted the glories of peace and now she knew they would never come back her way.

When Scout looked back at Beau, he was tentatively drawing his hands back from a handshake that she didn't fulfil. Good. She didn't want to get all friendly with this man, the fact alone that he was so familiar meant that she could let her guard down and find a knife in her back. She knew the type. Scout stood up as Sten started barking orders, but didn't immediately move to go and loot the bodies; she wanted to see what he would do. He grabbed her raider by the shirt and (why does he carry a pair of handcuffs in his bag?) secured the raider firmly to a broken car door frame. Scout assumed Sten was about to interrogate, and she rolled her shoulders painfully and got to work.

Scavenging was a good distractor. There were plenty of bodies to loot, and Scout was so used to doing it that she didn't have to think so much - which was a relief, because her mind was becoming a mess of vault memories, analysis of her teammates and concerns about her own survival. She crouched down and idly shifted through bloodied clothes and torn flesh to find caps, ammo, whatever she could find on the corpses. One raider feebly grabbed her wrist and tried to tell Scout his dying wishes, but Scout wasn't feeling it, so she shot him in the face. The bullet's impact rang out across the carpark. Scout raised her hand to denote that she was the one pulling the trigger, hopefully stopping everyone from hitting the floor.

Scout could feel her mood plummeting uncontrollably, and it wasn't a very good sign. She had collected a lot of .38 bullets - unsurprising, the pipe gun was very common amongst raiders since it was easy to make and even easier to distribute. There were a few .10 bullets and 47 caps in total, and Scout even found a couple of stimpacks. She wrapped the loot up in the shirt of a raider and wandered over to Sten before splitting the ammo, taking a third of her find and pocketing the bullets by organising them into one of the many pouches on her person. She didn't have to do it in front of Sten, but at least that way she had a witness to her fairness. She also grabbed one of the stimpacks, stabbed the needle into her arm like it was nothing, and pressed down on the plunger before hooking the other one on her armour. It wasn't as if Sten or The Lone Atom would need those too often.

Scout was hoping to hold out until the team reached the raider base, but it was becoming too much of a distraction. She peered down at Beauregard (according to him, his friends call him Beau) as he explained how convincing he was (she knew that already) and pulled out a bag of smelling salts. She could almost see him in one of those wretched jumpsuits, sitting at the diner and drinking some of that watery coffee whilst he talked about his day...Scout rubbed her nose and sat on the hood of the car, behind the raider. "Are you going to kill her afterwards? It feels weird looting a living person." She reached into her armour, and pulled out an inhaler with a number scratched into the plastic, half-hidden by Scout's hand. She put it to her lips; there was a hiss of gas and Scout shut her eyes, remaining incredibly still for a couple of brief moments, allowing the stimpack and the Jet to work their magic.

She exhaled a little wisp of white vapour and looked across at Sten and Beau, smiling (well, a little upturned-corners-of-the-mouth smile) at Sten in particular. "Thanks for covering me out there," she said with a bit more emotion than her usual monotonous mumbling.
 
[BCOLOR=transparent]He was sure the dead raiders meant nothing much to him. They rarely carried .50 Caliber. It’s why he aimed for instant kills, to use less ammo. He finally had walked down from his cover, perhaps to recover from the battle. Or at least that’s what his fellow companions would think. It was all about pretending to not be suspicious. Most people after that would have taken off their gas mask, because they were hot underneath it. It was kind of hard to fake sweat though. So Atom just pretended to hawk the bodies, but as said before they didn’t really have anything he needed. They never did. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]When he finally came closer to where everyone was standing, there was a new person introducing who they were. A slicker type. Which Atom had no problem with, in fact he was probably the only one smiling behind the mask at the man’s mannerisms and introductions. He had noted Scout had also hawked the bodies earlier, so he turned his attentions to her.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Did you find any .50 ammo?” he asked her.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]All though he doubted the pipe pistol loving Raiders had any. He spared his bullets by not putting excessive amounts of shot into an individual. He was out of armor piercing rounds as of late. Now that was a fine down in the plant. Atom was still cautious about his new teammates. There was still a lot of Insitute hate. Though he wasn’t planning to say, that part of himself anyway.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Despite not being human, he still had worries and concerns. It was an odd thing to consider, was his personality something he had developed and evolved like a human. Or was his personality programmed and flat. He never questioned these things about himself, unless he was facing the thought in front of this new team.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Especially with this Beau individual. With his charms and personality. It made Atom insecure about how he came off. He wanted to be taken as normally as he could be taken. He didn’t like the idea that he was pretending to play to be human. He had always considered himself human, until he was faced with real humans in front of him that felt more complex than him.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Less programmed. To be a certain way. Despite the memory wipe or the short circuit, with that individual of the past. He was still in the end a day a programmed machine that even he could upgrade himself. At least no one could see the conflict on his face. He only took another short second before there was a smile behind the mask.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“On another subject, Scout, I am beginning to take note that you’re one crazy lady,” Atom laughed he meant it more as a joke, something to laugh about, he was complimenting her. “And Sten that was some nice shooting.”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]He felt encouraging and bonding words were the apt choice in this case. Pat each other the back before the bigger issue came along. Boosting morale. And making sure everyone was okay for the next fight. [/BCOLOR]
 
Sten's face twitched at Beauregard's wink. He didn't know how to deal with... whatever he meant by that. Scowling slightly deeper than usual, he took the smelling salts from him and simply replied with his name, “Sten.” He nodded to Scout's thanks and grunted to Atom's praise. It wasn't that hard, they weren't even 200 meters out.

Instead of talking, Sten instead focused on reviving the unconscious raider. Waving the smelling salts under her face, she coughed and came to. “You part of the outfit that raided the motel?” Sten asked without preamble.

The raider, still groggy, responded with an affirmative grunt. “What'zit to you?”

“Then you won't mind telling us where you're based at, would you?” Sten offered a faint smile, aiming for disarming, but more than likely turning out menacing.

She stared at Sten for a second, regaining her senses. “Do I look like a snitch, you zombie freak?”

Sten's false smile vanished in an instant. “I was hoping you were. I was also hoping you were smart.” Standing up, he huffed in frustration. “If that's how you wanna do it....” He took a few steps away, walking off some of his frustration. “If you guys wanna try talking some sense into this bitch before I start hurting her, now's the time.”
 
"No, I didn't find any...I hope you have a pistol or something to compliment that massive rifle, because I doubt you're going to find many .50 out here." Scout inspected her shoulder, pouting a little as she squinted at the cut. It was already started to stitch itself up. "I've got plenty of .38....here, take a look for yourself." Scout tossed the makeshift sack over to the Lone Atom and rolled her shoulders with a sigh. She lazily watched Sten attempt to be nice to someone - and to be frank, it was quite amusing. It went against everything that Sten seemed to embody as a person, and even Scout could tell he wasn't in his element. Still, at least she looked up at the sky when she smirked to avoid getting a fist-to-the-face from her employer.

This amusing little scene was punctuated by The Lone Atom's little comment about how crazy she was, and Scout couldn't help but laugh - melodic and ladylike, and all too different from what she should sound like. "Crazy? Hell no. Reckless, though...yeah, really reckless. I s'pose that comes with the job." She turned to smile at The Lone Atom once more and it was incredibly obvious that this good mood probably wouldn't have come out on its own. Her pupils were dilated, she looked more docile than ever, and seemed uncharacteristically energetic, judging by the way she constantly fidgeted and played with the Jet inhaler in her hands. She didn't even seem aware that she was doing it.

Her gaze went down to the raider captive again uncertainly. "I don't think I'd do much better than you. Leave it to Beauregard," she responded, putting a bit of emphasis on the name in a teasing sort of voice whilst she leant on the car chassis, flashing a set of teeth at the newer arrival. Her smile faded. "The hell were you doing taking on so many raiders on your own, anyway?" she inquired. "Hardly the smartest course of action."
 
Another member of this ragtag team approached about this time. Beau had thought he’d won the monopoly on regular looks and charm, but apparently that was not the case. The other man was human, and he knew how to talk to the group. Through the brief exchange with the other members, it was apparent that he was responsible for a lot of those raiders going down like drunkards in a punching contest. Beau inhaled and puffed out his chest. Sure, he wasn’t talented in the department of shooting or surviving by the gun, but he had talents. More so, he needed people to work with. They’d witnessed his talent. They knew why.

The attractive, yet terrifying, woman paid him no more mind and asked about the survival of the young raider. Honestly, Beau didn’t care what they did with her after this. She’d been responsible for killing Steve. Ah, shit, Steve. He made a mental note to find his ex-partner’s corpse and properly loot it. Maybe he could make back some of the caps he lost. The other human started speaking to the woman, apparently she was named Scout. Alright. She seemed less like a scout and more like a human bulldozer, but he’d known a man named Quick, who was slow and dumb as rocks. Names were less labels and more aspirations. The ghoul was named Sten, according to the human. So, Scout and Sten and… Beau just called the other man Tim. It was easier that way.

Sten snatched Beau’s smelling salts, which were not at all traditional smelling salts but matches dunked in molerat piss and left in a soggy matchbook, and wafted it in front of the female raider’s nose. It was not a surprise that she jolted awake. Beau always kept those on him in case he worked with a company of drunkards, which was usually more often than not.

She practically spit vitriol from the moment she awoke. Her eyes narrowed at the lot of them. Beau just smiled. It was his go-to defense mechanism. Sten asked where the raider camp was and was shot down quicker than… pretty much anything in the wastes. The ghoul didn’t appreciate her answer. He didn’t try to probe her further, but instead asked one of them to take care of it.

Scout was in conversation with Tim and looked a bit… no… was she tweaked? Beau didn’t comment, because he didn’t know for sure. He’d dealt with a lot of drug users. There was nothing wrong with that. He personally wasn’t a fan, but that didn’t mean other people couldn’t function with them. She looked back towards Sten and commented that they best leave it to Beauregard. And suddenly, he regretted telling him his true first name. Ah well, mistakes were what made a man.

“I would be glad to,” Beau said, smiling. He perched in front of the raider as Sten withdrew, ready to shoot. He gave her a once over and found his approach quite simple. She would have never joined the raiders had she not prioritized survival. That was their motto and creed. Of course, one could get by with a more altruistic approach, but it was hard to be a good guy when the entire world was bad. Beau knew that to be the truth. He’d continually tried to be a shade of good, but he’d constantly had that ripped away from him. He hadn’t hit this level of darkness, but that didn’t mean he might in the future. So, Beau reached into a desperate and future iteration of himself.

“You want to live, right?” Beau asked, his smile faded. “This world is tough. It’s hard. I’ve watched a lot more people die than I wanted to. I’m sure you have, too. Hell, those were your comrades out there, no matter how you viewed them. I mean, we all work with shit people, right?” His smile slowly started creeping in. “The fact is, people like this are transient, I mean short lived. They view the future as the thing literally in front of them. How are you going to survive like this? Especially when they don’t see a horizon where there will be people with bigger and nastier guns? And these people—“ Beau motioned to Sten, Scout, and Tim, “they have bigger and nastier guns. You may think you’re not a snitch now, and you may die if you are. But what if, within the next day… the next week, your raider friends are greeted by a future they never saw coming. What if, the people you fear that might come after you for snitching have smaller, sweeter guns than the ones you’re looking at? The world’s not black and white. It is different shades of cruelty. I want to help you. I want you to walk away from here fine, and find a new life where survival doesn’t depend on a lucky shot from an enemy. And to do that, we’re going need where your friends are. Why? Well, we’re going to make sure whatever you say now won’t ever come back to haunt you.” Beau smiled, sweetly and softly. “I want to make sure that your future isn’t so short sighted. That you can see it long ahead of you.”
 
That mouthy bastard has a way with words, that's for sure. Fortunately Beau's words did the trick. “It's to the north, in a trailer park.” She said, hanging her head and sighing.

Sten stepped forward, said, “Thank you,” and then shot her in the head.

“Okay, finish up here, then let's find a place to spend the night. We don't want to be around when predators smell the bodies.” Turning to Beau, he said, “If you want revenge...” he nodded towards Steve's body nearby, “...or just a few caps, we could use an extra gun.” He didn't feel the need to explain more. He figured Beau had picked up what was going on.

About a quarter hour of hiking later, they chanced upon a ruined house with one wall still standing. Sten ordered the group to set up camp in lee of the wall. Unfurling his bedroll, Sten sat on it and began chewing on a dry piece of mole rat jerky. He expected some of them might have words with him after his abrupt end to the interrogation, and waited for others to talk first. He wondered if he'd have to defend his actions or if they'd talk of more banal things.
 
The shot caused Scout to flinch away involuntarily, grabbing her gun. She knew where it came from, knew it was coming, but she couldn't-...it was simply a knee-jerk reaction. Scout peered down at the dead body and how, in her muddled mind, the colour of the blood oozing onto the dusty tarmac was such a bright shade of red that it almost hurt her eyes. She blinked slowly and then looted the body - there wasn't anything special on it, 8 caps (she split them out for everyone and pocketed 2 for herself) a couple of bullets (which, frankly, she didn't need after hogging all the .38 so she left them up for grabs) and a fork. Scout took the fork; she knew she could probably pawn it off for scrap metal later. Like everything else, she had a little fork pocket on her armour which she carefully deposited the eating utensil into. Then she just left the body; she nearly stepped on it as she followed Sten, completely uncaring towards the fact it once held a life. It seemed like the moment the bullet sealed her fate Scout stopped caring for its humanity and went about her business, shamelessly taking what the corpse offered and moving on.

"You didn't have to waste a bullet," she noted cheerily to Sten as she walked alongside him, still visibly affected by the Jet. That was all she said on the matter.

The hike did the trick as slowly, gradually, Scout seemed to lose her lustre and tumble back into her usual blank and passive self once more. She didn't say much, but it was clear that her energetic strides had reduced to a weary plod and she became more and more reserved. Once the group reached the crumbled house, Scout hesitated; it was so ruined that she did not feel any agitation from being around a pre-war building but she doubted the safety of camping somewhere that could fall in on you at any moment. Arguably, it was better than sleeping outside. Scout wandered in and took her position rather carefully near the edge of the peeling wooden floor, by unfurling the bedroll tucked in the back of her armour on that spot.

Sten didn't seem like talking today. Scout sung little tune to herself as she started the laborious process of taking off the myriad of scrap metal armour, hardly aware that she was singing in the first place. Her voice was low and somewhat restrained (to avoid alerting any nasty creatures hiding in the murky depths of the Wasteland), but it was clear and pure and obviously professional. She hit every note perfectly, and the ghost of a smile played on her lips as she sung, oblivious or simply uncaring of the opinions of her coworkers. As she managed to unstrap the massive hunks of twisted metal, her figure became less bulky and menacing - she wore a very baggy vest top and trousers underneath all of the armour. Her figure was curvy, tall but incredibly muscular and her body was scattered with scars. She pulled out a pair of cloth shoes from her bedroll and took off her massive metal boots, swapping into the slippers.

The only things she kept on were her underclothes and she transferred her belt, complete with gun and knife, to hand around her waist loosely. Cracking open a tin of Cram, Scout sat cross-legged on the bedroll and stopped singing to eat her food. Her gaze slipped from one mercenary to the other with a sort of patience. Eventually, Scout broke the silence by looking over at The Lone Atom and asking "Do you only use your sniper rifle in combat? What if someone got too close?" It seemed a better topic for discussion than asking about his life and origins - after all, she barely knew these people, and only barely cared for them.
 
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[BCOLOR=transparent]Camping worried him. I mean wasn’t it clear and obvious, no normal person would sleep with their gas mask on. He had hoped that they would have gotten to the other bandits in time, instead of having to deal with this awkwardness. That’s all he could really worry about on their hike. What he was going to do the moment they got there and everyone was preparing for bed time. Which sounded a lot more childish than what he intended. Of course though. In every situation Atom provided the radio. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]
[/BCOLOR]​

[BCOLOR=transparent]If there was still something he enjoyed very much was the radio. He was probably the least serious of everyone in this team. Because behind them as they were hiking, he was most likely doing a little jig. He was pretty sure this wasn’t a very mercenary thing to do. Yet, he honestly didn’t care. Being too serious really didn’t sit well with him.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]When they finally got to the camp it didn’t take the ease away from what he had to do to keep his cover. So he took off his gas mask. That was a start. Which exposed a man in his mid twenties, with blond hair, that at the moment was kind of messy. Gas mask hair. His hair didn’t grow. Nor did he require a haircut. But it certainly looked like he had to.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]He shook out his hair a bit, just to get it to behave a bit better. When Scout finally came up to him and asked him a question.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Do you only use your sniper rifle in combat? What if someone got too close?"[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Atom took a second. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Well, I have a shock baton if they get too close,” Atom told Scout, “But truth be told it's rare for them to get close to me. One time, I wiped out the whole front entrance before anyone noticed me.” he seemed proud of his efforts. Without his gas mask now, he couldn’t hide the child like smile on his face.[/BCOLOR]
 
“You should get a sidearm for when things get hairy.” Sten said through a mouthful of jerky. He tossed a chunk to Atom to try to get him to shut up and listen once he swallowed. “It's hard to move that rifle in close quarters, much less aim it. Whatever you pick doesn't have to be big or fancy, just something to put bullets downrange, keep heads down while you get out.”

“Also your stories need some context, Goldilocks.” He referred to Atom's lackluster tale about an 'entrance'. “Details, like who you were fighting and how many. Like this: There was one time, twenty or twenty-five years back, that I took out an entire caravan on my own. Three merchants, five brahmin, twenty guards and the better part of a day.” The actual figure was 18 guards, but Sten, although not prone to exaggeration, wasn't about to correct himself and weaken his story. “I picked a flat plain for the ambush with a billboard and a ditch as the only available cover. I rigged the sign with some C4, filled the ditch with landmines and left one landmine in the middle of the road. I then camped out on a nearby hill and waited. The caravan's point man walked into the landmine in the middle of the road and they all stopped, thinking they were about to walk into a minefield. I started shooting then, picking off who I could. I got three more guys before they realized they were being shot at."

Anasty grin crept over Sten's face. "From there on out, it was utter fucking chaos. They all started panicking, half a dozen guards started shooting wildly in my direction, making for easy targets, another half a dozen guards ran headlong into the ditch and got blown to shit, one of the merchants started pulling the brahmin behind the sign and naturally also got blown to shit and the rest took cover behind whatever else they could find: bodies, mostly. One of the more desperate guards shot one of their own brahmin and used it as cover. I spent the rest of the day waiting for the last three or four guys left to leave their cover, either to shoot back at me or to run. Once they were taken care of, I took all I could carry, buried what I couldn't. All told, between the job's pay, the caps I took, the loot I sold and selling the location of the rest I buried, I made about twelve-thousand caps on that job. Granted, it didn't come all at once. The merchandise they were moving was rather hot after I lifted it so I had to sell it piecemeal over the course of four months. Also, I don't think the people of Four-Town will be letting me through their gates for another two or three decades.”

“That's how you tell a story.” He looked to the others. "Your turns."
 
He took off his mask. Scout peered at The Lone Atom with intrigue and, of course, surprise. He was younger than she imagined, with a crop of blonde hair, sharp features and an almost naïve (and certainly misleading) smile that spread not only from his lips, but in his eyes too. Scout prodded her cram with the tin lid she was using as a spoon, mulling it over. She doubted he was as innocent as he seemed, but it was the first time she truly considered The Lone Atom to be...well, anything but a mysterious assassin. It was confusing. People were confusing. Scout ate some more Cram and kept quiet.

What was it with this group and breaking her expectations? Sten was being uncharacteristically chatty; Atom seemed cheerier than the two of them combined...Scout had certainly stumbled into a group of oddballs here. Sten eagerly explained the subtlety of a good story before plunging into his own, explaining how he slaughtered a group of traders all on his lonesome. Scout felt like she should be uncomfortable about it, but she could not muster up the empathy to feel sorry for a group of dead traders from twenty-or-twenty-five years back. She took the story for what it was – a shameless display of Sten’s own prowess, with enough details to dissuade the listeners from accusing him of bragging for the sake of impressing his new co-workers. Again, showing off did not quite resonate with Scout’s own personality, and she chewed on a lump of Cram when Sten ordered another story to be told in return. Another thing about mercenaries, Scout noted, was their immediate demand for compensation or some form of prize after doing anything.

Problem was, she did not have anything to give Sten in return; at least, nothing she wanted him to know at this moment in time. Sure, Scout had a myriad of tales detailing vault life, more than sufficient to amaze everyone present with her strange habits and customs that she grew up with...but admitting one originated from a vault tended to produce varying effects on the listener, ranging from surprise, to mistrust. Ultimately, everyone she has revealed her secret to have attempted to plunder her homeplace and found death at the hands of the raiders situated within.

Scout idly played with a half-empty tin of Cram (she ate in small bites, using her impromptu utensil very carefully and daintily, and never spoke with her mouth full) whilst she thought, having to sort through detached and muddled memories, a plethora of one-time contracts and menial drudgery that occupied her time since she escaped her vault. “I do not...have any impressive stories that I can think of right away.” It was an outright lie, but a sufficient one nonetheless. Scout glanced up and sighed a little. She had to say something, at the very least.

Scout started her story with reluctance. “Three years ago, last winter, I escaped from a raider hideout. I was working as a farmhand on a small settlement that grew tarberries when, in the middle of the night, the settlement was broken into by a gang of raiders who took all of the women and children.” Scout looked down again, avoiding the stares of the others; she did not like all of the attention directed onto her. “I wasn’t sure what they wanted from us; the more vulnerable and good looking women were violated whilst the children were put to work sorting ammunition. Any of the hostages who didn’t fall into those two categories were forced to cook, or clean. This persisted for several days.”

Scout shrugged her shoulders a little, doing one of her little twitches of her lips that seemed to translate into a smile. “Apparently, these sorts of operations had become all the more common to scare some of the smaller communities into paying protection money. Personally, I did not behave and consequently spent the first few days in chains next to the hound cages. I hadn’t had any Jet for a while and became a bit-...” Scout searched for a polite way to put it. “...irritated, but I kept still and eventually I was let out to wash dishes. You can imagine how that turned out; the kitchen was on the outskirts of the encampment and I suddenly had access to pieces of glass and blades.”

“I am sorry to say that the moments after that are a bit fuzzy; I was suffering withdrawal, there was an adrenaline rush. I know for certain that I took out the two guards in the kitchen, took one of their guns and ran away into the surrounding trees. I think I was shot at but nobody hit me. Eventually, I found my way back to the settlement in the early hours of the morning, took what I needed from the lockers and left. I suppose in moments like that you need to look after yourself.” Scout abruptly ended her story and went back to her dinner as if nothing had happened. No guilt, no sense of sadness that persisted from her recollections, and no invitation for anyone else to tell their own adventures.

Evidently, she wasn’t much of a story-teller.
 
[BCOLOR=transparent]Did Sten ever take that stick out of his ass? Even though he was being a bit more warming to them with his storytelling techniques. He was starting to get the impression all Sten ever did was change what position the stick up his ass was pointing. Yet, Atom did very good. He sat down, listened and nodded his head. He realized he was handed something to eat, but….[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]He listened to Scout speak of her story. Her story was rather like listening to grave. No he liked it, just her presentation was a bit lackluster. He felt like he had to defend himself though in this situation a bit. Backtracking from the previous conversation.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“I have a shock baton,” he added one more time, when Scout’s story finished. He never needed a sidearm before. His VATS and his trusty sniper were pretty good enough to thwart off assholes. And when he ran out of ammo he usually snuck up behind them and clocked them over the head. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]He suppose now there was social pressure for him to join in on a story. Suppose to redeem himself. Atom pretended to crack his knuckles and there was that childish smile on his face again. A smirk in the corner of his mouth and a playful twinkle in his eye.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Have you ever heard of the Louisiana Haunted House?” Atom asked. He didn’t really wait for the answer, he simply sat back.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Turns out this crazy Wasteland survivor was building a Haunted House in the Wasteland,” Atom continued, “I was contacted by some villagers who lived pretty close by. They seemed pretty scared. Turns out this guy was hatching Wasteland critter eggs in the Haunted House as exhibits. I went because well one, you have to look out for the people, but also because I was pretty curious. It was the strangest place I think to this day.”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Atom paused. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“You enter the entranceway and you hear the disembodied voice of the man on the intercom, Welcome to the Exhibit of Louisiana's mysteries,” Atom mimicked, “Since you’re the first customer, your ticket is for free.” [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]He smiled.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“So I walk in. First hallway, lined with mannequins. Mannequins in all kinds of positions, you had some of them barricading corpses of other people. Mannequins fighting each other to death, though I am not sure how that worked, Seems pretty much all right, right now. The villages are sounding more like they are making up rumors. Until I entered the second room, there were cages filled with all kinds of critters. Baby deathclaws. Imagine it, if it could eat you, it was in that room, well it’s not the fault of the deathclaws that they are here. So I am thinking of a mass rescue plan for everybody. Baby deathclaws go into the wild with their parents who most likely have already tracked where their eggs have gone and people are “safe” well as safe as you can get with creatures outside of a world that they navigate better than you,”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]He took another second.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“So, here I am undoing the cages, when the man from the exhibit comes busting down the double doors of the second room. With a flamethrower, he’s pissed. I am taking away his life work. Flames are going every which way, lapping at the floor, nearly singing me in the process. So I dive down, roll under and I manage to wack his leg with the shock baton. He manages to topple down on his knees, and he’s screaming at me, you know, you’ve destroyed my lifes work, you ruined it. I told him to quit now while he was ahead, it’s not fair to the villagers and it’s not fair to these creatures either. At first he doesn’t want to agree with it, but something changes his mind. He nods his head and says, okay you’re right,” Atom paused, “And that’s how I avoided the mass slaughter of some baby deathclaws and the mass slaughter of a village who were going to become casualties if the parents decided to tear up the place.”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Atom smiled again. How was that for a story?[/BCOLOR]
 
All that wasted effort and wasted life, Beau thought. The raider was dead. And it brought a new light to Sten. Never be on the wrong end of the fight with that ghoul. No matter if you give yourself up peacefully, he’ll still shoot you. Beau supposed that was just the rule of the wastes. It wasn’t as if nice guys lived long. Even the most altruistic of folk needed to put a bullet in someone’s head now and again.

He shoved those thoughts out of his mind as he set up camp. He unpacked his satchel. He took out a shard of mirror to tend to his face. It was bloody and dirty, but the cut was shallow. A bit of dabbing with a bandage, and then a wetted cloth, and he was as good as new. Well, his face a little red around the scratch, but it would heal.

On their way out, Beau had rifled through Steve’s things and grabbed a few items of interest. Some of it was scrap, some were bullets, but none of it were caps. As the others idly chatted around the camp, Beau laid the scrap out on an old bandana and pulled out his notebook. He hunkered over them, rear in the air, and face close to the ground. He was left handed, and so he held his makeshift pencil tightly between his fingers, it laying across where his ring finger used to be. It was an odd sensation to have the worn wood rub against the scarred over nub. But he had long since learned to ignore it. He drew the scrap, cataloging it with other pre-apocalypse scraps. He flipped a few pages and measured it against some things he’d found a few months before. That wasn’t right. He chewed his lip and flipped a few more pages. He immediately stopped. Shit. He’d forgotten that he’d used his father’s Brotherhood of Steel tags as a page marker. They read: Knight Arsenault. No one knew that it wasn’t Beau Arsenault but Luke Arsenault it was referring to. Actually, now that he thought about it, he should probably do a better job of hiding everything he’d taken from his childhood home. Brotherhood schematics. Brotherhood notebooks. It was fair to say that he wouldn’t make fast friends if the people around him thought that he was a member of the brotherhood.

Beau slowly closed the notebook, reminding himself to remove the tags when he got a chance. The safest place for them was around his neck and under his clothes. He highly doubted that any one of these strangers would want to frisk him naked. He slowly closed his notebook and set aside his pencil. It was getting dark, anyway, and it seemed like a good time to stop scribbling. He’d have a bit more light tomorrow morning before they set out. He liked to jot these things down before he sold the pieces. That way if he learned they were more important than he first thought and ran into them in the future, he could keep them. The process may have seemed tedious, but it’s what kept him sane.

Tim had taken off his mask. Beau focused on his face for a moment before moving on. That was not at all what Beau expected of Tim. Especially considering the bragging that poured from Tim’s lips like he was some sort of super mercenary. Sten chastised Tim, calling him Goldilocks in the process, and began to tell his own story. Beau enjoyed things like this. He loved learning about his comrades. He flashed a warm smile at the ghoul that turned sour once he realized what the ghoul’s story was about—murdering traders. What the hell have I gotten myself into, Beau thought. Sten seemed more than happy to recount the tale, building up his prowess on the battlefield as if killing innocents was a badge to be worn. The raider was one thing. Traders… Beau looked at the nub where his ring finger used to be. He clenched it into a fist until his knuckles turned white and then he released it. Well, he wasn't going to tell that story. People always loved to hear about disfigurements. He’d hold off for now, anyway. Didn’t seem appropriate, and it was not the best way to remember his wife. There were other stories, though. He figured he needed to avoid the ones about his childhood. Omitting the Brotherhood would be hard considering that they raised him. Ah well, it was more interesting than most, but probably not the sanest thing to start out with.

Scout told a story of sadness. Tim told a story of valiance--sort of. Beau figured he'd tell a story that they could tell when they were drunk.

He held up his left hand, showing his missing finger. "Let me tell you tale of when I brought home the wrong pants and got a thousand caps from it. It involves drinking, nudity, gun fights, and one super mutant. I need to preface this story with a bit of my childhood. I grew up in Red Stick. My father worked in the militia there." That was a flat out lie, but he didn't quite want to reveal his father was a Knight in the Brotherhood. Militia worked fine. "I was ten when he 'died.' I put this in quotes because that's what I heard at first. Later, my mother received reports about how he wasn't dead, but a super mutant. Other members of his militia watched him get dragged off, changed, and then escape their guns. So, if I have a soft spot for shooting them. You know why." He winked. "Fast forward ten years. The Shreve is not a place for innocence. It exists to thwart all heroics and champions. From its dense criminal population to its gambling boats, and mercenary attitude. I worked as a trader." Maybe he gave a pointed look to Sten, or maybe he gave him a wry smile with another wink applied to it. "My group was swindled by a couple of bodyguards about halfway through. We weren't paid for our job because of them. I returned to Red Stick broke and pretty pissed off.

"You might imagine my surprise when I learned that they were at the local bar, Riverboat Drunks, spending all that well earned cash. Upset, and maybe partially drunk, I walked in there and challenged them to a game of cards. Winner takes all, and the loser goes home naked. I play a mean hand of cards, but by halfway through the game I could tell that they were priming their pistols. So, I threw a few matches. It was enough to win their pants but lose all their caps back to them. I was naked by the end of it, only garbed in one of the bodyguards set of breeches. Turns out, they'd left a key in there with a map. Assured that I'd stumbled across most of the hidden caps, I decided to travel to this location and find whatever they had hidden there.

"Halfway there, I discovered a super mutant. He was wearing--" Brotherhood armor, but he made up the next detail, "a leather strap from Red Stick's militia. I drunkenly assumed it was my father. I yelled at it, calling it Dad. It just turned at me and literally tried to murder me. I slipped down a hill as it charged at me. Guess who it ran into? The two bodyguards that found out that I had stolen their key and their map. I pulled myself up from the hill in enough time to see the super mutant mauling them to death. I meandered to this hidden chest to find it in an abandoned house. I opened it up, assuming I had it held the rest of their money. Turns out, it just held one of those weird bobbleheads. I snagged it. It figured it was worth nothing, but apparently it was worth two people that swindled me's life. The next morning, this strange man shows up at my door and offers my a thousand caps for it. I sell it to him pronto and never see him again. The Shreve is full interesting characters." He smiled. "I may not go out with guns-a-blazing, like you folk, but I know how to get what I want."

Beau pulled his flask from his satchel and took a swig. "Anyone else want some?"
 
Scout sat and listened to these two...cheerier stories, in comparison to her own and Sten's. Atom eagerly plunged into a story about a haunted house which captured Scout's interest - at the very least, she stopped playing with the tin can and gave Atom her full attention for the entirety of the story, but remained blank-faced until the end where she did another little smile. She wasn't sure what a baby Deathclaw looked like, as she only had the displeasure of meeting one in her lifetime, and that one was rather big...but she imagined they were simply smaller versions of the big ones. The thought alone of making a Haunted House intrigued Scout as she dimly remembered Halloween celebrations back in the vault, averted her gaze and smiled a little wider. There were times when these vault memories would hurt, and other times she was simply glad to remember them.

Beau went into his own story and Scout peered at him, still remaining utterly silent. The cut on his face was red around the edges, but shallow...it'll heal, but Scout made a mental note to keep an eye on infection. Scout did not know what to make of Beau yet, and she was still on the wary side, but his mannerisms and posture seemed to label him out as a pre-war man. Of course, Scout's estimations were once more crushed as he stated that he grew up in Red Stick, meaning Scout was the only Vault dweller in her team...she did not know how to feel about that. Nevertheless, where Sten and Scout seemed to be boasting, Beau seemed to be doing something else. The passive aggression did not go unnoticed by Scout, who politely looked away from Sten when the subtle emphasis fell onto the word 'trader'. Against her own volition, Scout found herself stifling a giggle from time to time.

Of course Beau did not know the value of a Vault Tech bobblehead, but Scout was not in the mood for explaining it. She wondered who the buyer was - probably a collector of sorts, but it was a little unnerving to think that he knew precisely where the bobblehead had gone after it was taken from its chest...still, if Scout was lucky, she would not have to run into those sorts of characters. She was brought back into the present when Beau offered out some alcohol.

Scout's eyes widened a little with worry and she even recoiled a little, shaking her head twice. She had been drunk before, both in the vault and out of it, and it was never enjoyable for any of the parties involved. Typically, the parts she remembered were rather jovial, she sung a lot and used to put on quite the show...but eventually someone would say the wrong thing and Scout, or the offender, or both would end up in the medbay of the vault. Now that she has grown stronger and generally more lethal, the aftereffects tended to be much more gruesome..."N-no thank you," she stumbled a little on her words, "I do not...I am not very good with alcohol. Ever."

Scout pulled the ringtab off her lid of Cram and pocketed it into one of the many pouches she had around her armour, pushing the lid of the tin can into the can itself and then crushing it to the best of her ability to put it into another bag. She reclined a little on her bedroll, remaining peacefully quiet - in reality she was listening out for anything that felt like jumping onto her from the gloom of night, but that was simply a habit you had to pick up when you worked in the Wasteland. She waited for someone else to speak up.
 
Sten was quiet through Scout's story, frowning faintly. I'm surprised she'd share something like that. Shows how tough she is, though, and you gotta respect that. A good story. Not pleasant, but what is? Atom told his story, prompting Sten to shake his head. “You find all sorts of nutters out in the Wastelands.” I'd probably have shot the lunatic, but charging a man with a flamer is either brave or retarded. Considering Atom's behavior, I'm leaning towards the latter. After Beau told his tale, Sten became keenly aware that his story was in rather poor taste. Eh, you spend over a century killing people, you forget how to talk to them. “East coast muties tend to be more savage and barbaric than west coast muties. Rumor I heard back in Wyoming was that some loonie who called himself 'Master' started breeding them or something about a hundred years back. Might be why they're smarter over there... well, marginally.” Sten turned down Beau's offer of booze. “I'm taking first watch, so I'll pass on the drink. Get some shuteye; we have a busy day tomorrow.”

The next morning, everyone cleared up the camp and continued north. It wasn't too much longer that the group spotted the raiders' trailer park in the distance. Sten took out his binoculars and surveyed the camp while chewing on an orange mentat pill. “I'm seeing four lookouts, situated on a kind of rooftop causeway they've built, and at least three more walking around the park itself. My guess is that we're looking at around twelve raiders, give or take. No sign of the hostage yet.” He turned to the group. “So, ideas? Normally I'd take my time, sneak around them and pick them off one by one until they leave or all die, but I can't exactly do that while dragging you all along.”
 
Waking Scout up could probably be compared to poking a feral ghoul with a stick. She slept like a log, and when some unlucky soul had to nudge her awake she growled under her breath and took out her machete in one, swift movement. At the very least, she opened her eyes before she could do any actual damage. An incoherent apology and a puff of Jet later, Scout drowsily went about her business, kitted up and walked out with the rest of the mercenaries in her usual peaceful silence. She took up the rear of the group this time and kept an eye on everyone in front out of wariness; Scout couldn't bring herself to trust any of these people yet. They hadn't done anything significant to earn that luxury. Besides, by keeping the rear she could hold off any potential attackers...but once again, nothing befell them.

Orange mentats? Scout smiled to herself as she found out there was one other chem user in the group; she was starting to feel a bit more isolated than usual. The set-up was rather typical of a raider den but Scout knew never to make assumptions; most of these hideouts could have a labyrinth underground full of fighters. She was sat down at the base of a gnarled, desiccated tree, peering down at the miniscule trailer camp in the morning light. "I'd get bored if you sat there and took them all out yourself," responded Scout. Was there a hint of humour in her voice? Scout rubbed at her nose with her knuckles to hide the smirk on her lips.

"If you and Atom can shoot the lookouts, I can head down there and rush straight in," Scout pointed towards the gentler slope that lead down into the raider den, "I'll cause a distraction and try to lure everyone outside. It should probably give you and Atom enough time to get a better vantage point and provide some more cover..." Scout trailed off and peered at Beau. "...and hopefully, Beau can slip past and try to find the hostage. If not, he can at least help me kill some people - provided he doesn't blow any more raiders up right next to me." It seemed like a safe enough plan - Scout could handle being bait since the others were clearly not built to take a hit, but Beau was a bit of a wild card at the moment. She had no idea what he was good at yet aside from talking, and this was hardly a diplomatic mission. Something felt wrong about sending Beau in as a distraction, too - she felt it would be too dangerous for him. Everyone in this group seems so fragile, thought Scout as she peered from face to face wearily.
 
Beau remembered the old adage that one of the traders had told him. “Don’t trust a man that won’t drink with you.” When both Scout and Sten passed on his flask, he took a big swig himself. After that, he pocketed it. If they were going to watch in shifts, he didn’t want to be hungover while trying to keep their hides safe. It wasn’t enough alcohol, though, and he still had nightmares. Sten’s story reminded him of it. He saw his wife get shot in a thousand different ways in his dreamlike kaleidoscope vision.

As they made their way to the bandit encampment, Beau yawned the entire time. Fortunately, the trip was without problem and they arrived. Of course, the encampment itself proved to be quite the problem.

Sten, more or less, made it seem like the rest of the group was a detriment to his abilities. Beau just returned that statement with a long, dog yawn. Scout gave out a plan. It was better than nothing, but it still seemed problematic. He knew that he wasn’t the best in the fight. That’s why he always traveled with heavily armored folk. He scratched his chest, feeling his father’s dog tag underneath his shirt.

“That sounds fine,” he said, smiling. “Though I might not be the best to hinge your bets on. I’m not a good a shot. Hell, that thing with the raider yesterday was just a fluke. In case, you couldn’t tell.” Beau winked at Scout. “I can be the distraction. We can position me on the other side of the camp, I can make enough noise that they come to inspect, and you guys can pick them off while their backs are turned. That way, Scout, you don’t have to worry about me blowing people up around you. Your face is too pretty for that.”

Beau turned to Sten. “How does that sound, Boss Man?”
 
Sten nodded when he heard Beauregard's plan. “Hmm, sounds good, though I want Atom covering you, just to be safe. One against two is poor odds, much less one against a dozen.” He pointed to a hill west of the raider camp. “Take a position over there, make sure it has plenty of cover.” Sten unslung his sniper rifle from his shoulder and handed it to Atom. “Use this to start, it's silencer will let you take out the sentries quietly. Once they're down, switch to your gun and take out anyone coming for Beauregard. Scout and I will head to the east side of the camp and move in once Beauregard starts shooting...” He pulled a hand grenade from under his cloak. “...and flush them out.” he headed out low and quiet with Scout in tow.

As they took their roundabout route to their position, Sten and Scout saw the sentries on the upper causeway drop one by one. Not long after they reached their position, the crack of ionizing air reached their ears. Sten simply nodded to Scout, aimed his 10mm pistol and moved in. Here we go. Let's see how this ragtag mercenary group works out.
 
Scout frowned when Beauregard opted to become bait. Initially, she thought about speaking up and stopping him; the poor man did not look like that much of a fighter. However, Sten intervened before Scout could say anything and she simply rolled her shoulders and stood up, leaving without a word. If he gets himself killed, that's his own fault and not yours, she reminded herself as she plodded behind Sten.

"He's quite a good shot, isn't he?" noted Scout idly as she watched the sentries crumple and topple over. At least Atom had some redeeming qualities, despite his...eccentric habits. Scout peered down at Sten as he pulled out his pistol and she readied her own gun, moving in slowly this time and taking a few aimed shots. She managed to hit a couple of times, but three with three misses and an increasingly short temper Scout decided to put away her pipe gun and pull out her slasher as the duo closed the gap.

This was something that Scout was used to. She rushed in and pummelled whomever had the misfortune of stepping too close to her, bullets ricocheting off the scrap metal armour in loud pings and bangs. Suddenly, Scout lurched backwards into the cover of two trailers - there were too many shooters and not enough stabbers, she couldn't hope to close the distance to the pipe pistols across the clearing without receiving bullet wounds. Damnit, where's Sten...Scout had lost track of her employer in the frenzy and had to cope on her own.

The pipe gun felt light and unwieldy in her hands, but at least she knew how to use it decently. Raising the gun up and crouching down behind a few tyres, Scout leant on her makeshift cover, aimed, and managed to hit a raider's torso. She smirked at his yell and curse before moving on to another raider, hidden behind a piece of old plywood. Aiming carefully, she pulled the trigger but the bullet skimmed past her target as the raider ducked behind his cover.

Something confused Scout a little. There were more raiders, certainly, but not as many as she suspected; were there some hiding somewhere, or were they guarding the hostage? Perhaps Scout simply couldn't see the rest of them from her hiding space. Either way, she waited for an opening in the gunfire so she could rush out again and start attacking. She wasn't nearly as proficient with her gun, but she would rather shoot and miss then hit and get shot at.
 
Beau nodded. “Sounds good to me,” he said, regarding him travelling with Atom. He hated to cut Scout off like that, but he’d be far more useful not being relied upon to shoot something. Also, he enjoyed making an ass out of himself. Things only became more fun if he could torment those around him with his sometimes bawdy personality.

They took their positions. Beau pressed his back against a rock and lowered the bill of his cap, hopefully reflecting the sun to the best of his ability. He peeked to the side to see the sentries begin to drop one by one, silently as if they’d all wanted to take naps headfirst into the ground. After that was through, Beau then did his thing, and by that, he began to fire aimlessly into the raider compound.

He may have hit someone. It was hard to tell. But the alarm raised quickly, and raiders began to scramble around like a colony of giant ants.

Beau leaned into his rifle, propping the barrel on top of the rock and trying to shoot whatever came into his scope. He purposely shot with a target, a few times, to remind him where he was. “This is not a cleverly disguised pincer attack formed by a handsome genius,” Beau whispered into his rifle, smiling.

Gazing through his scope, he saw that Scout had been pinned. There were quite a few raiders with guns. Usually, they were the sort to throw themselves headfirst into danger, and then lose said head. It was a shame that these were being cautious. Beau let out a few shots in their direction. Hopefully, pulling their attention to him so Scout could get to the hostages.

A bullet glanced past him, and another embedded itself into the rock right below his face. Beau ducked behind the rock. “Is that all you got, you Brahmin fuckers!” That was a horrible insult. You can do better than that.

Beau pulled out his spent fusion cell and grabbed another from his bag. He counted about four more. He’d need to buy some whenever they decided to stop, again. Once, he was reloaded, he carefully peered out from behind his rock to see a few raiders hauling literal ass in his direction. “Oh shit, shit,” Beau said, rapidly.

He let out a flurry of shots, and managed to catch one of the raiders in the leg, but the other blasts whizzed past them. Now would be a good time for Lady Luck to intervene, he thought. Beau fingered one of his grenades. They were really for machines. But they could probably still do some damage to the raiders, but it’d probably surprise them more than anything. Still. It was better than waiting to be murdered.

Beau pulled the grenade of his belt and hefted it over the rock. He heard an, “ow, fuck,” as the grenade smacked against a raider’s head before falling directly in front of him. It blew up in a static blue light, killing the raider it had landed on and stunning the other two. Beau hoped that Atom could pick them off before they managed to recover.
 
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