CLOSED SIGNUPS FALLOUT: RECLAMATION (IC)

[Schnee Corp Lawyer]

"He's co-heading the whole expedition. Pulled a lot of strings to get it through Congress. He's the rep who dealt with House the most, so he gets most of the credit for how things played out. Right place, right time, you ask me. You train a molerat to kiss a securitron's ass, it could do his job."

And if you gave him badass ballistic-proof armor and a fuck the world gun he could do a ranger's, probably.

"Damn. I knew it was his game and all, but I didn't know he was actually coming for the ride. Didn't figure this was a pencil pusher's show." Mags said with a snort, meeting the nameless colonel on his level, feeling a kindred spirit in him even if she couldn't quite place why. And also hoping she could pawn taking dragging this stupid huge rifle back to the quartermaster on someone else

[PER 5] The woman in rags was shorter than the ranger by a fair amount, but the frame shrouded beneath the folds of her garments couldn't have been anything but toned, lithe muscle; the kind of compact efficiency forged by hard work and hard knocks in the heat of the desert. Her outfit was, frankly, too unflattering to say with certainty, an aesthetic choice Maeve suspected was deliberate. The pneumatic power fist peeking out from the depths of her right sleeve wasn't what had gripped their shoulder, though they would've been forgiven for assuming elsewise. What was obvious was that the lady had spent time working with her hands, and probably hadn't needed help opening a pickle jar in a really long time.

"Hey. Do you take your job seriously?"

She led bluntly, brown eyes made to twinkle now lidded with a hint of attitude, dimpled cheeks and the faintest of smile lines implying a customary good nature that was far from view currently. With arms folding tautly at the chest, cheek bitten from the inside, and dark circles under her eyes practically crying out for sleep, on the whole she actually looked rather pissed off.

"You look like you do. You look like taking stuff seriously is very important to you."

Maeve's blue eyes studied the woman in front of them with their usual coldness, though just as with Job, their hand had casually and smoothly come to rest on their plasma pistol as they were turned.

If there was anything they saw in her that gave them any pause, it didn't breach through the surface of their expression as they answered with a soldier's calm cadence.

"I'm actually on my way to take some things seriously right now, Miss." They let their hand fall off their pistol to rest at their side. "Do you have something to add to that list? Must be particularly serious if that hardware can't handle it." they asked with a glance towards the powerfist at her side.

 

[C.T.]

"You too, unless the big CC can't do without you. Careful who you point that gun at private, that's the gunslinger who killed Joe Cobb. " they added to the one talking to Mia as they strode off with Mags in tow.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that same one who littered Black Mountain with mutie corpses." Mia spat, her feathers clearly ruffled by the subtle dig. "So watch yer goddamn mouth, ranger. I ain't no joke." She left it at that, though her eyes lingered on Maeve for a few seconds longer.​

[END 7] Mia's skepticism with regards to his stamina seemed to strike a nerve in the private, his paunchy gut and muffin top evident even through the layers of his uniform. He made no move to impede her further, though wore his scorn plainly as he nodded her through. "Whatever. Took you for a dyke anyway. Lemme smarten you up though: new orders are to crack down on freeloaders before the convoy strikes out. No unvetted personnel. So you independents can get your asses over to the merc barracks and enlist with the other blow-ins by noon tomorrow or get ready for a nice, long trek with the freaks on the hill."

He jabbed a finger up at the ridge looming beyond the overpass, lit by the dim glow of a bonfire now burned down to faded embers.

She pulled her right hand out of her pocket and gave him a mocking salute as she strode past. "Got it, private Chubs." He was out of sight and out of mind for her within moments. She was able to swipe a new glove easily enough, she doubted it would be missed. Not that she really cared anyway, beer was on her mind.​

Most sensible folk had retired to their quarters by now, the loiterers still kicking it in the common areas of the insensible variety by and large; mercenaries, off-duty caravan guards, army brats looking to feel tough by hanging with folk a hair grittier than they were entirely comfortable with. They knew better than to act up, though, and any especially mean, messy, or rowdy drunks had long since been ejected for the uncertainty of the tribal camp.

She blended with the few that were still hanging around, her easygoing stride taking her right up to the bar and tossing caps down for a beer. She turned once she got it, briefly eyeing the crowd. Whatever she was looking for, she didn't say, but nobody seemed to catch her eye and she spun right back around again with a quiet sigh and just went to work on the drink in her hand.​

 

[OrlandoBloomers]

"Damn. I knew it was his game and all, but I didn't know he was actually coming for the ride. Didn't figure this was a pencil pusher's show." Mags said with a snort, meeting the nameless colonel on his level, feeling a kindred spirit in him even if she couldn't quite place why. And also hoping she could pawn taking dragging this stupid huge rifle back to the quartermaster on someone else​

His scoff was rueful, a grunt issued as he dragged the rusty hinges of the gate through the sand to close it once Luther wheeled his machine through, hopefully assisted by a sufficiently buttered-up Job.

"And you'd be on the money, but nothin' scares the primo pencil pushers back in Shady like the thought of a military rollout this size without proper governmental oversight. You know bureaucrats and their checks 'n balances. Always paranoid the next big land grab's gonna turn out to be the birth of the next rival state." He grimaced. "So we get Crocker and his delegation, which apparently translates to him hirin' the biggest merc outfit around to 'coordinate' with us. S'all one big pissin' contest, top to bottom, or my name ain't Corporal Jameson."

Now a named NPC, he did feel bad about pushing his political cynicism on her, and that was most likely going to happen.
​

"I'm actually on my way to take some things seriously right now, Miss." They let their hand fall off their pistol to rest at their side. "Do you have something to add to that list? Must be particularly serious if that hardware can't handle it." they asked with a glance towards the powerfist at her side.​

"Ooh, I bet."

The tone she threw back was too drained of all life, mirth, and faith in humanity to even do sarcasm properly, much less the mock wonder she was going for, but being heard out at least appeared to take some of the annoyance out of her demeanour.

"Walk with me."

If indulged, she turned and proceeded to lead Maeve to the far side of the bridge comprising the main body of the 188, where they were afforded a bird's eye view of the more poorly-lit and sparsely populated underpass below. There was little in the way of activity down there at this hour, just the odd shifting bedroll smelling of cheap booze and regret. It made it easier to pick out the one corner of the structure where there was commotion, albeit by candlelight.
​

Though the encampment for NCR citizens was by far the safest, the bulk of the Ranger manpower was being used to secure the ever-expanding perimeter, and the regular troopers were plenty occupied dealing with disputes and petty theft. That left gaps in the system, and where such gaps existed one could typically find at least one group of neglected children causing trouble.

"Ewwwww! Look at this kid's clothes, Mason! Who invited him to be part of the Reclamation? And what's that thing on his head?"

One such gaggle of delinquents were currently amusing themselves in one of the darker corners under the bridge, a girl with a frilly pink dress and curls making a show of pretending to fan away stink lines as she and her cohorts surrounded a much scrawnier child sitting by himself. His movements were calm and measured, simply turning to the next page in his book, seemingly doing his best to ignore the half-dozen other kids fanned out in a loose semicircle around him and picking through his belongings. They were well-to-do types, military brats and heirs to landowners or merchant caravans, but their scorn didn't appear to trouble their target overtly.

"No one did. I live here. And it's my—"

"You don't know? Didn't your dad ever tell you? Sheesh, girls are dumb." The denim-clad boy whose shoulders the girl was hanging off like a backpack rolled his eyes, giving the metallic apparatus adorning the smaller child's head a lazy prod with his boot that prompted a wince of pain. "My neighbor Billy Madison used to wear one. This here's for kids who got 'emselves kicked by a horse or charged by a Bighorner. You know."

He dropped his voice to a sardonic, pitying hush.

"Retards."

The other boy shook his head. "That's not it. Don't, please."

He took his eyes off the book for the first time as the most rotund among his accosters picked up an antiquated flashbulb camera, its mechanisms long since rendered inert by rust, his fingers already sticky from inhaling the sweetroll he'd found among the younger boy's possessions.

"These are my things. They belonged to my p—"

Mason jumped on the opportunity to snatch the diary out of his hand, and both him and his hanger-on burst into shrill bouts of laughter upon rapidly leafing through its contents.

"Oh man, what'd I tell you guys? This kid's just been sitting here reading a buncha squiggly lines!"

"Freak! Mason, he's prolly dangerous. Hey weirdo, I bet you're hiding a gun somewhere in all this junk, aren't you?"​

Kids, from the looks of it. What looked from afar to be an unassuming after-hours social gathering in the kind of setting teenagers deemed appealing revealed itself under scrutiny to be much crueler, a handful of sons and daughters of well-known NCR citizenry hassling a dirt-poor whelp with some kind of medical apparatus on his head.

"Doubt it's what you'd call 'ranger business', but here's the deal. That kid lives here." She pointed to the group's target. "No he doesn't have papers, or a property deed, but he lives here. Has for years. Those snot-nosed little tyrants—"

Her tone took a sour turn as she swept her splayed fingers over the group at large, almost fuming in her incredulity.

"—Have been messing with him since sundown. Breaking his stuff, calling him names, roughing him up on and off. I've chased them off seven times now. I have been called old. I've had stuff thrown at me. My self worth has been eroded to a tiny little layer of nothing in all kinds of ways I didn't know were possible, using stuff I didn't even know I was sensitive about."

She sucked down a heavy, meditative breath through her nose, appearing to grip the railing in rage and suppress a shudder in equal measure. When she finally turned back to face Maeve, slowly and assuredly, it was with a measured, serious look. "I'm not asking you to do anything. I just want someone to take me seriously." The guys patrolling had a hard time seeing past the doe eyes and curls, apparently.

"Because if I count to sixty, and that's still happening? I'm gonna go down there and beat the shit outta some kids."

[INT 7] She didn't want it to come to that, not really. Beating on kids was bad for the soul.​

 

[OrlandoBloomers]

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that same one who littered Black Mountain with mutie corpses."

"Who, Joe Cobb did?" Luther reappeared, seeking clarification

 

[C.T.]

"Who, Joe Cobb did?" Luther appeared, seeking clarification

​

 

[TheVaultDweller]

He snagged her sleeve and (if she obliged) went to pull her into half a swing dance twirl before she walked away, slowly raising her chin to meet his gaze with the crook of his finger. Deep brown wells were there to meet her, drinking her in.

Loulou blushed but straightened herself out, puckered her lips, and prepared to kiss-

"Tell you the truth, you had me at 'caps'."

His palm went out.

"Twenty-five, 'be specific."

Somehow he doubted that NCR payout was any kind of forthcoming, and he was already looking at a net loss in engine repairs alone.

-THAT took the wind right outta her sails.
"Well...I respect a man who knows what he wants..." She murmured, reach into the pockets of her vault suit and dumping a handful of caps into Luther's awaiting hand.
But she lit back up just like a rare Nuka-Cola Quantum (only minus the immense amounts of radiation! Mostly!)
"That said, I'm still around and I'm gonna BE around for a hot while if you still wanna, y'know, have some fun, you and me, and anyone else!~" She giggled, making finger guns at Luther.

"Course, I could always sign one 'a you pretty young things on as my plus-one. Certain services pending, naturally. Hell, I'll even take both y'all on at the same
time, you don't mind sharin."

Loulou huffed.

"Va te faire foutre, mon ami."

Mojo turned his head and growled, showing a bit of fang as it did so.

'Oink. Oink.'

"My baby's right, I ain't no stand the corner, cap hustlin hussy, I'm what civilized folk call a photographer." She said, absolutely beaming with pride. "See?" She even tapped on the badge she'd found in the same rubble pile that she'd found her trusty camera. "I'm PRESS. So, lemme in!"

 

[OrlandoBloomers]

"Well...I respect a man who knows what he wants..." She murmured, reach into the pockets of her vault suit and dumping a handful of caps into Luther's awaiting hand.
But she lit back up just like a rare Nuka-Cola Quantum (only minus the immense amounts of radiation! Mostly!)
"That said, I'm still around and I'm gonna BE around for a hot while if you still wanna, y'know, have some fun, you and me, and anyone else!~" She giggled, making finger guns at Luther.

Luther was sitting astride his car now where it rested, just giving commentary as he was wont to do, beer salvaged from his minifridge in hand and thumbing through a journal on carburettor maintenance.

"Duly considered, ma'am, and appreciated. I hate to come between a gal 'n her daddy, though."

There was no malice in the words, just the seasoned musings of one not entirely unversed in ladies of younger persuasion fixing to use him to fill a certain void in their life.​

Loulou huffed.

"Va te faire foutre, mon ami."

Mojo turned his head and growled, showing a bit of fang as it did so.

'Oink. Oink.'

"My baby's right, I ain't no stand the corner, cap hustlin hussy, I'm what civilized folk call a photographer." She said, absolutely beaming with pride. "See?" She even tapped on the badge she'd found in the same rubble pile that she'd found her trusty camera. "I'm PRESS. So, lemme in!"

[LCK 4] The private glanced between the mutt, the camera, Loulou propositioning just about everyone except him, and drew possibly the only conclusion a man like him could with their conversation having already veered so deeply into matters of sexual deviancy.

"Oh hell no. You're one of those photographers, ain'tcha? Like the Farmyard Freaks of Reno?"

Horror dawned across his face along with comprehension, and the soldier found god in that moment as he gripped his AR a little tighter.

"I don't care how big the market is, what you people do is sick, y'hear? Sick! Now you're never gettin' in."​

 

[TheVaultDweller]

The private glanced between the mutt, the camera, Loulou propositioning just about everyone except him, and drew possibly the only conclusion a man like him could with their conversation having already veered so deeply into matters of sexual deviancy.

"Oh hell no. You're one of those photographers, ain'tcha? Like the Farmyard Freaks of Reno?"

Horror dawned across his face along with comprehension, and the soldier found god in that moment as he gripped his AR a little tighter.

"I don't care how big the market is, what you people do is sick, y'hear? Sick! Now you're never gettin' in."

"Freaks?! Why I never!!!"

Loulou stamped her foot while still holding Mojo in her arms.

"The sheer cheek of it all, you're a no good scoundrel!!! In all my years ain't noone ever spoke to Loulou Arceneaux like she was just some 'walk the wastes' tramp!!! " Loulou bared her own sharp canines at the private. "Well, take a good look, monsieur, because this is the last time you'll be seeing US for a while!!!" Loulou exclaimed as she started to turn around only to whisper something to Mojo.

'ok, mojo. you get him. you get him good.'

[AGI 6] Loulou turned and tossed Mojo as hard as she could, the pigrat snarling and screeching as Loulou sought to have her pet/trusted companion cling to the private's face and scratch him up something fierce while she moved to make her way in. "Come on in after mommy once you're done, Mojo!!"

*squealing pig noises*

She smiled. That was her baby and like HELL were the two of them gonna be denied entry!!! She had a right to be here on account of her press badge!! If that tall drink of water...uh....Maeve hadn't wondered off, they could have vouched for Loulou!! But it'd all work out now, she was perfectly sure!

 

[OrlandoBloomers]

[STR 1] Mojo's agility meant he curved, weaved, and pirouetted elegantly back down to the cracked, dusty earth. About nine inches away from his owner.

"Keep that vermin the hell away fr'm me, harlot!!"

[END 2] The stock of his service rifle had seen better days, but it drummed her upside the temple just fine, and the photographer's knees went from under her to put her sprawled in the dirt next to her companion.

"Jeeesus christ…" The corporal muttered incredulously, Mags' quest for a pack mule ending in failure through no fault of her own as he begrudgingly moved back to his post. "Ma'am. It's been a long day here, yeah? Just show us a letter of something from someone who matters confirming you're either a citizen of NCR or gainfully employed by one of the parties involved in this venture. From where we're standing, that camera and badge look like salvage. Elsewise…"

He considered directing her towards mercenary enlistment as the other sentry had Mia, but noted her performance against Pvt Johnson, who was fucking terrible. He sighed.

"…Crimson Caravan might be able to spare a bedroll for a stablehand. Reckon you can put in a good word to that end, mister highwayman?" He prodded with a glance askew, drawing a beleaguered, acknowledging bow of the head from the quiet man and nothing further. Jameson returned his gaze to her sternly.

"That's stable hand. Any more stupid shit's liable to get you shot, miss. And if contractual obligation don't appeal to you, then it really is the tribal camp or nothin'. And those folk ain't right."

 

[Schnee Corp Lawyer]

Kids, from the looks of it. What looked from afar to be an unassuming after-hours social gathering in the kind of setting teenagers deemed appealing revealed itself under scrutiny to be much crueler, a handful of sons and daughters of well-known NCR citizenry hassling a dirt-poor whelp with some kind of medical apparatus on his head.

"Doubt it's what you'd call 'ranger business', but here's the deal. That kid lives here." She pointed to the group's target. "No he doesn't have papers, or a property deed, but he lives here. Has for years. Those snot-nosed little tyrants—"

Her tone took a sour turn as she swept her splayed fingers over the group at large, almost fuming in her incredulity.

"—Have been messing with him since sundown. Breaking his stuff, calling him names, roughing him up on and off. I've chased them off seven times now. I have been called old. I've had stuff thrown at me. My self worth has been eroded to a tiny little layer of nothing in all kinds of ways I didn't know were possible, using stuff I didn't even know I was sensitive about."

She sucked down a heavy, meditative breath through her nose, appearing to grip the railing in rage and suppress a shudder in equal measure. When she finally turned back to face Maeve, slowly and assuredly, it was with a measured, serious look. "I'm not asking you to do anything. I just want someone to take me seriously." The guys patrolling had a hard time seeing past the doe eyes and curls, apparently.

"Because if I count to sixty, and that's still happening? I'm gonna go down there and beat the shit outta some kids."

[INT 7] She didn't want it to come to that, not really. Beating on kids was bad for the soul.

A ghost of a wry smile crossed Maeve's features at the woman's warning as they studied the scene below.

"Seems like the kids might have it coming, all things considered." they commented, before they started down the hill towards the underside of the bridge. They approached the gaggle of teens with their boots crunching solidly under the dirt, and announced their presence with a firm order as their eyes roved over the group.

"Get together time is done, boys and girls; its past curfew. Back to your own tents."

[STR 1] Mojo's agility meant he curved, weaved, and pirouetted elegantly back down to the cracked, dusty earth. About nine inches away from his owner.

"Keep that vermin the hell away fr'm me, harlot!!"

[END 2] The stock of his service rifle had seen better days, but it drummed her upside the temple just fine, and the photographer's knees went from under her to put her sprawled in the dirt next to her companion.

"Jeeesus christ…" The corporal muttered incredulously, Mags' quest for a pack mule ending in failure through no fault of her own as he begrudgingly moved back to his post. "Ma'am. It's been a long day here, yeah? Just show us a letter of something from someone who matters confirming you're either a citizen of NCR or gainfully employed by one of the parties involved in this venture. From where we're standing, that camera and badge look like salvage. Elsewise…"

He considered directing her towards mercenary enlistment as the other sentry had Mia, but noted her performance against Pvt Johnson, who was fucking terrible. He sighed.

"…Crimson Caravan might be able to spare a bedroll for a stablehand. Reckon you can put in a good word to that end, mister highwayman?" He prodded with a glance askew, drawing a beleaguered, acknowledging bow of the head from the quiet man and nothing further. Jameson returned his gaze to her sternly.

"That's stable hand. Any more stupid shit's liable to get you shot, miss. And if contractual obligation don't appeal to you, then it really is the tribal camp or nothin'. And those folk ain't right."

Mags gave a slightly vexed huff but trudged off, dragging the anti material rifle along with her own gear back to the quartermaster with some muttered complaints.

Raz, who had been specifically asked to help these people get situated and knew damn well that Loulou had already been hired by the NCR, was finding this all too funny to offer any kind of help. To Job though, he gave a solid slap on the metal chassis that was in the general area of its back, the sound a loud metallic thump as he muttered under his breath, out of earshot of the other soldiers.

"Hey buddy. You still got that needle you were threatening O'Hanrahan with?"

 

[OrlandoBloomers]

A ghost of a wry smile crossed Maeve's features at the woman's warning as they studied the scene below.

"Seems like the kids might have it coming, all things considered." they commented, before they started down the hill towards the underside of the bridge. They approached the gaggle of teens with their boots crunching solidly under the dirt, and announced their presence with a firm order as their eyes roved over the group.

"Get together time is done, boys and girls; its past curfew. Back to your own tents."

The woman had come to Maeve with a loaded bearing, a coiled spring; she didn't expect one of these guys to take time out of their day for some wasteland urchin if not even the grunts on patrol would. Seemed the whole camp had gotten their hackles raised by something there a while back, and she had, admittedly, been doing a reasonable amount of snooping that kept her from having eyes on that particular dark corner of the underpass all the time.

The response surprised her, and the hardness left her features with a stiff nod as she watched them make their way down from the overpass, waiting til they left earshot to give her companion a bracing thwack on the shoulder. It left a minor bruise, joining the litany of others already deadening Dominik's arm.

"See, m'squire? Guilt tripping works! Just not on me. Now go pitch that tent."

Funny. She never thought an NCR ranger could look so familiar either.

***

"C'mon, bitch, just give us this corner." Even Mason sounded kind of tired at this stage, some of his cronies' eyes drooping where they stood, the ringleader sweeping another of the bedraggled boy's possessions off the ledge behind him with a pronounced lack of gusto. The garden gnome shattered pitifully at their feet.

"No thanks." For his part, the child some around these parts had taken to calling the Forecaster seemed completely serene in the face of the harassment, scraping the broken pieces up to position them carefully back where they had formerly stood without expression, as though the pile of jagged ceramic shards held no less or more intrinsic value to him than when it had been a gnome. "It's been ok playing and all, but I'm pretty tired now. I gotta sleep."

"Mason…" The pigtailed girl started whining, similarly drowsy, having long since grown tired of this. "Something's wrong with him…"

"I ain't leavin', dagnabbit!!!" The 15 year old suddenly boomed, undoubtedly a learned behavior of some kind given it carried enough genuine thunder to snap the others awake. "This's the best corner in this whole lousy camp, and he's gonna give it to us! 'Sides, you heard what he said about my daddy!"

"Mason." The girl had seen Maeve by now, the leather duster and helmet and visor at their belt drawing a different sort of urgency in her voice than if it had been a more conventional uniform.

"Don't 'Mason' me, woman! I wanna know! How's a no-good little illiterate in the asscrack of nowhere even know the Gunderson n-"

"Get together time is done, boys and girls; its past curfew. Back to your own tents."

"Yeah?" He didn't even turn. "Well why don't you piss off and do a sweep on the other side of the bridge, huh? You know who I am?"

 

[TheVaultDweller]

From where we're standing, that camera and badge look like salvage. Elsewise…"

"I....prefer.....to call em.....treasures.....plucked from...ancient ruins...."

Loulou half mumbled from where she'd collapsed like a jenga tower next to Mojo who seemed pretty fine. If a little annoyed at being practically dropped onto the ground without much warning.

"...sounds...classier than....me rummaging through.....garbage..."

Just show us a letter of something from someone who matters confirming you're either a citizen of NCR or gainfully employed by one of the parties involved in this venture. From where we're standing, that camera and badge look like salvage. Elsewise…"

She groaned.

Wasn't really clear if it was from frustration or the pain of being cracked over the head with a riffle butt.

"shoot....i got a gig with y'all....dunno why i went through this....huss....and fuss...Mojo..."

Mojo grunted and after rolling back onto his feet trotted over to Loulou's side and stuck his snout inside one of her pockets. He pulled out some caps, little baggies carrying preserved gecko meat for Mojo's consumption, and then finally a little piece of paper that if unfurled detailed what she'd been asked of to do by the NCR in exchange for her tagging along. Take some presentable photos and do her dandiest to promote the new settling that folks were gonna be getting up to.

Why she hadn't just done so from the get go?

Stubbornness and also

Well, the whole trying to sic Mojo had played out a lot better in her head. Was funnier too.

Not so funny now with the waves of pain flowing over her skull.

Mojo held the paper in his mouth and waddled over to the beleaguered corporal.

"That's stable hand. Any more stupid shit's liable to get you shot, miss. And if contractual obligation don't appeal to you, then it really is the tribal camp or nothin'. And those folk ain't right."

"no...no sir, no more stupid shit from little ol me.....think i hit my quota....ooough..."

She held up her right hand.

"...and in lieu of being hit again....might i trouble y'all for....a stimpak...."

 

[Orangewasp]

More pronounced cursing, scrambling, and radioing followed before the gate opened with a clang, and he stepped aside to allow the two harried-looking Followers who emerged to load the soldier onto a stretcher, ambling around to instead take up a position leaning against the trunk by their robotic associate.

"You'n me, Job… we're kindred spirits."

[PER 7] No they weren't.

In their fleeting exchange, Job managed an incredulously slow turn towards the weary Luther, optic sensors clearly fixating on him at just the right angle to radiate sheer skepticism as the fluids suspending the cyborg's brain burbled.

"Aaaaaand you're 'bout to pull out a pile of Nectar and surprise me with the revelation yer a day-tripper too, right? Riiiiiight?"

Horsecock.

"I ain't know shit bout cars either, though, so likely not." An exasperated sigh scratched out the vocal modulator before it rolled out and around into this bullshit back 'nforth.
​

"Hold it."

The Misfit unit were notorious enough among the rank and file that they didn't get more than a roll of the eyes from the sentries on duty as Poindexter was carted through the gate for the medical tent. Mia, Loulou, and any other independent wanderers aiming to make their way through the gate found themselves roughly corralled to one side at riflepoint, a level of scrutiny none among them had been subjected to when arriving under the light of day. It occurred to them Luther had brought them round the back side of the convoy, far from the homely fairy lights and firepits of the Gunderson camp; where lone travellers like them might be considerably more subject to the security whims of armed soldiers with guns.

"A ranger doing whatever the hell they want's nothin' new. The driver, I know. But just who in the hell are you people? Citizens, contractors? What outfit you with?"

The interrogatory tone and lower lip faintly curled in a sneer made it clear this was one of those soldiers who took it personally when curfews in place for everyone's benefit went ignored. A real patriot.

"Cause if you're just an extra couple mouths to feed, feel free to kindly turn around and fuck right off up that hill with them Legion savages."

After some of the freaks he'd already turned away tonight, he wasn't taking any chances. Although… he gave a lascivious wink.

"Course, I could always sign one 'a you pretty young things on as my plus-one. Certain services pending, naturally. Hell, I'll even take both y'all on at the same
time, you don't mind sharin."

"This feller's mine," Luther interjected, giving Job a bracing slap on the shoulder. Ding. "Now it's funny you should ask, private, but it just so happens he's one'a them old sexbots outta Freeside. Used to jack off senators, landlords—y'know, degenerates an' the like. Now he jacks up my car."

"Jesus christ, what the fuck?"

"Polishes tools, jacks up my car real good all day long. And lemme tell you, that programmin' never goes away. Piston-like oscillatin' motion." He whistled. "What I'm sayin', son, is maybe whatchu hankerin' for's been right in front of you this whole time."

"Fuck no! I ain't into that shit!"

"Then it appears we's at an impasse."

"I wasn't even talkin' to you!"

***

The sentry approaching Maeve's disposition was, naturally, of an entirely different scope, though to call it respectful would've been inaccurate. The ever-shifting sands of the Mojave practically demanded a short memory and 'what-have-you-done-for-me-lately' attitude from its inhabitants; Rangers might've been the hot shit after the first battle at the Dam, but House's securitrons had rendered them largely obsolete at the second, and certain revelations about former chief Hanlon's activities during wartime had seen a shadow fall over their reputation.

What would've once been a salute was now a stiff nod, the corporal's jaw tight as he thrust it up towards the 188's core, where the mission's top brass had erected their well-fortified portion of the encampment.

"Guess you missed the memo. Base command called in all the rangers and senior officers, some hour-half back. Whole camp's security status went up to amber. Some new intel House passed on to Senator Crocker, apparently. Maybe terror? Hell if I know. No one tells us shit."

[INT 7] But the radio operators liked to gossip, apparently. This corporal was desperately trying to project the sense he and a ranger were of similar standing, and had dropped more details than necessary in a vainglorious effort to appear 'in the loop'.​

"C'mere big boy. Butter me up with Jet, I go faster, butter me up with Psycho, I pump harder--" The Securibrain made its saucy proposition without hesitation, though there was a lingering tinge of hope in that they'd actually go through with the act. Cuz a job was a job, any kind of job, and any drugs gotten out of it in the process was just cream on the top.

Ok I'll stop now.​

His scoff was rueful, a grunt issued as he dragged the rusty hinges of the gate through the sand to close it once Luther wheeled his machine through, hopefully assisted by a sufficiently buttered-up Job.

"Treatin' me like a pack mule. Notthatyoudidn'tjusthelpsavemyassbackthere-- hmmm whatcha say, friend?"


He turned face about, looking up abruptly as if he took exception to the following what with having been drummed/smacked/slapped on BY SOMEONE ELSE FOR THE SECOND TIME.​

Raz, who had been specifically asked to help these people get situated and knew damn well that Loulou had already been hired by the NCR, was finding this all too funny to offer any kind of help. To Job though, he gave a solid slap on the metal chassis that was in the general area of its back, the sound a loud metallic thump as he muttered under his breath, out of earshot of the other soldiers.

"Hey buddy. You still got that needle you were threatening O'Hanrahan with?"

"Buddy, I have like ten rolling around inside me. Pretty positive the left shoulder's just a claymore of syringes, think three're 7 gauges--"

Before Job allowed itself to trail off into its delectable inventory of illicit materials stored haphazardly across its body, there was the meager twitch of its right arm as it suddenly leaned to that side, sidling forward with its manipulator surreptitiously extended towards Raz.

"This one yer card, suit and number n' all. Why? Big lug wants ta try some now? Also, that's a thousand caps--"

Bartering ability being demonstrated poorly aside, the tone dripped with heavy facetiousness.​

 

[Schnee Corp Lawyer]

A ghost of a wry smile crossed Maeve's features at the woman's warning as they studied the scene below.

"Seems like the kids might have it coming, all things considered." they commented, before they started down the hill towards the underside of the bridge. They approached the gaggle of teens with their boots crunching solidly under the dirt, and announced their presence with a firm order as their eyes roved over the group.

"Get together time is done, boys and girls; its past curfew. Back to your own tents."

The woman had come to Maeve with a loaded bearing, a coiled spring; she didn't expect one of these guys to take time out of their day for some wasteland urchin if not even the grunts on patrol would. Seemed the whole camp had gotten their hackles raised by something there a while back, and she had, admittedly, been doing a reasonable amount of snooping that kept her from having eyes on that particular dark corner of the underpass all the time.

The response surprised her, and the hardness left her features with a stiff nod as she watched them make their way down from the overpass, waiting til they left earshot to give her companion a bracing thwack on the shoulder. It left a minor bruise, joining the litany of others already deadening Dominik's arm.

"See, m'squire? Guilt tripping works! Just not on me. Now go pitch that tent."

Funny. She never thought an NCR ranger could look so familiar either.

***

"C'mon, bitch, just give us this corner." Even Mason sounded kind of tired at this stage, some of his cronies' eyes drooping where they stood, the ringleader sweeping another of the bedraggled boy's possessions off the ledge behind him with a pronounced lack of gusto. The garden gnome shattered pitifully at their feet.

"No thanks." For his part, the child some around these parts had taken to calling the Forecaster seemed completely serene in the face of the harassment, scraping the broken pieces up to position them carefully back where they had formerly stood without expression, as though the pile of jagged ceramic shards held no less or more intrinsic value to him than when it had been a gnome. "It's been ok playing and all, but I'm pretty tired now. I gotta sleep."

"Mason…" The pigtailed girl started whining, similarly drowsy, having long since grown tired of this. "Something's wrong with him…"

"I ain't leavin', dagnabbit!!!" The 15 year old suddenly boomed, undoubtedly a learned behavior of some kind given it carried enough genuine thunder to snap the others awake. "This's the best corner in this whole lousy camp, and he's gonna give it to us! 'Sides, you heard what he said about my daddy!"

"Mason." The girl had seen Maeve by now, the leather duster and helmet and visor at their belt drawing a different sort of urgency in her voice than if it had been a more conventional uniform.

"Don't 'Mason' me, woman! I wanna know! How's a no-good little illiterate in the asscrack of nowhere even know the Gunderson n-"

"Get together time is done, boys and girls; its past curfew. Back to your own tents."

"Yeah?" He didn't even turn. "Well why don't you piss off and do a sweep on the other side of the bridge, huh? You know who I am?"

Maeve continued their approach, their frame shadowing Mason in the the light of the fire and lamplights.

"Mason Gunderson. Second son of Heck Gunderson. And the curfew's the same regardless of what side of the bridge you're on."

Maeve loomed over the teen, their eyes as calm as and cold as they'd been with any of the adults so far.

"Is that a problem, Mr. Gunderson?" Maeve asked, with the same inflection they would've used with the boy's father, if he was so inclined to throw his name around like a baseball bat. "Because if it is, if following simple instructions is a problem before we've even left, I'd like to know."

 

[Schnee Corp Lawyer]

"Buddy, I have like ten rolling around inside me. Pretty positive the left shoulder's just a claymore of syringes, think three're 7 gauges--"

Before Job allowed itself to trail off into its delectable inventory of illicit materials stored haphazardly across its body, there was the meager twitch of its right arm as it suddenly leaned to that side, sidling forward with its manipulator surreptitiously extended towards Raz.

"This one yer card, suit and number n' all. Why? Big lug wants ta try some now? Also, that's a thousand caps--"

Bartering ability being demonstrated poorly aside, the tone dripped with heavy facetiousness.

There was a full second as Raz processed that offer before gave his equally serious counter offer.

"Best I can do is two caps."

 

[Orangewasp]

"Buddy, I have like ten rolling around inside me. Pretty positive the left shoulder's just a claymore of syringes, think three're 7 gauges--"

Before Job allowed itself to trail off into its delectable inventory of illicit materials stored haphazardly across its body, there was the meager twitch of its right arm as it suddenly leaned to that side, sidling forward with its manipulator surreptitiously extended towards Raz.

"This one yer card, suit and number n' all. Why? Big lug wants ta try some now? Also, that's a thousand caps--"

Bartering ability being demonstrated poorly aside, the tone dripped with heavy facetiousness.

There was a full second as Raz processed that offer before gave his equally serious counter offer.

"Best I can do is two caps."

The CRT monitor manifesting the face shifted its features from the prior almost seamlessly, though there was the noticeable glitch here and there as the screen flickered, perhaps a flaw of the phosphor layer lining its interior. It almost gave the impression the faces weren't as static as the typical Securitron, as if it was editable by the brain housed in the unit. That or it was an overhauled suite of expressions with modular components, courtesy of Big MT. Probably that last one.

Still, the radiating impatience of the pursed lips did magnify in intensity as they deepened into a frown in real time. As if Job was overall displeased with the reply.

"Throw in givin' me a handy and gettin' me to your boss so I can keep my end of the bargain with 'em and you've got a deal. Plus, has to be to my satisfaction."

The face didn't even change one iota, almost as if Job expected the terms to be accepted outright.

"Jus get me to your boss and you can stick this wherever you want. Whoever you want. The pigrat, I don't care. Unless Luther over here still needs me for somethin'. Plus it's nice to not be so encumbered by ALL OF THIS CONTRABAND I said that out loud huh, better that we get going--"​

 

[OrlandoBloomers]

A ghost of a wry smile crossed Maeve's features at the woman's warning as they studied the scene below.

"Seems like the kids might have it coming, all things considered." they commented, before they started down the hill towards the underside of the bridge. They approached the gaggle of teens with their boots crunching solidly under the dirt, and announced their presence with a firm order as their eyes roved over the group.

"Get together time is done, boys and girls; its past curfew. Back to your own tents."​

The woman had come to Maeve with a loaded bearing, a coiled spring; she didn't expect one of these guys to take time out of their day for some wasteland urchin if not even the grunts on patrol would. Seemed the whole camp had gotten their hackles raised by something there a while back, and she had, admittedly, been doing a reasonable amount of snooping that kept her from having eyes on that particular dark corner of the underpass all the time.

The response surprised her, and the hardness left her features with a stiff nod as she watched them make their way down from the overpass, waiting til they left earshot to give her companion a bracing thwack on the shoulder. It left a minor bruise, joining the litany of others already deadening Dominik's arm.

"See, m'squire? Guilt tripping works! Just not on me. Now go pitch that tent."

Funny. She never thought an NCR ranger could look so familiar either.

***

"C'mon, bitch, just give us this corner." Even Mason sounded kind of tired at this stage, some of his cronies' eyes drooping where they stood, the ringleader sweeping another of the bedraggled boy's possessions off the ledge behind him with a pronounced lack of gusto. The garden gnome shattered pitifully at their feet.

"No thanks." For his part, the child some around these parts had taken to calling the Forecaster seemed completely serene in the face of the harassment, scraping the broken pieces up to position them carefully back where they had formerly stood without expression, as though the pile of jagged ceramic shards held no less or more intrinsic value to him than when it had been a gnome. "It's been ok playing and all, but I'm pretty tired now. I gotta sleep."

"Mason…" The pigtailed girl started whining, similarly drowsy, having long since grown tired of this. "Something's wrong with him…"

"I ain't leavin', dagnabbit!!!" The 15 year old suddenly boomed, undoubtedly a learned behavior of some kind given it carried enough genuine thunder to snap the others awake. "This's the best corner in this whole lousy camp, and he's gonna give it to us! 'Sides, you heard what he said about my daddy!"

"Mason." The girl had seen Maeve by now, the leather duster and helmet and visor at their belt drawing a different sort of urgency in her voice than if it had been a more conventional uniform.

"Don't 'Mason' me, woman! I wanna know! How's a no-good little illiterate in the asscrack of nowhere even know the Gunderson n-"
​

"Get together time is done, boys and girls; its past curfew. Back to your own tents."​

"Yeah?" He didn't even turn. "Well why don't you piss off and do a sweep on the other side of the bridge, huh? You know who I am?"​

Maeve continued their approach, their frame shadowing Mason in the the light of the fire and lamplights.

"Mason Gunderson. Second son of Heck Gunderson. And the curfew's the same regardless of what side of the bridge you're on."

Maeve loomed over the teen, their eyes as calm as and cold as they'd been with any of the adults so far.

"Is that a problem, Mr. Gunderson?" Maeve asked, with the same inflection they would've used with the boy's father, if he was so inclined to throw his name around like a baseball bat. "Because if it is, if following simple instructions is a problem before we've even left, I'd like to know."​

The looming shadow of a ballistic mesh overcoat was a hard thing for even the most snot-nosed of pissants to ignore, as was his sea of cronies parting and beginning to trickle off surreptitiously into the night when Maeve drew close; some of that Gunderson family bravado draining with them. Only the blonde girl remained, apprehension curling a pigrail around her finger as she put the end in her mouth and chewed it. "W-we tried to tell 'im, ranger, only it's like—we started off just funnin', you know, but the freak kept sayin' the darnedest things, and Mason, he—"

"Zip it, Marlene!"

The boy finally thawed enough to settle on a direction between fight and flight, dug his heels a little deeper, and turned with as broad a posture and puffed-up chest as was possible from a kid in the midst of his growth spurt.

"Know what they call the rangers now, back west? You the tail bones of the military. Some pretty coats, a big gun and what the fuck else? Pshaw."

"This ain't a pshawin' matter, Mason!"

"See, I think it is. Pshaw. 'Cause the rangers, Marlene, they're a thing of the past. Time when a shiny badge 'n a gun was the closest thing to law in these parts." [INT 7] He crossed his arms, clearly reciting an impassioned diatribe he'd heard his father spout numerous times verbatim; half understanding what it meant. "But that time is over. The law works for the people now. People like my daddy, who keep the wheels turnin' and the lights on. Same ones who laid the capital for all this down."

He sneered, twirling a finger around at the encampment.

"Now that begs the question. Just what the hell have you people done for us lately that I should give a crap about any curfew you put down?"

"Tunnelers."

The quiet, unassuming voice of the kid in rags made a stark contrast to Mason's pompous sneer, which only deepened with a groan as he was reminded of his presence. He had rummaged through his trash pile of belongings to find his notebook again, now intently scrawling on the margins with a piece of charcoal as he continued murmuring as if entranced.

"Bear festering, bloatflies gnawing on the corpse. Jackals ate the bloatflies, cazadors ate the jackals. Chain should've stopped there. But they're a comin', oh, they're a comin' down the big mountain and they're already here. Too much, too fast, too soon. Too many eyes on the sands. A house of cards collapses. A legion of blood from the east. Sand turns to swamp, a mire that drowns all. A green place. Doom, doom, doom."

His eyes were weeping, but not from the harassment; more as if he was witnessing something terrible, or beautiful. It was impossible to say.​