☢ 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚝 ─ open, accepting

[InfectedHau]

X3-74 "Xena"||Synth||Rogue Courser|| Location: Railroad tracks, southern Boston||Tagged: Open

"Son of a..."

Speak of the devil. Xena froze, hand resting by, but not on, her laser pistol. A prewar model, of course, Coursers were never armed with anything that could tie them back to the Institute. She was definitely looking to swipe one now that she was back, though first she'd have to avoid getting her head taken off.

The Paladin had come out of the treeline, weapon already aimed at her. Xena mentally kicked herself, she should have heard something that big. In fairness, though, she didn't expect a lone member of the Brotherhood to be out this far. They liked to travel in groups, pairs at least, when they weren't buzzing around in vertibirds.

Normally she would have taken her chances against a lone Paladin, even one that got the drop on her, but the weapon this one was holding gave her pause. A Gauss rifle, one of the American models from the look of it. Even if they hadn't already got a shot lined up, that thing would cut through her armor like butter, even with her added Tesla shielding. She kicked herself again for not stripping the paint off her armor before she left, but whatever the Enclave used to seal their stuff it was a beast to remove. Plus everyone that wasn't the Brotherhood tended to leave you alone. Still, she could've at least painted over the insignia.

"This isn't what it looks like," Xena said, fixing the Paladin in the corner of her vision. T-60 armor, Brotherhood standard. Not as advanced as her own X-02 armor, but that didn't matter much when the both of them were packing guns designed for tanks. "Why don't you put that down, and we can talk this out."

Presently, she was just trying to come out of this alive. Coursers weren't the type to freeze up, though, and underneath all that another plan was forming. The Brotherhood had plenty of guns, gear, and most importantly, a bone to pick with the Institute. Maybe, if she played her cards right...

[Spiritstar3]

Samantha Haskins- Sammie- f- 22 years- Drifter- bi- has a cat, Kita- Tags: Ginger

The strawberry blonde girl had been looking for her father, again. She had no idea where he was, or if he was even alive. She had to hold onto hope he was still around, out there somewhere, surviving. She had to hold onto hope she’d find him again one day. Shaking her head, she finished the remains of her breakfast. Food was scarce considering…everything. She managed to find food though. She always managed to food, or usually.

Shaking her head, the creamy peachy skinned one let out a sigh. She was slender and willowy, probably looking even more so since food could be hard to find. Pushing that thought away, she looked to her cat. The cat was a beautiful she cat named Kita.

It sounded kind of like kitty, and it was a pretty name. It had only seemed appropriate to her, to name the cat something so nice sounding. Something that almost sounded like kitty. Thus, she could call her Kitty Cat as a sort of nickname, or some such. She’d usually stick to just calling her Kita. However, she did like to call her Kitty Cat from time to time. The cat was surprisingly well behaved, even from the first moment they’d met. She knew cats were resourceful creatures, and dogs could be as well.

Shaking her head, she smiled a bit as she looked at the golden and brownish cat. Kita had white markings as well. She appeared to be a snowshoe, though whether people even still knew specific breeds or not could be questioned. Samantha had never cared what kind of cat she was. All she cared about was that Kita was a little Angel. The cat had never run away. She followed her human around, or even rode on her shoulders. She was pretty much Sammie’s baby, her sweet and precious little fluffy fur baby.

She ran a finger over the snout of her kitty. She then placed her whole hand upon the soft head, and gave the kitty scritches. Before moving her fingers off the cat’s head. Switching to giving her scritches under the chin, and hearing explosive purrs begin. She giggled as she listened to the cat. She also watched her, watching as forest green eyes shut in the cat’s moment of happiness. The turquoise eyed girl smiled sweetly as she listened to and watched the cat, and kept on giving her affection for a few more moments.

She glanced around a moment, then let out a small sigh. She knew it was time to continue moving, being that they were drifters. Well…she was one, but she considered the cat as one too. Others would say the cat was just a cat, an animal. The cat was hers, her constant companion, and she considered her a drifter. Her baby, her family of sorts, Kita was another drifter in her mind.

She smiled as she got up, stretched her legs, then picked up the cat. She put her up onto her shoulders, and began to move. Walking away from where she’d taken the moment to have breakfast. She hummed quietly as she walked along, not thinking or anything.

Okay, she was thinking a little, but not of where she was going. She wasn’t thinking of who or what she might run into… She was harmless anyway, just a drifter out here in the wasteland. Then again, that could attract the attention of raiders…Seemed it already had, or it had caught the attention of the dog of one. Sammie hadn’t even noticed the mutant dog yet. She hadn’t seen the junk wall or the outpost. She had no idea anyone was actually out here, at least not in the area she’d just now wandered into, and so she looked around without fear.

Adam Froste- Frost, Addy- m- 36- Drifter- homosexual- dog Tesla- Tags

The sweet and soft but stubborn and shy male hummed quietly a bit. Looking around the area a moment then shaking his head. Tesla, a German Shepherd mix, was lying down at his side. He smiled as he glanced to the pretty but also handsome dog a moment. The caring, intelligent, diligent and cuddly one let out a sigh. He thought of his parents for a moment. He was much like his father, who could get cold and icy if angered and even dark at times. Not in like…a bad or scary way, just…something.

He was also of course like his mom, with nervousness, honest and being headshy. The outgoing but ornery one smiled a moment. He didn’t look like either of his parents, but that was because he had a lack of pigmentation. This had caused his skin to be very pale. It had given him red looking colored eyes. It had given him white hair and eyebrows, and even his lashes looked white. He imagined his doctor dad, and his oh so helpful mom. She had tried to help others, for as long as he could remember which…had been since he was about six.

He of course couldn’t remember anything before the age of six. That hardly mattered, he’d been told how much they’d loved him. He’d been told how he’d been a quiet and good toddler. He’d even supposedly skipped the terrible twos, never once pitching a fit.

The slender but slightly muscled one broke from his thoughts. Doing so because Tesla pressed a cold and wet nose into his hand. He quickly turned his attention to the dog. Giving him some of the pork or whatever the meat looking stuff was, from the can that claimed to be pork and beans.

[Consulting_Angel]

Morgan 'Greaseball' Knott
25 | Female | Forged Raider
Location: Outside Saugus Ironworks
Tagged: Open

"Hey Greaseball, nice haul yesterday."
Morgan looked up from polishing her motorcycle - a beloved piece of machinery that she was extremely protective of, and for good reason. Not many people had such access to something that could provide such mobility. "Whatever. It was just what I didn't want." She replied, gruffly, and returned to tending to her vehicle. She often brought back things she stole from those unfortunate enough to come across her, and the things she didn't have a use for would be passed on to the rest of the Forged Raiders, to do with what they would. That, and it ensured she retained her place within the group. The other Forged Raider mumbled something and then trudged off back inside.

She'd been awake for a couple of hours now, and had eaten a cup of noodles she'd taken from a... not alive Drifter the previous day. Well. He shouldn't have stayed in her way. And she'd set alight a pile of trash that wasn't being used for anything else, much to the delight of the others here. It was the one thing she would actually agree with them on and enjoy doing with them. Anyway... she would head out soon. She wasn't sure where she'd go, but there was plenty of wasteland that she could ride across. Morgan had marked carefully on her own map the settlements and places that she had to avoid, but there was no shortage of places she could pay a visit to. Maybe the Atom Cats Garage was due a visit today.

Morgan mounted the motorcycle, about to rev the engine and set off, when she heard a sound. Someone... approaching? She raised an eyebrow, waiting until someone came into view. She leaned forward on the motorcycle. This would be fun. "You'd better turn around and leave while you still can." Morgan said, her voice false, sickly sweet, "After all, you wouldn't want to get hurt."
She couldn't quite help but smirk slyly, intentions clear. Well. She'd never been good with or one for subtlety.

Blaise Essome
28 | Male | Covenant Settler
Location: The Covenant -> Northern
Commonwealth Wasteland
Tagged: Shiloh, Lucretia

There was substantial growth for the Covenant - going from just nine settlers to nearly 30 - and Blaise had found himself enjoying his role within the settlement. He liked encouraging visitors to the Covenant, spreading the word of mouth as had been intended. And all visitors had to do was take a little test and then they could gain entrance, or perhaps even settle there too. Or, mostly to trade with the merchants there, but it was nice to see the repeat visitors. Of course, there was something quite more sinister happening within the settlement, and while Blaise wasn't one of the scientists, he also wasn't exactly innocent, being very much complicit. But that was a detail he'd carefully omit. It was to help protect them all, after all.

It wasn't too long before he was ready and geared up to go out into the wasteland again, ready to find some more potential visitors, or even settlers, for the Covenant. He was perhaps one of the more prepared and suited for going out, so he usually found himself doing just that - it wasn't even something that he was specifically instructed to do. Blaise didn't mind, he knew he was more than capable of holding his own in a fight and surviving most of what could be thrown at him - it helped that he was well armed. He wanted to help, prove himself a useful asset to the settlement as well, which was important to him. It meant that he could do his part, provide some sort of contribution. Even if that contribution had unintended sinister undertones. But at least it seemed like everyone was happy with him.

As Blaise walked across the wasteland, he was careful with his navigation - as to not go too near where any hostile groups would be. The ruins that made up the landscape made it hard to believe that a full, thriving city had once stood here. It was a thought he often had.
Before long, movement caught Blaise's eye - two people and a dog. They looked very much like Drifters. He paused for a few moments, watching them, trying to gauge how hostile they might be. They didn't seem to pose a threat. It wouldn't hurt to extend an offer. So, he started to approach them, being in open view so that he couldn't be mistaken for any sort of sneaking up, and tried to appear approachable.
"Hey!" Blaise started, once he was close enough to them to be heard without having to shout, "Hi - you guys are Drifters, right?" he asked. It was perhaps forward, but he found it best to be upfront.

[bigwig.]

𝐂𝐀𝐈𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐇
☢ ✧ he/him ✧ drifter ✧ location: northern commonwealth wasteland ✧ tags: lucretia, blaise
──────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
The pair headed down the ridge until they got to the road, upon which point they began following it. Usually, going along the roads was somewhat safer than fumbling through the wilderness, though there were some exceptions to this rule. Plus, the book they'd been following showed the roads in detail, all marked with letters and numbers that could still occasionally be glimpsed on a warped and rusted roadside sign. Helped them know when they were going the right way.

Rufus followed after them, as he always did. He did not wear a collar or anything of the sort, but Shiloh never worried about him running off and getting lost. Despite his more feral streak, he was trained well, and he would never quite stray from Shiloh's line of sight. Sometimes he followed more closely, and other times at a distance, taking stock of all the scents left behind on the ground and withered foliage. This journey must have been quite strange for him too, Shiloh thought. Certainly he knew he was far from home, but he almost never showed signs of being in distress, instead tacitly accepting all his new environments as well as he could. If only it were so easy for people.

Just as he had back home, Rufus served as a useful early warning system. His ears would perk up when he saw a radstag running in the distance, or heard the buzzing of a bloatfly - or one of those other, nastier flying insects that existed around here. The stinging ones were bothersome, but nothing compared to the cazadors of the southwest. At least they didn't have to deal with those anymore.

Shortly, Rufus's ears pricked up in the direction ahead of them, slightly off to the east. It was easy enough to see what he had detected - a person, alone, coming from the opposite direction they had. Shiloh noticed him as well, but did not initially think anything of it. They had passed by many strangers on their travels, and typically a lone wanderer, especially one not trying to hide their presence, was not anything to worry about.

The stranger greeted them, clearly trying to get their attention. Shiloh paused, and Lucretia did as well, next to him and slightly behind; though she was slightly taller, Shiloh usually walked faster. Rufus trotted hastily up to them and stood near Shiloh, but still kept his distance from the stranger. He kept his attention on this new person, but did not bark or growl, instead seeming rather neutral towards his presence. "Hello." Shiloh said to the man - though the word still felt strange on his tongue sometimes. He was somewhat caught off guard when the man inquired if they were drifters. An interesting question. Lone wastelanders had approached them before, but it was more often to ask if they had any supplies to trade or give them a warning about something or other.

"I suppose you could say that." Shiloh answered. He didn't know what else he'd call the two of them. Then, he looked at Lucretia, and fell silent. Maybe better to let her talk; she was always better at it.

[bigwig.]

𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐀
☢ ✧ she/her ✧ drifter ✧ location: northern commonwealth wasteland ✧ tags: shiloh, blaise
──────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Lucretia walked along the road with her hands in her pockets. The two of them were mostly silent; they weren't always particularly talkative with each other, but even still, things felt exceptionally quiet now. She wished she could have another cigarette, at least to keep herself occupied, but Shi didn't like them. Plus, there weren't very many left in her little scavenged pack. Not that she couldn't find more; they were thankfully a pretty common commodity before the war. Must've been, at least.

She didn't keep her eyes on the dog; that was Shiloh's job. She was somewhat surprised the dog had managed to survive alongside them all this way. Of course, he was wily. Part coyote. Probably more coyote than dog, actually, but nobody really looked at the pedigree of battle hounds.

Lucretia was the last one to notice the stranger. Maybe because she was a little bit behind Shiloh, and didn't have the senses of a dog. Both of them were faster than her when they were walking; all that training had paid off, apparently. Lucretia had spent the past near-twenty-years or so mostly staying in a tent and tending wounds, though the subsequent near-two-months on the road had served to re-strengthen her lithe muscles. Making up for lost time, she supposed.

Lucretia scrutinized him. A lone male, a bit more well-kept than your average grungy wastelander, somewhere in-between Shiloh's age and her own. Well, he didn't look like a raider. Plus, if he was, he probably would've shot first and asked questions later; most groups of raiders were only loosely organized and not exactly diplomatic.

Didn't mean he was harmless, though. Lucretia's hand came to rest on her hip, next to her worn-out Brahmin-leather holster. Impulse, really. Hopefully he wouldn't try anything when he was outnumbered. Shiloh said hello, but Lucretia did not, merely tilting her chin up as she observed the unfamiliar man. He was much taller than her - taller than them both. Probably strong, too. She'd like to keep him at arm's length; she had seen many men who looked like him before, and the assumption they could overpower her often afforded them an arrogance she did not appreciate. It must have been refreshing, to view things the way Shiloh did; he was so used to fighting opponents bigger and stronger than him that he no longer feared them.

Shiloh, friendly and naive, was quick to answer the stranger. Well, that colored what Lucretia could say now. Fortunately, the boy shut up quickly. Lucretia glanced over at him, then back at the stranger. "Yes." She said. "We are. We've been on the road for a while." That was not a lie, but it was not the entire truth.

[bigwig.]

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓
☢ ✧ she/her ✧ BoS Paladin ✧ location: railroad tracks, southern boston ✧ tags: xena
──────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Apparently, Bella had indeed surprised the stranger. Harder to hear loud footsteps when your own were so noisy. The stranger's hand went to her hip, where Bella now noticed the laser pistol; before, she'd been too focused on the Tesla cannon to catch the presence of the sidearm. The stranger didn't raise her weapon, though. Maybe because she assumed Bella would shoot her if she did. Not an unreasonable fear to have; it was only a strange gut feeling that had persuaded her not to shoot already.

'This isn't what it looks like' was a big claim. "Isn't it?" Bella retorted, the distortion of her power armor doing nothing to hide the cool snideness in her voice. Surely the stranger would understand why she might be more than a little reluctant to trust her. Although, still, she had the feeling somebody who really was Enclave wouldn't care to try to explain themselves - but that didn't mean she could let her guard down.

Why should she trust this stranger? Conversely, why shouldn't she? She'd already had the feeling that something was not quite right here, so this could perhaps serve to confirm her suspicions.

Generally, Bella actually preferred not to kill people - when it was possible. Normally, though, humans didn't attack Brotherhood members; even raiders usually avoided them. The average raider wasn't particularly bright, but they were smart enough to know they were generally outmatched against people outfitted in full power armor. She doubted this stranger was a raider, though. One would've been extraordinarily lucky to get ahold of Enclave X-02 power armor, nevermind a Tesla canon. Actually, just about anyone who wasn't Enclave would've had a hard time getting gear like that. Perhaps a very lucky scavenger could've salvaged it from an old Enclave hideout the Brotherhood hadn't found.

A burning question. Only one person had the answer. Bella very slowly lowered the barrel of her Gauss rifle, but kept it in her hands. "Keep your hands where I can see them." She ordered. "And you'd better start explaining yourself fast, before I change my mind. If you aren't Enclave, where did you get the armor?" It was a big risk to lower her gun, but a concession that might make the stranger more willing to talk. She was still ready to charge a shot if she needed to, although that moment of delay could be dangerous. She could take a few blasts from a laser pistol and likely be fine - the Tesla cannon, perhaps not.

Mutually assured destruction, she supposed.

[InfectedHau]

X3-74 "Xena"||Synth||Rogue Courser|| Location: Railroad tracks, southern Boston||Tagged: Bella

Well, she wasn't going to die immediately. Progress.

"Okay, okay, we're all friends here." Xena slowly raised her hand, taking her other off her cannon. Not fully up, the armor didn't have that range of motion, but as much as she could. She must've lucked out, this was probably the one Brotherhood soldier who wouldn't shoot her on sight. Now, how to proceed from here?

The Brotherhood had the firepower she needed. Unlike the Railroad, they were easy enough to find, as was currently being demonstrated. They also, unfortunately, would string her up if they ever got a hint of who she was. Decent chance the Railroad would try, but she was more confident in her ability to deal with them. The back of her neck, thankfully hidden by the armor, burned where her serial number was tattooed.

Test the waters. Sell a story, see if the Paladin bought it. Gears turned in the Ex-Courser's mind as she built her cover. "My name is Xena," she said, injecting just a hint of fear into her voice. Not too much, that'd be obvious, just enough to make the Paladin think they were sufficiently intimidating. "I know what the armor looks like, but I'm not Enclave. I'm... pause, pretend she's deciding on what to say, "I'm just a drifter. Happened across a group of 'em that lost a fight with some Deathclaws, figured I shouldn't let their stuff go to waste." A half-truth. There were no Deathclaws, just Institute training and the element of surprise. And a bit of luck, she doubted she'd have fared as well if there'd been more than one armored one. "Guessing they were in bad shape after what you guys did at Abrams, probably why this thing didn't come with a helmet." Also not true, it didn't have a helmet because she'd broken it trying to get at its former owner's head. Only way to do it, unfortunately, after she yanked the core it was either that or wait for the guy to die of dehydration. "After that, figured I'd try my luck outside the Capital, and here we are. So what, you still gonna shoot me?"

[bigwig.]

𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑
☢ ✧ she/her ✧ raider ✧ location: raider camp, western boston ruins ✧ tags: samantha
──────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
As Ginger continued to make her way out into the street, Mutt let out a soft bark - well, soft for him, at least. Ginger looked around, and finally laid eyes on what she assumed he had been alerted by.

Oh. That was it? It was just one lone wastelander with a cat. Ginger was sure she could've taken her out easily, but it probably wasn't even worth it. Mutt growled, short tail sticking upright as he sneered at the stranger. "Stay." Ginger said gruffly. Well, if he really wanted to go after this stranger, that wasn't the biggest deal, but she didn't want him running off anywhere without her. The mutant hound only looked at her, licking his wrinkly lips. Ginger weighed her options, letting her gun lower a little. Mutt really brought her all the way out here for nothing?

The stranger was an easy target, of course. Wandering all on her own, mostly unarmored, probably carrying only a small weapon and certainly with no way to protect herself from getting mown down by a minigun. Strays like her were a dime a dozen. The only problem was, they rarely carried anything that was even worth looting. Traders and small settlements were better targets, maybe the occasional scrap with other raiders or a few mutants. This stranger didn't look like a trader, though.

"Hey, you." Ginger called out, making herself known - if she wasn't already. "What are you doing out here?" She probably should've just let the stranger go, but maybe she could shake a few caps out of her. Killing her would more than likely just be a waste of bullets - and, she didn't really want to hurt the cat. Mutt was staring at it, though, with his low growl flickering in and out.

Hmm. She'd never really seen him around a cat before. Maybe he had something against them.

[bigwig.]

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓
☢ ✧ she/her ✧ BoS Paladin ✧ location: railroad tracks, southern boston ✧ tags: xena
──────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Bella kept her eyes fixed on the stranger, observing as she carefully analyzed her story, trying to determine how much of what she said was true. Parts of it did seem to check out; the Enclave had experimented on deathclaws for a while, trying to control them for combat purposes. This could have been an attempt to revive that project gone wrong, perhaps. However, her armor didn't really look like it had sustained the kind of damage a deathclaw attack would've caused, especially if it had killed the original owner. She would've had to do some pretty serious repairs.

Quite a coincidence to meet someone else from the Capital wasteland; it was a ways down the coast. That would easily explain why she knew about what had happened at Adams. It would've been hard to miss, to be fair. Adams Air Force Base had been all but a killing blow, coming so shortly after Raven Rock had already been destroyed. That all had been years ago, though.

Her story seemed to validate Bella's suspicions. So why did she still feel like there was a piece missing? It was possible a particularly lucky scavenger could have stumbled upon some tech from the Enclave remnants, especially since they were so decentralized now. It was powerful stuff, tougher than just about anything the average drifter would come across otherwise. And dangerous. She should probably confiscate it, if she was being honest.

But she was still apprehensive. So, the question remained - was she going to shoot her? Bella deliberately held her rifle lower. "No." She answered pointedly. "But you'll have to forgive me if I still have some reservations." That was putting it pretty mildly. Something was still wrong here, but she couldn't say exactly what the truth was. And killing Xena wouldn't get her any closer to an answer.

[InfectedHau]

X3-74 "Xena"||Synth||Rogue Courser|| Location: Railroad tracks, southern Boston||Tagged: Bella

"I'd be concerned if you didn't, " Xena said, truthfully. "I'd hope the Brotherhood makes sure its members have a head on their soldiers before giving them a suit like that."

Reservations aside, it looked like the Paladin had bought it. At least to the point that her life wasn't in any immediate danger. Now, to reel them in. "So what happens now?" She asked, lowering her arms slightly. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to let me go on my way, would you? Not that this hasnt been a scintillating conversation, but I've got places to be, y'know?" She was betting they wouldn't, even if she'd managed to convince them she wasnt an Enclave spy she doubted the Brotherhood would be willing to let a suit of X-02 armor slip through their fingers. She doubted her story would be enough to land her a visit to their fancy airship, but it should at least get her to someone further up the ladder.