abstracts

GTFO, do not collect 200 bottle caps.

Mon, 20 Mar 2017 02:00:50 GMT

Posted by: goodfight

Twelve days. They'd spent nearly two weeks in that deathtrap with its emote-inducing properties and gift for dragging out the god-awkward truth from just about anyone. And now, twelve days later, they're finally walking out of the vault. Finally, they were fucking free.

The air never tasted so fresh. The earth never felt so warm. The sun never seemed so bright. They're enough for even an ex-Vault Dweller like Neil Park to collapse upon the dust in something like overwhelming relief.

"Oh," he says, "I never thought I would see you again, "Outside" place!"

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covers of a book.

Mon, 24 Oct 2016 02:45:16 GMT

Posted by: goodfight

Somewhere in that long journey back to the Mojave, in that broken and dusty old road, Alex had mentioned a book. There was nothing particularly descriptive in his utterance, nothing that would have a guy running to the local rundown library for it, but it was enough to stick in Neil's thoughts.

Thus, when he "serendipitously" caught sight of the book in a merchant's stock somewhere in Nebraska, he snatched it up. He tucked it carefully away in his pack.

And now, a day later with the sun sitting highest in the sky, while Alex and ED-E are up ahead scouting the area, Neil slips the book into Alex's pack, in a place the other man would find easily. He straightens from his task, a small grin playing on his lips, before he notes that Dogmeat is staring at him in curiosity.

"Not a word," Neil tells his mutt.

Dogmeat wags his tail, as if excited about the prospect of a secret.

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a path to the side

Sun, 16 Oct 2016 23:54:15 GMT

Posted by: goodfight

( His name is Neil Park. )

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the tower.

Mon, 19 Sep 2016 01:52:08 GMT

Posted by: shortstraw

( It started in Novac, in that lovely Dino Dee-Lite Motel by the dilapidated gas station. )

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just wanderin'.

Sun, 28 Aug 2016 23:25:18 GMT

Posted by: shortstraw

It's a particularly hot July afternoon in the canyons, and Sarah is on her way to a town. Any town, really, so long as they had ammunition. Call it a break, a hiatus, an escape-- She had a hankering for wandering, and this week's been hell acting as an Elder. Petty squabbles, greedy raiders, and of course, the lack of initiative from half the populace of their newfound Arroyo. She was this close to punching Stone's overgrown kid in the face because he couldn't stop asking the "O Holy Vault Dweller" what he should do about the brahmin pens, and it was this near-slip that had her telling Pat she's disappearing for a week.

So yeah, vacation. Her kids will miss her, and god, all the work keeps her away from them enough as it is, but she also isn't going have them put up with her yelling because she currently can't control her dwindling patience.

Speaking of yelling, there's a bit of that behind the cliff face, around the winding path she is walking along. The voice has that high female pitch, and it's followed by the skittering of feet and the snap of pincers. Sarah is willing to wager that they belong to radscorpions. She's also willing to wager that their opponent is very human and very alone.

The woman picks up her pace and rounds the corner, a hand settling on old Irwin's makeshift pistol beneath her cloak. She comes to a clearing and as expected, notes the group of radscorpions surrounding a young lady wearing a jacket and a vault suit. A fellow vault dweller, likely. From Vault 13 or elsewhere, it remains to be seen.

Casually, Sarah levels the .223 Pistol at the creature nearest to the girl and opens fire.

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locked in.

Mon, 01 Aug 2016 06:25:10 GMT

Posted by: goodfight

( There are aspects, men often find, that cannot be left behind. )

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Alternative Methods.

Fri, 01 Jul 2016 05:55:22 GMT

Posted by: doubletap

Has sex become repetitious? Feeling sore in certain areas? Well, good news! Your boyfriend has sent you on a quest to find different ways of having fun gay sex. Yay!

Find the following people and seek out their knowledge:

Arcade Israel Gannon (=D)
Jimmy (Westside)
Old Ben (Freeside)
Doctor Alex Richards (Novac)
Ignacio Rivas (Helios One)

Good luck, Wanderer!

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ghost of a chance.

Tue, 21 Jun 2016 02:50:06 GMT

Posted by: goodfight

The Capital Wasteland. It's a wasteland. It has dead trees. There are trash, debris, and rotting corpses everywhere. It's Neil's hometown. D.C. ain't pretty, but D.C. is where he comes from. A crappy start, literally.

Neil's hardly phased, though. Despite Alex's clear opinions regarding the area, the younger guy has been looking forward to getting back. Years have passed since he last laid eyes on the Capital Wasteland; some positive change must have occurred. Or any change, really. Anything would be fine.

As they pass through Megaton's gate, however, Neil catches a glimpse of that thing, and he stops dead in his tracks. His eyes widening to show white.

"Da... Dad?"

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the pier.

Wed, 08 Jun 2016 04:29:10 GMT

Posted by: doubletap

( Let him just say it now--the kid had a lot of problems. )

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competition.

Thu, 05 May 2016 06:39:17 GMT

Posted by: ablutio

It's not as if they haven't know that they have their own... hobbies. Jobs. Habits. Alain had been talking to Nigel in the way of giving him advice, and there was a woman mentioned (Alan asked about her once, and Nigel laughed for a good ten minutes). On the opposite hand, Alain had been dropping pointed remarks at Alan, but never coming near enough to saying anything. He knew, though. Of course, he knew. And where the Dragonborn somewhat approved of Nigel's occupation, he steadily disapproved of Alan's.

But, he supposes, who wouldn't, really? Not many would be able to relate to someone who kills for fun and gold.

But it's something Alan's good at, and the people, surprisingly, weird as they are, are becoming people in which Alan can relate to and talk to. The child vampire is infinitely interesting, and even the crabby mage has something to teach. Alan likes the Dark Brotherhood, and he isn't in the mood to let "daddy" run his life.

Therefore, he has a job to do. Getting to Goldenglow is the easy part, and more interesting than most runs. Getting inside is much of the same. The difference, then, comes in the trail of bodies within the estate. It's not something that Alan has planned on, and it's with wariness that he slips out his twin scimitars, creeping silently on enchanted feet to the center of the house.

However, a body crosses his path, a man in brown and leather reaching for a shelf. The target? Or the unknown other assassin? If it's a brother, it wouldn't be good to try to kill them--still--

Alan steps forward and swings the flat side of Soulrender into the man's shoulder to knock him off balance. If the edge of the blade happened to catch, well--less magicka in a fight would be better for Alan in the end.

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the story in which Alex Seattle Geer is right for hating enclosed spaces,

Sun, 17 Apr 2016 23:54:52 GMT

Posted by: doubletap

and Neil Park is blamed for his knowledge of vaults.

( The Investigation of Vault 7. )

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I don't want to set the world on fire.

Tue, 21 Jul 2015 05:03:03 GMT

Posted by: doubletap

It's been a few weeks. Since the kid left, taking his dog with him. Good for him. Great that he actually got a job and wasn't just sitting around one of Alex's places. Right, yeah; good for him.

But at the end of that two and a half weeks, Alex was annoyed. Irritated in a scratching, prickling way under the skin, and he had stopped going out the past few days and was just sprawled on his couch.

Head tipped over the armrest to stare at the wall, he lets out a groan. ED-E beeps in question, and Alex only groans again. Damn 'bot.

Damn stupid kid.

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Election Day

Mon, 13 Jul 2015 00:15:07 GMT

Posted by: goodfight

( Once upon a time, blah, blah, blah... )

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life and its complications.

Thu, 02 Jul 2015 03:09:13 GMT

Posted by: putrefaction

[It is a laundry day in someone else's mind.

He took extra steps to leave her alone to her task. She has quite a task ahead of her, and Nigel would only be in the way. Thus, he kept to cat naps, to shifting between waking and sleeping states.

Eventually, his throat demands a trip, and he emerges from his room with the intent to go to the kitchen. An intent that cuts short inches from his destination, when he catches sight of white-gold in the laundry room. Of skin he shouldn't be catching, a floral shape etched against the pale. White with a blue edge. Maybe. It's hard to tell with his sight.

Nigel halts, caught in an emotion unnamed. And as with all his awkward steps, he begins with words.]

A tattoo?

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i don't want to leave the congo--

Wed, 01 Jul 2015 05:33:54 GMT

Posted by: goodfight

( Yes, sir, it has been a mighty fine vacation. )

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trama-inducing.

Sat, 30 May 2015 19:43:04 GMT

Posted by: dovahfahdon

It was a test, he supposed. What kind, he couldn't tell you now, but the point was the process, and the process was irrevocably, incomprehensibly flawed. He thought it was near a joke, what the amulet meant, but he was soon proven false. He had been approached by three individuals upon wearing it, two females and a male, and when a fourth started to approach, Alain didn't think it cowardly to flee the town.

He was stopped twice more crossing the expanse of land from Riften to Whiterun, and when he saw the gates, the man thought it best to disperse with it altogether. He walked to as close of the center of the giant plain to the west of Whiterun as he could, and without a thought otherwise, fell to lay on his back without a sound. The sky was wide, clear and coated with soft-looking clouds. He wished to hide himself amongst them.

Instead he kept to his inane behavior, trying to recover.

Marriage. Honestly.

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alpha omega.

Mon, 04 May 2015 03:39:40 GMT

Posted by: dovahfahdon

[ He has camped at a field within a grove of trees, a fire softly burning nearby. Alduin is a month dead, and it is still something to take in. Alain has not returned to "civilization" since then--he has kept to earth and flame, power and might, and has only taken in the land, the enemies, the creatures. He has only had thus.

He has expected Niall for a while now, but the dragon agreed to wait for him. Alain does not want to return to the house he built. Instead, upon waking, he uses the amulet given for the first time. Calls the dragon to him.

When he finishes the Dragonborn lays down again. He watches the sky. He waits. ]

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a side note.

Mon, 27 Apr 2015 03:41:34 GMT

Posted by: nehnahlmey

[You have finished sorting through the remains of the Normandy SR-1 in the planet of Alchera when you receive a promising report of a strange artifact found a mile northeast from the crash site. Preliminary analysis state the artifact appears Prothean. A deeper look has pegged the artifact to be a device of sorts. It has surprisingly managed to conserve a fraction of power over the years, but none can begin to fathom its uses.

The device has been brought to the Port Cargo Area in the Engineering Deck of the Normandy.]

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run of the mill.

Tue, 24 Jun 2014 06:54:14 GMT

Posted by: nehnahlmey

[He's come from a prolonged "constitutional", undertaken when the dragon finally lost patience and parts of his mind. Alain had been following that vampire around for quite some time, and one day, he had simply vanished from Nehnahlmey's watch. From Skyrim altogether, in truth--a detail that eventually forced the creature to seek the man out in quiet desperation.

After several days, the dragon lands in front of the travesty Alain calls a house in a last attempt to wait out the man's return. It is here Nehnahlmey finds Alain, sitting against the building in what looks to be fatigue.

The dragon slips out of his transparency to peer at the figure.]

...Dovahkiin.

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a closed cave.

Sun, 01 Jun 2014 22:09:08 GMT

Posted by: dovahfahdon

[ A rejection of touch had never ended in such a parting. The dragon flew off, as dragons often do, and Alain expected him back within hours. When that failed to pass, he expected then days.

When that failed he grew concerned.

It had become months before he found the cave. Months edging on half of a year, and it was still nearly accidental when he came across the fissure in the mountain. Habit had him moving inward, and the presence of a dragon had him reaching for his mace.

...The sight of Niall had him dropping it.

The dragon, curled as if laying on the ground to speak to Alain, great eyes shut tight. As if sleeping. Something in Alain, something unknown and small, prompted him to cross to the dragon, even with the unknown danger of waking a sleeping dragon, to call to him, speak his name, touch his scales and pray for warmth.

When nothing came of it, he prioritized. He shut down his mind and moved in processes. He left the cave, sold his extra weapons and spent all the funds on resources and food. Returned to the cave with bulging packs and set them in the cavern. Moved to the tunnel to cast destruction spells and conjuration as well, to tear into the pathway inside with abandon.

When it came down with a crash, Niall hardly moved.

Alain settled near his bags and closed his mind to thought.

Time was outside of him.

Perhaps it had been hours.

Perhaps it had been months. ]

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what is not yet seen.

Thu, 01 May 2014 05:07:33 GMT

Posted by: putrescible

((Continued from here.))

[She wakes hours before dawn, form enveloped in warmth, her head heavy with the fog of sleep. Of course, she recalls the rhyme and reasons; she knows Alan is sleeping on one side while Nigel--

Is awake. In the darkness, she sees eyes of green and blue, a reflection of her own, fixed on the ceiling above them.

Nia blinks, mind curious on the cause, and whispers as to not wake Alan.]

You're awake.

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alma mater and other such conundrums.

Mon, 28 Apr 2014 03:54:24 GMT

Posted by: putrefaction

He is alone in the house with his mirror. She has dark hair, green eyes, and two X chromosomes, and Nigel cannot rightfully call her a stranger in light of the circumstance.

She sits on their couch, prim and proper, and watches him watching her with intent. Fixates as if there is no other. Alan has left for his work mere moments prior so perhaps that can be counted as true.

"Come on," he finally says, straightening from the doorway. "You don't belong here."

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this is an emergency broadcast.

Tue, 18 Mar 2014 04:57:43 GMT

Posted by: putrefacere

[This is the sixth pregnancy test kit she's tried during Alan's absence. The result is much the same.

Rather than discarding the stick in an unmarked bag, Nigel sits on the toilet and stares at the markings wordlessly. Pressure builds against her skull.]

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this is not an office job.

Tue, 18 Mar 2014 00:48:50 GMT

Posted by: putrefacere

Honestly. Honestly. Ms. Keaton had the tendency to apply human reason to a scenario devoid of humanity.

Let her back up a bit.

There had been an infestation, a growth of mold expanding over an entire city block. Except no human eye nor instrument could trace the organism, and as opposed to causing physical ailments, it more or less drained the life force of whatever it happened to touch. Hence, people fell ill by the dozens, risking permanent and potentially fatal ailments, and the CDC was left scratching their heads as to why.

And Jaden. Lucky Jaden was hired to investigate part of the matter. To see if there was a chance bioterrorism was at play. And Nigel, her ever 'faithful' assistant, had been the one to bear the brunt of that workload. To give her all when she would rather eat dirt and die. Instead, Nigel with her second sight saw a growth where there shouldn't be, and in a fit of boredom, Nigel had discovered that fire would eat away the infestation.

So Nigel, in her reasoning, suggested to Jaden that she set things on fire.

Now, the woman was here, closing Cynthia's door with more force than was likely warranted. She frowned at the resulting rattle, before huffing in what could possibly be anger. "Damn her," she mumbled. "It is not ludicrous."

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not all who wander are lost.

Wed, 29 Jan 2014 05:15:15 GMT

Posted by: rosacide

[Once upon a time, there was a story. It lived as stories oft do: it began in conception and ended in death. It began and ended in the space of someone's mind.

And it is someone's mind she occupies, someone's territory she strides through. There are balloons sporting toothy grins, party streamers crushing lampposts, and confetti leaving holes in the asphalt. Their master likely lurks somewhere down the road--in a house laid out for the most perfect of parties, she's sure.

There are strange things afoot, and nothing in this little bird brings herself to care. At least care long enough to venture beyond the street corner.]

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