The sun rose over Megaton, just like it did every day.
The lone wanderer got out of bed and slipped into her well-worn trenchcoat, hijacked from an enclave Colonel, fastening it up, followed by her well-worn fedora like every day.
She grabbed her trusty plasma rifle and shocksword, just like every day.
Trotting past her Mr. Handy robot butler, ignoring its chipper, british-accented greeting, she opened the door to once again venture out into the wasteland and see if there were any new enemies to clear out today. Ever since she and the Brotherhood of Steel had wiped out the majority of the Enclave presence and a good chunk of the super mutant infestation, all that there was to fight were scattered raiders and mutated animals.
So boring. Oh well, not as if there was anything else to do. She made a mental list, deciding on stopping by Craterside Supply for a few microfusion cells for her rifle and perhaps a bit of Rad-x antiradiation chems. Heading around the corner of her home and down a ramp towards the commons, she worked her way through the cluster of residents and visitors, nodding towards Sheriff Simms as she passed him, and barely containing her urge to beat down that sleazebag Moriarty, proprietor of the local bar, as he tried to once again trick someone out of their hard-earned money. The smell of crispy iguana-on-a-stick, as always deliciously prepared by Jenny Stahl, wafted across the breeze. For what it was worth, the Brass Latern (megaton's local eatery), was pretty damned good.
A short walk later, and she was upon Moira's store. Opening the door with a creak, she trotted inside, glancing at the security guard the ever-cheerful Ms. Brown had hired. "Heeyyy there! How are ya today?" the red-headed shopkeep piped up. The wanderer shrugged. "Same old, same old. Less and less for me to do. So, you got any MF cells today?" With a nod, Moira reached behind the counter and pulled out a few. "Here ya go." Handing over the cash necessary, and a nod of thanks, 101, as she was known by the wasteland's resident newscaster Three-dog after her Vault's number, placed them in her rucksack.
"So, how's the survival guide I helped you with going?" Nearly cringing at the memories, she recalled assisting Moira with a book, being a "field researcher", which more often then not involved risking her neck (if she had to go into a mirelurk nest again she'd jump off a cliff) or injuring herself accidentally or (in two cases) intentionally in the name of Science! (which she had now realized was different from the generally accepted view of science). Science! was very much a thing the energetic Brown enjoyed. The crimson-haired merchant smiled warmly. "Darn good, in fact, it's already sold 500 copies in the past month! It's a tidy little profit AND I'm helping people." Of course, the occasionally clueless scientist-wannabe was a bit misinformed, if well-intentioned, although 101 had gently nudged her in the right direction. "Good to hear. Say, Moira, I barely ever see you outside of here, why don't I take you along to see the sights of DC sometime?" She gestured over her shoulder with her thumb towards the door of the shop. "Now that the Brotherhood and I have cleared most of it out, it's much safer. You could use a break, and I could use something to do."
Placing a hand to her chin, Moira let out a little hmm. "Well, I suppose it could be fun!" 101 smiled a little bit, odd for her normally serious demeanor, hardened from a good year straight of fighting. "Well then, how about after lunch? I'll just be over by the Vault for a while, Dogmeat ran off chasing radroaches again, he usually hangs around there if we get seperated." Her trusty canine companion had a habit of doing that, but c'est la vie. "Sounds nifty. Deal!" With a wave, 101 walked outside, her bespectacled, brunette self realizing that for all the people she knew, none, bar Fawkes (one of two non-barbaric super mutants she had ever met) and Three-dog, were really friends,having had no time to truly make them.
However absentminded, eccentric, and sometimes mind-bogglingly gullible she was, Moira would would be a good friend, she mused. Proceeding out the gate of the township, she hummed along to a catchy little number about some guy named pete that gently played from her radio on her Pip-boy wrist computer.
Just like every day.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
