milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

The door opens and Ellen slips in from the Capital Wasteland, a battered leather duster thrown over her old Vault suit. She's got a rolled-up sheaf of blueprint paper in hand. "Hey, Bar?" she says. "I could really use a beer, we had trouble with raiders coming after the water caravan today... oh, and if Dean Winchester's here somewhere, could you let him know I'm looking for him? Thanks."

There's a bark- the door didn't close immediately behind her.

"Oh, and some water and food for Dogmeat, please? Thanks."

She's looking for Dean specifically, but this is Ellen; she'd be just as happy to meet up with anybody else tonight. She made it to the end of a very long day, after all.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Power -- how heavy is that stuff?"

While he asks that question Dean goes diving into his duffel bag, shifting crap around until he comes up with the pilot lights he's snagged.

Those'll get passed over in a second.

"I mean, if you need a cow or whatever to ride around on. They're not elephant-sized, are they?"

"Oh, I don't need it, I've crossed the Wasteland a couple times over on foot in it," says Ellen, accepting the pilot lights. "It's just slow going. Sprinting in power armor isn't a good idea unless it's been individually fitted to every joint in your body. With the cow I can maintain a decent pace and carry a decent load without wrenching something important."

"Yeah," Dean says, huffing out a breath. "Joints're a bitch and a half. Especially when you fuck 'em up."

Not that he's talking from experience or anything.

Really.

Uh.

"No kidding. My dad was the Vault doctor," Ellen says. "We saw a lot of people recovering from joint injuries... it takes a long time. Stimpaks don't heal that kind of thing very well."

"But they heal other things? Huh. Mostly we've got stitches and time."

And, you know, antibiotics.

"Anything faster'n that sounds pretty damn handy."

"Oh, yes- stab wounds, most elements of bullet wounds, broken bones... they work by speeding up the body's natural healing immensely, so you have to hold still while they work or things go wrong," Ellen says. She rolls up her right sleeve, revealing a forearm marked with a number of long, jagged scars. "And it does leave some scar tissue behind, but considering that the alternative is losing a good part of your muscle tissue to a mirelurk or a yao guai or something, I can live with that."

"Yeah," Dean says, with a snort.

"You and me, both."

He'd demonstrate his own scars, but --

Yeah no.

"Most days I'll take what I can get."

Ellen nods and rolls her sleeve back down. "Sometimes that's all you can do," she says. "There's only so much you can carry with you, and sometimes things just get the better of you."

"Most times, some days."

Just like shit rolls downhill.

"But, you know, that's what the end of the universe is for, I guess."

See: French fries and beer, among other things.

"I'm good with that," Ellen says. "I really am."

[OOC: good spot to fade?]

"Yeah," Dean says, with a grin. "Me too."

Today, at least.

It's the little things.

[ooc: Sounds good to me! Thanks! I have a lot of fun with them. <3]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only