(no subject)

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The cattle raiders haven't returned, or rather, they haven't gone so far as to take any of the cattle. Maybe it's the increased patrols or something- Ellen doesn't know. All she's sure of is that it's been quiet for a bit, quiet enough to take a chance on stepping away from Megaton for a few days and sounding out that map she won for killing her first Deathclaw. Considering how hostile Scribe Bigsley's been about the success of the water purifier leaving him with extra administrative work to do, she figures she'll be best off going before the senior command with her ultimate plans for the RobCo facility once she has enough barter goods and money in hand to cover shut-up-and-do-your-work bonuses for anybody else involved. And she stands the best chance of getting that information with people from Milliways- specifically, Michael Westen, but possibly someone else as backup.

So.

Ellen's in the Bar, in her power armor, with her helmet to one side on the table. She's got her plasma rifle slung over her back- not her weapon of preference, but where they're going, the Gauss is a little too slow to be practical. It's propped alongside a blue backpack of sorts that used to be a motorcycle fuel tank; she'll explain that as needed. There's several maps on the table, one of the Wasteland, in general, one of the caverns.

Oh, and there's the robotic pony next to her, with a sizable pack full of equipment slung across its back. What, you thought a 5'3" nineteen year old girl could carry two hundred pounds of gear for hours at a full run without her knees giving out? Please.

Anyway, she's here, and she's got the reconstructed robo-pony and her dog at her feet, and while she's waiting for Mr. Westen, she'll happily talk to anybody else who comes by.

[tinytag: Mark Grayson]

Comments

[fullofmercy]

The robotic pony is getting the side-eye from a scruffy-looking guy at the bar, dressed in a wrinkled dark suit, nursing a glass of scotch.

On the rocks. Ice is a commodity on Gunsmoke: he's amazed that you can get it for free here. It's like a tiny little personal miracle, drinking iced scotch.

A tall cross leans on the bar next to him, wrapped in thick white cloth, strapped with black leather belts, so it's not like he can really discuss anyone else's choice of traveling companion without coming across as a hypocrite, but still.

Robots.

At least that one doesn't seem like it's going to start trying to kill anybody.

"I would say, from general assessment," he remarks, conversationally, "that you look as though you're going on a trip."

Observant!

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"That's about right," says Ellen with a smile; he may be scruffy-looking but that's no reason to be rude. "I don't want to risk my cow for this, but Jingles can carry a respectable amount. Are you new here?"

He doesn't look familiar, and she's been in and out a fair amount lately.

[fullofmercy]

"It's all too familiar a scenario," he says, a little mournfully. "I myself just managed to escape...er, return from a somewhat unplanned desert excursion."

Thus the dust.

It's everywhere.

"You might say brand-new," he continues, waving his crumpled cigarette in a haze of smoke. "When I parked my motorcycle in the garage, I truly did not expect to find myself in a bar. Well, maybe in a bar, but a bar nowhere near as nice as this one. But the Lord works in mysterious ways."

He punctuates this last with a philosophic drag of smoke. "Someone arrives, someone else leaves. It's almost poetic. Where are you headed?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"It happens. This place has a tendency to catch people by surprise, the first time," Ellen says. "After that it might grab you, or you might come here on purpose, once you learn how. Welcome to Milliways, sir."

She glances briefly at the cross- it's a relief, honestly, to come across somebody religious who isn't worshipping the atomic bomb or an angry man turning into a tree- and then back to the man. "A series of caves to the north and east of where I live now, across a good deal of what we call the Capital Wasteland. My name's Ellen Park, and I'm from Earth; how about yourself?"

[fullofmercy]

"One of these days I'll be caught by a surprise that manages to kill me. I'm grateful it wasn't this one."

There's a faint sense of control to the way his shoulders lift and fall in a casual shrug, and in the way he tucks the cigarette between his lips to lean over and offer a hand to shake. It's the kind of control that comes from being completely at home in one's body, despite his slouched and lazy appearance.

"Nicholas D. Wolfwood, at your service," he tells her, with a smile that could maybe be called charming, if he weren't so dirty. And ragged. And less than charming in pretty much his entire appearance.

"And my world is called Gunsmoke. I've never heard of your Earth, but I know wastelands all too well. Tell me, what would make you want to go out into one?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Well, it's a good smile, for whatever that's worth. Ellen's seen far worse.

(And understand that the majority of her appearance assessments of others include the words, "At least s/he has a nose." When you live in a place with ghouls, it moves the bar a bit.)

"It's not really a matter of wanting," Ellen says, "it's that that's what's there. I grew up under the Wasteland, in a sealed underground shelter, and when I finally got out of it there was pretty much nothing but the Wastes and old ruins to be seen. This particular trip- well, it's a long story. The most basic way to put it is, I have a project that needs funding, and this map-" She indicates the map of Rock Creek Caverns. "Is of a cave complex that may allow me to get to enough resources to fund the work I've got in mind. I can explain more, if you like, but I've got a bad habit of dumping information on people that they never wanted in the first place so I'm trying not to do that straight off the bat."

[fullofmercy]

He smokes meditatively while she speaks, and when she stops herself, he shakes his head, gestures for her to go on while casting a glance at the map she has out.

"Listening to people is in my job description," he tells her, with another smile.

Besides, he has unfortunately had some experience himself with sealed underground chambers, thanks to a certain pointy-haired crybaby he really wishes he never had to see again.

And Milly would say he should try to help, if he can.

She makes it sound so easy. "You're going alone? Is that safe?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"That sounds familiar," Ellen murmurs. "The listening, I mean... well, anyway, it's like this: the Capital Wasteland didn't used to be a wasteland before the Great War, two hundred years ago. There's a factory from before the War that I'd like to see about getting up and running again, but to do that I have to get a power system to work, and I have to be able to pay the workers to help bring it back up to snuff, and I have to be able to get the resources it'll need in general. This-" She indicates a spot on the larger map of the Wasteland. "Used to be a military depot, before the War. The area's been completely inaccessible for as long as anyone can remember. But the Caverns map shows a tunnel opening not far from the depot's property line. If I can find a route through the Caverns, I can survey the depot and see if two hundred years have left anything in there worth scavenging and selling. And if not, there's supposed to be all kinds of resources in the caverns anyway, so..."

She shrugs. "I have one companion, so far. The Caverns are probably fairly dangerous, but they also look like there wouldn't be room for a large company of travelers, so I may not have much of a choice."

[fullofmercy]

Glancing at her for permission, he tugs the map along the bartop until he can read it a little easier, studying the section she points out.

It's a familiar enough story: replace Great War with an accidental crash-landing of ships full of settlers and factory with plant and Ellen's talking about the same sort of struggle that people face every day in the middle of Gunsmoke's deserts.

"I see what you mean," he says, a little distant as he pores over the map. "It's the sort of thing that takes precision. Personally, I like to travel by myself, and as lightly as possible. And that's in the desert, with plenty of room, though few enough resources."

Taking another pull at his cigarette, he regards her thoughtfully. "Out of curiosity, what sort of companion would you be looking for, were you able to add another to your group?"

[luvs_yogurt]

Michael came downstairs ready for just about anything, his usual suit forgone in favor of a pair of jeans and black polo shirt. He saw Ellen right away, hard to miss a girl in a big armored suit with a robot pony, and made a quick stop at the bar for a yogurt and a pouch of beef jerky that got tucked in his pocket.

Jerky, check. Lockpicks, check. Small knife in boot, combat knife strapped to his thigh? Double check. His trusty SIG-Sauer is once again holstered in the back.

"Miss Park," he smiles, approaching the table as he ate a lemon chiffon yogurt. "I take it the tin can and maps mean you're ready to get the party started?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Pretty much," Ellen says with a smile. "The armor I promised you is in Jingles' pack on the right-hand side, if you want to get changed before we go. I mean, when you're done eating, obviously."

[luvs_yogurt]

"Jingles?" He raises an eyebrow with the barest hint of a smile, taking another large bite before setting the half eaten cup on the table and digging into the pack.

The combat armor itself isn't much different from some of the body armor he'd worn in the Army - more advanced, but nothing like what the girl's wearing... lighter than what he remembers too, which is nice. The stuff was a pain in the ass in Iraq, an nobody likes wandering the desert in fifty pounds of armor and twice that much in gear.

He carefully shifts his weapons as he suits up there at the table, leaving on his jeans for an extra layer, but tugging off the polo in favor of the close fitting plated tunic, slowly acclimating himself to the fit. "Not bad... I've worn worse." He flexes his legs and feet, feeling the familiar stretch of combat boots under his feet.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"He's a prewar children's toy," Ellen says. "There's no cogitative processing at all to him, just a set of behaviors that're supposed to mimic a live horse's. I put him together from the parts of about fifteen or sixteen wrecked ones I found. Jingles seemed appropriate given how much noise he makes when he moves."

She settles back in her chair to wait, and nods. "I can adjust it in a few places if you need," she says. "It was the closest fit I could find- I sold off all the armor we took from Talon Company ages ago, or I'd have something closer to your size. This is just what Crow had in stock."

[luvs_yogurt]

Michael nods as he processes the information. He knows it's going to be a whole trip of new information and made sure he was prepared to suspend what he knows about the world to focus on this world, this mission.

It was the most thrilling prospect he'd had all month, and in a month that includes nearly being killed by gun runners and being caught in a major structure fire, that's saying a lot.

"The back feels a little too tight, but most of it's fine." He stretches again, flexing his back. "Oh!" He grins, digging the pouch out of his pocket to snag a piece of jerky for the dog, "A promise is a promise, right?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

!!

Dogmeat hops to his feet at the smell. Ellen grins. "Oh, this should be just fine," she says. "All right, then. We'll get moving shortly."

[luvs_yogurt]

Content to stand, Michael grinned as the animal eagerly took the treat and then offered him a gentle pat between the ears.

"Not a problem," he pulls out a chair and turns the back to the table before sitting down to finish his yogurt.

"So, what do I need to know before heading over? Or is it more something I need to see first hand?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"I've got some pictures I've taken of Wasteland wildlife," Ellen says. "I thought you should probably see those, and get a good idea. Also, you need to not step in any kind of puddles or streams if you can avoid it, because most of the local water is horribly polluted or radioactive. I've got anti-rad medication to take as protection before exposure, and a chelation agent if you do get irradiated, but no sense taking chances."

[1nv1nc1ble]

"Um, excuse me...," says the young man in the orange cap (it says "Burger Mart" on it), orange shirt, grease-stained apron, and nametag (it says "Mark" on it), "this might seem like a strange question but ... where am I?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Oh-" Ellen glances up, as does the dog at her feet. "No, it's not a strange question at all. This place tends to surprise people from time to time. It's called Milliways- it's, um, a little hard to explain without sounding like I've watched too much Captain Cosmos. Did you just find the door?"

[1nv1nc1ble]

Mark glances over his shoulder at the door. "I guess," he offers. "I was coming back in from taking out the trash, and...." He makes a gesture to encompass the room. "This is not the Burger Mart," he concludes, perhaps unnecessarily.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Definitely not," says Ellen. "It's not even anywhere on Earth, really. Or anywhere else- it's some kind of an asteroid in deep space or something. The door's some kind of dimensional portal that opens up in all different locations, pretty much at random."

"Burger Mart's still on the other side, though. Of the door you came in by, I mean."

[1nv1nc1ble]

Mark absorbs this information mutely. It sounds like something his dad might have run into. "So, it's safe, then?" he asks. He looks around at some of the clientele (is that guy over there with the guitar green?). "Relatively speaking, I mean."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"More or less, yes," Ellen says. "There's a security team in here to enforce the rules against violence and things like that, and out back is pretty safe, too. As long as you don't get lost in the woods or something."

[1nv1nc1ble]

Mark considers this. "That... sounds pretty cool, actually," he says, smiling. He looks around again (yeah, that guy's definitely green). "So a bar out in space...." He looks down at what she's wearing. "Which would make you a... space marine, or something?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen almost laughs at that. "No," she says. "No, not quite. I've met space marines here, though, does that count? I'm just- okay, there's a question I need to ask first. I know it's going to sound silly, but it's kind of important. What year is it, for you?"