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The door opens; Ellen ducks in from a hotter-than-usual Wasteland summer day and spends some time blinking as her eyes adjust to the local light level. She lets out a sigh of relief- there are only so many doors you can try in Arlington before your cow gets frustrated and wanders off- and trots over to deposit an envelope at the Bar. Inside is an assortment of incomplete and fragmentary comic books, some bits as small as just a portion of a page, and a note.

Dear Steve-

I made it back to the Citadel today to deliver my most recent report, and I stopped by the archives like I promised you. Here's copies of the incomplete comics I found. The originals are back at the Citadel, so you can have these.

I'm not sure what else I can bring from home to make things more interesting for you on the road, unless you have a record player with you or something. If you like violin, I mean. There's a woman who has what I think might be the last Stradivarius violin in the world, and she makes her living by playing for traders. I might be able to get some recordings from her, if you ever wanted.

Take care out there,

Ellen.

Once the envelope's in Bar's keeping she deposits two fistfuls of bottlecaps on the bartop. "As much film as this will buy me," she says, "and there's more where that came from, if you have it. And some Cram and noodles, please."

It was a long day in the saddle and she could really use something to eat.

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"From your mouth to God's ear," Dean says, tilting his bottle toward her for a second.

It's kind of like a toast.

"But yeah. Pretty much not thinkin' about it is all I've got workin', too."

Working badly, that is.

Edited 2012-07-31 23:31 (UTC)

Ellen nods. She remembers the last time they talked- Dean sounded as overworked as she's often felt, and in areas she doesn't even begin to want to think about. "When it really gets out of hand," she says, "I like to get up and go outside and use up a few electron charge packs- did I ever show you my Tesla cannon? I forget who knows what I've got around here and who doesn't."

Hey, she can tell when someone wants to get away from a subject.

"Is this Tesla cannon as awesome as it sounds?"

Ellen may be Dean's new favorite person.

Again.

And not just because she's got awesome gear.

"The Scribes who designed it named it Mjolnir," Ellen says. "It's a man-portable anti-aircraft lightning gun."

That'd be a yes, Bob.

Dean.

Whatever.

"Anti-aircraft?"

Dean's grin gets pretty damn wide.

"Got any targets big enough to make it worthwhile out here?"

"I had to buy a simulated aircraft from the Bar to use as a proper target last time," Ellen says. "It's up in my room, deflated- it's some kind of metallic fiber weave or something, I'm not really sure how it's made. Just that it can stand up to repeated strikes. I'll go get it and meet you outside?"

"Huh. Sounds like that stuff'd be handy for a whole hell of a lot of things."

Or, you know, to distract a whole Hell of a lot of things.

Anyway.

"Sounds like a plan. Catch you in a few."

Maybe he'll even be tired enough when he gets back to the motel to actually sleep for real.

Stranger things have happened.

It takes Ellen a little longer to come down than she'd anticipated. Picking up Mjolnir reminded her that the weapon, while largely recoilless, was large- and she's not. She took the opportunity to get her combat armor on (not the power armor, that takes forever, just the stuff she got from Reilly's Rangers). It makes balancing the thing a little bit easier.

She comes back outside with a large box under one arm labeled Deployable Practice Target; it has a picture of a Klingon Bird of Prey on the front. Apparently it's an auto-inflating partly-metallic balloon the size of a six-man Vertibird, with a cable and a stake to hold it in one place.

Oh, and there are two pairs of safety goggles inside.

"The Scribes designed Mojo with the assumption the wielder would have power armor on, and the helmet that goes with it," she says by way of explanation. "So they saw no reason to try and cut down on the amount of flash, since the helmet would do that for them. You'd better wear the goggles if you want to be able to see after using this thing."

Edited 2012-08-01 00:02 (UTC)

"Damn," Dean says, sounding both intimidated and impressed.

"Yeah, I kinda like bein' able to drive. Goggles it is."

He'll care about how ridiculous he looks later.

You know.

If the Tesla cannon fails to be impressive.

(Which he doubts.)

"Thanks."

"I mean immediately after," Ellen hastily says. "The flash tends to blind me for several seconds if I don't protect my eyes."

She stakes down the target balloon and pulls the cord that inflates it with... whatever, she didn't check the label on the canister. As the Bird of Prey lifts into the air, she heads away from the thing, eventually getting to somewhere around the length of a football field's distance. "This ought to do," she says, and shoulders the cannon. "Ready, aim-"

THOOM!

"Good to know."

Holy shit.

Dean's jaw drops, but he derails it in order to grin a whole fuck of a lot.

Sweet!

"Is there anything that gun can't take down?"

Whatever that might be, it really can't be good.

"Haven't tried it on a behemoth yet," Ellen says with a grin of her own. "That's a supermutant that's grown to fifteen or more feet tall. They're nasty. Did you want to give it a try?"

"Well, when you do, lemme know how it goes, yeah?"

If he's not somehow there with her. Which, well --

What's an apocalypse or two between friends?

"And, uh. Is 'hell yeah answer enough? Though, uh. Am I gonna need some of that armor or whatever? I kinda don't want to break any bones today."

For one, Sam would never let him forget it.

"You should be able to manage without it," says Ellen after some thought. "I've had to wield it in my Vault suit before. Here, see what you think of the weight first."

She makes a point of removing the electron charge pack before handing it over; she'll reload the thing when it's ready to fire.

"If I ever see a Behemoth again I'll be coming back here as fast as I can for help. The last time we went up against one.. brrr."

"Yeah, fifteen feet tall does not sound like a good time."

He's expecting the gun to be heavy, but maybe not quite as heavy as it actually is.

It's not that hard to adjust, though. Comparatively.

Just give him a second or two.

"Huh. Pretty sure as long as it ain't rapid-fire I'll be pretty okay."

If it's rapid-fire -- someone's inventing brain is pretty damn whacked. Usefully whacked, but still.

"No, if you want a rapid fire energy weapon you still have to get a Gatling laser," Ellen says. "This one's one shot, one ECP. You have to stop to reload between shots. Scribe Cancio said he tried for higher yield but couldn't pull it off with the supplies we had."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I can make -- wait. There's plans for a semi-automatic version?"

Creepy or awesome? You be the judge.

Dean's grin really isn't going anywhere.

"Anyway. Any pointers before actually loading and taking the shot?"

"Oh, the Order of the Sword's always trying something new," Ellen says. "They're our weapons researchers. It makes them happy to have something different to work on."

"Mmm... well, there's no recoil, so don't try to compensate for it. You'll just throw your shot off. It also fires in a straight line, so you don't have to account for arc or windage. It does get ugly if you bob around too much, though, so brace your shoulder carefully and don't take too long lining up the shot."

"How long we talkin' about? Less than a three-count?"

If it takes him that long to line up a shot, something's gone horribly, horribly wrong.

Or he's possessed.

"You ever want to get on the research bandwagon?"

"Less than that will do fine. If you're going to take that long to shoot, you'd better be using something with a scope, and I didn't bring my Gauss rifle today."

Very little in the Wasteland is slow enough to still be in your line of sight after a count of three.

"Not really? Except maybe the recovery kind- finding stuff from the world before the War and getting it to work again. I built a working robot pony from the parts of sixteen non-functioning robot ponies, just so I'd have something to carry my stuff, but trying to develop something entirely new's... not really the kind of science I'm good at."

"Sounds kinda like me, I guess. Theory I ain't always so good at. Practice, though? That one I can do."

A poor man's MacGuyver is Dean. (Not exactly.)

"Gotcha. So. Let's lock and load, huh?"

Hey, there's still duct tape two hundred years after the War. Just sayin'.

"Right," says Ellen, and settles her goggles on her face. "The trigger's the same as anything else. Squeeze when ready."

"Gotcha."

Dean checks his own goggles, then swings the gun up and settles it into position.

He takes a breath, sights the target, then squeezes the trigger on the exhale.

THOOM

"Yeah, okay, that's awesome."

He'll slide his goggles off his face in a second.

Glorying in the moment comes first. And the Tesla cannon is one damn badass gun.

"My commander," Ellen notes, "wants me practicing with more like this. Er, heavy energy weapons, I mean. There's a Gatling laser at home I could bring over if you ever wanted to see, and the Scribes are working on a plasmacaster ever since they cracked the encryption on some of the Enclave files we recovered. If you were ever interested."

Dean lowers the gun, lifts his goggles, and just flat-out grins at Ellen.

"I'm gonna do you the favor of not saying 'duh'. Man, any time you wanna show off the big guns -- or, you know, the little ones -- I'm all for that."

And in the interests of pursuing really awesome distractions --

"The Gatling laser's pretty much what it sounds like, I'm guessing? But what's the plasmacaster?"

Oh.

"And, uh. You wanna go again with the Tesla?"