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singillppl2024-02-05 02:31 pm
singmod) wrote in singillppl2024-02-05 02:31 pm
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February 2024 Test Drive Meme
FEBRUARY 2024 TDM
PROMPT ONE — ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST: Yet another new group of arrivals find themselves lost in the frozen wilds and vulnerable to the dangers of nature. With luck, they make it to the town of Milton, and to a friendly face offering food, warmth and shelter — not to mention the fact they are not the first to come here.
PROMPT TWO — OF FAIR FORTUNE: After spell of bad luck, finally, the Interlopers find A Very Good (albeit slightly spooky) Boy.
PROMPT THREE — BAD PICKINGS: An error is made when foraging for mushrooms that have been altered by the Aurora makes for some interesting situations for the Interlopers.
ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST
WHEN: Mid-month.
WHERE: Milton, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential animal attacks, potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk.
'You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.'
It’s the last thing you hear. A dark, deep voice. Impossibly ancient. You feel afraid. Maybe you’re dreaming, maybe you’re wide awake. You saw the lights, and then your world went dark. But you hear it in the blackness, you won’t forget those words.
You awaken. You are not where you were before. It’s different for everyone, there doesn’t seem to be much of a pattern in where you find yourself. You may open your eyes to find yourself in a cold, dim and dank cabin. The air is stale, dust hangs in the rays of weak sunlight that shine through the tiny windows. Someone lived here once, but they aren’t to be found. You look around, it seems like no one has been here in several weeks, maybe longer. The fire is stone cold, the dishes in the sink are mouldy — it's possible the place has been ransacked, as if they've gone through the drawers and cupboards looking for something. It is quiet. The wood creaks around you. Or perhaps you may awaken to find yourself shivering in the yawning maw of a cave, the freezing stone below you. Or maybe you’re unfortunate enough to sit up to find yourself lying in the snow, in the middle of the wilderness. Snow lies thick around you. It’s freezing out. You haven’t felt a cold like this before in your entire life. Cruel and biting. You have no idea where you are, and what’s worse — you are completely alone.
You may feel different, too. Any powers or magics you may have feel... absent. Disconnected. Things that may not have affected you previously now do. Something in you has changed.
You know you can’t stay where you are. You’ll need to move, try to work out where you are and how you came to be here. So you walk, head out into the unknown, in hope of finding a trail or a road. Interlopers who arrive during the month of February will find themselves especially likely of falling foul to accidental injuries and the like. It's as if the bad luck of finding yourself in this place only gets much worse. Maybe you get yourself horrendously more lost than you mean to, maybe you end up with a sprained wrist or ankle after a fall, torn clothing from fighting through the thicker parts of the wilderness.
But soon enough, you'll be able to find a path to town. A little more worse for wear, but alive. It’s here you may find someone else in the same boat as yourself, equally freezing and confused — battered from the journey. You’ll both need to keep going. It won’t be easy. You hear howls of wolves around you, and the terrain is difficult: slips and falls are likely. You’re completely vulnerable out here in the open.
Or it’s possible you may come across someone else here. Someone who looks far better prepared to deal with the freezing cold and frozen landscape, out hunting or gathering. They’ll likely offer help and get you into town. However, for the unlucky ones who don’t come across anyone, you’ll carry on until you see it: the lazy trail of smoke rising in the air. Fire. Not just one, but several. Civilization...?
Follow it, and soon enough the way you’ve taken will certainly become a path or road. Unfolding before you in the mountainous forests, you’ll see the most welcome of sights: a small mining town tucked up in the valley. Battered, rusted road signs will direct to “MILTON, POP. 947”. You’re almost there, you keep going, and it looks like other people have had the same idea as you. In fact, you’ll hear the muffled sounds of life. People! In the town!
As you head into the outskirts and then further into town, you’ll find it’s a little easier to walk but the cold has gripped you hard. You’ll find the buildings, both shops and homes, some are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up, some of them are occupied. People are going about their business, or stood watching from their tiny porches of their small, timber homes. For a town this big, there doesn’t seem to be many people. Several dozen at most, but no more. Some of them will direct you to the Community Hall, tell you to head there — you've been expected.
There is a sombre mood to the town. Although you can't quite place why, maybe you should ask?
Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building from which the biggest of the smoke trail rises: a community hall, by the looks of it. You’ll find more and more people all drawn to this place, each and every one of them in the same position as yourself (and your companion, if you’ve found one). Some are in worse states than others: some are bloodied, nursing bite wounds or cuts; others might have some other kind of injury sustained in the journey here from falls. Others may look as if they could faint from the cold at any second.
The door opens, and you’re greeted by the gnarled, wizened face of an elderly man, dressed in thick furs. He has a kind face, but looks sad. He smiles warmly despite the sadness in him, and with pity, ushering you in with haste.
“Another batch of poor souls from the wilds.” he nods gravely. No, this is not the first time that this has happened. “I am Methuselah. I welcome you Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. The lights are changing things, bringing more of you here. Come, we must get you warm and fed. Mother Nature has not been kind.”
The room is dim, lit only by natural daylight through the windows. A roaring fire sits at one end of the huge hall. It crackles, bright and cheerful... and warm. Even as big as this place is, the room is pleasantly warm. You’ll also find basic cots set up down one side of the hall, and while it seems there's a few people already living here, there's enough space for those in need of them. There's places to rest for a moment and get your bearings, or just trying to recover from the cold. Down the other side are tables and chairs, and long tables laden with food, drinks and bottled water similar to one might find at a soup kitchen. Once again, Methuselah offers a feast, aided by some of the other Interlopers.
There are canisters with hot herbal teas and perhaps a rare canister of coffee, along with soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus some grilled fish, instant mashed potatoes, and tinned vegetables. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast. The old man has been busy. And Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks. He does not have much time to talk. More and more people seem to be coming in from the cold. He will not stop to sit and rest until everyone is seen to, taking up a place by the fire to gaze silently into its flames. He is very troubled, thoughtful. Much has been happening. The others from town will eventually trail in too, to eat and warm themselves, and search among the new faces.
He will encourage newcomers to get warm and eat, and when they are ready to — they can explore the town and find one of the many empty homes to call their own. He will not speak much, his mood is... low, mournful. but perhaps you might be able to get some answers from those fellow arrivals who’ve been in this place for some time now.
This time, if he is approached, particularly by those who have been in Milton for some time, he will frown in thought. He is… considering something. Finally, he will speak:
“I had hoped that the secret cache I and your fellow Newcomers had found two months past would be enough until the spring comes.” He hesitates for a moment, his gaze moving to one of the many windows of the Community Hall. “If she ever arrives, that is.”
He doesn’t believe it will.
“More and more of you come. Life will continue to get harder with the numbers rising.” Methuselah explains. “Milton is but one town, and the way out to the south is blocked.”
He means the road out — the one that follows out of town, past the gas station and through the mountains. The tunneled road ends there, caved in with snow and stone. There is no way out that way. Methuselah is quiet for a few moments.
“... There must be another way out. For all of our sakes. It must be found."
OF FAIR FORTUNE
WHEN: The month of February.
WHERE: Milton Outskirts, Milton area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: otherworldly animal;
The Interlopers have discovered that it is not best to trust the canines in this world. The wolves and volatile, aggressive — prone to attacking the town, people. There has even been an instance of a dog leading Interlopers off the beaten track some months ago, into trips and falls and all sorts of mischief. To come across any sort of dog these days would draw suspicion, perhaps even aggression from Interlopers.
And certainly, coming across this particular dog is enough to turn plenty around and start heading in the opposite direction.
There is something…. Otherworldly about this dog. In terms of breed, one might recognise it to look a great deal like an Old English Sheepdog — but far bigger and hardier. It almost looks as if moss and vines are matted in its long fur, which seems ridiculous — but it’s true enough. The dog does not bark, but instead will stop and look at you silently when you come across one another. If approached, it will not run off, but it does not want to be petted and prefers to keep a respectable distance between you and it.
Then, it will turn to look in one direction and begin heading that way. It looks as if it wants to take you somewhere, but it won’t run off for you to catch up. It keeps to your side, silent and steady as you head through the snow, the woods. Wherever you’re going, there seems to be no rush in getting there.
It’s a little unnerving: where did this dog come from? Why does it look so… strange? Where is it going? Where is it taking you? But even with these questions, it doesn’t seem like you’ll find much in terms of answers, not at first.
Soon enough, you’ll find it. It’s different for everyone, but it seems like it all has some recurring theme. Perhaps out in the cold wilds of the Northern Territories, you’re in desperate need of shelter or warmth — you and the dog will find yourselves facing an abandoned cabin, a place of safety from the cold, perhaps with warmer clothing within. Or perhaps the dog may lead you to some secret stash: a metal cache half-hidden in the snow, a small stone cairn — with vital loot hidden within: matches, flares, maybe even food. It may even lead you to foragable foods: mushrooms, berries or of the like — all safe to consume.
Whatever the strange dog leads you to, it is a fortune. A small one, but a fortune nonetheless. It seems as if it wanted to bring you to something to aid you in your time here. Upon finding whatever it is the dog leads you to, the dog disappears — never to be seen again.
BAD PICKINGS
WHEN: Mid-month onwards for a few weeks.
WHERE: The entirety of the Milton area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: altered food/foraged foods; drugs/hallucinogens / negative hallucinogenic trips; severely altered/warped moods; temporary amnesia; personality switches; loss of senses
The Northern Territories may be harsh, difficult conditions to survive in, but certainly not impossible. There is an abundance of wildlife, hardy enough to withstand the weather — even in the extreme, unpredictable times such as these. Foraging will soon come to be a staple for those stuck here in this world, and is just as important as hunting down any deer or rabbit. Flora is not only useful in terms of sustenance, but in its use in medicines and tinctures.
Mushrooms can be found here and there in particular areas: taking advantage of the wet, rotten wood of downed trees, or nestled in the sheltered undergrowth of the more densely wooded areas where it’s a little more suitable for fungi to grow. But not even the flora of this world is safe following the recent Auroras. The world is changing, and for the next few weeks — foraged mushrooms will have some… interesting effects, when consumed.
Interlopers that come across these mushrooms in the wilds will find themselves compelled to pick and eat these mushrooms right away. They're perfectly fine to eat raw, just more enjoyable to eat once cooked.
The effects of the mushrooms will last between eight hours to a full day, depending on how much was consumed. Nothing can be done to alleviate symptoms. You will feel incredibly hungover the day after the effects have subsided, and feel completely fine after that. The Aurora’s influence on mushrooms is only temporary, and the mushrooms will cease their effects after a few weeks.
Reishi mushrooms This mushroom will temporarily take away one of your five senses: sight, touch, smell, taste or hearing. You may find yourself feeling completely numb to touch; or unable to hear or see anything.
Oyster mushrooms Eating one of these mushrooms will give you temporary amnesia. You may forget yourself, things about your life, even your own name. Or maybe you will forget those around you. Or perhaps both.
Black Morel Eating this mushroom will seem to switch your personality to its complete opposite. Introverted sorts will become extroverted, those prone to anger will become more calm and chilled out, cheerful sorts will become more morose — and vice-versa.
Chanterelles Your mood is lifted and you become more cheerful and affectionate with those around you. You may even become more enamoured with the next person you happen to meet, regardless of your feelings towards them previously or your own orientation/attractions.
Amethyst Laccaria There is nothing supernatural or strange that happens when this mushroom is consumed. You just have a super bad hallucinogenic trip of your own horrible making. This mushroom is literally a nightmare. Sorry about that.
FAQs
1. Arrival threads can be treated as game canon.
2. Items characters have brought from home can be found either strewn around them when they awaken, or in the community hall — as if someone left them out for them to collect. Methuselah will not know how they got there, and will be quite bemused by the happenings.
3. Reminder that all characters are now depowered upon arrival. They can choose not to notice it at first, or can immediately sense something is different about them.
4. If asked any personal questions, Methuselah will smile and say "Oh, you don't want to know about an old man like me. But I have lived all over in these parts for all my life." He will be more concerned with trying to help Newcomers, and is genuinely concerned for them and their well-being. Other Interlopers will say much of the same — there's little to know about him.
5. More information about Milton can be found here.
1. Please Do Not Pet That Dog.
1. Interlopers that pick a variety of the mushrooms and cook them together to eat will suffer the effects of whichever mushroom was in the largest quantity.
2. The mushrooms are fine to eat raw, and characters will feel compelled to eat them raw.
shoot, am I allowed to wildcard you?
Of course, without a fire, it won't pass for a very satisfying shelter overnight - but he won't have to settle in for that long before his thoughts are interrupted. There aren't many warnings leading up to it, perhaps only the soft pad of an animal's footsteps outside the nearest window or the subtle scrape and click of the lock sliding out of place, before the door begins to creak open... ]
absolutely!!
Close quarters with his rifle are not his strong suit, but close quarters without, and he fares even worse.
Weighing up his options, he moves to stand just out of the immediate view of the door, but makes no attempt at moving deeper into the cabin. Subtlety won't do him any favours here, not when he could be trapping himself by moving further inside. No, he'll need to hope he's not trespassing in someone else's claim, or that they're understanding. One hand hovers in front of him, placating, the other behind his back — there's a rusted poker beside the fireplace, it's not ideal, but then nothing about this is. ]
no subject
Mismatched eyes. One brown, and one blue. Not a very common feature, but he'd be forgiven for not recognizing a dog he hasn't seen in ten years, especially considering who it belongs to.
The dog doesn't seem perturbed by him, though. It gives a cheerful bark and wags its tail, causing whoever's on the other side of the door behind it to halt suddenly, just out of sight. ]
What? [ he asks, in a low and disbelieving tone clearly meant for the dog: ] You couldn't let me know before I got the door open?
[ Hefting the canvas bag off his shoulder, just in case, Tobi steps forward to peer into the dim cabin while he closes the door behind him — he's confident in Dogmeat's assessment that whoever it is isn't hostile, so he'll try talking first. Act like he's supposed to be here, and he didn't just break in. ]
Hey, you don't happen to own a big white dog, do you?
[ Is the familiarity of the accent reassuring to Maccready? Not that there are trees like these anywhere near where they're from, or cold like this even in the dead of winter. The figure speaking is a bit more dressed for it: some kind of dark grey recon armor under a leather jacket, face obscured by the pairing of a hat and sunglasses with a thick woolen scarf. But he's got a pip-boy on his arm, and that in itself is pretty telling. ]
no subject
The voice has him glancing back up towards the door, prickles uncomfortably at something in the back of his mind. The figure steps inside, and Maccready takes the smallest of steps back, heel knocking against the rusted metal stand that holds the fireside tools. He clears his throat, awkwardly tries to cover up the noise of the clanging, and shakes his head. ]
A white dog? No…
[ It's less reassuring and more like it has him rooted to the spot, the absolute last thing he'd expect to have heard, but it is familiar. Doesn't even need to see the glaringly obvious pip-boy to connect the dots between the dog and his armoured owner — though, it at least helps in solidifying the pretty harrowing realisation. Suddenly he's ten years in the past, the relative dim in the cabin reminiscent to that of the low light of a cave that's worlds away. He's less foul-mouthed twelve-year-old that's overcompensating these days, but this sure is the closest he's come to feeling like it.
A dozen things go through his mind, namely about what the hell his play here is supposed to be. What are the chances of him being recognised, and more, if he manages to get out of this without being recognised, what are the chances he'll be able to do the same a second time? Keeping his head down, and his eyes on the dog, he huffs out a quiet sigh. ]
Look, I uh, I didn't know someone else had already claimed this spot. I can uh…
[ Does he want to go back out there? Not really. Does he want to be stuck in here? Not really! ]
no subject
Tobi's gaze is fixed on the figure, behind the shades. Predatory in its intensity; a part of him that's been so quiet since he arrived in Milton wants the man to flinch, to break the stillness of the moment and give him an excuse to tear into him. To indulge that hunger.
But he won't, and instead of allowing the silence to drag onward after the man trails off, he answers in a cadence that's decidedly more casual than the rigid tone underlying it: ]
I wouldn't bother. The wind's picking up out there and it doesn't feel right.
[ "It doesn't feel right" is a firm warning coming from someone who was cheerfully carrying the Krivbeknih not long ago, but perhaps easy to shrug off given the circumstances. He won't physically stop the man from leaving if he's determined to take his chances, however unyielding a presence he currently holds between him and the door. Finally, he turns his gaze aside, keeping the man just in his periphery as he reaches up to begin unwinding the scarf from around his neck. ]
You don't have to worry about the dog; he'll be as friendly as you are.
[ The hat's going too, dropped aside onto the canvas bag, and though he doesn't divest himself of the sunglasses just yet, he doesn't need to — they're part of the uncanny picture of a person who, from Maccready's perspective, hasn't aged at all in ten years. ]
no subject
It's not as if he actually knows the man in front of him, an odd encounter here or there hardly constitutes anything more than a passing knowledge — they were, at best, peripheral to one another, and Maccready was more than happy to keep it that way. As much as he might've run his mouth, he didn't have a death wish. No, it's the stories that followed him, the way Three Dog would talk about him, that's what a left an impression. ]
Oh, right, yeah.
[ The words sound stilted, even to him. Of course the weather is bad, Maccready doesn't anticipate it getting any better; something about the warning is off, though. Enough that he's willing to take it to heart, because he probably has a better chance in here for the night than he does out there realistically. Not that he likes it. Doesn't like any of this.
He almost has to hold back a scoff, because it's not the dog being friendly that he's worried about, and he's not entirely sure friendly is the modus operandi of the Lone Wanderer. But sure, maybe he gets away with this for the night, though it's looking likely he'll have to forego sleep.
Watching the other man quietly as he begins to unwind his scarf — and it occurs to him then, that he never knew someone could make such a simple action look ominous. To Maccready's credit, he really does try not to make a scene, but the sight of a face that is unchanged, he can't help but stare. His own head angled up just slightly now as he watches from beneath the brim, eyes widening. There's more than just a discomfort or fear in his face, but open recognition. ]
… how is that possible?
[ Evident, from the way in which he clamps his mouth shut, he did not mean to say that aloud, even if it was barely audible. ]
no subject
Tobi rolls his shoulders in a languid shrug, reaching up to tip his shades down enough to peer at the man unobstructed for a second or so before stepping forward around Dogmeat — not quite toward Maccready, but he'll have to pass him to go deeper into the cabin. At least there's no hard light here to catch in his yellow eyes, still prone to shining like an animal's even when the world's gone darker. That tends to upset people; it's part of why he wears the sunglasses. ]
You'll have to be a lot more specific. [ Helpful, isn't he?
There's so much weird and impossible shit here, but Tobi can't shake the feeling whoever this is knows something about him, specifically. Something like that could be a problem, if more people are coming from the wasteland — the man looks like a wastelander, doesn't he? — if someone from the wasteland knows enough to recognize him by sight and not just reputation.
Someone he doesn't recognize in turn. That's what puts him most on edge. What's he done? What do they know? What's the hand at play here? ]
no subject
His expression is sour, mouth downturned as he stuffs his hands into his pockets and fidgets with a few loose caps. Mentally, he's kicking himself — of course, he'd be heard, the wind outside is picking up but not enough to drown out the quietest of speech just yet — clearly he needs to work on schooling his reactions more, give less away. Shrugging his shoulders, mustering as much indifferent nonchalance as he can, he shakes his head. ]
… Nah, man, [ nervously, he laughs. ] You just got one of those faces, thought you were someone else. You know how it is.
[ It's what he wants to believe, at least. Maybe if he tries, he can convince himself it really is a simple case of this man holding an uncanny resemblance to the kid from 101. Things never quite shake out in his favour like that, though, but it's worth a shot even if he doesn't think he'll buy it. But what else has he got? Right now, no one else knows he's here, it would be so easy for a realisation to be made, and then Maccready quietly disappears.
This buys him time, gives him a moment to think of something else. Bargaining he could do, if there were some kind of deal to be made, some sort of arrangement they could come to… He just can't think of anything valuable he has to offer that's good enough to ensure his own safety. Right now, he can't see how this ends with him walking out of this cabin unharmed, and he hasn't even begun to consider the idea that he might be the only person who has any sort of knowledge about the Lone Wanderer, and whatever that might mean here. Wherever here even is. ]
no subject
But here Maccready is running doomsday scenarios in his head, when the response he gets is a carefree laugh and the flash of a bright grin. ]
Yeah, I do have one of those faces. [ Objectively: no he doesn't. Not with those eyes, and not with such perfect teeth. Not with the fastidious cleanliness of his outfit — from a wastelander's perspective, they might as well be bold warning marks. Danger. This is an Outsider. The Devil walks among us, children. Oh, he may look like us, but he calls Hell home. ] So who'd you mistake me for, then? Must not be a very nice guy.
[ That's bait. There's no good way for Maccready to answer a question like that, but the fun of it is seeing which option he takes.
Of course, with Dogmeat there, Tobi's content to turn his back on him. Doesn't pay a thought to the emblem on the back of his jacket as he rounds the corner to glance over the small kitchen and bedroom beyond. It's clear the cabin has been scavenged before, but the space and furnishings were left in surprisingly good order — as if whoever was there before expected the shelter to be used again. ]
no subject
This is such a stupid game he's found himself playing, rather wishes he had the option not to, but it's a bit late for that now. He almost scoffs at the response he gets, because it's so transparent. His eyes follow him as he turns, and even this feels like a trap; the snake emblazoned onto the back of the leather jacket — it opens up an opportunity for Maccready to talk about the other one that visited Lamplight, but that's too easy. And besides, they look nothing alike, there's no way anyone would mistake the two, even with the poor lighting conditions in both the cave and the cabin. ]
Just someone from a long time ago, [ he starts, because it's become clear to him that there's no getting around it, and he's still running doomsday scenarios; he'd rather conclude all this willingly than have it dragged out of him. ] Did a lot of things that a lot of people probably didn't appreciate very much, couldn't so much as breathe without having it broadcast all over Galaxy.
[ At that, he keeps his eyes trained on the man's back, watches for any sign of recognition at the name of the radio station. He'd be willing to put a fair amount of caps on the kid from the vault not being a fan of Three Dog or his… journalism. Still, what he heard over the radio and what he saw himself are miles apart, even if he had been an asshole. ]
But I remember how he gave some pretty good advice to a would-be doctor, and that advice probably helped out some kids down the line… Couldn't have been you, though, 'cause this must've been ten years back, now.
no subject
There's nothing to really read in his demeanour just from the mention. Of course he recognizes it, but he stopped having feelings about his reputation a long time ago. It doesn't matter anymore. Dad's dead, he's the Devil, and people say what they're going to say whether it's true or not.
He flips the light of his pip-boy on, intent to use the wash of pale green light to root through the cabin in earnest one drawer and cabinet at a time, but that last comment stops him in his tracks. ]
You don't fucking say. [ Ten years. Ten years, ten times as long as he's been topside, and almost impossible to imagine. It's hard not to be incredulous; he'd be dead then, wouldn't he? Shouldn't he? Regardless of the advice he's given, because it's not like that narrows down the possibilities: ] Remind me what year it is.
[ Stupid question that doesn't sound like a question, coming from someone wearing a pip-boy, but in fairness to him most wastelanders don't actually know how those things work. ]
no subject
Turning his attention back to the fireplace, he picks up the flint again, returns to his task of getting some sort of fire going. He'd rather not be cold for… whatever this is. Interrogation hardly seems fair, not when it appears Maccready has more cards in his hand right now, and the not-question has him glance over his shoulder, with a quiet hum. Maccready does know how pip-boys work. Sort of. ]
What, that computer on your wrist not working? Last I checked it was 2287.
[ He huffs as he strikes the flint again, and inhales sharply. ]
Look, we both know this is stupid. Not many people wanderin' around with one of those. Even fewer people with one of those jackets.
no subject
Strange how that moment of silence can be so comfortable, for as wrong as this whole situation is. He turns back to the fireplace, and the dog pads up to settle down beside him, and the scavenger rifling through the kitchen seems to pointedly ignore the spark of sarcasm in his answer — it's almost like being home.
Maybe Tobi's lucky Maccready isn't paying that much attention; again he's unperturbed by the response until the very last moment. One of those jackets says the man knows Butch, too.
...and thinking about Butch is dangerous. He's been here three months. Ten years. 2287. If he's not back then — he needs to shut that emotion down before it gets out of hand. Lock the lead-heavy ache in his chest and focus on what those added context clues say about the man's identity. A kid who met Butch and remembers he helped a would-be doctor. ]
Alright. [ He peels himself away from the task of looting, because it's such an absurd suggestion that he has to look at him again when he says it. ] Tell me what's happening, then, if you're such a big smart mungo.
[ The barely-contained shit eating grin is a type of goading Tobi's always had down to an artform; he doesn't know if he wants this guy to be fucking with him or not, but he won't be the one to fold first either way.
Lay those cards out on the table, Maccready. ]
no subject
Adding the bit about the jacket might have been a bit much, but Maccready doesn't know the significance, just like doesn't really know Butch. He's in the same loose category as the man currently standing on the other side of the cabin — though, it's not a contest between which of the two he thinks is less of an asshole. Quietly, he watches the dog, the click-clack of his claws on the floor almost on beat with the scraping sound caused by the flint as he finally gets a spark.
He turns back when the man speaks up again, which means the eye roll that mungo elicits is more than visible, as is the way a corner of his mouth twitches upwards in spite of himself, because by rights this should not be amusing, and yet. Poking at the fire, the thing he manages to get started is barely of use, but it's something he supposes. With a sigh, he pulls off his hat and makes a half-hearted attempt at flattening his hair. ]
Nothing's happening, is it? [ Maybe cards was generous, it's more like card singular, and Maccready was never very good at keeping up this sort of games for very long. ] Just a vault kid and a kid mayor, stuck in the middle of fu— nowhere.
[ He says mayor with some derision, like he knows how absurd it sounds now that he's not twelve. It's about as close as he'll come to confirming who he is, though, card very much on the table at this point. His tone turns serious, though, as he watches the fire. ]
… So, what now?
no subject
No shit. [ One shoulder leans against the frame of the open archway as he takes in that expression. Catches the fumble but lets it slide without comment because he has more important things to think about. The longer he looks at the man, the more that incredulity bleeds into fascination. Maybe the resemblance was always there, or maybe it's just a byproduct of his imagination now that the idea's been put in his head — either way, it's uncanny. ] You've gotta be yanking my chain, there's no way that potato-faced little brat grew up so cute.
[ Bold words coming from Tobias Vuong, but there's no one else from Vault 101 here to call him on the double standard.
He's teasing, of course, not that it's ever that easy to read whether he really means it or is just trying to start a fight. Like a dog that knows to wag its tail before it bites: sometimes the smiles and the laughter are fake. Sometimes the joke is that he's going to kill you. ]
Don't tell me you're still playing soldier, too.
[ Dressed like a mercenary, sure, but even if it's not a combat helmet those colors and the shape of that hat are telling. He can't help but poke a little bit of fun at it.
Reaching into his jacket, he withdraws a cigarette...and a lighter. Flicks it open. Sparks up and closes it with a snap before sliding it back into his pocket, all without taking his eyes off of Maccready. ]
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C'mon, what would I have to gain by lying, huh?
[ Nothing, more than likely. Maybe some time, but he can't see it being a real benefit. He figures stringing this along further would have just reflected poorly on him, and being on the wrong side of this man isn't what he wants. Of course, he's not entirely sure that he wants to be on the right side, either. Maybe somewhere comfortably in the middle, decidedly neutral.
The jab is probably meant to get a rise out of him, and he can't lie, a few years ago, but instead it treads on something else entirely, and it's almost impossible not to think of her when he says it. Any trace of humour he might have had fizzles away entirely at this point. The irony is, he kind of has been playing soldier, hasn't he? At least up until a few months ago, because that's definitely what the gunners see themselves as. They're nothing more than raiders with slightly better organisational skills. ]
… sure. Something like that. [ He's aware he's being watched, in part it's why he doesn't bother looking back towards Tobi, almost shrinks in on himself as he answers. ] Gotta make a living somehow.
we are soooo mentally well and healthy in this chili's tonight
He exhales slowly, a little more forcefully than he intended, and fights the flicker of a grimace he can feel threatening to break through his composure before he steps away from the wall.
...Ugh. He hadn't meant to hit that, whatever it is, some measure of guilt and grief he only knows on sight because it's part of the rot he carries inside him. ] You're telling me.
[ It's a grim way to try to appease him, to make that comparison. To suggest that whatever he's done, whatever the consequences, he can take solace in the fact he's not the worst person in the room. A lot could happen in ten years, but Maccready doesn't make a very convincing monster.
Crouching beside the man, he lets the cigarette dangle between his fingers and leans over Dogmeat to regard him. Still curious, but more solemn in tone when he asks: ] So why did you lie the first time?
[ Because that was a lie. You just got one of those faces, thought you were someone else. ]
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Back then, he couldn't understand how someone could do all those things, but the harsh realities of the wasteland hit people hard and fast. His eyes have long since been opened to the things people have to do just to get by, things he's had to do. He's not saying he understands now, not by any means, but it is harder to look at things and see them as black and white.
Letting his head fall back against the wall behind him, he sighs heavily and watches, cautious, as the man moves and crouches until he's at eye level. The question, at least, pulls a huff from him, the faintest trace of amusement at his own expense. Yeah, he supposes it was a lie. ]
Dunno. Panicked, I guess. Wanted to believe it, 'cause, uh… I mean, no offense, but you're… you.
[ Can he really be blamed for being uneasy? He points a finger in Tobi's direction, though, gestures vaguely. ]
And you still look like that. [ a beat. ] Not that I'd put it past one of you vaulties to have figured out time travel, but…
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Damn, you're onto me. [ he jokes, because it's easier than letting himself be sidetracked by that quiet implication: that there are more survivors from other Vaults, enough to merit that kind of assumption. Figuring out how to get back to the Capital has to take priority, and with that off the table right now...
Eyes still on Maccready, he lifts the cigarette into a slow drag. Something thoughtful in his expression, one more difference between them — Maccready is cautious, but Tobi doesn't need to be; like a stalking deathclaw, he is calculated, confident, and entirely comfortable in his position. Finally, he bleeds the exhale aside and offers: ] Do you want a smoke?
'Cause the conversation we're about to have is either gonna be real fun or real harrowing depending on your outlook.
[ That's not meant to be menacing, genuinely. He just thinks it's fair to warn him. ]
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There are plenty of things Maccready wants; a hot meal, a warm bath, a decent night's sleep in a proper bed — it's the cold exacerbating those desires, of that he has no doubt, but there are other things he could add to that list, too. The smell of cigarette smoke that fills the air is as intoxicating as always, enough to make him wish he hadn't smoked the last of his own. He wishes he could say it's a blessing that Tobi even offers, but it comes with a caveat. Conversation could mean just about anything, and he fears it probably errs more on the side of harrowing than fun. He fidgets briefly, scratches at the cuticle of his thumb with his index finger before extending his hand out with a short nod. ]
Alright, [ a sharp exhale through his nose. He's never been one to turn down a free smoke, no use in starting now. ] I hate the sound of whatever you have to say already, but I'm listening.
[ To his credit, he does shift his weight, sits a little more comfortably. Some of his initial wariness beginning to slip away as the immediate threat in his mind fades, or so he hopes. ]
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Do me a favor first. [ While he speaks, he withdraws another cigarette to poke between Maccready's fingers. They're weird, here; definitely not two hundred years old, but not the kind of home grown that sometimes rides up on caravans from the south either. Not bad, but they might take some getting used to. ] I know you had radios, and I couldn't bend over to pick up a loose cap without Three Dog complaining to the whole wasteland about it.
[ That's almost true. There were certainly slow days when Three Dog would read out something about collecting random junk, or that he'd been spotted in a given area before speculating on some nefarious purpose or motive...but those weren't the only broadcasts. It should be hard for a reasonable person to compare that kind of harmless behavior to erasing entire settlements. Tobi says it without flinching. ]
Tell me what's the last thing you remember hearing about me?
[ He hasn't handed over the lighter. ]
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[ As far as favors go, that's probably the tamest thing that's been asked of him. With his free hand, he rubs at his eyes, exasperate, bemused, maybe a bit of both. Yeah, they had radios, not that they listened all the time. Especially not when Three Dog was yakkin' on about whatever it was the Lone Wanderer was up to next — some of the smaller kids didn't like hearing it. ]
I'll be honest, a lot of it kinda blurs together. [ It's the egregious shit that sticks out in his mind the most, not whatever nonsense Three Dog thought was newsworthy on any given day. Megaton comes to mind, the implications of dealings within Paradise Falls that left a sour taste in his mouth. He recalls the Commonwealth coming up once, too, something happened out in Rivet City. That's something he'll have to put a pin in for later. ] It's weird, 'cause you were all he could talk about for a while there, and then— [ he makes a gesture with his hands as if to say poof. ] Nothin'.
[ It occurs to him, then, that while it might not be a test, it could be something else. If whatever brought them here — those lights or something else entirely — if it could grab them both from completely different points in time… Shit, he hopes he's not being asked if Three Dog gleefully delivered the news of 101's demise. His expression falters, turns more serious. ]
There were rumors you'd been spotted heading west at some point, but I don't know much else after that.
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He wants to believe what comes after, and that's why he can't afford to trust it. ]
Sounds about right. [ Not really. The only ones who knew about his plans were Burke and the gang, and none of them would go to GNR and lie about it. Something doesn't add up, but it's the closest thing he has to hope right now...so he won't question it. ]
You had to leave Lamplight eventually, right? Did you ever go to Big Town?
[ Another pull on his cigarette following the question. Dogmeat rests his head on his paws and heaves a big sigh, and he reaches down to ruffle between his ears. ]
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We all leave, that's how it works. Still does, as far as I know. But, uh, eventually ended up there, yeah. [ It wasn't a place he'd ever thought he'd have stayed, anyway. Seeing a couple of people there for the first time in however long had been okay, he guesses, but for the most part it was nothing more than a pit-stop. ] Didn't hang around for long though, passed through a few places, doing odd jobs and stuff. Never really stayed in one place…
[ He thinks it's probably a bore to hear about, and his words trail off, unsure if the other man even actually cares — and he can't figure out why he would — but, mostly thinking about those first handful of months outside of Lamplight means remembering how goddamn awful it was. Weirdly lonely, at times. Looking back up towards Tobi, he fixes him with a pointed stare, holds up the cigarette. ]
I answered your question, least you can do.
[ If there are more question, he'll answer those to his best effort, too, but not before he fills his lungs with smoke. ]
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It doesn't sound like that's the case, though, or if it is that Maccready might not have heard about it. He's listening, plainly curious, and admittedly a bit disappointed when the other man trails off...before that blunt suggestion pokes a laugh from him that puffs out like he's surprised. Like he'd forgotten about it, maybe. ]
Yeah, sure. [ A tighter grin, trying not to laugh too much at his own stupid joke before he says it: ] I can buttfuck you.
[ No problem, man. There's an expectant arch of his brow over his shades as he sets the cig back to his lips and tilts forward, playful, angled slightly like what he's offering is a kiss instead of, you know, a real solemn light from one man to another. ]
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narrator: he was in fact not fine or dealing with it
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tells your oc about my oc through a mouthpiece