(Untitled)

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen meant to go back to her world last night, get on Shiphrah and Puah's back, and ride like hell after the people who raided the Republic of Dave. She has orders to track them down, get Dave away from them, and bring him back to his erstwhile Republic regardless of what's happened to him. She intends to obey those orders, too. One way or another

Comments

[boston_bruiser]

There's a sudden eruption of gunfire to Ellen's left, a deafening and continuous BUPBUPBUPBUPBUP.

If she looks in that direction, she'll find Voodoo prone in the grass at the firing range, leaning into his M60 and emptying belts of 7.62 millimeter into a target silhouette, pausing only to reload.

Standard procedure is to fire in three to five round bursts.

Voodoo is not following standard procedure.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Yeah, no; that sounds more like the sort of thing Ellen hears from people who're trying to kill her. Or mutants who're trying to kill her, so former people. Whatever.

She's gonna engage the suit's stealth mode and vanish into a vaguely human-shaped distortion in the air before investigating what's going on.

[boston_bruiser]

Somewhere along the line, Voodoo ran out of 7.62. That's okay. He still has the carbine on his back.

He slings the machine gun over his shoulder, unslings the M4, and moves into a crouch, firing in long bursts as he crouchwalks toward the target.

He doesn't notice Ellen. He probably won't for a long time, if this keeps up.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Point. At least Ellen knows who it is now, even if he is operating in a potentially dangerous mode. She can (Fwoomp!) de-stealth and approach when it's a little safer; the man can only carry so much ammo at a time, right?

[boston_bruiser]

True. But what ammo he carries can last him a while.

The M4 clicks as the firing pin meets an empty chamber, and Voodoo reloads, an act that's swift, automatic, and speaks of countless repetition.

( it hurts, Voodoo )

He leans into the stock, embracing the recoil as the carbine jumps about. There's another click. Last mag.

( it hurts, Voodoo. Everything hurts )

He slings the carbine over his back, unholstering his pistol and emptying the 12-round magazine in seconds.

( everything hurts. I can't stand it )

He reloads and repeats, reloads and repeats, until the slide locks back with a clack on an empty chamber.

( I can't stand it )

He doesn't feel himself dropping the pistol. He doesn't feel himself unsheathing his tomahawk.

All he knows is there's an audible THUNK as the blade meets the target's head.

He stares at the target before sitting down in the grass, knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around his shins.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Well, so much for asking him how he's holding up. Questions you know the answer to you don't need to ask, right?

She'll just... go and get the tomahawk back for him. Yeah.

And whistle Dogmeat over, because she remembers a long-dead Vault and a heap of old, cold bones, and how Dogmeat was more welcome then than any human could ever have been.

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo doesn't look up at the whistle. All he knows is that there's a furry, dog-shaped form next to him one moment, one he wraps an arm around as he picks up the pistol and holsters it.

It might be a while before he says anything.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

That's fine. That's what Dogmeat's there for.

He might try to lick Voodoo's face if he gets a chance, although that won't last long considering what firing residue tastes like.

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo doesn't mind the face-licking. Eventually, he looks up at Ellen.

"Hey."

It's about all he can manage, just now.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Hey," Ellen answers, and waves a little. "This, um... here."

She awkwardly holds out the tomahawk before sitting down nearby.

[boston_bruiser]

"Thanks," Voodoo mumbles as he takes the tomahawk and sets it down at his side.

It's quiet for a while. Somewhere in the distance a bird chirps.

"Guess you heard all that," he says, motioning to the hole-riddled target.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Yeah," says Ellen.

Even if she were a good liar, which she's not, there's no point in denying it.

"Beats the alternatives, if that helps at all?"

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo huffs. "What difference does it make? It's still all after the fact."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"I know," Ellen says quietly. "I know."

There's a lot of things she could say. Probably she'd be expected to say them, in Voodoo's world, in civilian life and practice. They all sound hollow even to her, though, so... not gonna turn them on him.

"I'm surprised you're functional at all. I was kind of a wreck for the first few days after... well, Dad."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo laughs a bitter laugh. "If I were functional, I'd be in my world going after the assholes who did this, not moping around in this fucking bar."

He stands up and moves to the target, feeling the bullet holes and the gash where the tomahawk found its mark.

"I can speak eight languages. I can swim two miles, run five, sprint one and a half, and still be able put a round through a flea's ass at 500 meters. I can do a ten-miler in 65 minutes in full combat gear. I can kill five men with my bare hands in the time it takes to light a cigarette."

He lets his hands fall to his side.

"But all I could do as my best friend bled out in front of me was watch."

He bows his head.

"All I did was watch."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

( The airlock wouldn't open- the button wouldn't even acknowledge her presence- and then nothing was holding him up any more, and his body slid down the glass wall and landed in a motionless, useless heap- )

"... you're not the only one," she murmurs, looking away.

(She told him, once, that her father died trying to protect his work from the Enclave. She never mentioned how.)