Ellen eases the door open before ducking swiftly through and slamming it shut. "Oh, thank God," she says to no one in particular. "I was starting to think I wouldn't find it here
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Finn's on his way to the Bar for a cup of chocolate milk, sketchpad closed and tucked carefully under his arm, before he spots Ellen.
He watches her for a short moment before recovering his purpose; on his way back, chocolate milk in hand, he stops again. He's dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a carpenter's shirt; on his belt is a sword.
Ellen jerks a moment in her seat before looking up. "Oh- I'm sorry, you startled me," she says. "Um. Trying to work out my chances of getting myself and another person across a live-fire battlefield and into an unfamiliar building in one piece."
The sticky feeling on her leg gets her attention, and she makes an exasperated face as she looks down. "I'm going to need a bandage for that, it's not worth a stim..."
"She sells bandages," Finn offers, pointing at the bar with his , "and there's--an infirmary?"
Pause, after a sip of milk. "And washclothes, to clean it up. Did--you want help? With the battlefield." Pause. "And the bleeding, I guess, if you--need it."
"I don't think I'm going to need the infirmary," Ellen says after some consideration. "It looks worse than it feels. Um- I can clean it up myself, I think, but what kind of help do you mean?"
Because she's met a soldier from the Future here who can kick the heads off supermutants, and she's met a son of Poseidon, and she's met at least two angels of the Lord, and so it's kind of silly to assume that just because she's talking to someone ostensibly younger than her she's talking to someone who's anything less than lethal.
Ellen nods. "The sword sort of implies that," she says. "I mean, you look like you're used to it, is what I'm saying... Have you been killing things long?"
"Oh," says Ellen. "So... there's a red horse out in the stable with your name on it?"
Vault 101's mythological selections were pretty much just bog-standard Greek and Roman with a tiny bit of Norse thrown in for flavor. No Celtic stuff. But the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? That, she understands.
( Then I heard one of the four living creatures say in a voice like thunder, "Come!" I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on conquest. )
"White's good too," Ellen says. "I don't- I've met a couple of personifications and things here, sort of, I'm still not really used to it. But okay."
"Well, that's probably Star Paladin Cross's job," Ellen says. "Entrenched mutated former humans, and men in power armor with plasma rifles, and having to get through both of them without dying."
"Okay," he says, peacably, drinking his chocolate milk. Thoughtfully, touching the hilt of his sword: "What's the armor like? I got a new sword when I came through here, it's not--"
The personification of all swords? Able to cut through anything? Really really really sharp?
"Well, it's some kind of high-tech mechanized suit that augments the wearer's strength and makes them more agile," Ellen says. "The mutants don't wear much armor, themselves. Mostly just whatever metal they can strap on. They've got tough hides, they rely on that most of the time."
"Unfortunately no," Ellen says, "although I did leave some of my usual weapons and stuff here last time I had the chance. They're upstairs. I can get some of them down for you to look over. No bows, unfortunately-" It's the White Rider thing. "-but several guns and, um, my Shishkebab. Homemade sword. Of fire. You're welcome to that if you want."
Because to the rider of the fiery red horse was given the sword and the power to take peace from the Earth, after all.
He watches her for a short moment before recovering his purpose; on his way back, chocolate milk in hand, he stops again. He's dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a carpenter's shirt; on his belt is a sword.
"What--are you doing?"
(Presumably she realizes she's bleeding?)
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The sticky feeling on her leg gets her attention, and she makes an exasperated face as she looks down. "I'm going to need a bandage for that, it's not worth a stim..."
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"She sells bandages," Finn offers, pointing at the bar with his , "and there's--an infirmary?"
Pause, after a sip of milk. "And washclothes, to clean it up. Did--you want help? With the battlefield." Pause. "And the bleeding, I guess, if you--need it."
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Because she's met a soldier from the Future here who can kick the heads off supermutants, and she's met a son of Poseidon, and she's met at least two angels of the Lord, and so it's kind of silly to assume that just because she's talking to someone ostensibly younger than her she's talking to someone who's anything less than lethal.
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Hey, it's a valid question.
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"The personification of war and free will," he adds, because--some worlds here don't know about them.
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Vault 101's mythological selections were pretty much just bog-standard Greek and Roman with a tiny bit of Norse thrown in for flavor. No Celtic stuff. But the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? That, she understands.
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Pause. "And she actually didn't come in with me."
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"White's good too," Ellen says. "I don't- I've met a couple of personifications and things here, sort of, I'm still not really used to it. But okay."
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"I'm not any help with tactics, though," Finn admits. "What is it you're facing?"
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"Okay," he says, peacably, drinking his chocolate milk. Thoughtfully, touching the hilt of his sword: "What's the armor like? I got a new sword when I came through here, it's not--"
The personification of all swords? Able to cut through anything? Really really really sharp?
"--the same."
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Because to the rider of the fiery red horse was given the sword and the power to take peace from the Earth, after all.
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