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Papa packs his rifle with the ammo, as well as his caps and Maria and leaves the rest in the Van.
Seeing Aeryicka grab the armor the Knight walks up and asks her "Wanna let me give a shot at fixing it up for you?"
Using the leather that would be in excess for his friend as well as one of the van's seatbelts, Marcus cuts it and fashions a tightening belt for her armor.
Nodding her thanks, Aeryicka preceeded to strip right there and put on her new armor. Tightening up in a few places, she nodded to herself and said, "Thank you for help. Feels good to me." Slipping on her backpack and grabbing her spear, she looked like a wild child out to brave a new day.
EHRK doesn't have any worldly goods, only a burning desire to bathe in the eviscera of his enemies.
Spencer spends the night trying to remain calm until the storm passes, not really offering any help, advice, or answers to the others. Visions of hulking creatures and huge claws and bullets that don't quite do their job fill his mind's eye, and he only grips his knees and breathes deeply until he eventually passes out on his bedroll.
In the morning, he nods to the others, a little tight-lipped and sheepish. For gear on the trip out, Spencer takes his backpack and most of his regular gear, but leaves behind the sniper rifle and baseball bat. "Figure this carbine's good enough to hit what I need to, and I've got Fitz and Marcus up there if things get too close." With that he heads out with the others from the cave.
"See, we needed to make a bunch of caps to repair the van--look how that turned out--and we heard that there was something called a 'deathclaw' causing trouble, so we figured we'd hunt it down, help some folks and get rolling again. The thing turned out to be near an old police station full of cop-robots. You might remember I used to be touchy around them, but I'm okay with our tinhead McCarthy friend there, and that's cause the damn robo-chief sent out a patrol with us to hunt down the 'Communist threat' in the area. So off we go into a God-d@mned hurricane looking for giant murder-lizards.
"We found the brood first, I guess, bunch of littler ones that were still mean, out in the streets. They went down pretty easy, all things considered, although one of them got me in the guts. But then we needed cover from the rising storm, and the city hall was the last place to look for the big 'claw, and that was where we found it..." Spencer pauses in his story and shudders slightly, then blows out a long breath. "Thing was a damn fright, but it was the howling wind and the dark that really did it. Guess that's why I didn't like the storm last night. I don't know if you guys have seen something like that, but ho-lee sh*t.
"I got the drop on it and shot it right in the face, and it barely flinched, just looked at me, and man. Those eyes? There was hate and there was smart in those eyes. I tell you, that thing thought, maybe not quite like we do, but not like any critter I know of. And even with the others blasting away, it came at me. Got me real good through the stomach, right where its babies did. I'd guess that's the way they hunt and kill prey. Go for the guts. Draw it out long and painful and watch their life slip away." He shudders again.
"But hot damn, did we kill that thing after that. All of us shooting, and the shiny cop-bots with us lit it up. Slowly kinda turned around how I felt about them, I guess. Sure, they're unnatural and clunky and loud, but I guess they're good at protecting folks when it all works right. And they got us out of there alive, got us a working van, and got Fitz that pretty toy in his arm." Spencer nods. "So I guess it was a big success, apart from my intestines getting a breath of fresh air and me having some weather issues now. But I hope that explains that."
As the group moves into Tampa proper, Spencer moves toward point, keeping an eye out for trouble and trying to provide stealthy scouting for the group at large. He moves easily despite his pack, as the time in the Waste has bulked him up a little and gotten him used to moving with gear.
The crew begins the inexorable journey towards Tampa Bay, taking the long walk along the way. Not surprisingly, given that the caravan had an entire day's head start on them, they see signs of it's passing on the remains of the highway - garbage thrown to the side of the road, and a couple of dead bodies on the side of the road.
Whether they're caravan guards or raiders, at first you can't tell...the bodies are striped and left to rot, with little identifying markers. Eventually, however, you notice that roughly one third of the bodies have tattoos on their face...a large, red "S" across the entirety of their face that Fitz, Mickey, and Spencer recognize as the same symbols worn by the slavers that attempted to kidnap Petey. Seems the caravan you took Hogan out of was attacked by slavers on the way in, and whether they ultimately repelled or succumb to their assault is unknown.
You move on towards Tampa, unable really to track what happened in either case, as paved asphalt doesn't exactly leave tracks to follow like dirt. A couple hours later you notice it in the distance...Tampa.
The high rise buildings of the past seem to be torn down or destroyed, except for four towers which seem to outline four corners of the rebuilt city. Everything outside of these four towers has been left to disrepair, but a wall of scrap and scavenged concrete has been put up around the four prewar buildings, with entrance gates at the east of the city...based on the structure you assume such is true for the south and north (west is the ocean), but it's impossible to tell given the size of the city and your positioning. A massive pirate flag, similar to the Jolly Roger, but featuring a red background and crossed swords flies above the nearest tower. Given how high the building is, it's impossible to know how big the flag is, but you're sure it's at least fifteen feet long.
You approach the great concrete wall to the city, and guards stand posted outside milling about. Some of them have the "S" tattoo on their faces, but not all.
Many guards seem armed with laser weaponry, whether rifles or pistols, and they are by and large wearing spiked metal armor as you approach. There's about twenty at the gate, and they stop their talking in their own independent groups and turn to look at you. One guard, a tall tan skinned woman with a bright turquoise mohawk and an eyepatch wielding a pair of rippers, smirks and starts to swagger up to you confidently at your approach. Any trace of her figure is erased by the bulk of armor she's wearing, but her facial features and voice easily give away her sex. "Well, lookie here, lookie here. Tourists! Ain't that somethin', kids?" She grins, and you can hear about a quarter of the guards chuckle, but the rest remain quiet looking at all of you. "Well, allow me to welcome the lot of you to Tampa, eh. Anything I can help myself to...I mean help you with?" the mohawk'd woman asks, grinning, with a leer at some of the less armored members of the party...eyes lingering on Thomas and Aeryicka in particular, in a way that neither of them feels particularly comfortable with.
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Thomas grins and walks up to the head of the group, his CharmOmeter set to "Pimp". He looks about at the other guards, "Well hello to you, and hello to you."
...until his gaze finally rests like a butcher's professional hand on the talkative female."...and a -very- special hello to you!"
He moves to take her hand and kiss it. Not in the kind, gentle, almost erotic way of a practiced courtier, but like a frat boy with two beers in him making an obvious escalation of interest.
"Yes, quite, we are but strangers here, though we are in search of a caravan that recently passed through this area. Have you seen such a thing?"
He moves in closer and whispers. "But, on a personal note, I am in search of a hat. A very fine hat, and I seem to have misplaced it. Could you help me look for it? Perhaps we could start in your quarters?"
Spencer spends the night trying to remain calm until the storm passes, not really offering any help, advice, or answers to the others. Visions of hulking creatures and huge claws and bullets that don't quite do their job fill his mind's eye, and he only grips his knees and breathes deeply until he eventually passes out on his bedroll.
In the morning, he nods to the others, a little tight-lipped and sheepish. For gear on the trip out, Spencer takes his backpack and most of his regular gear, but leaves behind the sniper rifle and baseball bat. "Figure this carbine's good enough to hit what I need to, and I've got Fitz and Marcus up there if things get too close." With that he heads out with the others from the cave.
** spoiler omitted **...
Inwardly jealous of Spencer's Deathclaw story, Badger misses the point and starts on comparing his own adventures after a hurricane, which Spencer has likely heard before.
So we're trudging through the 'glades, musta been hours, before we run into these mutants carrying two women and an older guy back to their lair. They see us comin', so they stopped and said they'd kill the hostages if we get any closer. I imagine you guys, no offense, woulda taken the Kris route and just say "not if we kill ya faster", right? But I says to the gang,"Let's bide our time- let 'em think we're backing off and we follow 'em home." And sure enough, we track them to a gas station in the middle of f&&~ing nowhere. But no mutants inside!
So I think it's Tom that figures out the photo booth thing is actually an elevator and I think it was James that said we could hook our Pipboy up to get down- but the BoS boys are too f@$+ing fat in all that armor to fit in the elevator! So we say, sure, we'll try an' get 'em out. Turns out they had this freaking whole base carved out down there, mutants and guys in, like, football armor and a guy in a crappy power armor suit. So Tom and me, we're sneaking up the side while Aeryicka and Kris wait outside 'cause my attorney and I work good as a team and I'm the prick with the bobby pins. Sure enough, we find the soldiers threatening to rape these women and neither of us like that so we throw down. I may have talked too loud or Tom's plasma rifle might have spooked 'em, but we had to rush out. We took out the soldiers, grabbed the three of 'em and started bookin' it back for the elevator.
F$#$in' Kris, he's back there getting loaded on chems and he's bored 'cause my plan didn't involve smashing everybody- so he runs in to kill the mutants while we're trying to run out! I ain't proud of it, but we ran for that f%@~in' elevator like our cocks are on fire, man. We see Kris go down, bullet in his freakin' head, but the bastard gave us a kick ass distraction and we all six of us get up to the surface. The old guy, he rigs the plasma rifle to blow and sends that down and we get the hell outta there.
And that's how we earned all this s#%% and the BoS credit.
While Tom works his magic, Badger pulls off his helmet and scratches at his flopped over mohawk, the sides of his head steadily regrowing.
"Where d'you guys get your hair stuff? Mine needs a little touchin' up."
The woman's grin widens a little at Thomas's proposition, and she sheathes her blades. "Boys, I leave this in Brahmin's capable hands. I'm going to my, er, quarters." One of the other guards, his armor painted the same turquoise color as the woman's hair, yells out, "Quarters? She ain't got no 'quarters.' There's a mattress around the corner, and Lucy there ain't exactly the discriminating kind!" A lot of the other guards start to chuckle, and the woman herself gives Thomas a shrug, as if to say good enough for me, and starts to walk off towards the indicated "around the corner" location, with a look back at Thomas. "Make the rest of them pay a toll, or leave the girl, either one is fine with me," she shouts back to the rest, seemingly satisfied by this turn of events.
A few more of the guards start to move from their positioning and start to move up to the group. A beefy man with considerably less eloquence walks up to the rest and points the biggest damn hammer you've ever seen in your general direction. "Toll." He mutters, and pauses, blinking repeatedly, as if thinking even that much was a serious effort to him. "Leave girl or...um....hunnert caps. Um...each." He blinks repeatedly, trying to count how many of you there are, and clearly can't put it together. "Uh...ten hunnert."
The other guards, the ones that haven't moved from their spots, all start chuckling at the big guy, who also wears brightly painted turquoise metal armor. A few more of the ones in turquoise roll their eyes, clearly upset at Lucy's choice of substitutes. It's around now you notice all of them are wearing turquoise, and the other guards that haven't moved aren't...and seem about only halfway interested in the interplay.
Still, their hands are on their laser rifles, and they seem poised to join in if things grow out of hand, it appears.
Badger raises an eyebrow.
"You really think we buy that, Hammer? I find myself insulted. C'mon folks, we'll see if the next shift actually *wants* a toll instead of just Tom's ghoul clap or whatever he got from his last lay."
Badger turns and walks away from the gate.
Some of the other guards in turquoise move to intercept Badger and shake their heads. "Now the big guy, he ain't the best with math, but there's still the walk-away-without-coming-in toll, which is 20 caps just for us not taking everything you got, and that doesn't let you follow that caravan you seemed to be looking for...which just so happened to have entered yesterday. See? Free information. More than generous, you see. But now, we can't have you walking away without us getting anything out of the deal." The low ranking guard pokes Badger in the chest with his finger, other hand hefting his laser rifle.
Big Brahmin scratches his head, as if the idea of adding up by twos is making him seriously regret this line of business.
Some of the other guards in the different colored armor start to walk over. One with an S tattoo across his face mutters, "Well, now it's getting interesting..." one of them mutters. "Whatever, Seasalts are always talkin' s!%@, like Seasalts do," another with the same tattoo replies.
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Marcus follows the woman with his eyes, then Thomas, then the guards try at extortion and finally he watches the overtly stupid try at robbery.
Walking up until he forces himself non-threathenly (not much threathenly that he may look usually), he puts his hands on his waist but he keeps his right close to Maria's grip.
"Well, let's not make this half assed attempt at a toll into a bloodshed that everybody will lament afterwards. And trust me, I won't lament much." he says as he stares under his power helmet at his interloper.
Taking out a bunch o' caps the big Senior Knight continues.
"We will give you 50 caps each and we will enter, and we will consider each other real good friends. The alternative is we give you nothin', you try to scare and taunt us with no result and later you attempt to stab us on our sleep. Wich would result in you finding a nasty surprise covered in power armor instead of good intentions, wielding a weapon that makes your boss' rippers look like butter knives instead of wielding a bribe. finishes Papa as friendly claps the guard in the shoulder "So what, we got a deal?"
"By the way, you seem nicer than does S-guys. I'll give you in particular another 200 caps if you come with us for a nice tour. Complete with guiding, explanations and recommendations. Hell, I might even invite you to a cold drink. What's your name, boy? Or you are only Big Brahmin? Mine's Marcus, but they call me Big Papa."
The big man looks at the smaller guards, who all look at Marcus in his armor, and then back at the larger lieutenant and give a nod. Brahmin scratches his chin for what seems like forever, muttering to himself, "Should I take the deal...?" when Lucy cries out what inevitably is his answer from around the corner, only laced with far more profanities interjected between repeated verbal affirmation.
"M'kay. Yeah. 'M Brahmin. We show you 'round." he bellows out to Lucy, "We takin' these folks on guide. They pay!"
"Don't...f$!+ing care!" is about all the reply you get, and suddenly 'around the corner' doesn't seem nearly far away enough for your group's comfort level. "Oh, hell no, you ain't going anywhere, I'm not done with you..."
One of the smaller guards leans in and mutters under his breath. "You might want to pick up some stims for your boy, when he's done. He ain't walking out of there the same." The guard gazes into the distance with a disturbed look in his eye, as if reliving some traumatic memory. He shudders, shakes his head and the guards in turquoise, referred to by the others as "Seasalts" begin to escort you past the gates, while the others mutter at a lost opportunity.
Inside the gates, Tampa seems to be a den of inequity, pure and simple. The guards explain to you that you can find whatever you want here - chems, women, men, weapons - just need to watch your back. "Smart pay us." Big Brahmin rumbles. "Other gangs scared of Seasalt." Some of the more verbal guards explain that the town is divided into four quarters, each run by a gang, and that there's sort of an uneasy truce between the four. They have skirmishes, but nothing official. The Seasalts, this gang, controls the docks, and everything coming in or out of there, taking a piece from the seaside entrance. The Slavers, obviously, control the slave market. The other two gangs are the Needlers, who run the chem operations, and the Deathbringers, who run the weapons market.
There's a black market in the city near the harbor where everyone gathers, and the Seasalts host it, again, taking a small percentage of everything sold, but every gang has guards in the area. The truce is very uneasy.
Each one of the towers is a pre-war building that was scavenged into a headquarters, and the rest were leveled to prevent any smaller gangs from taking root in the area. Big Brahmin points to a multi-story building that looks like it's barely standing near the docks. "Home," he supplies.
"So..." one of the guards perks up, "What are you here for? Chems? Weapons? Slaves? You lucky you found us, 'cause we can lead you to any of them, you know. Seasalts got connections with em all, you know."
Fitz notices the tattoos and makes the connections, around the same time it's all being explained anyway.
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"Well, we can talk about what we look for when we are accomodated. Tell me, who were those freaks with the tattooed S... I don't like them." says Papa, still reserving his right to talk about the Mesmetron. "And how much for women and children slaves? I may be interested on those too... and work. You can never earn 'nuff caps, eh?" he jokes with the guard.
The entire time they were talking to the guards was unsettling for Aeryicka. They all looked at her like Cray looked at eyes, and she didn't like how they kept saying to leave her with them. She couldn't have been happier when Papa paid them off to let the group enter, and she promised to pay him back her share.
As they traveled through the town, Aeryicka couldn't help craning her head in every direction. The place was amazing to her, and showed just how humanity could take something broken and make something new. But then she heard Papa ask about the slave markets and just looked at him, shocked that he'd want to get involved with something like that.
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Thomas collapses to the soiled and stained mattress, his chest working like a bellows to catch his breath His body, bruised and buffered, still seemed to be one piece, but he'd have to have someone he trusted look at his back. The cuts didn't feel -that- deep, but they might at least need some ointment.
As he breathed in the smell of the mattress that was beyond identification, he thanked whatever powers that still existed that his time in the Waste had hardened him to endure such privations. Even the ghoul...the barriers and battlements built he had built in his mind to storm that trench proved useful and proof against such assaults found here.
Still panting and sweating, his mind slowly began to come around, and he realized that he needed to...pump her for information. The price had been paid, and now he expected return.
The flowery speech he was used to he discarded for candor. This one would be insulted by flowers...and the only thing she wanted more than to dominate, was to be dominated by a man who was worthy.
He dragged one finger down her sweat-slick and hardened shoulder. "Why is it that warrior-women always taste different? Not better, just different."
"So who rules here? I see the three different factions, but do you have leaders? Or are you all democracies?" He chuckles at the little joke.
"I lied to you earlier. We are already done with our business with the caravan...and I already have a hat." He winks. "The band that I lead are powerful mercenaries. Would this place have any use for us? If not, I expect we shall be gone before long."
EHRK doesn't feel disgust, not exactly, but he does feel a mild vibration in his fight or flight circuits when Thomas saunters off with the Pirate wench.
Statement: There is a Seventy two point oh one seven percent chance that female is infected with one of several different venereal diseases.
As Marcus makes his threat EHRK stands silently behind him.
Query: In which part of this town are the Gladitorial Arenas? Statement: I have the need to disembowel something.
As the others move on and Thomas stays behind to pump for information, as it were.
"Well, we can talk about what we look for when we are accomodated. Tell me, who were those freaks with the tattooed S... I don't like them." says Papa, still reserving his right to talk about the Mesmetron. "And how much for women and children slaves? I may be interested on those too... and work. You can never earn 'nuff caps, eh?" he jokes with the guard.
"Slavers. Tattoo faces when they join the gang. Is for life, but...nobody can slave you. Rules." The big man shrugs and hefts the huge super sledge over his shoulder. One of the smaller guards chimes in. "You want work, you'd probably have to join the gang. We can take you to the boss, if you wanted to join up. You need to know how to work a boat, but it's good caps, and shore leave is plenty." Big Brahmin just nods. "Slaves go on auction. More money for big and strong to work, or small and pretty to play. That why Lucy want girl. She'd be worth lots...when she finally sell."
"So who rules here? I see the three different factions, but do you have leaders? Or are you all democracies?" He chuckles at the little joke.
"I lied to you earlier. We are already done with our business with the caravan...and I already have a hat." He winks. "The band that I lead are powerful mercenaries. Would this place have any use for us? If not, I expect we shall be gone before long."
Strapping her armor back on, Lucy looks back at Thomas, and shrugs. "I don't keep up on the politics of the other gangs. I'm pretty sure the Slavers are ruled by some kind of council...rumor has it they have strings that go all back to the west. Our boss, Razor, has been in control for the last ten years or so, since he killed his brother and took over. Don't f*!! with him. He is a lot smarter than he looks. Smarter than I reckon' even you think you are, pretty boy." She cracks her neck and stretches her muscular form and begins to lace up her boots. "I can take you to him, if you all are as powerful as you say. He wouldn't be looking for temporary assistance, though. That's not his way. For all his betrayal to make his way to the top, he's learned to see through b~!$*++@ and value loyalty...real loyalty. The man can see when you're faking. That's why we're the only gang that doesn't have to wear it on our skin. He figures it has to go deeper than skin." Popping her back, she gives Thomas's ass a good swat, and smirks, winking...a strangely off signal given her eyepatch...and starts to walk off. "Let's find your friends. They should be nearly to market by now. Then we can talk about, ahem, deeper introductions." She chuckles at her euphemism.
Query: In which part of this town are the Gladitorial Arenas? Statement: I have the need to disembowel something.
"Heh, the boss is gonna like you."
Spencer moves in with the others, also uneasy enough about Lucy's hungry looks, as well as the general demeanor of the guards. He almost subconsciously makes sure Aeryicka is near the center of the group, and although he lets his carbine fall mostly to rest on its sling, his hand is never far from its grip.
Inside the town, he looks around with a keen and wary eye, taking in the general squalor and ruin of the place. Although Papa's question catches him off guard for a moment, he realizes quickly enough that the Knight is probably just probing for info on the Mesmetron. Seems like we're gonna have to deal with the Slavers one way or another. And we might be starting a gang war to do it. Always a fun time in the Wastes.
Turning to one of the other Seasalts with them, Spencer asks, "So, why keep the other gangs around? I mean, sure there's a lot of them, but if you guys have hands in everything, why not try and buy them out, or make deals and wipe them out? I assume you don't trust or like each other."
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Thomas finishes zipping up his pants and does a mental check. 'Okay, am I insane or depraved? Quick check: Do I want to skullf~%$ her eyehole? Alright, no, I'm grossed out by that idea. Yes! Still sane! At at least still a 51% majority stockholder. Good enough."
Thomas retaliates with a butt-slap of his own. "Wow. You must run a lot. Anyway, yes, let's find the rest of my troupe. If they've somehow managed to not get themselves arrested by Daffy Duck again after five minutes of my absence, I bet we'll have a lot to talk about.
Don't look at me like that. It's a long story." He shoots her a wink of his own.
When he gets back to the group he catches up on what they're learned, replying with what he found out about the leadership structure.
After hearing about the slavery, he motions Big Papa over for secret conference. "Y'know, since The Razor, the leader of Seasalt, rules by a monarchy, maybe we could kill him and take over? And/or we could kill all the Slavers and ruin the slave market. Just a thought. Since we're so tough, it seems like some terraforming might be in order. Or we could just keep moving on in search of your Mesmorophtotronoscope-thing. Your call."
"Our ship's come in, then: I just so happen to know my way around a boat. Let's have a meeting with your boss, see if we can get somethin' mutually benefissimo happenin' here."
Mickey wasn't exactly thrilled at the idea of killing anyone, but he felt pretty comfortable making an exception for Slavers.
He followed Badger, letting him dictate their movements.
"Well, for once I have no better ideas. What's the harm?"
Lucy and Thomas arrive just in time to catch the tail end of the discussion with Big Brahmin and the other Seasalts under Lucy's command. "To the boss, huh?" the lieutenant asks, and grins, knowing Thomas already had that idea in mind earlier.
"Going to have to give all of you a nice and thorough pat down on the way in, of course...for Razor's safety, of course." She grins and leers at the group, especially any of them that have shown any signs of squeamishness earlier, and her men laugh, but it sounds more forced than anything.
The group is lead through the city in all it's half-destroyed glory to one of the towers, which you can now see is absolutely covered in graffiti and gang symbols. The building has a decent view of the bay now that the other high rises (aside from the three other gang headquarters) have been destroyed. There are about fifteen guards, all in the same turquoise and clearly Seasalts, unlike the mixed bag of the front gates. Men and women seem to be milling in and out occasionally, but the foot traffic isn't heavy, and all of them seem to indeed be checked for weapons before entering. Lucy, however, seems to take considerably more time than the guards on the inside, regardless of her target of harassment, but nothing outrageous, with commentaries here and there about "hidden weapons". Your weaponry is all left with the guards at the front, and you're promised to have it returned upon your exit...though one of the guards mutters probably upon seeing the chain sword and some of the higher power laser and plasma rifles.
Still, the ordeal is over easy enough before she leads you inside the building, which still maintains most of it's prewar glory. It seems this was once a bank corporate headquarters, and you notice carpet on the floor that was once beautiful but is now worn beyond belief. Gold paint peels off all over the trim of handrails, etc. She leads you to an elevator, and presses a button next to the controls for an intercom. "Yeah? comes the sole reply.
"It's Lucy. I've got some petitioners for Razor. Claim to be mercenaries. Already searched."
There's a pause for a moment and finally a reply.
"Send 'em up."
Lucy grins. "Well boys, and the little cutie, have a fun ride."
She presses another button and the elevator doors open. The ride up is slow, and you can see a camera in the corner looking at as you ascend.
Mickey shifts about uncomfortably. Partially for leaving behind his weapons, but mostly because he wasn't thrilled with riding an elevator.
"Always hated these things back in the Vault. Give me stairs any day."
Badger doesn't even bother hiding the damn switchblade this time, getting into the elevator with his arms crossed.
Fitz climbs into the elevator without complaint, thankful they didn't do something unreasonable like request he remove his arm.
"You know, I don't quite like the sound of 'mercenaries', but I can't think of a better term. 'Fixers', perhaps?"
If EHRK could smile he would...he doesn't need to conceal a weapon. He IS the weapon.
Query: Knight Marcus Edwards are you familiar with my original programming? EHRK says as a way to cue the Brotherhood man in to this fact.
Trying to keep her distance from Papa without being obvious about it, Aeryicka was a little nervous about everything that was happening. It didn't help that she was under scrutiny from many different strangers that had disturbing looks on their faces when they looked at her. Then the woman Tom was with started touching her. She was close to shouting out "Stranger Danger!!" before realizing that nobody would help.
Cray kept overwatch on his flock, making sure that these strange two-leggers didn't cause any harm. Then came the smalled room his flock entered. It really didn't look pleasant to him, so instead he flew out and up, keeping an eye out for his flock before rejoining them.
Fitz climbs into the elevator without complaint, thankful they didn't do something unreasonable like request he remove his arm.
"You know, I don't quite like the sound of 'mercenaries', but I can't think of a better term. 'Fixers', perhaps?"
Badger shrugs.
"We're asking for work from a ganglord, man. I think the specific language for it is the last thing we have to worry about."|
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Papa takes off his helmet to show a big smile and wink at Lucy before briefly the power armor to let her do the searching. When his steel skin is back on, the knight turns to the guards keeping the weapons "I only have that rifle over there and this sword here, and I very much would like to keep it. Trust me, we wouldn't try anything fishy, not even if the guards were less trained and formidable than you."
"But I must warn you: I love those two weapons as if they were blood of my blood. We be here for work, but if you misplace, lose or even scratch them... Then it will be personal. Personal and dirty." finishes the knight, keeping the same smile turned grin.
When EH-RK reminds him of his programming, the big man claps him in the back and whispers "I do EH, I do... And remember I still can punch damn right. But let's hope you don't have to bring justice to commies while the rest are unarmed"
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Statement: Of course sir! I am a protocol robot, fluent in over seven million forms of communication. I am prepared to communicate with anyone you choose. it's obvious that EHRK really wants to do some communicating.
The elevator doors open and it leads to an absolutely opulent office space. Hardwood floors decorate the floors, and the paint, unlike in the lobby flooring area, seems fresh, or at least not as old as the pre-war fare down below. Six men in combat armor flank the elevator door, and you can see a single desk where a beautiful young woman works at a computer. She wears a pretty pre-war dress, dyed the same turquoise color the Seasalts tend to fare, and looks you over briefly. You notice this area is somewhat of a waiting room, as an intricately carved wooden bench sits against the wall, and paintings line the office, but little actual substance beyond decoration, the desk and chair the woman sits at, and the bench fill the room. "Mr. Razor will be just a minute," she states, and really replies nothing more than that, returning to her computer work.
After about thirty minutes, she smiles, stands up and walks to the sole door in the room and opens it, leading you to a much larger area. "Mr. Razor will see you now."
The door leads to an office with a full-wall window, a massive mahogany desk, computer, and even more decorations than the waiting room. Large leather couches, repolstered quite recently it seems, are along various areas, and small tables seem to have vials of jet, psycho, and other chems simply sitting in bowls untouched. Some instrumental music plays over wallspeakers, calming and yet strangely alien. Two other doors besides the one leading in exit this room. There is a short man, barely taller than Aeryicka, standing near the wall, looking out the window over the city. He's wearing a perfectly cut black suit with a matching fedora hat, and not even a trim of any color, not even the turquoise his men seem to favor. The short man has blonde hair, with striking pale blue eyes, and he could easily have been a model before the bombs dropped. Every inch of his suit seems to be free of even the slight debris of the outside world, as does his office. When you enter, the woman shuts the door behind you and disappears from sight. Upon your entry he turns and looks the lot of you over briefly before speaking up. "Yes?"
"You're not what I expected." Fitz notes.
"Still, your appearance doesnt change our budiness, hm? We were hoping to offer our services as 'Fixers'. Men and women (and animal) for hire, should you have need of our services...?"
Badger cringes inwardly, nudging Tom to step in and smooth over this first impression.
Clearly his throat he says,"My friends here mean to say that we're new arrivals in Tampa here and we came to pay our respects to the head of the city's finest gang- especially since we're all quite capable in terms of wielding guns and other weaponry in exchange for caps. And as the head of the Seasalts, you should have first refusal on our particular services."
It looks momentarily as if the man is going to reply to Fitz's offer, when Marcus's interjection arrives. Razor pauses briefly and raises an eyebrow at Marcus's questioning, and blinks. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was to be audited for the reasons, means, and affectations of my organization by a stranger I never met before. It must be incredibly rude of me to make such an assumption." His eyes narrow, and he stares silently at Marcus.
He walks over and opens a nearby cabinet, taking out a bottle of scotch, and pours himself a glass before sitting down in one of the couches. With a simple hand wave to the other couches, he gestures at them. He listens to Badger's introduction afterwards and replies. "Yes, mercenaries. I'm familiar. Explain to me why I should pay for the assistance of strangers when I have loyal men and women I already know and trust. Loyal men and women who understand their place and don't overextend their assumptions with rudeness when meeting someone in a position of power, I might add. I understand you could, theoretically, offer your services elsewhere, but aside from the threat of competition?" He sips at the glass, slowly and quietly waits for a reply.
"Simple. We're better than anyone you got."
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"Well, you might want us, Mr. Razor, because we are unknown and unaffiliated in your city and thereby, you know, who can say who we really work for, right? But in addition to a certain degree of unseemly deniableness, we present a, uh, portfolio of different skills in relation to problem solving that perhaps offer opportunities outside of your present manpower."
Badger clears his throat. Guess this is me now, no way this can go wrong.
"For instance- I, Badger Bloom, possess skills in infiltration and lockpicking, my attorney Mr. Roland is quite adept at negotiations of a nonviolent sort. Big Papa and Fitz- the gentlemen in the power armor and with the deathclaw arm, offer a certain 'shock and awe' in armed battles in addition to brutal, um, efficientness. And if you need a problem solved from far away with precision, my friend Spencer here is a crack shot with a rifle. We've personally seen a variety of hell brought by Aeryicka here and her buzzard which is outside (she's small but man, that freaking bird..) and ol' Mickey has the instincts of a lawman without all the red tape- and if that won't do, the shotgun should clear things up."
"You need someone found, we can handle it. You want something swiped, some new understandings drawn up with another party, we offer that. And especially if you need someone that isn't technically on your roster or sporting your colors to spread some violence- we've got a lot of that. We're a team of specialists in one neat package, available for nearly any task you got in mind."
"... oh, and the robot, well, he's kind of our economics advisor. Not a fan of national socialism, if you get me, but as a capitalist that's nothing for you to worry about. Very good at hands-on analysis."
Spencer tags along with the others, and while he doesn't like it, he relinquishes his weapons. As he sees Badger pull out his switchblade, he sighs and does likewise. No point carrying it if I'm the only one, and it's tiny anyway.
At the office, Spencer lets the others do most of the talking, nodding as Badger goes over their individual strengths. "I think the deniability is one of our best offers, Mister Razor. I asked one of your men on our way up, but I think you're the main man I should pose my question to: why the uneasy truce? You've got three rival factions out there who could declare war at any time. If the problem was one of manpower or knowing they'd team up against you, we may be able to help out."
Frankly, even that offer doesn't sit well with Spencer--knowing that these gangers have their fingers in every pie, and probably cause as much strife for good folks as everyone else, doesn't make him too happy to be here. Add in the leering looks and grotesque attitudes and he felt like he'd prefer to put his "precision problem-solving" to work on just about the whole city. But this was probably their best bet at finding the Mesmetron and shutting that down, at least.
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"Well Mr. Razor, I do believe my curiosity may have jumped the trigger. I didn't want to offend you, I am just straightforward and honest. So please accept my most sincere apologizes."
"That said, my comoanions have spoken the truth... but there is more to it than us being some of the best warriors you can find. My fella Fitz and I are real good fixin' machines, and creatin' new ones. We are real Fixers."
The knight turns to point at the rest in order "Spencer boy could track you under heavy rad-rain even if you tried yo best to hide with another 20 people. Tommy has a way with words, I s#** you not, he convinced Judge Donald not only to free us but to give us free citizenship in Kingdom and fire a noisy guard in the process. Aeryicka can patch you uo better than most docs, Badger is only visible now because he wants too. And my man Mickey... he eats raiders for breakfast. And he's right, we bw the best you can get."
Statement: This man reminds me of someone. Agent John W. Houston, a great human. EHRK emits
Query: Do you require the disembowelment or otherwise violent demise of any Communists or agitators?
Razor takes another sip of his drink, and leans back in his couch looking the party over. "Your armor is certainly beyond your basic mercenary party's fare, and your robot seems to have more sapience than your basic routine servers. Someone must have fiddled with his programming and given him a personality upgrade, or perhaps a basic AI internal sophistication to expand upon it's initial programming. No...you're certainly not your basic thugs." He finishes the scotch, puts the glass on a table, and grabs a handful of mentats before popping a couple in his mouth. "Oh, do help yourselves. These are for entertaining guests, after all." He closes his eyes and feels the chem counterbalance the alcohol and sighs.
"Very well, I have a job I need done, and it can help to prove your versatility and capability before sending you on something with more of a direct nature. There's an oil rig west of the city that I've tried sending boats towards. The rig, like all of the ones before the war, are utterly tapped, but its location is convenient for establishing a remote platform for intercepting anyone trying to take our sea superiority. The problems are twofold, however...First, the rig is infested with sealurks. They've managed to sink the first ship I tried to send directly to take over the place, as well they've turned around the last two before they could manage to salvage the first. That leads us to the second problem... That ship had a precious product from before the war vital to the establishment of this offshore remote territory: a portable desalinization device. It's roughly 800lbs or so, so when I say portable, we're talking relativistic, of course."
Razor scratches his chin and crosses his legs before continuing. "A small tug can be provided for transport...strong enough to winch up the device, and large enough to carry the lot of you without drawing suspicion...though you will have to leave by nightfall, and there cannot be any witnesses from the other gangs. I notice you have PipBoys, so I will have my men program the location of both the sunken ship and the oil rig for you. You can feel free to help yourself to anything of material value you can salvage from the rig as payment, as well as the sunken ship, but currency, whether caps, prewar, or otherwise, will be accounted for from the ship, and I expect restitution of this as well. I want the lurks destroyed, and if there is a king and broodqueen aboard, it is vital you prevent the reestablishment of a colony so we have sufficient time for my men to occupy the rig."
"When you have finished this assignment, I will fill you in to the second part of this plan, and perhaps then I will find myself amenable to answering some of your questions about my organization, once you've proven your worth to me. Do you have any questions pertinent to this job?"