Harper Beckett's page

Harper raises a hand swiftly when she hears mention of the hospital, though puts it back down again as she realizes that she has Badger's attention.

"Not dying is fairly high upon my list of priorities. A hospital should have plenty of goods to help us achieve that goal." She pauses, and looks uncomfortably toward a blood spot on the ground left from one of the many fights that had recently occurred within the school. "At least, I think it should help us to achieve that goal, as long as a terrifying band of raiders hasn't taken it over first."

I want to fall off of the face of the earth right now. I can't believe I was so stupid/tired that I wrote that. Feel free to bleach your mind of the fact that I am an ignoramus.

Edit: Harper:
A. Did not pick up on the meaning of the slaver's speech about crucifixion
and
B. Is/was innocent and sheltered, and still is repulsed by the idea of an ally dying, even if the said ally in question is a sadistic mutated shell of a human.

The above can lead to the conclusion that:

C. Harper honest to god wanted to eventually be able to trust Miles, (she wants FRIENDS) even if she was cautious and scared of him, and is still shocked that Kristophe can take the life of someone who has put their trust and safety in his hands.

Edit two:

You can most likely tell by now that I happen to overanalyze my characters to a ridiculous degree.

...I'm deleting my last post. Seriously, pretend I never said anything. Please, I'm so tired, I've been performing all weekend, had to get up early on Sunday for auditions, then had to make it to classes early today... My brain is dead right now. I could probably recite an entire half hour of monologues for you, but I can't so much as read a post properly.

Harper fell to her knees as she saw Thomas's eyes open, obviously having been worried that she'd never see them open again. She reached out to give him a hug, but hesitated once she remembered that he was currently recovering from a near-death experience.

She put her hands back in her lap, and fiddled with the chain between her fingers.

It was sticky. For that matter, so were her hands. How had she failed to notice up to this point that her hands were coated with dried slaver blood? She almost automatically conjured up the sound of a snarky voice telling her that she'd been tainted, but shook her head and put the thought out of her mind. She had better things to focus on. Like Thomas.

Slowly, Harper leaned forward and touched her forehead to Thomas's, looking at him awkwardly and upside-down.

We're doing a collection of skits compiled into a show, all taken from classic short stories by English and American authors. My most major role is that of Barton from The Cold Equations, though I'm also playing the old man from The Tell-Tale Heart.

Stealth: 1d12 ⇒ 8
Wild Stealth: 1d6 ⇒ 2

Harper looked on in horror as the slaver advanced upon an unconcious Thomas. Without a second thought, she ran towards the slaver as quickly as she could and clobbered him with the chain, bringing it down with a heavy thunk on his back.

Attack: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (8) + 4 = 12
Attack Ace: 1d8 ⇒ 3
Damage: 2d4 + 4 ⇒ (4, 2) + 4 = 10
Damage Ace: 1d4 ⇒ 4
DIE IN A FIRE, SCUM: 1d4 ⇒ 1

15 total attack, 15 total damage

Damn. I saw your post literally three minutes after you posted it yesterday, and responded to it, but I don't see my own post. Ugh.

Also, a heads up, I am part of a theatre group and have multiple performances tomorrow. I may or may not be able to post.

Turn 1 Movement: 1d10 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12
Turn 2 Movement: 1d10 + 8 ⇒ (7) + 8 = 15

Harper's away from the building by turn three.

Shattering, screaming, gunshots, explosions.

Through the chaos, only one thought pervaded Harper's mind: run.

Run: 1d10 ⇒ 6

Harper hesitated, shifting her gaze between the fire, the exit door, and finally Thomas and Aeryicka running headlong into the back of the building. In the midst of it all, the small, shrill voice screeched for Harper to run, run away from the fire as quickly as her feet could carry her.

GET OUT OF HERE!

And for once, Harper complied, though called out as she ran.

"Thomas! Aeryicka! This dry, rickety building is going down, now!"

Her feet flew at a breakneck pace under her as she ran.

"Leave the slaver to burn! There will have been enough death today without you two passing too!"

Run: 1d10 ⇒ 6

Hey, even if I still don't entirely get it yet, I'm liking Savage Worlds! The whole idea of the die itself increasing instead of the modifier, and low level enemies still posing a threat is all really interesting to me. Plus, I just find it stupid that an entire army of goblins can't even touch a single wizard with marginal casting abilities.

I appreciate you putting up with me on some of this stuff. I'll get this right one of these days, I swear.

Damage Ace: 1d4 ⇒ 4

Total: 10

You only reroll damage once, yes? It doesn't keep stacking? For time's sake, I'll roll again, but I won't add it to the results.

Damage Ace Ace: 1d4 ⇒ 2

Her confidence growing due to the robot's shaken state, Harper leapt from her place atop the downed slaver to the double doors of which the metallic creature was passing through. She whipped the back end of the chain at the robot's side.

Attack: 1d8 ⇒ 7
Wild Attack: 1d6 ⇒ 2

Damage: 2d4 ⇒ (4, 2) = 6

It hit the Mr. Handy unit with a sharp clang!

SHOOT. I was going to move, but forgot to actually move on the map.

I swear to god, I was looking at the map the entire time. Gah, stupid, stupid, stupid. I have fleet footed and rolled a nine on my die. That means I could move 17 squares. As I could start anywhere in the green, I would have started next to the door. That would have given me exactly enough movement to run around the counter and hit the slaver. I took the multi action penalties on my first turn, but I had two turns, meaning that the second attack would have been at full strength.

I will move on the map now, but feel free to move me back if I somehow screwed up again.

How unfortunately common life or death situations were becoming. It seemed as if every step in the damned Wasteland was a trigger for an unseen trap, a step out from the shadows and into the sight of a hungry pack of wolves waiting to feast on your flesh and bones. The metaphor seemed slightly too uncanny for the current situation, especially considering that one of Harper's opponents had somehow filed the tips of his front teeth to points.

Seeing the horrifying sight convinced Harper as to who her first target would be.

Holding the end of the chain firmly in her fist, Harper ran toward the slaver, dashed all the way around the counter, and brought the opposite end of the chain down hard upon his lithe body.

Run: 1d10 ⇒ 9

Attack: 1d8 - 2 ⇒ (5) - 2 = 3
Wild Attack: 1d6 - 2 ⇒ (1) - 2 = -1

Unfortunately, the sharp-toothed slaver rolled out of the way in the nick of time, causing Harper's chain to instead crash into the ground.

Attack: 1d8 ⇒ 6
Wild Attack: 1d6 ⇒ 1

As he turned back to strike at Harper, however, she swung again and caught his jaw.

Damage: 1d4 + 1d4 ⇒ (3) + (3) = 6

In exasperation, Harper let loose her arrow...

Only for it to land at Kristophe's foot, and embed its lethal tip into the dirt.

Thomas had won. Kristophe had won. The little, tinkling voices had won. Damn them. Damn them all. Though Harper would like to have thought that she could truly stand up to a foe as threatening as Kristophe, she knew that she could never have put the final bolt into the back of his neck. Pathetic.

No, Harper, it was brave of you to take the higher route, to take your aim from your enemy to the ground. Not many could let go of that anger, especially in a world such as this one.

The voice again. Harper paid it no mind. Instead, she made her way, carefully, toward Miles, and put her hands around the chain that Miles so dutifully carried by his side. This was all that was left of him. He might have been a scary, terrifying mutant, but she had begun to put her trust in the thing; her family had taken him under their wing. Maybe she could honor the scraps of humanity that had once remained within his mind by keeping the chain with her. It would remind her of what she had to lose: her very mind. But it would also remind her that even those who have fallen from grace could begin to pick themselves back up once more.

Harper gingerly placed her bow into her backpack and discarded the hockey stick. In its place, she held Miles's weapon of choice in her hands.

She was ready to move on.

Harper is going to investigate the area a bit more closely while stealthed.
Stealth: 1d12 ⇒ 3
Wild Stealth: 1d6 ⇒ 2
Let's hope to god that I haven't moved her into an area swarming with enemies.

Please, please, let me just say that Kristophe is an incredibly well written assh*le character. I love this guy, and I applaud Niles for creating a character that is genuinely a jerk. I don't think I can actually pull a Kristophe-like character off, and in that regard, I really respect you, Niles. I don't mean this in any way, shape or form to be an attack on you or your great writing.

This is why loyalty is considered a drawback, at least in Harper's terms.

I'm hoping that the rest if the party can talk Harper down; I'm not actually intending to kill Kristophe.

WITH THAT SAID

Do not treat this situation any more lightly because I said that. Take this seriously. Harper thinks that Kristophe is a murderer, and currently DOES intend to kill him, even if, out if character, I do not.

Edit: I may not be able to respond until after 4:15 central time. Just warning you guys.

Edit two: Guys, you have no idea how happy I am with how that last post turned out. Harper's innocent mind is finally starting to be corrupted. Character development is happening!

...Even if it means turning Harper into a homicidal maniac.

Sight had lost its meaning. Touch had lost its meaning. Smell mattered not, and taste there was none. For the last split second of the battle against the robots, Harper's auditory senses sharpened to a pinpoint. She felt adrenaline, pain, fear, destruction; the entirety of the battlefield concentrated into simple, tactile noise.

Ping. PFFFFF. A bullet embedded itself into the iron framework of a machine; something inside of that machine gave out in response. Shiiiink. Metal slashed across metal. Tunk. Her hockey stick made contact with her target. Pthhhthththhh. That target was now in a state of electronic shock and hardware faliure, sparking in a heap on the ground.

Quiet.

Or, at least, relative quiet. Harper let her burning lungs suck in a much needed breath of oxygen. Her own heart beat filled the void of the battle's sounds; a steady lub-dub filled in for the absent gunshots. Then there were voices. Harper let the world come into focus through her watery brown eyes once more.

She immediately wished that she hadn't.

Her ears were deafened by the firing of a pistol, though nothing compared to the horror of the scene laid out before her eyes. Though the battle should have been won without any casualties, one of Harper's own had taken care of fulfilling the daily death quota. Kristophe stood with a gun clutched between his sweaty palms, his index finger firmly pressed against the trigger. Miles lay dead on the ground before him, blood spatters gracing the cold, hard ground. Kristophe's jaw was clenched, though he stared at the corpse of the mutant with an unspoken aura of victory. Harper shut her eyes. She couldn't accept this as the truth.

Kristophe had killed Miles.

No.

Kristophe had murdered Miles.

Through the shock, through the terror, through the meaningless babbling of her party, a little voice rang out through Harper's consciousness. Calm, Harper. Calm yourself, do not give into your urges, DO NOT! It was as if the voice knew Harper better than Harper knew herself. Somehow, hearing and making out the little voice's words gave Harper the mental strength to form a sentence, a silent sentence formed on moving lips without the air support to make a sound. M-m-murderer... I... I knew it. I knew it! I knew that I was right! We should never have let him stay with us! I should never have trusted him! Look what he's done! ...Stay calm, Harper, please! Harper payed her little voice no heed. This was wrong. Placing one foot in front of the other, and then again, and then again, Harper made her way across the battlefield towards her peers, quietly, stealthily, silently. Unconsciously, her hands worked her bow out of her backpack, into her hands, and weaved an arrow into the bowstring.

Stealth: 1d12 ⇒ 6
Wild Stealth: 1d6 ⇒ 6
Wild Stealth Ace: 1d6 ⇒ 1

Considering that everyone is arguing and staring at the gored body of Miles, I'm considering a success passable for this. This is more cinematic than roll oriented, anyway.

Her hands weaved, maybe by chance or maybe by choice, an arrow tipped with deadly poison into the string of the bow. Maybe someone saw her, maybe, as a young, innocent girl, she was invisible to the rest of the party. Somehow anyway, step after step inched her closer and closer to the man who had so ruthlessly and remorselessly killed one who had put his trust in her. In her family.

The only thing that Harper consciously realized was that Kristophe was no longer part of her family. He was a murderer, a betrayer, he was one who did not deserve her trust or love or kindness.

So with the same cold demeanor in which Kristophe placed the barrel of the gun to the back of Miles's head, Harper placed the poisoned tip of the arrow to the back of Kristophe's neck.

She felt him shiver under the sudden touch.

Harper, NO! You cannot become what you so despise!

She felt herself shiver under the weight of her own perversion. But Harper did not waver. Her duty was to her family. Her duty was to herself. Her duty was to loyalty.

She let out five, short, piercing words, laced with the venom of her own arrows, preceded by a casual cough to rally the attention of her family.

"Move, and I kill him."

Harper! Put down your bow! This is WRONG!!

"This monster of a man was a protector. How ironic is it, that after forcing so many of our family members to this hellhole, that after sentencing so many of them to death, he should be damned to the same fate as his very victims?" Harper paused, her own mind not fully grasping the intensity of her own emotions. Her inner dialogue was riddled with the screaming and begging of her own inner voices. To any onlooker, Harper was visibly shaking, though her eyes still blazed with an uncharacteristic fury downright alien to see on her pale face. "He claims that he put down a horrible beast, one not worthy of our trust. But really, how is it any different than him putting down one of our own siblings? One of our own grandmothers? How is it any different than what he did to us? He cannot be trusted to watch us without shooting us in the back of the head, just as he did to Miles."

Harper's voice lowered to a dangerous growl.

"We end this now. Either he dies, or we all do."

Recoiling slightly at Warhammer's comments, Harper raises her hockey stick once again and brings it down upon the robot.

Attack: 1d8 ⇒ 5
Wild Attack: 1d6 ⇒ 5

Damage: 1d4 + 1d4 ⇒ (3) + (4) = 7

It hits the robot's outer shell with a satisfying thunk.

Aw shoot. That was a good roll, too.

Redbeard, can you confirm the above? If I performed my attack incorrectly, feel free to bot the attack so that we can get through this round faster.

Harper raises her hockey stick above her head and brings it straight down upon the hard metal body of the malfunctioning robot.

Attack: 1d8 ⇒ 6
Wild Attack: 1d6 ⇒ 1

Damage: 1d6 + 1d4 ⇒ (6) + (3) = 9

Damage Ace: 1d6 ⇒ 1

She cracks a grin as it cleaves through the side of robot's outer armor, digging into the vulnerable circuitry within.

The ramshackle pavement and buildings of the abandoned settlements were somehow less discomforting than that of the school. Harper recognized a school, but stray buildings without hallways connecting them? Cars as long as a cafeteria? The concepts was alien to Harper. It was much more easy to tolerate an alien landscape marred by war than one so familiar and dear to her heart.

Thus, when the robots began to make their way out from behind decrepit vehicles and piles of charred metal, Harper was unfazed. Like the school and the alien landscape, robots were much more easy to see blown to smithereens than human heads. Taking comfort in the unknown, Harper raised her hockey stick and ran toward the metallic menaces.

Harper is now fleet-footed, so her pace is eight and her run die is ten.

Run: 1d10 ⇒ 2

Pffft, my roll sucked anyway. XD

Hey, Green? May I ask a few things?

Firstly, I must have missed the allocation of new XP. Should all of us be at 11 (or 12 if we guess Miles's identity) right now?

If so, Harper's taking fleet-footed.

Secondly, can I wait to receive another animal companion? I'm not really feeling that Harper would be ready for a new one as of yet. The memory of her first dog's death is too fresh, and I'm having a complete mental block when it comes to thinking up a sort of creature that fits Harper. May I make another post here when I think that Harper is ready for a companion?

Harper woke up with an ache in her arm; she'd fallen to sleep directly onto it the night prior still helping Jimmy patch together the massive piece of armor. Speaking of which... The girl looked down at the item of protection that Jimmy must have pulled over her as a makeshift blanket. It looked considerably well made, especially when considering that the leather shirt had begun its crafting as four separate pieces of thick cloth. She pushed the armor off of her lap and reached for her bag. Her stomach was growling.

Harper pulled a charred radroach out of her pack and peeled its shell off in order to consume the more edible insides. The exposed flesh, no, viscera looked repulsive. Acid made its way up Harper's esophagus, and she swallowed in order to keep it from making its way out of her mouth. If she wasn't absolutely ravenous, she would have dropped her meal then and there and ran away from it screaming. Hunger, however, got the best of her, and she squeamishly thrust her thumb and index finger around an unidentifiable organ. Science class hadn't covered the anatomy of insects, and maybe that was for the better. Once again stifling back vomit, Harper let the crunchy radroach guts fall into her mouth and past her gullet. It didn't even taste bad, it was simply flavorless. It was the texture and knowledge of the creature that she was eating alone that made her squirm.

One choked down meal later, Harper reconvened with the rest of the party just outside of the dilapidated school's doors. None of the humans interested her in the least. Harper had followed the party out of the building for one reason: she wanted to establish a truce with Miles.

Tentatively, Harper strode toward the mutant beast and wordlessly set the massive piece of armor down at Miles's feet.

Harper watched carefully as Miles made his way into the room and listened as the door shut behind him. Knowing that the room itself only contained one window, and was on the second story, Harper knew that she'd have to risk a sprained ankle or something of the like to peer in at Miles.

It was a risk that she wasn't willing to take.

Harper grit her teeth and stalked away from the principle's office. How could she convince herself that Miles wouldn't hurt her? Truth be told, she probably couldn't. She could try to establish some semblance of a peace treaty, though...

What sort of offering would a giant mutated monstrous humanoid appreciate?

Harper tilted her head to the side and continued down the long, dim hallway, counting her steps as she hobbled from side to side. It was a pleasant distraction from thinking about her head being blown to bits by an emotionless fighting machine.

...Fighting machine?

A thought popped into Harper's head.

Armor.

She sped her pace up as she trotted down the stairs and turned toward the scene of the carnage, ready to distance her feeling, thinking mind from her work and peel bloody leather from dead bodies. She would find peace with the beast yet.

Oh, Harper, there must be some other way to appease Miles. You need not sacrifice your sanity for a monster.

Harper leaned toward a corpse, though paused before touching the lifeless body. The small tinkling voice grew louder in her mind; no longer could she ignore its mournful cries. Maybe, just maybe, it would allow her silence if she only gave it the answer it so desired. Maybe if she thought back to it, it would leave her alone.

I would rather sacrifice my sanity for a chance at living than my very life for innocence. Hush up, and stop trying to keep me from establishing peace between Miles and I.

With that, Harper set to work.

I need a bit of help here. Where is Miles? The map's gone. What does the room that he's in look like? Are there windows? Structural ceiling or wall damage that would allow for a peek in? Harper is nervous about this new creature, and wants to keep a bit of a stealthy eye on him.

Can someone take the 33 bullets that Harper is carrying? She doesn't use guns. I've already taken them out of my inventory on Harper's profile page, and wanted to make sure that I noted it here so that someone else could make use of them.

Harper's eyes widened and she gulped as the lumbering mutant's gaze sweep past her. Though the creature didn't pay her any mind, the thought of the giant yellow humanoid's pure crushing power sent shivers through her body. The only upside to the situation at present was that the "mutant" wasn't hostile- for now, at least.

Slowly and carefully, taking great pains to avoid making any fast movements, Harper strode over to one of the fallen slavers and stared at its corpse. The object of her desire, a crossbow, was strapped to its back. Retrieving it would require her to touch the body of the dead man. As her shaky hand quivered a foot away from the carcass, a little voice ran once more through her head.

Harper, your resistance to touch a dead body is normal. Relish in your fear; realize that it makes you human. Never stop fearing, Harper. Never stop.

With even more uncertainty, Harper blocked out the sounds of the conversation with the monstrosity and focused solely on her prize. She would overcome this fear. She had to, for the sake of her new family. Fear was bad, right?

Harper shook her head and straightened her face, and grabbed the bow in a split second burst of courage. It was smooth with use. Use from the dead man- no. It was okay. No more thinking of the bow's prior owner, it was hers now.

Harper stared at the bow sadly and stowed it, as well as a fistful of bolts, into her backpack.

Harper has taken a bow and all of the bolts. Anyone else who picks up a bow is welcome to share them.

HOLY SHEE-IT.

Apologies for my lack of posting yesterday, but my brother and I were chilling and he pulled a freaking knife on me. Long story short, he's now in a mental ward.

I have had a really f*cked up last 24 hours.

Posting wasn't exactly an option for me. I'll be writing now, though.

Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 6

AoO

Attack: 1d8 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 2 = 9
Wild Attack: 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4

Damage: 1d4 + 1d4 ⇒ (4) + (1) = 5

The raise from attack is another d4, right? If not, just disregard the next roll.

Raise: 1d4 ⇒ 4

Harper steps out from her place near the wall, her figure becoming clear as the light from the broken window hits her frame. Her arms are raised, holding the hockey stick above her head, and she brings the wooden paddle down upon the slaver's skull.

Attack: 1d8 ⇒ 6
Wild Attack: 1d6 ⇒ 2

Damage: 1d6 + 1d4 ⇒ (2) + (3) = 5

It hits his head with a dull crack.

Harper knew that she'd have to get into close range to strike- as soon as the sound of an earth-shattering explosion met her ears, she ran out from behind the blockade and into the room, trembling and ready to fight for her life.

Run: 1d6 ⇒ 2

Amidst the chaos, Harper tried desperately to cling to the shadows in an attempt to not immediately be shot.

Stealth with run penalty: 1d12 - 2 ⇒ (7) - 2 = 5
Wild Stealth w/ penalty: 1d6 - 2 ⇒ (4) - 2 = 2

Hahaha, Thomas, I love your writing style and your interpretation of your character. He'd rather would face a band of murderous slavers than an awkward social situation than a young girl; I love it!

Just leveling with you, though, Harper's even younger that you thought; she's at the oh-so-mature age of 14.

...Though that may just make her naive Vault logic even more intimidating. XD

Aww yeah, let's get stealthy up in here! Time to make some rolls... And not the tasty kind, unfortunately. I'd definitely make some of those if I could, because two people in our group going full on cannibal on us is less than desirable. -_-

Stealth: 1d12 ⇒ 1
Wild Stealth: 1d6 ⇒ 6

Aced Wild Stealth: 1d6 ⇒ 3

A pass and a raise! Not bad!

-----------------------

Harper looks, unamused, between Thomas and Kristophe once again.

"Thomas, I respect you, and you respect me, and you should probably take what I say with a little bit of thought at least..." Harper trails off as Kris begins to snort in an obnoxiously loud manner. As the man begins hopping in place, Harper turns back to Thomas. "I saw Dad watching a pre-war movie, once, where a bunch of teenagers were doing strange things with powder and one of them killed one of his own friends. I asked Dad why the man in the movie would kill someone if he liked them, and Dad said that it was because he was 'high off his ass.'"

Harper paused once again as another snort erupted from across the room.

"I'm not really sure if it's a good idea to trust Kris right now, because he looks kinda 'high off his ass,' if you ask me."

...Am I in the plan what-so-ever?

As the metal butt of the gun touches Harper's hands, her eyes widen and she steps back, dropping the wretched thing in the process. An inaudible scream meets her ears. A voice, once gentle as a handbell, rings through her head like a powerful gong.

HARPER! NO! We are NOT tempted by the weapons of the apocalypse! Touching that thing is as bad as putting its barrel to your own HEAD!

The girl looked meekly up at Kris, too nervous to precisely meet his gaze, and slid the gun across the floor with her foot. "I'll have to pass for now, sir..."

One of Harper's hinderences is that she's terrified of using guns. Not only does she have no ranks in shooting things, but she literally can't take your gun.

Harper prepared herself to fight, grabbing her hockey stick once more and setting her backpacks and books in a corner of the gym. She looked sadly at Badger, though said nothing more. She had to shut her emotions off. She had to be ready to have a man die by her own bloody hands.

I've moved Harper on the map to her possible battle position, though can change it if we make a last minute swap. In character, she's awaiting instruction.

With as much care as possible, Harper gingerly collected pencils and backpacks from the desks and shelves of the decimated classroom, all the while trying her hardest to look away from the children's skeletons whose beautiful little voices would remain forever lost to time. Even when she closed her eyes, however, the images of the withered bones remained ever present in her mind. There was no escape from the horror. A pencil here, a pencil there... Harper let out a shrill scream as she tripped over a bone, which fractured under her clunky boots. By the time that she grew too discomforted by the eerie tranquility of the silent classroom, she'd only collected about half of the pencils that sat on the desks. With her arms full of charred backpacks and moldy textbooks, she left the room to find her friends again.

-------------------------

She found them still debating the method of slaver slaughter. The conversation seemed to have grown more unsanitary since the time she'd left.

"...some of these rags from the chapel and make little s$&$ balls to throw and distract them."

At that, Harper unceremoniously announced her presence. "Why waste time cultivating cholera when we could be collecting glass shards to throw at them instead? Wear some thick gloves or pick them up with leather, and throw the glass at them. It'd cause a distraction, that's for sure." She paused uncomfortably, realizing what she'd just said. It took her a few seconds and created an awkward silence as she recovered. "Or, y'know, I still stand by my idea of trying to collapse concrete above them...."

Harper let out an exasperated sigh and looked back toward Badger.

"Why can't we just all be friends?"

Harper watched in awe as Kristophe went to work, slowly nodding and realizing that she must have been wrong about the man. He wasn't some sort of brute with an attitude problem (well, he was a brute with an attitude problem, but wasn't only that) but some sort of mechanical genius. For the first time since being dropped off in the middle of the Wastes, Harper felt a sense of peace. Sure, there might be several explosives laying around, but discoveries were being made, normal human beings being met, and food was being cooked within the crumbling walls of the old school.

It felt almost like the Vault.

Hmm...

The Vault, huh? Well, if there was one thing that Harper found entertaining around the Vault, it was a bit of impromptu exploration. With a quick look around to make sure that the rest of the group was intact, Harper crept from the room and into the hallway. This was for the party's own good. It had to be. Within a few minutes of bumbling around and retracing her steps, Harper found herself at the entrance to classroom three.

She peeked through a thin crack in the door to check for signs of life within the classroom.

Sneak: 1d12 ⇒ 1Wild Sneak: 1d6 ⇒ 2

Heh. No snake eyes for me. I'm bennying that, however; Harper is conducting serious business here.

Benny Sneak: 1d12 ⇒ 8Wild Benny Sneak: 1d6 ⇒ 6

Wild Benny Sneak Ace: 1d12 ⇒ 3

I like the look of those raises.

Harper placed a thin hand to her chin and furrowed her brows thoughtfully. Suddenly, her face lit up and she snapped her fingers.

"So these little explosives have a very centralized boom, yes? And this school is already breaking down? It has to be, I've seen fallen columns and broken concrete slabs everywhere." She grinned sheepishly at her answering of her own question. "Sounds like these slavers follow a routine when they come in here. We could probably find a few ceilings with less than suitable stability. I say that we look for some weak spots in this decrepit schoolhouse and bring a whole room down on these scary slavers."

Harper felt as though she was in a waking dream. Never did she think that her science classes in the Vault would be the difference between life and death, though the nightmares were morphing into a reality before her very eyes. Nightmares... A soft voiced clambered to be heard over the grinding gears of Harper's working mind.

Harper... Please, little friend! You're making a grave mistake! This is no dream, wake up!

Harper stood, dumbstruck, at the slaves.

Slaves.

The word alone sent shivers down her spine. If she had one of those horrible explosive devices strapped around her neck, the mere thought of tripping up and having the thing explode on her would be enough for her to faint and do the deed anyway...

Harper paused, deep in thought. After a few more moments of contemplation, she spoke words that sounded all too wrong popping out of her mouth. What she was about to suggest was nothing less than murder.

"Kris, you can get those... those things off of them without a hitch?" She waited for an affirming nod. "You don't think that we could rig them to blow up those slavers, do you? One big boom could destroy the whole mass of them with a single blow; we have more of those devices downstairs if we want to attempt it."

Somewhere, in the back of Harper's mind, a little voice rang out like the chime of a bell, pure and untainted. What has gotten into you, little one? You cannot allow yourself to become what you so despise. You cannot allow yourself to become consumed by your anger.

Uncertainty left on Harper's face, the girl began to peer around the room, seeing what items of use immediately jumped out at her.

Anyone know where Estelle is? I've been waiting for her to post; I'm kinda worried about her.

Harper mindlessly followed Estelle to the boy's dormitory before noticing that the entire room was oddly quiet. She turned around to realize that she and Estelle were alone in the dim room. Harper froze.

"Uhh, friend...?" She trailed off, her eyes flicking around the floor. Something... She could have sworn that she heard something, like a yelp, or a thud. The room seemed oddly devoid of life. As she contemplated the noise, her eyes shot open and her heart skipped a beat. "Estelle, they didn't leave us for the bathroom, did they?! Oh no, oh no... You don't think that one of them inhaled too much of it and fainted, do you?!"

Harper turned to face the door to the hallway, but didn't move a muscle in her legs. She wasn't going anywhere in this hell of a school without a companion.

Harper raised a tentative hand into the air.

"I'd recommend that we stay out of the bathroom for now. I'll gladly accompany you to another room, Estelle, but something tells me that the terrible smell coming from that door spells trouble." She then shook her head with obvious worry. "Back at the- the V-Vault, I hid in this crawl space while playing- well, it's not important. The point is, there was this really awful mold, and being around it for barely a minute caused me bad breathing troubles and my skin to get itchy blobs on it." Harper rubbed her elbow at the thought.

Estelle, if you're going anywhere other than the bathroom, assume that Harper is accompanying you.

Harper finally mops up her damp face with the back of her sleeve and follows Thomas's orders to stick with Estelle- not that she was going anywhere in the first place. After watching Estelle for an unknowable amount of time, tinkering with wires and tapping what appears to be some sort of monitor on Mr. Handy, Harper takes a careful foot and extends her shaky leg to the point where she is nearly kneeling. The kneel, after a single deep breath, turns into a stand. The girl slowly makes her way towards Estelle as she seals the robot's inner workings again and hits a switch to give it power. Mr. Handy's cheerfully accented voice pops back into existence.

Harper, however, taps Estelle's shoulder to get her attention before speaking. "I have a stimpak, if it makes any difference."

Harper shivered, and let out a whisper more toward her dog's motionless than anyone else in particular.

"God, we're gonna turn into them, aren't we?" She motioned toward the ghouls. "No other humans around here, are there? Must all have turned to walking corpses." Harper eyed the body of the greyhound with teary eyed suspicion, though continued stroking its thin coat anyway. She let out a heavy sigh as the dog's fur became more and more damp with tears.

Suddenly, with a shutter, her hunched shoulders straightened and her eyes grew wide. "None of you got bit, did you? That's how the diseases always spread in the old monster shows!"

Greyhound's Vigor: 1d6 ⇒ 1

A blast of eerie green light radiated out of the ghoul, as if the creature itself were a fallen angel purging the last shreds of divinity from its battered frame. The radioactive light bathed every inhabitant of the room in its toxic embrace. This was the ghoul's dying breath. This was the last impact that the twisted shell of a human would have upon the waking world. Why would any dying creature not want to go out with a bang?

The radiation coursed through the bodies of those still living, seeping into their veins and their bones and their organs. Sooner or later, one of them was to fall. The only question left was to who. The answer, though eternal in the eyes of the universe, shot through the mind of a thin, malnourished canine in a second; the last second that the greyhound would ever know. The dog's final sensation was that of its numb, tingling legs giving out under its frail frame. There was no comprehension of the imminent death. Darkness swam through the vision of the dog before it even hit the ground. At least, for once, fate was a merciful predator.

-------------------------------------------------------

"NOOOOOO!!"

Harper's first ever witnessed death of one that she cared for hit her like a sack of bricks. Her first and only companion from the wastes had sputtered and died within mere hours of their acquaintance. Fighting didn't matter anymore. Ghouls didn't matter anymore. Harper leapt across the room like a mother to a child and held the corpse of the dead dog in her arms, coddling it and stroking its lifeless form.

This was now Harper's reality.

Death was her reality.

The growing child buried her face into the fur of her greyhound and wept.