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Post by Kuro on Nov 2, 2012 20:29:04 GMT -5
Goodsprings. In a land full of giant poisonous insects, homicidal bandits, and radioactive death, it was one of the few spots where the people were friendly and the whole place felt like one happy ray of sunshine. The weather was rather nice that day, like it was most days; It was a little hot like always, but today a nice breeze drifted through the quiet town and its empty lands, with its few scattered buildings, the small patches of grass growing from the cracked, dry grounds, the occasional tumbleweed rustling along as peole tended to their cows, their water, their rocking chairs. Boulders dotted the landscape, which had the remains of a concrete road run through it. Any real chatting that was going on was going on in the buildings, probably the saloon; after all, there really wasn't much to be heard outside but crickets, wind, and the occasional moo.
BANG
The door shut closed behind him, the sudden sound resounding throughout the empty town. In front of it was a very scared man, his hands close to his face and his nervous eyes moving back and forth after getting used to the blinding light. He looked and felt very awkward, standing there with no real purpose or any idea of what was going on. The blue Vault jumpsuit made him even more embarrassed; people always stared and looked at you, they didn't know just how comfortable they were, why did they have to look at him? He was a bit hunched over, although it was hard to tell if that was because of bad sitting posture or just him being in a perpetual state of cringing. He continued to stand there, uncertain what to do next, try and go back inside - no, he would ask him what he was doing, he clearly told him to get out there - or actually go and...m...talk...with people. A whimper escaped his lips, he couldn't help it, he rarely ever whimpered anyways, right? Of course he did - didn't. Didn't. Did.
His skin was pale in contrast to his sleek black hair that looked like a toupée, although it was very much real, like his black moustache, two worms that almost met at the center above the lips but didn't and instead hanged from the sides of the area just above his lips on his long, narrow and gaunt face. One could see the outline of his eye sockets because his bags were so large, and his actual eyes were large but shadowed by his furrowing brow.
His face twitched a bit. He cautiously, reluctantly, slowly, took a step forward. It took all of his courage and strength not to draw it back. The foot was planted on the ground for several seconds before he completely started to go through with the motion. One foot in front of the other, just ignore everyone else unless they seem really nice, just don't look at them, they can't see you, it doesn't matter if they can see you, just don't meet their gaze, don't look at them, just ignore them and go through the town as fast as possible to Prospecter Saloon.
He sidestepped the first half of the way there and went into a somewhat regular way of walking once he realized just how stupid he had looked. A skinny man in a jumpsuit sneaking through the large open outdoors. A 9mm pistol and laser pistol hung from his belt, but thankfully the man's arms were held close to his chest now as he prepared for any sudden attack or movement. When he made it to Prospecter Saloon, he tried to ignore the gaze of the old man in the rocking chair and focused on the door in front of him. Come on...All he had to do was knock on the door. But what if they weren't there? What if he just kept knocking and he looked like an idiot because no one was there, what if they didn't want to be disturbed, what if they were going through a difficult time because of a tragedy, what if their relative had died and the whole town knew but he didn't know and he would seem like a huge jerk to everyone because he didn't care and tried to go inside anyway and then everyone would glare at him and he wouldn't stand it and -
The odd pale man stood in front of the closed door, his knuckles so close to the door but refusing to finish the motion.
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Post by Shark a' Pult on Nov 4, 2012 4:09:14 GMT -5
Inside the saloon there sat a fellow on the side that didn't have the bar. At a booth with a table near the back, he wore a simple field-hand outfit and logically a pre-war hat though it sat on the table before him rather than on his head. His medium-length hair looked to be intentionally kept back, and though he was clean-shaven his skin appeared almost leathery. Too much time in the sun, clearly. In his hands he had a bottle of scotch, but it seemed he was in no hurry to finish it. Though his reason for sitting on this side of the saloon in the place he was, was to be able to hear to the jukebox better (the radio at the bar was broken), he didn't seem all that occupied with actually listening to the music. Instead, he appeared rather leery of a large dog nearby.
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Post by CJ on Nov 4, 2012 13:29:28 GMT -5
The door suddenly pulled open and a woman in a radiation suit stood in front of the mustached man. On the helmet was a smiley face painted in a bright, white color. A silhouetted head could be barely seen behind the near mirror of the helmet. "Oh, thank goodness," she said with open arms. "You're here to fix the Jukebox. Right, Mr. Cellophane?"Her voice was clouded by static and seemed almost otherworldly. It was almost as if she was speaking from a broken radio. There was a sing-song quality to her tone, as though she could suddenly start into a musical number at any point. Previously, the suited woman had been seen standing for days in front of the clearly working Jukebox. She did not press any buttons or browse through any songs. She seemed to simply stop working, much like she claimed the Jukebox did itself. With no name or no known origin, the woman was an anomaly but not never as much as the impossibility now standing before her.
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Post by Kuro on Nov 4, 2012 23:37:20 GMT -5
The man had jumped back a step or two when the door opened in front of him and revealed an odd inhabitant. The radiation suit was nothing, it didn't seem weird to him at all. It was the smiley face on the helmet that caught his attention, along with the sing-song voice. He still cautiously kept his hands close to his face, his nervous eyes quickly going up and down as they scrutinized the suited figure. It took him a while to notice that she had her arms open to him, which didn't manage to make the mustached man any less uneasier. He continued to stand in a surprised pose, his eyes still darting about the...girl? He thought she was a girl, although it was hard to tell...
He said nothing for several moments, and then tried to look past her. He couldn't see much...at least one person was at a table with a hat on it. He looked back at the radioactive suit, trying not to stare into its painted-on eyes. He continued to stand awkwardly for a bit before deciding to finally come inside.
He did so by crouching and going past and under the lady's open arms. It was weird, but at least he didn't have to....touch her. He stood up straight when he got in the bar, tried not to feel shame or embarrassment from the field-hand's stare despite the fact that he had absolutely no idea whether or not the man had even noticed him. The moustached man gulped, sweat forming on his brow, and he walked into the bar portion of the saloon. There, someone was sitting on a stool and a non-suited lady was attending to the drinks. She didn't say anything at first because the new man didn't say anything, and kept an eyebrow raised and an eye on the odd quiet man as he began to walk to the open end of the bar. He hesitated outside of actually going behind the bar table, and his hands clenched and twitched near his face as he appeared to be thinking of something. With as much friendliness as she could muster in the face of such unsettling behavior, the bartender spoke.
"Can I help you?"
The man looked up and nodded furiously. That may have been a smile on his face, a very small one...He pointed at the broken radio and the woman looked at it with some surprise. "What? This?" She thought of what she had been able to hear a few moments ago and looked back at the man. "If you want to fix it, be my guest. I'll give you a few caps for it." The man definitely smiled at this, although it was a nervous smile, and he walked near the radio, taking careful care not to touch the person near her.
A few moments later and it was done. Music poured out into the saloon again, for all to hear. The woman was actually astounded. He had repaired it like it was nothing, and with barely a mutter at all. He looked away when he stood up and finished, making his way out from behind the barstool and near the actual stools where at least one drunkard was sitting. The bartender spoke with real happiness in her voice, albeit a mild version of it.
"You got it working. Thanks", she said with a smile. "It's always nice to hear that lovely Mr. New Vegas. Well, here are the caps." She pulled out some twenty bottle caps and offered them to the man, her hand outextended. The man looked at the caps and at the woman and back and forth before waving his hand and silently dismissing the reward. The woman was mildly surprised at this and didn't say much else. "Really? Well, suit yourself. Thank you very much. You are a true gentleman." Again, said with a smile. "Tell me if you want any drinks, not on the house of course."
The moustached made another nervous, forced smile just to put the woman at ease and looked around again before walking to the other side of the saloon, or at least, trying to, without being awkward at all, in which he was failing.
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Post by CJ on Nov 6, 2012 1:00:54 GMT -5
In the time the stranger had fixed the radio, the radiation suited woman made her way back to the jukebox and stood in front of it again. She swayed back and forth as the strange went to work on the device. Her helmet head turned ever so slightly to see the stranger's fine work.
As the strange walked to the other end of the bar, the woman too walked. Her boots pounded against the wood floor as she advanced. She actually brushed against the man sitting at the bar forcefully in her effort.
"Now that you've fixed the radio, you can fix the jukebox."
The suited woman approached the stranger as close as she close, nearly pressing her helmet into his face.
"If you do," she whispered loudly, "I will give you my autograph."
Again, the jukebox was clearly fixed and playing music.
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Post by Shark a' Pult on Nov 7, 2012 10:05:43 GMT -5
The rad suit wearer, while an oddity, was not a cause for concern. They seemed to be in love with the jukebox and interested in little else, while that dog on the other hand, had very big teeth. When the new arrival entered the saloon however, that was something different. While the farmhand fellow didn't seem to be looking for anyone in particular, he was very interested in finding out from what vault the newcomer hailed or at least sported the attire of.
21. Well that was a letdown. Maybe that wasn't the right way of describing it, as he wasn't really anticipating a random vault dweller to walk through the door. He had seen people from 21 before though, so it was just more of the same.
The rad suit wearer, upon the strangers entry, up and left this side of the saloon for the side with the bar and that was completely alright with him. Again, he didn't mind the person, but he found their lingering presence behind him to be a little creepy at times. Either way, he soon heard the broken radio in the other room turn on, which created an annoying feedback loop between it and the jukebox.
So the new guy was handy with electronics.
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Post by Kuro on Nov 7, 2012 19:54:48 GMT -5
The newcomer had hoped that fixing the radio would have led to the bartender telling him what to do, where to go, where to get supplies, where he could find the man with the checkered-suit, how he could get supplies, things like that. Why couldn't people just...do what they were supposed to?
The newcomer tried to back up in response to the radiation suit being as close as possible. His head was suddenly dripping in sweat and his lip quivered as his eyes were more open, even more panicky than before. His eyes were completely focused on the smilley face that was much too close to his own and it seemed as if the man would faint any second. His mouth opened and closed very rapidly and finally, it seemed as if he would finally utter one important word.
"Hey lady! What do you think you're doing?"
A door was shut closed hard with a bang and deliberate stomping resounded throughout the saloon as a very angry man stormed onto the scene. He was black and dressed in some sort of blue shirt with body armor over it. He slammed his hands onto the bar and looked straight at the bartender with a sneer. "Just who do you think you are? When Powder Gangers tell you to hand someone over, you hand someone over, got that? Give us Ringo, or else." Judging from her face, it seemed as if the woman was unimpressed and spoke with a straight face. "Giving him to you varmints would be a death sentence. We don't have any interest in that."
The man growled and yelled. "Are you that stupid?! Me and my boys are the Powder Gangers and if you don't give us Ringo soon, we're burning this town to the ground. Got it?!" Again, the woman seemed unimpressed. "I'll keep that in mind", she said with a dull tone. "Now if you're not going to buy something, I suggest you get out." The Powder Ganger's sneer grew in size and he got out of the bar the same the same way he got in, through the back where he didn't have to cross paths with anyone, including a farmhand, radiation suit, and possible repairman who had been so glad that a distraction had occurred.
Following the angry man's departure, the repairman had been able to recollect himself - admittedly, he had never been very collected at all in the first place - and inched away from the woman in the radiation suit, towards the jukebox. The bartender seemed mildly interested in what was happening, but did and said nothing as she cleaned the glasses. Hesitantly, the repairman made it to the jukebox, looked back and forth between it and the smiley face, and turned his back to her to start on the repairs.
He knocked on it a few times while she wasn't looking and twisted his arms around. He turned it off and on, leaving it on.
He looked back at the woman and hesitantly and shyly gestured towards the jukebox, which was completely unchanged in quality. With that awful work hopefully done, he walked over to the bartender and commenced his attempts at human speech. He raised his hand to get her attention, gestured at the door through which the Powder Ganger had entered, and made several odd movements of his very twitchy, pale, sweaty hands as if he was trying to tell her something. The bartender blinked.
"Uh...Are you trying to ask me about something, dear?"
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Post by Shark a' Pult on Nov 8, 2012 22:05:55 GMT -5
Eeesh, Powder Gangers. Nasty bunch, if there was a good one among them, he had never met the man. He wasn't about to get into a fight over something that wasn't his business though. Oh wait, it was his business. He wasn't sure what all the hullabaloo with the jukebox was, it seemed to work fine, but when Johnny Guitar came on he immediately got up and turned it off as fast as he could. With that done, he made his way over to the other side of the saloon where the bar was, picking up his hat off the table when he walked by it. When he actually lifted it off the table, anyone who was close and had a sharp eye would be able to catch a glimpse of a revolver that had been sitting under the hat the whole time.
"'Scuse me Miss Trudy. I don't know about the vault feller here, but I do have something to ask about." He didn't so much shove past the fellow in the vault suit, so much as he just slid into a barstool next to him. Being that he was seated though he ended up being closer to the tender. "Convict that just waltzed out in a huff, he mentioned a fella the name of Ringo? He'd be the same I'm looking for, same as I told you earlier. You wouldn't happen to know where he really is, would you? Make my job a whole heck of a lot easier if I found him by your directions rather than following the convicts to him."
Unlike the vault fellow, the farmhand had no trouble speaking with the tender. How else had he gotten a drink earlier? It was his intent to lay as low as was needed, but the Powder Ganger made things very easy for him. That is, assuming everyone cooperated.
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Post by CJ on Nov 9, 2012 17:24:34 GMT -5
The radiation suit wearer turned her head to see the Powder Gangers enter and make a scene. The smiley face on her helmet did nothing to reveal any sort of emotion she might have had for them. She remained quiet throughout the confrontation and failed to portray any connection to the situation.
She only began to move once the repairman began to "fix" the jukebox. She moved her helmet in again, observing uncomfortably close to see what the repairman was doing. Again, the smooth silhouette could be seen beyond the visor, but barely.
"I see," she mumbled. "I see. Thank you, good sir."
Apparently what the repairman did was enough to satisfy the suit wearer. She reached into her pocket and pulled a crumpled napkin and a pen worn with bite marks.
"I don't understand why anyone would want Ringo," she said off offhandedly. "He needed a little help from his friends in order to do anything in life."
She leaned against the counter by Trudy and wrote a beautiful, cursive S. Then, she faltered. The cogs seemed to turn in her head, but weren't connection. The pen bled out next to the S, creating an unintentional dot. After giving up, she continued and wrote an equally impressive "Miles" and approached the repairman again, handing him the signature as promised.
S. Miles.
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Post by Kuro on Nov 12, 2012 21:44:58 GMT -5
The bartender looked at the man dressed as a farmhand and sighed.
"Well, I guess you don't look like you're no harm. Truth be told, Ringo needs all of the friendly faces he can get. He's in real bad with the Powder Gangers, although I suppose that you guys - and gal - already know that by now. He's hiding in the gas station up on the hill by Doc Miller's place. Can't miss it, its the only gas station in town." She sounded somewhat bored, maybe tired, and continued to clean glasses. "See if you can help him or get him out of here, safe-like. I would hate for something bad to happen to him."
As the tender and farmhand had talked, the repairman had silently and frantically been thanking God for not having some the rad-suit wearer be some sort of psychopathic serene killer like all of the other ones all over the wasteland. He accepted the signature by gently pulling it out of her hands with a forced but tiny smile or twitch of the lips and looked at the words. S.Miles. Another twitch of the edge of his lip. Funny.
After that, the tender heard S.Mile's comment about Ringo and spoke up. "Well, don't we all need help from friends in our life? It would be down-right horrible if we didn't have anyone to help us out. And besides, Ringo didn't always need help. I'm sure he's got some sort of talent. Kinda. Hm?"
The door creaked as it started to close, having just been opened by some weird introvert as he fast-jogged to the gas-station on the hill. His eyes darted everywhere as if he was afraid of an attack and he winced and cringed at the slightest noise as he made his way to Ringo.
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Post by Shark a' Pult on Nov 14, 2012 15:46:12 GMT -5
"Well thank you for that tidbit, Miss Trudy. I'll make it my job to get Ringo out of here one way or another."
Although he had assumedly already payed for his drink, the farmhand left some extra caps on the counter while Trudy was busy cleaning the glasses. Making his way around the bar and back to the front door, he did his best to keep his distance from the rad suit wearer. On the way out he tipped his hat to the woman in the other room with the big dog, whom had been so eager to offer her help earlier.
"Miss Smiles."
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"Howdy Pete."
Stepping outside the farmhand was assaulted by the morning sun and squinted from the suddenness of it. Sitting inside the saloon for that long it was expected, but he tried to focus on things in the distance to adjust his eyes, making a mention of the old prospector seated by the door who merely grumbled in return.
By the time he stepped down off the front porch, and aimed to head up the ways Trudy had mentioned, the vault fellow would likely well have made it to and inside the gas station. The farmhand of course hadn't noticed this, and merely headed the same way at his own pace.
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Post by CJ on Nov 21, 2012 1:20:44 GMT -5
Miles stared directly at the repairman as he took her signature. It couldn't be seen if she was happy, sad or possessed any sort of emotion. The smile on the helmet betrayed any sort of feeling that might have came from their interaction.
"You knew Ringo as well?" she asked the bartender, immediately distracted. She pressed her gloved hands on the counter but paused when she heard the farmhand utter something very strange.
"Smiles?"
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The farmhand might have noticed Miles trudging along after him when he left the tavern. She walked with a slight limp but didn't seem to have too much trouble keeping up with him.
"You got my name wrong," she called out.
She held her gloved hands out, waving them up and down in an attempt to get the man's attention.
"It's Miles. S..."
She paused and stopped. Then she continued forward again.
"Ssssaaaa..."
Her head tilted somewhat to the side, as though the left side of brain became extremely weighted.
"aaaaaaa... S. Miles. Not Smiles. Would you like me to write that down for you too?"
Again, she'd given up. Miles seemed to have an ego about her that expected everyone to pay some form of attention to her. The harsh reality of being an individual among plenty more individuals never settled in it seemed (or disappeared altogether).
"So why is Ringo in town? You'd think all the ladies would be here too if he were here. They always seem to show up for him and his friends but never for me."
If Miles had visible hair, it would blow wistfully in the nonexistant wind.
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Post by Kuro on Nov 24, 2012 1:02:26 GMT -5
The vault-fellow had made it to the gas station with no one following him - great great great - and opened the door. He politely closed it behind him after coming in and soon saw a gun pointed at him.
"Don't come any clos-"
"AAAAAHHHHHH!"
"AAAHHH!"
The vault-fellow screamed and jumped to one side on impulse, flinging himself onto and over the counter. Ringo yelled in response and pulled the trigger on reflex when he heard the very sudden and very loud scream and saw its source quickly moving. The bullet hit nothing but wall and the newcomer was now hiding behind the counter. From where he was standing, he couldn't see the newcomer so he just shot twice into the space behind the counter. They each resulted in a CLANG from hitting metal and the merchant scoffed in annoyance. Now running on fear and adrenaline, the merchant crouched and inched to the open end of the counter to see the enemy.
"What the fu-"
A flying metal box to the forehead stopped him from speaking any further and he fell onto the ground, accidentally pulling the trigger when he did so. The bullet almost hit the newcomer, but since Ringo hadn't even been aiming with that shot, it missed and made another CLANG that echoed throughout the building. With a groan, Ringo tried to sit up and kill the madman but had another box thrown at him when he was almost upright. He fell back onto the floor and groaned, very hurt and very confused. His grip on his gun loosened and he could feel someone wrestling the gun away from him with little struggle from the merchant's part.
The repairman stood up, breathing heavily and his whole body trembling. The gun shook in his hands and was pointed at Ringo.
"D-d-don't come any closer! D-d-don't..Don't come any closer, i'm warning you!"
His voice had the accent of a stereotypical Italian, like the mafia men from the old stories. His voice was also kinda high-pitched, although not freakishly so, and it had turned into shrieking on the last sentence. His hysterical tone helped to show how scared he was. Of course, Ringo didn't notice any of that. The merchant was down on the ground, maybe unconscious, and had blood dripping from the head wound the repairman had inflicted. It was by no means lethal, but it did look bad, although Ringo was too dazed to think about that; if anything, the gun pointed at him was the most important thing in the world to Ringo at that moment.
It would be at this moment that the farmhand and possible acquaintance came into the gas station, and they definitely would have heard the gunshots from outside.
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Post by Shark a' Pult on Nov 26, 2012 16:38:22 GMT -5
The farmhand jumped a little when Miles trod up, having to hold his hat on lest it shoot off into the sky, startled as he was. He didn't know why they appeared to be following him, and he didn't like it. So he said so.
"Damn it all don't sneak up on me like that, and stop following me."
By the time he reached the top of the hill however and Miles started to talk about a band which was a little before the farmhand's time, the gunshots sounded. Immediately the farmhand ducked low to the ground, seemingly out of instinct, and by the time the gunshots had faded he had already dived behind one of the old weathered gas pumps. Pulling out the revolver from before, he held it by his head as he called out to the building.
"That you in there Ringo?! What's all that shooting going on?"
Perhaps this was not his first gas station shootout.
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Post by CJ on Nov 29, 2012 20:14:37 GMT -5
OOC: Forgive me for not posting.
Miles seemed not to comprehend what "going away" meant. Instead, she followed the farmhand, her painted fake-smile shimmering in the sun.
When the action started, she stood rather blatantly next to the farmhand. She seemed not to be entirely afraid of bullets or death or anything for that matter.
"Why would Ringo be in a gas station? That doesn't make any sense."
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