A/N: Hello, lovelies! So, this is my first fanfiction to date, fallout just gives me those feels. This is merely an introductory chapter. If it gets enough feedback, the second will be readily posted! This story is also a SS/Paladin Danse story. He was available as a character to list!
She was as keen as a cat, eyes sharp and aware of her surroundings even during the dead of night. The toxic smell of radiation still stung her lungs and left a bile taste in her mouth. The sole survivor had only been wandering the wastes for a few months now and while her tactical skills have well increased, the sting of non-fresh air has yet to grow on her. With meager fingers tucked around the barrel of her snub-nosed rifle, the sole survivor crept around a corner, her general curiosity drawing her towards the sounds of choked gurgles and firing ammunition.
What she had stumbled upon was certainly beyond her, a police station of sorts surrounded by bright, tantalizing lights and the pitter-patter of feral ghouls. Her eyes soon locked on a man clad in a full set of body armor. However, it was bigger and bulkier in frame than any type of gear she had seen so far. The group, composed of the walking tin can and two other deafening and ridiculous looking patrons appeared to be overwhelmed. They were tossed ghoul after irradiated ghoul and by the way the female's shoulders slumped, as if incapable of remaining at attention, signified her help may be needed after all. In good luck, maybe the sole survivor could pawn some caps off of the group.
Now, on her feet, the soles of her dirty shoes made loud resonances against broken apart cement and organs of various origins. She was at a full sprint, the butt of her gun tucked into her shoulder as she popped bullets precisely into the skulls of any ferals splintering off from the general group and towards her. The way her icey hues hardened showed she meant business and when the red-headed female, tiny in stature, but big in soul, came rioting from a small alley it did not fail to grab the attention of the strangers.
When she was fighting like this, the sole survivor felt as if everything moved in slow motion, an effect normally achieved by the dangerous street drug Jet. Although, to her luck, her adrenaline made the perfect mock Jet. After the fierce lone wanderer arrived, the lot was cleared in a matter of minutes. Now, with sweat beading her blemish free forehead, the woman raised an arm to sweep away the droplets.
"Thank you, stranger," his voice was gruff and the way it vibrated off the walls of his throat and past his lips made her shudder. The sternness, the no business of it - she knew immediately which one was speaking to her.
Twisting on her heels, the rifle now slung to her side in a lazed position. The survivor was panting heavily at this point, much too heavy to speak so she simply nodded her head. A cordial 'you're welcome' to his previous 'thank you'.
The way his steps thudded against the stairs leading up to the building made her eye twitch, he sounded exactly like one of those aluminum can traps if someone picked it off the ceiling and chucked it at the wall as hard as they could physically manage. Nevertheless, she tried to keep her expression relatively approachable. The man stood in front of her now, his height, let alone his frame, much larger than her own. Even then, he did not dare to look down his nose at her. She was intimidating as it was, if the paladin fueled any type of aggression within her, he might live (or die) to regret it.
"What's your name, soldier?" Soldier was the only term he could coin up, regardless of if she was a soldier or not and it made the survivor perk her head up. The paint, the outfits, the soldier comment. She felt so dumb for not realizing she was speaking to members of the Brotherhood of Steel.
"Violet," her voice was low, yet it steeled itself in her aching throat. Until now, she hadn't realized how parched she really was.
"Paladin Danse, a pleasure to make your acquaintance." And with that, Violet found herself suddenly sucked into the call to arms.