A/N: Alright, so- just a quick explanation for you all xD I had to do a project for Biology not too long ago about viruses and diseases and whatnot, and I chose (stupidly) to do the Bubonic Plague. It was stupid because it wasn't necessarily a virus, as it was bacterial, and I did not even REALIZE until AFTER it was time to turn it in and was told so by my teacher =_=" PHOOEY, I SAY!
Any who, as I did my research for the project, I came across an article on "Plague Doctors" (look them up if you don't know what they are) and I couldn't help but feel drawn to them and their occupation. The moment I saw the "uniform" of a Plague Doctor, I immediately thought of a woman trekking across the Wasteland with Charon at her side as she battled the newest surge of death in DC- The Bubonic Plague.
Anyways, it's something stupid I cooked up. Nothing big, really- just an idea that came to mind that I wrote up and wanted to share with you all! :D Aren't I amazing? (I know I am...)
SUMMARY: She is known to all as Yersinia Pestis- the Lady of the Plague. As she treks across the wasteland in the middle of an epidemic spreading across the Wastes- where in old textbooks, it is known as the Black Plague- she attempts to heal the infected and raise hope within the forlorn nation of the Capital Wasteland. She and her bodyguard, Charon, must find where the Great Pestilence is coming from and if there is a cure.
***NOTE: The main character is NOT the LW. This is set, for imagination's sake, maybe twenty years (give or take a year or so) AFTER the events of Fallout 3, so the only recognizable characters you'll probably see in this (if I decide to continue it) is Charon, with a slight mention of Moriarty towards the closing. Also, I will not set this story as complete until I figure out whether or not I would like to continue this***
"I'm sorry- but there is nothing I can do for him."
"What? But- all the caps I have to pay! There's fucking nothing you can do?"
"Do not raise your voice at me. I gave you my services, and my services come for a price- if my service is to tell you that your brother will live, than you will pay for me to tell you that your brother will live and for the medicine to keep him alive. But as the situation calls for it, the Great Pestilence will consume him, so you will pay for me to tell you so."
"You- You're a fraud! A fraud with a mask and a leather coat!"
Charon stepped out of the dark room's corner and grabbed the angered man by the scruff of his neck, hauling him away from his employer and throwing him to the ground. He looked back at her, and she gave a nod to assure him that there was no harm done- all the man did was grab her by the coat collar.
"I give you my condolences. I wish I was not the one to tell you that your brother will die- I do not take great pride in my work, but I do what I must." She glanced to the man on the bed- stark naked and breathing heavily, his eyelids fluttering closed but struggling to stay open. Swelling lumps invaded the space between his thighs and clustered on the nape of his neck and shoulder, his skin had a slight pink hue to it and blood trickled down from his ear to dribble against his jaw line.
There was no mistaking it. He was infected. He could die any minute now.
"The- There's gotta be somethin' you can do!" The man exclaimed, looking up at the two from where he sat on the floor, outstretching a hand to her helplessly. "Pl- Please… Do something… Anything!"
"If there was something I could do, I would have acted accordingly by now. If there was anything I could do, I'd do it in a heartbeat, Mr. Wallace. But your brother has come too far along in the disease to be saved now, no amount of medicine will help him… He is in the terminal stage."
Charon returned to the dark corner he came from and panned his eyes towards the plagued man that lay strung out on the bed. His mistress was correct, the look in his eyes suggested that he was probably traipsing through the silver lining that separated the living from the dead. He could see it hanging in the man's unfocused and hooded eyes, he looked as if he were watching ghostly corpses glide about the room.
The man began to sob in his hands on the floor, eyes swollen and nose dripping as his shoulders shook with his muffled wails.
"I will give you a moment to think over your options. Remember- you can still be saved, Mr. Wallace, as you are not infected. I will show you how to prevent the great pestilence, and for no price." She turned on her heel and began walking towards the door. "I will be outside, waiting for you to come to a decision. Charon."
Charon followed her out and stood on the doorstep of Daniel Wallace's house- it was an Old World family house, with a mundane porch and peeling whitewash and shutter hinges that creaked with the gentle wind on boarded up windows. A lone wind chime of shards of old glass Nuka-Cola bottles hung right above the stairs, next to a sorry hanging pot of a dead plant. She closed the door, looking back at him.
"He will not pay me." She spoke with statement in her voice, walking to the top of the shallow staircase- only two or three steps tall and looked out onto the barren land for miles. They were somewhere deeper into Virginia- a days travel west from Girdershade, at least.
"Shall I give him some incentive?" He asked, arms folding over his chest as he stood by her side, towering over her by a few inches.
"I ask that you do," She nodded, looking up at him. A mask covered her face- dingy brown with intricate gold design trimmed around the glass eyeholes in it. A beak jut out where her nose and mouth should be, hooked slightly at the end, and the edges of its lips looked as if they were sewn together by gold thread. A dark hat with a wide, floppy brim rested on her head with her long, straight black hair tucked up into it while a black leather long coat was wrapped around her body. You could not see her face, you could not see her figure, and if she didn't speak, you could never have guessed that she was a woman. The uniform gave her a unisex disguise.
"If that is what you wish." He answered, looking up at the tacky broken glass wind chime. The sharp pieces clinked together as another gentle breeze blew towards them, making the red strands of dead hair on his crown dance with it.
"How long till we return, do you think?"
Charon assumed she meant till they come back to their little hole in the wall- a room deep into the sewers at a way station. A ghoul lived there once, but they killed him- as he had turned hostile- and found that it was quite useful as a little hideout. No one would come bothering them if they made sure to lock the door into the way station lobby when they entered, and if anyone came to rob the place, traps were set about in their absence. That was if they were lucky not to come into contact with his combat shotgun if they happened to be home.
"Possibly a week." He answered.
"Is that with or without a resupply, or running into enemies?"
"Without. With a resupply, definitely a week. Hostiles could make it a week and a half."
"I see…" She lowered her head in thought, staring down the beak of her mask through her glass plate eyes. "Do you believe Mr. Wallace has been given enough time to think?"
"Do you think he has?" Charon shot back, glancing back at the closed front door behind him.
"His brother is dying, so I suppose not." She replied, but then a gunshot went off in the air. Neither spun around nor even flinched- they both knew it came from inside the residence.
Charon continued staring at the door, eyes narrowing.
"That was a gunshot."
"I can hear that," She tilted her head to the side slightly to look at him. He caught a glint of her wide, blue eyes in the masks eye holes. "But remember- one gunshot, two bodies."
Another gunshot went off.
"Satisfied?" He asked, and all he got for an answer was her ambling towards the front door in a casual pace with a casual stride, her boots making the floorboards groan underneath her. She opened it, looking onto the body of Daniel Wallace sitting on the floor with his body slumped onto the edge of the bed, gun in hand with a gaping bloody hole on the side of his left temple. His infected brother lay next to him, eyes no longer struggling to stay open, with a seemingly identical hole on the right side of his head. Blood splashed over the sheets, over their clothes- everywhere in the little corner they called a bedroom.
Not the bloodiest thing the two ever walked upon.
"I suppose you were right." Charon spoke as he followed her into the house. "He wasn't going to pay you."
"And I was wrong- I didn't need you to give him incentive." She stated, kneeling down next to Wallace to pick a up something that rested in his brother's lap. "Mr. Wallace was a man of many spoken words, but in writing he fell short." She got back up, handing him what she had extracted- a letter. He read it over briefly.
Yersinia Pestis-
There were three bullets left in my gun. One for my brother, one for me, and one for you. My only regret is that I couldn't deliver one to that God-righteous skull of yours myself. Family comes first. Familyalwayscomes first, it's how my momma raised us. I wasn't gonna let my little brother die alone.
Daniel Wallace
Most of the spelling and grammar was hideously incorrect, and the handwriting seemed to imitate that of a five year old. It was almost a lost cause to read.
Charon simply 'hmphed", letting the letter flutter out of his fingers and rock back and forth till it touched the ground in a soft landing. He looked up at his employer as she lifted up the back of Daniel Wallace's shirt, and shifted his arm- swelling buboes clustered under his armpit. She shook her head gently, getting to her feet.
"He was infected as well. It's a mystery why he didn't tell us... Or perhaps he only had enough money to cure his brother?" She looked at him. "I will never understand people."
And with that, she strode across the room, making her way to the kitchen where she disappeared.
Yersinia Pestis- the Lady of the Plagueis her name- it defines her and her profession in only a few simple words. She lives by one moral- my services are to tell you what you aremeantto hear, not what youwantto hear. She treks across the Capital Wasteland, keeping with various appointments to meet with her infected patients, where she further deems whether or not they could be saved or if there was nothing she could do- and then leave with another pouch full of caps and her conscience blank of any emotion nagging at her to get out of the business.
Her real name is Adora- and her profession is that of a Plague Doctor.
"I found a safe underneath the sink. It was unlocked, oddly enough." She spoke as she stepped out of the kitchen, under-handing a small pouch, of what looked to be pieces of tanned Brahmin hide sewn together, jingling with caps to him. "Mr. Wallace was playing games with us. I did find it strange that he request my help and then refuse to pay for my services."
"He was not happy with your services," Charon pointed out, stuffing the pouch into the bag on his back. Just feeling the pouch, he knew that Wallace didn't have enough to pay for even half of his employer's services. "No one wants to hear that they are going to die, mistress."
"You cannot ask for refunds as the outcome of my services are non-refundable. The result is already there, and I am simply here to decipher to the unfortunates if the result can be changed or if it is permanent. I made that quite clear when he contacted me." Adora shook her head with slight disappointment, brushing past him. "We will leave now. Leave the door open- let something feed on them. One less wild animal to feed, one less grave to dig."
"As you wish." He replied, following her and carelessly leaving the door open.
"Do we have any others to visit on our return trip home?"
"Megaton. Colin Moriarty is sick, and the town is in an uproar. They fear that it will spread to the children."
"Ah," She answered indifferently. "Another day, another customer. If he is somehow able to behave himself this time around, I will try to be professional, and if not…" She looked at him as they stepped down the porch and began walking towards the broken picket fence- their path, about four feet wide, was marked by two weaving rows of large stones at each of their sides.
"I shall give him incentive." Charon knew the drill.
"I will see that you do."
There was no mistaking it. Two bodies were infected. The disease did not consume them, but fear and a round to each skull did.