"I hate it when they beg."
A few heads turned from food and banter, the glow of a fire keeping them warm as it cast expressions and features into stark contrast. The night was a cold one, and everyone in the camp was around a heat source; in the centre of the street-turned-compound, two men and two women turned their gaze to a fifth.
He was sat back against the wood of a shack, head tilted and eyes on the sky. Haunted and hurt, he looked like a different man than the one that'd been hopped up on psycho hours earlier.
"I just… don't they realise it ain't personal?" He asked those around him, getting nothing in turn but a few awkward shifts. A growled sigh came forth, drowned away by whiskey as he threw back his head and the bottle. Two gulps later he coughed, dirt wet and dripping down his face, mixed with spit and alcohol. He shook his head, wiping his mouth on the back of a hand, "Just want the next one to die fuckin' clean."
From the left, standing and cooking -burning- Mole Rat mean over a flaming barrel, a woman shaking and jittering scowled a laugh. She stumbled into it, talking not easy or smooth like the others, "Wh-what kinda chicken-shit crap is that?!" Stuttering into and through difficult laughter, her arms twitched, hands unfurling as she lost her grip and dropped the meat right into the fire. She gasped, scrambling at the barrel, hands diving into scalding heat as she whined only to be dragged back by the straps of her rather unprotective leather scraps. The thin and moth-eaten clothing below it failed to even slightly keep her warm, never mind protect from bullets.
"The fuck are you doing, you crazy bitch?!" Came the scoffing disbelief of the man above her, as she scrambled to crawl off. He shook his head, turning to the barrel and holding out his hands for warmth, "Fuckin' lunatic. Some day soon that crazy fuck is gonna get her brains blown ou-"
With a sudden CLICK-BOOM in the distance, a sound more fitting of artillery fire than a mere gun split the night and his body was thrown over the barrel as red, eyeball strewn paste exploded over the others nearby. With expletives and profanity, the camp was thrown into motion, the barrel and corpse flying to the ground.
Though even as they stood, another CLICK-BOOM shattered probably a few eardrums, and then in a red spray and a muted cry, another body went flying with a hole in the torso. A large one, too; it didn't just kill him, it also blew off an arm.
Then the improvised trash and wood gate was blown open. Debris went flying as in walked a fucking tank; covered head to toe in Power Armour, the newcomer seemed unarmed. CLICK-BOOM, and a stumbling woman reaching for a Hunting Rifle was thrown head over heels, the side of her whole torso exploding red.
Unfazed, that walking tank simply moved on through the hail of gunfire as another CLICK-BOOM sent the man it was approaching flying to the ground in a spray of red. Completely calm, not in the least feeling threatened despite all the sparks and bullets bouncing from the armour, it turned halfway to glare out at the darkness; lowering the fist it had lifted. Then, simply, turned to walk further in. The helmet turned to see a man standing with a scream, blood that wasn't his own splattered over his face; in his arms a rocket launcher primed to fire.
He convulsed, full-body jerking forward, back bending in on itself as he came off his feet; still, though, he pulled the trigger. And fired his rocket almost straight down, obliterating two others below him as well as what remained of himself. There had been no deafening boom accompanying that one, and instead a smaller door, acting as a second exit, was shot open. The lock undone, the useless wood and metal was just calmly pushed aside with a stock, and in walked a redhead with a carbine, loading back in the two high-calibre rounds she'd used.
Below the leather duster trailing almost to her boots was visible riot armour, looking like nothing ever made in the Commonwealth. As she took aim with her rifle sparks flew from her stomach as a .38 round hit, only to crumple and fall; so resolutely stopped she barely even flinched. The man staring at her with his little revolver levelled merely dropped his jaw, eyes wide. He was still pulling the trigger, but all that got was a quiet click-click-click.
"W-What the fu-"
The woman pulled the trigger and the man all but bent back, a hole between his eyes; the back of his skull blown wide open.
He hit the ground, and the only sound was a pneumatic hiss-whirr-BANG, and then the final raider of the camp dropped dead.
"Getting punched to death by a walking tank's gotta be one scary way to go." Cass muttered, again loading her rifle back to full before lifting the barrel onto her shoulder. As she pulled open her duster and brought out a canteen with the other hand, filled not with water but something decidedly more soothing, Veronica wiped her armour's fist of blood with a rag.
"Getting folded in half by a magnum round in the stomach is worse. That might not kill them immediately like a Power Armoured punch to the temple." She muttered, shrugging. Her armour shifted her voice into a slightly more metallic register, though the lilt of it remained anyway.
Cass just raised an eyebrow and started drinking, head lulled back as she gulped and gulped. Veronica rolled her eyes and took to searching the makeshift shelters around the camp.
As Cass sucked in a lungful of air, wiping her lips and quickly pocketing her canteen, another woman joined them. She was dressed in effective if thin metal plated leather armour, made to allow for agility while remaining quite protective, complete with a black, sleeveless leather coat over it. She wandered through the gate Veronica had kicked open, arms resting over either end of the Anti-Material Rifle on her shoulders. All but swaggering, she looked around curiously, whistling as she slowly turned in a 360; the large, yellow painted "6" on her back catching the shine of fires. Her head lulled back for her neck to crack, a grimacing smile on her face as dark brown hair cascaded over her bare and well-toned arms.
"V's occupied, Six, you're wasting your little show. Doesn't interest me, I'm not drunk." Cass scoffed, aimlessly kicking a barely filled whiskey bottle across the camp. She instead started searching pockets and boxes for ammo, rifle over her back via the strap to free both arms.
"I don't know what you mean." Six shrugged, one arm falling and the other dragging her rifle off her shoulders by the barrel. She got the strap over her head quickly enough, and while that monstrous rifle was away she remained armed; drawing an M9FS Beretta with her right hand. It was customised quite heavily, a small custom built red-dot sight atop the black-painted metal. Like her jacket, it had "6" engraved into either side of the grip in yellow.
"Sure you don't." Cass agreed with a too-calm voice, smirk on her face as she opened a small box and counted out the calibres that they could use. All of 'em, thankfully enough. Saved her picking a dozen bullets out. Snapping the box shut, she stood from her crouch, "You also have no idea why you've gotten so good at quick-draws, keep your pistol holstered over your ass, wear tight pants and make it a point to walk in front of the one-woman-tank." Sniggering through her smirk, Cass shrugged, head turning down as she pulled her hat over her eyes, "Though that's none of my business, not like your flirting got you shot first just a few days ago or anythi-"
She flinched her eyes back open when her hat was flicked up, and even as a hand snapped up to keep it on her head, Cass looked forward. Her eyes calmed when she found herself looking at an almost full bottle of whiskey. One that looked rather clean, in fact. She took it as her eyes went forward, and her smirk just got bigger.
"Yer blushin', Six."
"Shut up." She snapped through a failing poker-face. Turning away, she walked towards the actual building the Raider camp had been built before. With a wave of her free hand, she just hopped up the stairs and stood by the double doors, one hand taking hold of a handle as the other tightened its hold on her pistol, "It's this ungodly Commonwealth weather, that's all."
While scoffing and shaking her head, Cass stopped before the few stairs, hands on her hips. Her head cocked aside as her brow furrowed, "We came to Boston from the Mojave and you're complaining about the weather? It's fuckin' frigid."
Six blinked, glanced up in thought for a second, then looked back to the door, "I get rosy cheeks when I'm cold."
"Right."
"I do."
"Gotcha."
"Cass!" Six turned her gaze once more, glaring at that little smirk, "Just shut up, Whiskey Ro-ooh, oh no that's totally not what I was gonna say, nah, I…" She stepped away from the door, head down and voice decidedly a mumble, "Cass don't punch me in front of Veronica."
Letting the silence draw out as she produced her canteen and topped it off with her new bottle, Cass simply stared at Six, brow drawn in as if angry. Though despite that she was smirking even now, and quickly gulped down the last quarter of the bottle she'd just poured out. She threw it over her shoulder and chuckled, "No promises."
She heard it smash, and then blinked as she heard an irritated robot.
"Sorry, V." She said, turning to stare into a metal chest-plate. She stepped back and craned her head up, motioning to the door, "Mind going first so Six doesn't take another bullet?"
While rather emotionless in appearance hidden beneath eight feet of steel, Veronica shrugged, "Sure." She looked aside from Cass, "Hey Jeanne, you thinking we turn this place into a homebase or do you wanna keep looking?"
Even as Jeanne, Courier Six, took to blinking and rapidly straightening her posture back up, she shrugged, "We'll see what it's like on the inside, but we took the place by surprise easily enough. Probably something smaller and less boxed in, but let's not smash up too much of the insides just in case there's loot."
"Ok. So. That means no kicking in the door?"
Six rolled her eyes, "Kick your heart out." She glanced back to Cass and grinned, "We've got this, mind heading back to the Caravan?"
"Sure, I'll get them in the camp."
"And… and then join us, right?" Six motioned with her gun hand, as if figuring that Cass had simply forgot to continue. She shrugged, "Boone and Raul can hold down the fort no problem." In response, however, Cass screwed her face up, already on the way to walking out.
"I'm not gonna interrupt whatever you two do when you're alone."
Veronica didn't do anything more than clear her throat and glance away. Six's embarrassment wasn't hidden behind a helmet, and her face going red may as well have been five-star comedy. As she set her grip on her rifle once more, Cass laughed and ignored Six aiming at her back with a terribly angry glare. She breathed deep, trembled, and let out a slow breath; opening her eyes calmly and glancing to Veronica. She stepped back from the door and rolled her neck as well as she was able to. Six stepped away, turning her back and half-crouching; Veronica kicked the opaque glass door hard enough that it simply exploded, glass raining down as Six smoothly turned, rolled into the entrance, and started shooting from behind the cover of a walking tank.