[ TOTHELASTMANSTANDING ]

After the intimidate finale of Project Purity, the Lone Wanderer just wants to die in peace. Preferably without running dry. But, with the Brotherhood of Steel intending to finish the fight with the Enclave, things aren't exactly going the way he had hoped. Or how anybody even expected. [AU]

001:
- NO FUN FOR THE DYING MAN

[001]

"Raven Rock, SatCom Array NW-07c... what next? Adams AFB? The Brotherhood is getting bolder."

"Or you, progressively weaker."

"I did not call you here to give me lip, Sergeant."

"Project Purity was just a landmark. Another point in a big ol' game of King of the Hill. Eden should have had you concentrating on wiping the Brotherhood out rather than jockeying for an oversized purification tablet."

"You're telling us that now?"

"The situation was hardly suitable at the time, Colonel... but I digress, you already knew that."

"Right. So what do you suggest, that I dump sticks and just let the damned Boy Scouts pick us off one by one?"

"Wrong. Right now? Keep your head down as much as possible. The Brotherhood is drunk on victory, irresponsibly so - they'll have something up their Power Armoured sleeves, I'm sure."

"That puts us in a very dangerous position, son. The Enclave can't hide forever."

"No, but for the meantime, I happen to know the perfect distraction."

: 1734 HRS [Local Time] | 20, December 2277 | [ TAGG. LOCATION : (1013, 1324) ] 'Megaton', Washington, D.C :

"Thorne, we have a problem."

The voice in which announces this fact is male, familiar and, he realises with a curl of the upper lip, as blunt as the backside of a bloody rifle. He isn't going to lie either; it feels like one. Pretty much on cue, he groans himself awake from his post-bender, pre-supper nap and he very nearly responds by grabbing the hilt of his knife and stabbing the talking interruption in the face. He manages the grabbing part, but some part of him realises who he is, who is speaking and as a direct result, he's stopped himself before he's even picked the blade up.

All the better - stabbing is not a particularly friendly of welcoming someone into your home. Even in the Wasteland, it seems.

Coughing breathlessly against the back of his hand, the one known as Jasper Thorne struggles to sit upright. Even though it's well into the afternoon, it's still pretty light out and intense stab of photo-sensitivity makes his eyes ache, so the most he can do is squint at the other man. Dust motes float in the bars of thick orange sunshine that had managed to penetrate the dinge clinging to the outside of the single window. Inside, the house wasn't any were near as dusty; him being him, and being raised in a bachelor sense of independence, had made him to be a neatish creature. The thick beams of light catch on the metallic finish of weapons, of scrap electronics and bare wires. It's his own little laboratory, secret superhero cave, base of operations. As complicated and organised as the man who calls it home.

Blinking uncomfortably against the light, Jasper coughs again, this time a little harder.

"Sheriff."

Resting his worn Type 93 Chinese assault rifle against the side of the door-frame, Lucas Simms removes his hat slowly, passing his gaze over the young man sat half collapsed against his desk chair and then towards the north facing wall which appeared to be dotted with bullet holes. They let in a weak draft, and it's this that the Sheriff feels as he sits down onto the sofa.

"Where is yer' Dog, boy?" Lucas asks, looking around with a lowered brow. Usually, if someone tried to enter the house, they'd be set upon by the large brute of a hound and even if they didn't - you get enough to the door and there would be barking.

"Out." Jasper replies, shifting into a more comfortable position and wincing when his chair presses against the tender slip of skin around his inner elbow. He's not on a Rad-Away IV at the moment, so it remains unbandaged. The skin is littered with puncture wounds, marks from where the tape had left sticky residue and dirtied.

The girl, Maggie, is probably out walking him then. She really loves the dog, but that's only half of it. After the ungodly daily Rad-Away dose, Jasper couldn't go for a walk on his own accord if he even tried at the moment, much less take the dog.

The Sheriff nods, slowly. It's something he doesn't want to think about. Not really.

As for the one they call the Lone Wanderer however, it's not that simple. He can't ignore what's happening to him. He can't hide behind fake smiles and lies and forced enthusiasm. He knows, and that's it. Jasper ignores the older man's unspoken concern and glances over the back of his shoulder. "You want a drink?" he asks, it's probably the most he's spoken in the past week. "I'm having one, right Wadsworth?"

Wadsworth, the Mister Handy mechanized butler, floats over towards the back of the house, reciting positive agreements all the way.

Then seemingly as an afterthought, Jasper grunts. "My cigarettes too."

They're only on the cabinet at the other side of the room.

Simms shakes his head, giving Jasper a wary look as the boy accepts the carton from Wadsworth. The beer is placed within arm's reach, among a selection of other things. A handgun, a bottle of painkillers and what looks to be a half worn chess set. "You shouldn't be drinking, boy." he grunts and Jasper laughs. It's quiet, drawn out and about the most bitter sounding gesture he's ever made, but it's there none the less.

He shakes his head a few seconds later as he wrestles a cigarette out with the crackle of morose cardboard. "No." he agrees then, holding the end between his lips and fiddling with a lighter. "What's wrong?"

"Water stopped flowing."

He's not surprised to hear this. In fact, he's been expecting that particular statement for a while.

It's not in any way reassuring. Aside from the few shipments of Aqua Pura they get every month or so, the water coming from the local processing plant is the only source for pretty much a mile and a half. There's the stuff in Pre-War water towers, of course, but it's heavily irradiated. It's the only source and it's been steadily breaking down over the course of three months now. If Walter was still around, it wouldn't have been much of a problem.

But Walter isn't around anymore, because Walter is dead. Something in his heart exploded and he passed away during the night. Regrettable of course, but the man was old. Incredibly old for Wasteland standards. Sixty one. He deserved it. To go out quietly.

Jasper on the other hand...

He groans as he rubs at his jaw, a few weeks ago he would have been able to trudge over to whatever needed fixing and get the job done, but it's getting harder and harder to stay independent as of late. He's too weak, or he's too tried, or he's too sore. Sometimes he's all of the above. Especially after a recent dosage.

Although it goes unsaid, he doesn't quite understand why it's necessary. The treatment that is. He's going to die no matter how much Rad-Away they pump into him. If not from the Radiation poisoning, then from an advanced form of cancer a few painful years later, or he'll get sick and die from fever, or a bullet to the brain when he finally decides that enough is enough. He understands why they are helping, of course, they say they owe him. That their debt isn't about to go unpaid.

Well, the ones closest to him, the ones that vaguely understand him, do. The rest of them, people who seem to think he saved them all, they go on and on about how it's their duty, that he deserves it.

He avoids them when he can.

Jasper might have come to terms with his fate, but Simms for one was pretty determined about him getting better. Said that he couldn't have gone to the trouble of all that he did just to die in his bed, sickly and weak. That had made Jasper laugh - really laugh. Simms has a dark sense of humour; you have to, in the Wasteland. He imagines that the Sheriff must feel damn near castrated though, seeing him like this. He wasn't the same brat that had crawled his way out into the Wasteland.

"Did you check the pipes?" he asks, slowly, garbling around the back end of his cigarette and lighting up with a burst of chemical fire.

Simms gives him a faint, sheepish smile. "They look the same to me."

Jasper drags on his cigarette, before exhaling hard and grimacing. Of course. Why did he expect any different? Pausing for a few moments, he ponders on the scenario, fingers drumming weakly against the arm of his chair. He can't know exactly what the issue is, since he hasn't left the house in about two days, but he can have both an educated and intelligent guess. Twigging something up, he brings his arm up to consider his Pip-Boy, pressing a few buttons, flicking through various interfaces until he's come across some of the notes from his Vault days. A few of them. He has a total of 12,034 different 'pages' storied on the hunk of junk.

"It'll be a pressure issue." he says, starting at his Pip-Boy screen and removing the cigarette from his mouth, tapping the lingering ash off the end, before placing it back. 'Need Density0", "Need Q0", "Need D10", "Need D20", "Need pipe angle b 0", "Need P10 absolute", "Need 0 b 6.28 radian", "Need 0 b 360 degrees'. The words on the screen make little sense, or well, they make sense in an educated sense, but he can't remember why he'd even need them. It's code. Calculative. Ah-

Well, that's pretty easy.

"Either one of the pipes has burst, or one of the bends is causing issues."

Simms makes a face. "Bends?"

"Bends in the pipe." Jasper stares at him like he's grown a second head. "There is radial pressure created by the centrifugal force in bends. Because of this, the water at the centre of the pipe moves towards the outer side and comes back along the wall towards the inner side. Creates a double spiral flow. If the bend curvature is strong enough, the adverse pressure gradient near the outer wall and inner wall just after the bend may lead to flow separation, giving rise to a large increase in pressure losses." Simms stares at him for a few moments and Jasper just shakes his head. "Have as many people as you can check the pipes for leaks - if there isn't any water coming out, then you'll need to get Moria."

"I'd rather not rely on that woman." Simms sighs. He's being a little suggestive, but Jasper doesn't take the bait, just leans down and reaches for something. The something turns out to be a toolbox, it's heavy and Simms almost makes to help him, but a remarkably solid kick stops him in his tracks.

"Sometimes we don't have a choice." Jasper says idly as he stubs out his cigarette and moves over towards his beer, slamming it against the side of the table and knocking the cap off. "I want that toolbox back - they're Vault Tec, and mine, if anyone starts selling the tools inside it, I'll know and they'll regret it. Don't make me remind them that I can still fire a gun, Simms."

Simms manages to crack a small smile. "You're starting to sound like your old self."

"My old self?" Jasper grunts. "I'm dying of radiation poisoning, not growing a new personality." another long swig of the beer and he musters as much disinterest as he can manage. "You need to fix the pipes, and I'm getting real bloody tired."

It's true, the painkillers and general intensity of the medication he's on is exhausting him, even though he hasn't done anything remotely physical today. Or yesterday. Or the day before. He hasn't been this worn down in a long time, at least that he can remember.

Jasper grimaces. It's just another sign of the inevitable.

Replacing his hat with a curt nod, Simms stands slowly and he lifts the toolbox, giving it a bit of a shake. "If this doesn't work, I'll be back." in response, Jasper grunts his assent. It's not something he looks forward to with any sort of pleasure, but Simms doesn't like letting Moria anywhere near the water supply, and for good reason - the woman is as crazy as a bag of hammers. Still. It would be nice to get a sense of peace, even if it is filled with the occasional sound of gunfire or some form of mutated Wasteland creep. He can only ask for so much, after all. He's just about to take another drink when there comes a solid, hard knock at his door. Simms never knocks. Neither does Jericho. But then, Jasper only started knocking because he walked in on him and Nova going at it on the table once, and that's the sort of sight that a man can't drink away. It could be Jenny, but she came today to help with the IV. Why she'd be back, he has no idea. He made it clear that he didn't want any form of tea-party - she was here on business and that is it.

It's hard to look a woman in the eye when she's regularly paid to heave your drunken irradiated ass into bed and clean vomit off the floor, after all.

It does turn out to be Jenny, and he frowns. She scowls back at him and for a moment, he's mildly confused, and perhaps a little offended, he hasn't done anything to deserve such an expression. "I'm sorry, Jasper. I told her but-" she turns her head to scowl at someone or something out of sight. Ah, so he hadn't done anything wrong. Not that he cares, really. Ever since Project Purity, getting on Jenny's nerves has become one of his few sources of entertainment.

Before he can even demand to know what the hell she's going on about, Jenny is shoved unceremoniously out of the way by six feet of power armour, blonde ponytail and irritated attitude.

Jasper blinks, sitting down the liquor with a sad thud. Now's not the time.

"The fuck do you want now, Lyons?"