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Wrote this with a fever in the triple digits.
Am getting better as I finish it for post, though.
Sorry for any dip in quality.
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Their cabin was, as she'd expected, small but well-made and meant for only a few to stay in it. A sitting and eating area occupied the front half, simple but more than enough for their needs. One one side of the back were two simple little bunk beds, with curtains hanging that could hide each bed in case someone wanted rest while others were up. On the other was a kitchen, with rustic counters, a few cooking and preparation utensils, and a simplistic, black iron wood fire grill.
The inside wall to either side had built-in shelving, too, complete with ancient books, magazines and a handful of newer, more rugged looking leather bound books.
"It's been a while since I saw a real book…" She murmured, trailing her fingers along old, barely held-together spines and leather backing alike as she walked along the shelves.
"You like books a lot, right?" Preston asked, settling in on the rather simple, fur and leather backed couch that split the sitting area from the sleeping one. "You mentioned in your story from before that you liked to read. Nate too. And lookin' at you, you look happy as a Raider with a laser rifle just seein' books."
"Yeah, well…" She shrugged and chuckled, tugging a random, leather bound book free and turning to sit in a chair nearby to him. Running her thumb over the thick, rough front of the book, she went on, "Nate and I used to read together when he got back from work. It was… It was really nice."
"I can tell, General. I've seen starving men look at a hot meal with less reverence than you are some old Raider book." The man nodded, watching her closely for a long, quiet moment. Long enough she started to shift uncomfortably under the scrutiny, drawing a sigh from the man, "Sorry, just… Worried."
"About…?"
"About you falling down the hole, General." Danse rumbled as he joined them. Or rather, as he sat their plates down on the arms of Preston's couch and her chair and then moved to sit at the dining table. Taking a bite of his biscuit, dipped in a hot tinful of his Pork'n'Beans, the man explained, "He's worried the weight of everything will hit you and drag you down into a hole you can't get out of. Here in the proverbial Deathclaw's den, that is an uncomfortable prospect to say the least."
"I see." She sighed, drumming her thumb on the book in thought. Giving each of them a look "I'm fine."
"I just worry, General." The man sighed, taking his own plate and cutting slivers of the dried and rehydrated, broiled beef slab to put on his own biscuits. "It's how I am," he went on, "I worry. About all of my friends, all of my colleagues. Superiors, inferiors, doesn't really matter. Just… How I am."
"It's not a bad thing, Preston." In fact, it was incredibly useful for building an organization such as the one they wanted to build. The compassion there would lead the man to keep his eye on the organization under them, and thus benefit their long-term morale and overall effectiveness.
"But," she added, enunciating the 'T' and smiling playfully for both their benefits, "I am fine. Just… Nostalgic for better- Or, well, different times, I guess."
"If you say so, I'll trust you, General." The dark-skinned man sighed, taking a hunk out of the mini-sandwich he'd made for himself. Chewing slowly he sighed, enjoying his bite before adding, quietly, "What's the book you got there, then?"
Opening it, she read the hand-written title, scrawled in a very fine display of penmanship for what was probably a Raider, "'The Den of the Deathclaw and the Shine of my Steel', by Forgemaster Fugue."
"Nice, that's a good one." Preston smiled, actually smiled, giving the leather bound book a second, more appreciative look. "It was written years back, just a century after the Great War went down. We don't actually know who Forgemaster Fugue was, but-"
"Were the Tribes slaving like they are now back then?" She asked, drawing a surprised look from a man and then a nod. Returning the nod she smiled warmly, skimming the first few pages, "It's a pseudonym, then, probably. Fugue is a psychological state of dissociation, where a person suffers a mental lapse, of sorts, and believes themselves to be something else entirely."
"Never heard of it."
"I have." Danse growled from the table, smiling when they both turned to look at him. Chuckling, he took another bite of his meal and rumbled, "That's right, I'm here. Knew a soldier named Bismarck. His unit was wiped out and for weeks he asserted he was the Lone Wanderer. Wasn't pretty, but he got better after a while. Scribes explained it to me when I got curious and asked about it."
"Couldn't have put it better myself if I tried. And this," she held the book up, for them both to see, "is very clearly a fantasy story. Escapism. Rather than a weak, beaten and meek slave, he envisions himself as this gallant hero. In shining armor, as he puts it."
"Huh." Preston blinked, seeming to absorb the information while he chewed another bite of his food. "Think 'Forgemaster' might be important, too?"
"How do you think?" She had a suspicion, but better to ask than to talk over him.
"He made up a fake identity." The man shrugged simply, explaining matter of frankly. "He 'forged' it, and did it well enough that if anyone thinks like you do, they're a minority."
"So he's a forgery master, yeah, makes sense." Danse chuckled, rising with a tired groan and a contented sigh. "I'm turning in," he waved over a shoulder, "lot to do tomorrow. Best to get to bed."
"He's right." Preston sighed, shoveling in the last bite of his food and rising, sliding his coat off and laying it over the arm of the couch. Turning an eye on the door he asked, quietly, "Should we keep a watch?"
"No." She answered instantly, explaining succinctly for him before he could even ask, "We have what they want, but it isn't here. Turning on us makes no logical sense, and their friendliness thus far adds onto that. Further, why give us a defensible location and then stab us in the back for no real gain?"
"Yeah, makes no sense." The man sighed, either convinced by her reasoning or too tired to formulate a proper argument against it. Turning for bed he grunted over his shoulder, "Enjoy the book, General. Fake author name or not, still one of my favorites. Just make sure to get some rest."
"I will." She nodded, smiling and settling in, "To both questions."
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She woke up the next morning to Preston's hand on her shoulder, shaking her awake gently while he smiled amusedly down at her. Seeing her blink blearily up at him the man smiled, chuckled and offered her a Nuka-Cola, "You fell asleep in your chair, General."
"A-Ah." She grunted, taking the bottle and ignoring her stiff, aching joints to ask quietly, "A cold Nuka-Cola? Where'd this come from?"
"The, uh, the slave-minders brought it and our breakfast up from the old city when they came in to start the work shift." Preston explained, disappearing behind the chair for a moment and then coming back with a plate full of, of all things, eggs, dark colored sausages and fluffy, fresh biscuits. "I already tried some of the soda and the eggs, for poison."
"I see." That explained why the seal on the ancient drink had been broken, she supposed. Still, "Thank you, for protecting me, But you shouldn't test for things like that, Preston."
"But General they could-"
"Like I said last night, them trying something now makes no sense. They only gain by us being alive, and lose if we die." She argued, splitting her biscuit and using the sausage to make a sandwich. Taking a bite out of it she explained, loudly enough Danse could hear her, "You saw their reaction to the water I gave them yesterday. Right?"
"They drank it." The man nodded, "Even said thanks."
"Right." She grunted, swallowing her mouthful and giving him a look, a thin smile stretching across her face. "But didn't you see it, Preston? Or rather, hear it? The respect in their voices, the instant about face on how they were treating us when they tasted that crisp, cool water. They know they need it just like we know they do, so they won't lay a finger on us."
"I see your point…"
"Testing for poison is just insulting to them, then, and for no real benefit." She went on, turning back to her food and spooning a large bite of the oddly salty eggs. To be perfectly clear, though, she added, "I appreciate the thought and the risk, I do. But we need to project confidence right now. Make it clear that in our eyes, we rule this stage. Not any of them."
"I got it, General." The man sighed, plopping onto the couch and shooting her a smile to show he understood her meaning. "Good idea, bad time. Our strategy runs counter to it. I got it, don't stress."
"Okay." Distantly, she felt that familiar pang of anxiety and guilt that begged the question of if she'd insulted him, somehow. But after a moment, and a few bites of her food, she chalked it up to her normal anxiety and the early morning, and so moved on, asking, "I take it we're being allowed to visit the Assembly's leadership then?"
"We are, yeah." The man answered, explaining while she ate, "They're led by a small council of sorts, under their Great Boss. Dunno his name yet, but everyone knows his title. Or, well, titles. Great Boss, High Boss, Great Chief, he has a few that the Minute men knew of. We'll all be escorted there and you'll probably be called to talk to the Council and their Boss. They'll speak to him, advise him, and then he'll decide what happens next."
"You convince them, then you have your in." Danse summarised for them both, wiping his face down with a wet cloth and grimacing. "Not sure if I want you to succeed or fail, really. Kind of an odd feeling."
"Failing probably means we all die, so…"
"Yeah, I know, Preston." The man rumbled a laugh, shaking his head slowly as he turned back towards the kitchenette. "Just don't like Raiders all that much. That's all."
"Yeah, I know that feeling." Preston sighed quietly, tugging his lightly armored coat around himself and giving her a grimace when her eyes met his. "I'm on board with the plan, General." He reassured her once again, "Don't worry about that."
"I'm not worried about that, Preston." She murmured honestly, taking a sip from her Nuka-Cola and going on, "I'm worried about you, going through with it."
"I'll be fine." He assured her, "I'm a big boy."
"I know." She trusted him more than enough to be able to handle this. Still, though, "You don't have to come with us. I don't want you to put yourself through something like that when you don't, strictly speaking, need to. Not when there's no point in it."
"General, I…" He sighed, but she didn't feel any anger at her in it or the grimace that marred his face. Instead, he folded his arms and explained, voice almost eerily calm, "I don't like what we're doing, I hate it in fact. I've said it before. But I ain't about to just pretend we aren't, either. I'm not the 'bury my head in the sand' type. I wanna look what we do in the eye, always."
"As long as you're sure…" He met her gaze, eyes hard and firm as always, and nodded. So, she returned the gesture and turned back to her food, "Alright then. I won't push you out if you want in."
"I know, Gen- Nora." He smiled, opting for her real name as all the coldness and stiffness suddenly went from his face, his voice and his body language. Relaxing, he stood and took her empty plate, headed towards the kitchen with a final, over his shoulder, "Might wanna stretch a bit before we get goin', General. I imagine that chair doesn't sleep well."
"Yeah." Her shoulders ached, her arm throbbed enough it drew a hiss from her just adjusting the sling, and her knees were stiff. Aching.
Standing, she turned in time to see Preston hold out a trio of little, grey pills to her, grunting, "Your meds. I forgot 'em when I made your plate."
"Thanks." She sighed, palming them and brushing by him, towards the kitchenette in the back corner.
A little pig iron tub had been toted into the kitchen while she slept, full of clearish and frigid water. A few tatty rags came with it, but that was all. No sponge, no scrubbers, no toothpaste or brush and certainly no actual soap. Which was disappointing for a moment, until she sighed and shrugged it off. Expecting soap and toothpaste was far beyond what these people were capable of, she knew, and the rag would do the job for now if she scrubbed enough. Her skin and her teeth, that was.
The ice cold water at least complemented the Nuka-Cola, shocking her awake as she scrubbed her shoulders, face and arms.
Running wet hands through her hair to straighten it and, hopefully, help it stay in form for the meeting she turned back to the men, "When do we-" A snicker cut her off, drawn out by the sight of both men with their backs to her nearer the door out, pointedly looking down.
"They're shoulders, boys, not tits." She smiled, laughing and tugging the uniform back on fully, reaching for her coat to do the same. When they only grunted and didn't turn, she sighed, "I'm decent, children. You can turn around."
"Sure." Preston grumbled, chewing on the inside of his cheek and giving her a meek look, like he expected her to bite at him or something.
"Ma'am." Danse, at least, was professional about things. And in that same style he added, quietly, "We have about ten minutes before we're expected to be ready for our escort into Corvega. With your permission, I'll get into my armor and tell our guard that we're almost ready to leave."
"You don't need my-" She cut herself off with a sigh, and fought off the urge to shrug and agitate her shoulder. Gingerly working her injured arm into her long officer's coat, she smiled, "Go ahead, Danse. I'll be out in five minutes."
"Aye, Ma'am." Danse hesitated, though, before pointing out quietly, "You're in a better mood this morning, General Nora."
"I am." In spite of her stiffness and aching shoulder, she felt more relaxed and content than she had in a long, long time. Why was simple enough, "I never thought I'd get to enjoy an evening just… Reading. Not reports, or statistics, or supply manifests, but like- Reading a good story."
"You enjoy books that much?" She only shrugged and winced for it, earning a chuckle from the Brotherhood soldier as he turned to leave. "I'll be outside."
The door closed behind him and Preston turned to her with a roguish, teasing smile, leaning against the side of the couch. Frowning, she gave him a look, "Preston…"
"You know, General," he rumbled, in spite of the warning laced underneath her words, "I'm sure we can ask 'round back at Sanctuary and see if anyone knows where we can collect some books for you to read."
"No." She answered easily, buttoning up her coat and making sure it was straight on her and looked as good as it possibly could. First impressions and all that, after all. To the point, though, "I won't waste time and manpower on something pointless while food is a concern for most of us, Preston."
"You're the General, Ma'am." Preston argued gently, "The General of the Minute Men is entitled to a few tiny little luxuries when they don't hurt anyone."
"But-"
"All I'm saying is that using a teeny tiny portion of water, later on, to trade for books won't be the end of the world. Hell, you could call it your wages and spend it how you want." Preston cut her off simply, smiling at the little sigh she answered with. "Which is… Something we need to sit down n' sort out, soon enough, actually."
"When we get back." She nodded, satisfied that she was presentable and turning for the door. "For now, let's work on saving the Commonwealth just a little bit."
Her words were cleverly chosen to seal up the conversation and put her back in control in what even she knew was a manipulative way.
But the man didn't seem to notice or care, turning to let her pass and grunting a small, "Yes, Ma'am."
Fed, medicated in her case, and as presentable as they could be, the duo stepped out into the late morning sun gazing down on the chilly, smoky Heap.
Outside, five people were waiting for them patiently in a loose line near the gate. She used 'people' to describe them because she couldn't actually discern what they were, male or female or anything else between the two, in their armor.
From top to bottom, she couldn't see a single inch of skin on any of them. Nor any gender defining features. Thick leather boots ran up to, presumably, their knees, splinted by thick, polished metal plating. Above that was a heavy, multi-layered skirt of mail and what looked like leather and cloth layered over one another for protection and warmth. The mail skirt, and presumably the leather and cloth layers, was fitted and held in place by a heavy leather belt covered in circular metal protections.
The polished mail ran up across their bodies, thin leather bandoliers keeping it taught with arrays of knives, tools and canteens attached to them in easy reach of the warriors carrying them. Most of their shoulders and upper chests were obscured by thick leather and capes that trailed along just above the ground behind them. Large, polished pauldrons held the cloaks in placed, polished to a shine and then painted black. Each pauldron bore the gleaming, brass emblem of the Assembly, forged and affixed to the metal rather than painted.
The mail shirt continued on into sleeves under the pauldrons, running to their elbows where heavy leather guards like metal skating pads ended them. Thick, splinted gloves covered the rest, the backs of each palm backed in fine looking mail armor. Each, astoundingly, wore full, plated helmets, almost like the Crusaders of the near-ancient world, with mail coifs spilling out around their shoulders.
The only real difference that she saw was that instead of the smooth, cross bearing fronts, each sported a mask. A wholly unique mask, too. One sported a chrome sort of harlequin mask, while another wore a grim, frowning and black painted skull for his face. The third was ape like a red, forged in an eternal snarl. The fourth was lupine but calm, like a calm hound resting.
The fifth was the strangest, completely smooth and blue with a simple visor to see through, unlike the eyeholes the others sported.
"General Nora?" The wolf-faced one rasped out in a voice unlike anything she'd ever heard, low, grinding and warped in a strange way she couldn't place. She nodded and they stepped forward, one hand carrying their reinforced, heavy wooden shield while the other rested on the curved sword on their waist. Offering the hand, they garbled, "I am the Wolf, of the Assembly Foremen."
"Foremen…?" She murmured, giving Preston a look.
"Your comrade would not know us, General." Wolf said quietly when he only shrugged unsurely, "We rarely venture from the Factory Fortress. Only when the Council or the Chieftain ask it, which they never do."
"I see." Some sort of honor guard then, she guessed. Whether it was purely ceremonial or not didn't really matter, then. Judging from the minders watching them quietly from around the courtyard she took a breath, stepping forward to clasp the heavily armored hand and smiling gently. "It's an honor, Wolf."
"Indeed." They rasped, stepping back and resting their hand atop the pommel of their curved sword. "Harlequin, Ape, Skull and Blank."
"A pleasure." She nodded to each, assuming that their masks matched their names. To Wolf, who she presumed to speak for them if not lead them outright, she asked, "I suppose that you're to take me to the… Factory-Fortress was it?"
"We are." They answered, nodding their armored head. Straightening, he stepped back and to the side as Danse trundled by. It seemed a polite gesture, though, rather than one of fear since the warrior ignored him wholly. "The great gift of water you offer has brought attention to you, General. That is why we were sent rather than simple minders, guards or hunters."
"Oh?" That was a good thing, then. Smiling politely she bowed her head, ignoring the pain the motion brought to her shoulder. "I appreciate the kindness and the attention, Wolf. Truly."
"As you should be. Come." The figure growled, turning and nodding at their fellows. At the signal they parted to let the three of them by and then fell in around them.
A whistle, and the Sentry Bot turned out from its resting place, trundling along slowly behind their marching group.
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Still have a massive fever, triple digits often enough since four days ago.
So sorry about the short chapter, but wanted something out.
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Blaze :
Define 'knight'? There are various types of knight and some of them have been shown. The forged wear similar armor as in-game, and that is kind of plate-armor. Whereas the Assembly has been shown wearing braced mail which some knights wore.
Not challenging you, just curious.
Rayven Nightshade :
Glad to hear it~!
Dark Paladin 89 :
Don't you worry, them making ration kits like this is in the future. The Brotherhood's design is meant to make that work easier on me later.
Danse's opinions will be explored when I can find ways to organically. He's here because I want to explore them, and make him the layered character Bethesda already partially did. He is, for fact, one of my favorites for how many layers the big tin bastard has.
'Deathclaw cavalry'…? *whistles innocently*
And yeah, I want most if not all Raider tribes to be interesting and flavorful.
Pokybyte :
Yeah, I really only took the hardiness of the Settler locations, like Diamond City, and applied that to Raiders too. I can understand why Bethesda didn't, since the game is designed for you to clear them out not get embroiled in them, but still. Is my aim.