Community Service.
Diamond City continues to be a mystery to me, and it seems even to those that have lived here their entire lives. It is still a wonder to me that people here speak Common, a feat alone proving the interference of some higher entity, I think. Language simply should not develop identically across... I still do not know, lands? Planes?
The town's mayor requisitioned Piper's services as a distributor and town-crier, of sorts. Until Sun pays my first salary, I cannot repay her my expenses, but in the meanwhile, I can be of what little help I am able to offer. I have not seen Sun since he locked down the clinic yesterday, actually...
Public notice
Citizens of Diamond City.
It is my solemn and dreaded duty as your mayor to make this announcement. Dreaded, for it is grave news reaching our city this day. And solemn, for it must not be shaken off like we can so much else of what occurs out in the wastes. I ask therefore, that you pay this proclamation heed, and take the time to thoroughly read and understand its message.
Five days ago, August 11th, Quincy, our prosperous sister-city to the south, was attacked and overrun by the mercenary organisation known as the Gunners. Andrew Jackson, the mayor of Quincy and a dear, personal friend of mine, was made aware of the encroaching mercenaries prior to their attack, and called in the Minutemen for defense of home and hearth. Sadly, it seems the days of our trusted citizen soldiers have now come and passed, for brave but few were those that came. Colonel Ezra Hollis led the defense of Quincy as the Gunners came again, but fell in the battle as the defenders were overwhelmed.
The citizenry of Quincy, from what we have been able to gather, were butchered in the streets. Those that managed to escape reported pyres in the streets, and the sounds of executions echoing out even as they fled for their lives. It is rare that I fall back on such language, but surely, we can agree that this is nought but a display of outright barbarism? My office is currently drafting sanctions of trade and commerce against any who might employ these guns for hire, following such a display of disregard for human life. Those scant few refugees that escaped now shelter within our own walls, weary and worn from loss and fright. I ask, until they move on, that all courtesies and hospitalities are extended towards them. The hospital is treating their wounded, but some wounds are not treated by gauze and stimpacks. I know I need not ask this, for the people of Diamond City is a kind and generous folk, but help them if you can. Donate what you do not need, for they have lost all themselves.
There are Minutemen survivors amongst them as well, those few who could save themselves when the fighting was lost. I know some might disparage them their survival, that they should have stood their grounds. But, surely, we can understand that they did all they could. Instead we should be grateful that they managed to escort those who escaped from Quincy, rather than scattering to the winds. Be respectful, for the last thing those brave souls need now is ill will from misunderstanding minds.
Quincy has fallen, but we must maintain faith, good folks. Order and Justice will win out in the end, and Diamond City will prevail.
Mayor McDonough
"Okay, last one's out of the printer!" Natalie yelled, her voice barely audible over the hacking and humming of the large, black metal beast.
He'd not before seen it operating, only a still, silent construct in the corner of the room. The girl yanked the piece of paper, almost as large as she was, out of its gaping mouth, like pulling a doll from the jaws of a hound. Still, he could not quite contain his amazement at its workings, how quickly it could put to printed letter the message fed it, like an atronach more so than any kind of clerk.
"How many's that?" Piper, stripped of her red coat, walked back downstairs from her private room. The shirt she wore might have once been white, but age and wear had turned it yellow, and the patches were numerous enough that he wasn't even sure it could still be called yellow at all. It was more akin to wearing a patchwork sewn together by hand than anything that had originally been whole.
It also showed off her figure better than the jacket had, though he did his best not to notice. Or, at least, did his best not to let it show that he did.
"Forty," he replied, adding the last poster to the stack as Natalie handed it over. Mere paper, but it weighed a ton all together. The paper itself looked like something else had once been written on it, a different thing for each piece, but whatever it was had been scrubbed off with soap and grit. Each was the same proclamation, the fall of Quincy; "That's heavy."
"It's a lot of paper," Piper shrugged, pulling one of the black machine's levers. Slowly, it calmed from its aggressive stuttering and sputtering, coming at last to a rest. Truly, a beast from Oblivion; "Pricey too. You don't just find sheets this large anywhere. I've had them in storage for a while, but I made McDonough pay for each and every one of them. Don't let him fool you, he couldn't give less of a crap about Quincy if it wasn't because he could use it for reelection."
"Sounds like a senator," Martin scoffed. His mood was ill, halfway a result of the alcohol from the night before. Piper had dragged him to the Dugout, the tavern or...bar, he supposed it was, owned by the two brothers who also owned the showers. They sounded like people from Skingrad, now that he'd been forced to listen, but there was still enough of a difference that he knew better; "The Emperor ensures they remain just."
"Yeah, we don't have one of those," Piper snarked.
"What's an Emperor?" Natalie asked, a brow raised in suspicion. Martin put the stack down, eying it briefly before looking to the girl's sister. Piper just shrugged; "Is it more than a mayor?"
"In my homeland," he started; "We have Uriel Septim the Seventh, as our ruling lord and liege. He is Emperor of all Tamriel, and I like him. He added to funding of our educational places, like schools. The Mages Guild used to be overarching organisation controlling all matters of education, no matter their nature. The Emperor's father, Pelagius, saw to beginning of the College of Whispers, to which I belong," he was not a little proud of that, either. The acceptance rate was low.
"I dunno, sounds like a mayor to me."
"It's not like mayor," Martin frowned; "Your mayor rules a city, and he's elected. The Emperor rules Empire, and he's born to rule."
"What do you do if he's bad at it?" Natalie prodded again, edging closer. Even though she did not fully know of his origins - or perhaps because of it, he wasn't sure - she was still openly suspicious or disbelieving when he spoke of home. Maybe, because home to him was gleaming marble and clean air, rather than rust and poison.
"Pray," he shrugged, for it was not an entirely invalid question. As far as he recalled, there had been only a few bad emperors in the Septim dynasty, and Uriel was not amongst them. Still, there had been bad emperors, and lessons learned had been so at a price; "Also, Elder Council exists for that purpose. They guide and council the Emperor, and the Senate does most of legislating. Each province is represented within it, often a senator per major city."
"So, Quincy and Diamond City would've both had a senator?" the girl continued; "Well, just Diamond City now, but right? We're the biggest settlement in the Commonwealth."
"That would make you provincial capital, I think..." Martin frowned. Was that the way it worked? The Imperial City was of course the capital of Cyrodiil, but what of the other provinces? Daggerfall was the capital of High Rock, but only because it was the historical seat of their political power. Skyrim had Solitude, but far as he knew, Whiterun was larger, wasn't it? It made him both despair and thank the stars he'd not opted for politics, to think on these matters; "That's... two senators? No, wait...I don't know, maybe?"
"How many does your hometown have?"
"I lived in Imperial City, which is capital of all the Empire."
"Yeah, but how many does it have?"
"It's... not that simple," he muttered, ashamed, for he could not actually provide an answer. He knew there were senators from Skingrad, Bravil, Anvil and most of the other major towns and cities within the province, but he had never heard of elections within the city itself; "It's seat of the Emperor, I guess. He's the senator-representative for the Imperial City. The senators propose and vote on legislature, and the Emperor approves or dismisses it, or puts his own forward. I think. It's...been a while since I had my classis civicii."
"...your what?" Natalie frowned, her brows furrowing further. Small as they were, it was not a great change; "Dunno sis, sounds like Institute talk. We sure he's not just wearing a mask over some gears and cogs?"
"Nat, be nice," Piper sighed, rolling her fingers on the stack of posters; "Just because Martin's not used to people."
"I am right here."
"Exactly," she nodded; "I mean, I guess what with your old life being... what it was? I guess, you're still not used to people like us around you, right?"
"...you're making me sound like some sort of recluse."
"Not that there's anything wrong with being a recluse, I mean. Some people just don't get out often, I guess?" she threw her hands out as if to catch some idea, floating in the ether; "You just probably spent more time researching, right? I was your first patient?"
"Contrary to the name, Common isn't actually my first language," he muttered, for it was no point of pride that he had always found the common-spoken tongue slightly harder than his own Nibenese upbringing should have provided for; "I didn't speak it at home, and the Institute of Restoration was first place that exclusively spoke it. I... am not always fluent, is what I mean."
Piper, for some reason, seemed surprised. Had she never actually contemplated why he tried to listen more than speak? Or maybe she had, and had just...thought he was a recluse. Gods and Daedra, now I see...
"Oh," she mouthed, blinking; "Well... Okay, so English's not your first language? That's why you're always such a stiffer?"
Martin frowned. He didn't know what a 'stiffer' was, but it probably was not praise.
"...I am a stiffer?"
"Always," Natalie shrugged.
"Sometimes," Piper shrugged, shaking her head; "Honestly though, I don't mind. You're smart, but not pretentious like half of Diamond City, and you're a good person. That you can't chat to save your life's not really much of an issue next to that."
"Or maybe he's just a defective model," Natalie said, earning herself a flick on the head from her sister; "He's just as stiff as Nickie, ain't he? Probably got tossed out with the garbage too."
"...is that someone I should know?" Though, he did not like the implications of being thrown out with the garbage. Was Nickie one of the settlement's bums or vagrants, a homeless?
"Stick around and you'll definitely get to know him," the young girl grinned; "He's the city's private detective, and his eyes can suck out your soul." she added then; "If you're a bad guy, that is. 'Cause he's a good guy who catches bad guys, like the Silver Shroud, right?"
He didn't know what a private detective was, but Natalie made him sound like some sort of sorcerer. Nor, for that matter, did he understand what a silver shroud was, unless it was...what, some sort of wall? Maybe a spy-ring?
"Well then, Nat. Since you seem like such an expert on Nickie, you can take a third of these and start in his street," Piper said, pushing what looked like a little less than a third of the posters towards her sister; "Martin and I will take the rest. He doesn't know the city yet, so he'll come with me."
"Yeah, right, that's definitely why," Natalie made a face, but still took the posters she was given; "Want me to stay out of the house rest of the day too?"
Something in the way Piper flinched at her sister's words made Martin uneasy. She made a face no prettier than Natalie's, though it accompanied another flick to the girl's head.
"Get on with it, will you?" she snapped; "Or you can get Abbot's district too."
"Ew no, it always smells like dead Brahmin there," Natalie whined. She was already out the door by the time Martin meant to ask what a Brahmin was, or rather why. If it was the two-headed cow, why would it smell like that inside the city? Maybe there was a cattle-pen inside the walls in a place he just hadn't seen yet.
"Sorry 'bout that..." Piper sighed; "Nat can be a right brat, I swear, I didn't... Just, forget about it, okay?"
"So..." he wasn't even sure what had transpired. The whole conversation - or was it an argument - didn't make sense to him. Maybe it was something cultural, or something he might understand if he'd had siblings. Piper rubbed her forehead, sighing again;
"So...yeah," she said, pulling her hair back. She seemed to breathe and ponder her words before she spoke, perking up unnaturally fast; "Wanna go out? To, you know, spread the good word... or, the bad word, I guess, in this case..."
The whole thing was weird, he decided, and left it at that. At home, he might have known enough about the culture and... general behavioral stuff, he supposed, to understand. Here, though, he was yet a newcomer, and didn't fully grasp how people interacted. Piper grabbed her coat, sporting several patches of discolored leather where holes had been torn, and slung it over her shoulders with a motion as fluid as it was efficient. As if it just fell onto her. A trick he'd never managed, even with the simplest of clothes.
Outside, across the street he could see the hospital. The door was shut, and no one seemed present, nor was any equipment outside and ready to be used. For all intents and purposes, the building looked abandoned.
"Is the clinic still closed?"
"Seems like it," Piper nodded, earlier cheer gone; "Vadim said Sun had people in Quincy, and they weren't part of the crowd yesterday. Not hard to put two and two together, you know?"
That explained a lot, though not to Martin's liking. It made sense then, why Sun had seemed to lose his spirits when Garvey arrived and told of Quincy's fall. It brought new respect for the man too, that he could still maintain composure in the face of such news.
Martin wasn't sure he could have. What family he had did not live in the Imperial City, there was not even a guarantee he would have been told of their deaths if they... He caught himself there, before his thoughts turned dark. He still received letters, even a mere month before the accident. Apparently he had a sister now, Atha.
"Dark news."
"Yeah," she nodded, sighing. She took the first step off the porch, and seemed to flow the rest of the way into the street, and the crowd that filled it; "Life sucks for most people, you're not even safe from it in here. Folks got kin all over the place, and sometimes raiders hit the farm, or mutants eat the cattle. We do what we gotta do, you know?"
"You came from a farm?"
"Farming settlement, but yeah."
"Me too," he sensed her mood had darkened, though he could not tell why. It didn't seem to be because of Quincy. Talking of home might brighten her up, he hoped. And he tried to as they walked, rounding a corner he'd not yet taken, into uncharted land; "My parents live in Apple Watch, small village west of Bruma, it's north of the Imperial City. You can, mm, probably guess what they farm, yes?"
Piper paused, and it looked like she actually wasn't sure.
"...no, what?" she asked, glancing as if he would give a hint; "Tatoes?"
He wasn't sure if she was joking, or maybe he just hadn't put emphasis on the village name. Apple Watch was primarily orchards, though granted, there were other crops grown too.
"Apples," he sighed.
"What?" she frowned.
"Apples," he repeated the word, like it was some...some sort of hidden knowledge, perhaps. He didn't know; "They grow apples. It is orchard."
"What, like Dandy Boy Apples?" Piper seemed to be gauging him, to see if he was jesting. In turn, he at first had no idea what dandy boy apples were, until he recalled an evening meal, three days past. A box, weathered by age, with pictures of moustached apples on the side. Nothing within had been recognizable as apples, however; "I didn't know you could grow those."
"No it's..." he slowed in his steps, wracking his mind for something comparable. He knew they had fruits here, he'd seen them in one of the stands at the market. But they had looked strange, purple and bloated, bulbous and misshapen; "Apples are fruits. Sometimes, they're red or green, or both."
"I see," she hummed, halting in front of a naked patch of wall. It seemed like part of the superstructure itself, but had not been built over or covered in trash. Some pitiful, diseased-looking bushes grew in the space, their branches gnarled and their leaves blemished with something he couldn't identify; "Looks like a good spot. Hand me a poster?"
He did, though he noticed her mood seemed only to sour. Maybe her childhood on the farm - the farming settlement - had not been as cheerful as his own. In hindsight it seemed a given, in this world. Piper slathered the wall in glue and pressed the poster against it until the sticky liquid started seeping through in places, darkening the paper.
"They taste good?"
"What?" it was a moment before he connected his thoughts to her question; "Apples? They do, when fresh. You could make a cider from them too, if you mash them up and let it ferment for a month or two. Was usually my father and me who took them to market, Bruma was closest...is closest, I mean."
"Mmm hmm."
"I loved going to Bruma," he mused; "Towering walls, broad streets... We sold the cider one place, the apples another, usually. My father would take me to the Dancing Ox, I think... It's long ago..."
The memory was cheerful and sad both, for it reminded him of what he had left behind. Not just because he arrived in this place, but because he left home; "When they found out I had aptitude for spells, my father spent half the farm's worth on getting me enrolled. I haven't seen them since, just get letters."
"But they're okay?"
"I think so, yes..." Though the world, even his own, had been one of merciless fate, he could not fathom it so cruel as to rob away his family. They would still be there, working the fields, when he one day made it home. But, all the same, he would offer prayers again today, at the All-Faiths Chapel. Though it was not a temple or shrine consecrated by any priest of the Pantheon, it still felt better doing it there. And, he enjoyed Clement's company, quiet though it mostly was; "There is little banditry so close to Bruma, and the wild animals do not come near us... I think."
"That's good," Piper nodded, though there was scant smile to be found on her face; "Family's the most important thing in the world, you know?"
"Do you hear from yours?"
He knew it was the wrong thing to ask, almost as soon as the last word had left his mouth. Piper's expression darkened, she closed her eyes and did not speak. She just turned around again, pressing the poster against the wall as if it needed further securing. It didn't, but it hid her face from him. Even he could tell why.
"Nat's all the family I've got," her voice wasn't even, but tight, dry and devoid of emotion. It was enough to make clear to him why. So many things in the Commonwealth could and would butcher the unsuspecting, he'd at least learnt that much. Still with her back to him, he wanted to comfort her, somehow. He knew he had no right to, and didn't dare actually touch her. Somehow, in this moment, it seemed like a violation of her space if he did so; "It's been that way for a while now, you know? We take care of each other... well, I probably do more of the caring and she's more of the taker, but... siblings, right?"
"I'm sorry..."
"Yeah well..." she sighed again, turning around. There was no trace of tears or grief, at least to him; "Wasteland's what it is. One day everything's fine, the next day raiders cut your dad's throat on the watch and nearly overwhelm your settlement..." she looked to the ground, then rolled her shoulders and breathed. Some cheer seemed to return, or at least some color to her eyes; "It's why so many people want to live in Diamond City, or just near enough. Anyone can prop a shack up out there, but anybody can destroy it too..."
"The Minutemen didn't help your family?"
"We lived way out in the northwest," Piper shrugged; "Independent settlement, and all that. Raiders weren't really a common sight up there, not yet. We still had a town watch, of course, but... turned out the captain stabbed us in the back, had my dad killed and made a deal with a gang of raiders... So, no, the Minutemen didn't help us. I started a... thing, I guess. Mayor wouldn't do anything until I put up posters, like these. Suddenly he did want to act, and threw the piece of shit Mayburn out on his ass."
Martin wanted to ask why the slime wasn't strung up by the neck. Any town watch he knew of from home would have had him on display for a week like that, dangling from the gates. It seemed a strange irony that a land as barbaric and cruel as this, would merely evict such a traitor.
"Anyway, we were ready when the raiders showed up, former captain among them." something sinister appeared in her expression now, a grin of darker nature; "I wasn't that old yet, but after it was over I found Mayburn. There was a bullet in his leg and he was crawling away from the town... Couldn't defend himself, you know?"
He didn't need to ask what had come next. He'd seen Piper in the underground, putting the end of her firearm to the raider's head before she pulled the trigger. That hadn't been the first time she killed someone. Still, he wasn't sure if he should tell her that he approved. What if she was ashamed of killing a defenseless man? Or ashamed that she didn't regret it?
"I know what you're thinking," she said, taking the lead down the alleyway; "I don't regret it. Maybe you think I should, but I don't. I'll never regret it."
"I don't think you should..."
"Would you have?"
"I..." it made him pause. Would he have killed someone like that? Executed a wounded man? Not out of some principle or bloodlust, but because he had it coming? He would like to say he would, to remove scum like that from the face of the world. It was noble, in a way, but at the same time... "I don't know. I think I would..."
"Don't know until it happens," her tone was softer, but still held an edge. They walked clockwise through the arena, papering the walls each few minutes. And still it was not until they reached what seemed like agricultural plots, in the more remote parts of the town, that she spoke again; "I don't blame you, you know. No one should like killing."
"Unless it's raiders?"
"Raiders aren't people," she muttered, but shook her head all the same; "No, they are, I mean. But they don't deserve to be."
"What about the Gunners?"
"Don't seem to be much better," Piper scoffed; "Used to think they didn't go for settlements. Used to be, they were just mercenaries. Expensive mercenaries, but they'd do any job, from what I heard. And they're armed, better than most settlements. Better than the Minutemen, it seems anyway..."
They worked in silence after that, for a few minutes at least. Piper led the way into the farms, a part of Diamond City dedicated to agriculture and livestock pens. Rows upon rows of potato plants - people here called them 'Tatoes' - stood amongst lines of carrot-shrubs and pumpkin patches, with tree-like bushes of purplish fruits. Mutated fruits, apparently, and aptly named. He didn't like them, their taste like fermented pears left in the sun, and at the same time smelling like rotten grapes. It went a ways to explain the everpresent background odour in this part of Diamond City.
"What do you think happens, now the Minutemen are gone?" he asked her, though it was not so much for his own curiosity than to break the silence, oppressive as it was. He didn't know if they even made a difference for people before Quincy. Garvey hadn't seemed confident. Was it really just a small group of privateers, rather than the organized militia he'd thought it to be?
"It started being gone a long time ago..." Piper sighed; "They've been tearing themselves apart with politics and power plays for as long as I can remember. Hollis and McGann were really the last nails in the coffin for them, far as people say. I dunno about Garvey, he looked like letting people down was hard on him. Shame he wasn't the one in charge, they might've actually made a difference. Still... they did try, have to give them that. Once, they were strong enough to even save Diamond City itself from a warband of Super Mutants. Long ago, but... yeah, they had it going, once."
"...and now?"
"Now?" she paused, frowning in thought. Or, maybe rather because she'd stepped in what looked like manure, dropped on the boardwalks. He stayed clear of it; "I dunno. Probably a lot of smaller settlements are gonna start getting hit. Few of them have anything resembling real defences. Greentop and Abernathy supply DC most of its food, and last I heard neither even had a stockade."
"So, the Minutemen disappearing could lead to starvation?" he pondered the question aloud as he spoke it, considering the farms and pens surrounding them; "What about this?"
"The DC farms, they're meant to grow food for the emergency supplies, just in case," Piper explained, stepping back from the newly fastened poster; "They store it all in the old locker rooms 'neath the arena, to keep it safe from radiation and stuff. Dunno how long they'd last though, if the town got cut off..."
"So, it's bad, then."
"Though people won't care until a tato is twenty caps a piece..."
"Sounds like home," he scoffed; "Most born inside the walls of the Imperial City, they don't even know if the bread they eat was baked in Bravil or Bruma, or if the flour came from Anvil or Skingrad."
The memories were sweet now, even those of the stupidity or arrogance of the city-dwellers, those who had never been beyond the gates of the Imperial City. It was still home, and each dry, hazy breath he took in this ruined landscape strengthened his longing for it. For the flowery scents in spring and the smells and sounds of bakers and butchers, or music from windows rather than small, brown boxes, and of clean air and water.
And it struck him all the harder too, that after a week in this wretched land, he was no closer to finding his way back than the moment he'd arrived. If anything, he was further, for despite himself he'd come to like things about the Commonwealth. Piper, being what she was and who she was, counted amongst those. It was not the first time he'd realized it, nor did it fail to fill him with a sense of self-loathing, that so little was needed to sway his resolve. Wasn't he, as a citizen of the Empire, a subject of the Emperor, supposed to hold highest the values of the Empire itself? The values of culture and civilization, not a barbarous wasteland.
But, was it these people's fault that they lived as they did? No one alive here, now, had been involved in the destruction of their world. They were simply left to atone for the sins of their forebearers. They did the best they could, with what they had. How many people at home, he wondered, would have taken him in if he'd wandered the streets, and fed and housed him like Piper had, or shown such open mindedness as Pastor Clements?
There was good here, even amongst the filth and the rust.
"Why'd you ask?"
Piper's question made him halt, blinking back to the world around as the memories faded. Why had he asked? What made him care, really, about the Minutemen, or the people they protected?
No answer came to him, only the vague idea that had formed. Maybe it was because they had once been great, and the Imperial in him recognized what had been lost. Worse still, perhaps, was that he could never see the splendor of their lost civilization. How radiant and gleaming must not these towering structures have been, back in their day? How magnificent hadn't their streets been, broad and alive with horseless carriages and traffic? To see mundane lights outshine the arcane on every street corner, each as radiant as any magelight or torch?
He would have given much to see such sights.
"I don't know," he admitted, truthful but omitting his own thoughts. He doubted she could or would understand his fascination with the lost world anyway. To her, it was mundane, a ruin she lived in day after day. The past was the past, as interesting to her as the Ayleid ruins dotting Cyrodiil was to him. It was there, and going nowhere. Nor was it coming back; "But I think it is sad that more will suffer now."
"...yeah," she sighed, nodding, in a way that seemed to imply it was at the back of her mind, rather than the forefront; "We'll probably start seeing settlers and wastelanders trying to move into DC in a month or two, and it'll only get worse I bet. And the more people leave their farms, the less food we'll have."
"Food riots?"
"Probably."
That was harsh. He'd never experienced food riots at home, being a farmer first and denizen of the capital later. Both positions had their own privileges, concerning food, being either producer or main recipient. It made him wish he knew more of agriculture than he did, but what he did know likely could not apply to this wasteland. Or, alternatively, these people already knew of even better methods. What good was crop-rotation if these people could perform miracles with soil he couldn't yet imagine? He doubted the plow would be anything new to them, nor would fertilization or... Aye, he knew little that could be useful here, he realized with shame.
What of medicine then? They did not have magic, but maybe he could find another way of improving their daily lives? The sciences of stimpacks and radaway was still beyond his understanding, but what of alchemical potions? A properly made poultice could close up any wound as fast as - or faster than - a stimpack. Sun himself had even noted how the treatment of Josh went faster than normal. Maybe... maybe that was the path forward? If it was the duty of an Imperial Citizen to promote Imperial culture and progress, no matter where he was, then was this his?
"The market here, what does it sell?" he asked, though aware the question took Piper by surprise. She turned and regarded him with a raised brow; "Aside from the food, I mean."
"Well..." she paused, blowing a huff of air, then went back to plastering posters over the green concrete; "Little bit of everything, I guess? Guns, ammo, medicine, chems, clothes, food, scrap... Why, looking for something specific?"
Where would he even start, though? Sun had a laboratory, or at least some stills and pitchers, but he doubted the man would be keen on lending it out for experiments he couldn't even explain, nor were they guaranteed to work at all. Could he even purchase what he would need in this place? He'd seen no glassblowers - and frankly could never have been one himself - but maybe they imported it from one of the settlements? He just hoped it wasn't the case of them literally scrounging glass from the lost city.
Somehow, despite all he'd already seen, thát would still be a disappointment.
"I...am not sure yet," he muttered, scratching his neck. He didn't exactly have anything planned, it was just a feeling; "Pitchers? Vials? Glass in general? Any blowers in Diamond City?"
"What, like people who make glass?" He nodded to her question, though her tone did not bode well; "No one in DC, far as I know. There was one up north, near the old ironworks. Nat and I stopped there for the night when we came here by caravan. But it's probably been raided by now, it didn't have fences or anything. And no one's sold new glass on the market in a while... You'll probably have better luck at Myrna's shop, but, eh... she's kind of a nutter, you know? Accuses people of being synths, stuff like that. Funny thing is, she's the only one in town with a Mr. Handy."
"The floating automaton?" He'd seen it, once, but thought it at first some sort of turret, like those on the wall and in front of it. To think it had something approaching sentience, it brought his mind to stories of the Dwemeri ruins, and those - in his eyes - foolish enough to delve into them. But still, it was another mark to the kind of civilization lost, that they had produced such machines.
"Yeah, calls him Percy," she shrugged; "Always found it kinda funny, the most paranoid person in DC is the one working with a robot. Of course, she still never accepted Nick as part of the settlement, I think. Doesn't like his eyes, probably."
"Nick?" the name returned to him fast; "Your detective, yes? Does he look bad?"
"Oh, I didn't even-" Piper stopped, hand pausing in the glue; "Right, yeah..." she stepped back and wiped the offending sludge off on the side of a house; "Nick's a special case, not really... like you and me...He's originally from the Institute, but, he's a good guy, see? He's a well-respected member of the community, and all that."
Martin, to his credit - at least he thought so - did not stare too hard, or disbelievingly. Today was already enough of a mess that another bite into unreality did not seem... too strange. For a solid week Piper had gone on about the Institute and its Synths, and Sun had only further impounded on it with the tale of the massacre in the market.
"I see," was all he could muster. Piper nodded, as if she understood what went on in his mind. Maybe she did, who could tell?
"I probably poisoned the well on that one, with all my Institute talk, didn't I?" she rubbed at her neck as she spoke, an odd gesture. Was she embarrassed? "They're definitely the enemy, mind you, but they threw Nick out with the garbage, like I said. He's...like a deserter, I guess? Also he talks like folks in those old comic strips, definitely right up your alley."
"Where do we go next?"
"Nat's got the western and central parts covered. Technically you've got the northern part, along the wall, but since you put up with my company, figures I could do the same for you, eh?" she handed him the rest of the posters, the stack halved by now; "We'll finish up by the shelters, that's where short-terms stay while in town. If no-one's taken them in yet, that's probably where the Quincy folks are too."
There it was again.
The Quincy folks, and the Minutemen by extension, seemed determined to fester in his mind. Was there something important about them, or was it just pure chance? They were destined to leave, he understood that much, but where to? Was it pure chance indeed, that they arrived here so soon after he did, that something so major and unexplainable as a town falling to mercenaries, happened to coincide with his own arrival? A more religious man than he might assume it a sign from above, the will of some Divine for some reason interested in his progress. Towards what though, he couldn't tell. Was he meant to be here? Was he meant to do something, beyond practicing his craft?
"Where do you think they go, after this?"
"Who knows?" Piper shrugged, pausing before she rounded a corner. The streets here were narrow compared to the main one, and almost covered above by the overhanging buildings and slanted metal roofs. The light that reached down had a strange color to it, like it had passed through tinted glass. He missed cobblestones, and even better a paved street without cracks, but the boards at least were tightly laid, and served; "East is not really a thing, unless you're crossing the river first. West...well, we came from the west, you saw what it was like. North seems more likely, there's enough settlements up there for them to melt into and vanish, I guess..."
North.
The Minutemen were going north. Somehow, he knew they were going north. The certainty was not one he could explain, and so he said nothing. He wasn't even sure if he should care. Going north meant danger, going anywhere outside the walls of Diamond City meant danger, something he was not wont with. There were, he knew, people who sought out danger, somehow enjoying the risks.
He didn't. If he had his way, he would never be in danger at all, and live a life of comfort and studies. Even better, if he could do so from the comforts of his laboratorium in the Imperial City. A destination now seemingly so very far away that it might as well exist in a dream only.
Then, if he could not have safety, maybe he could seek out the next best thing? Sun said a part of the job was charity work, in the settlements that could not afford to purchase medicine, or simply couldn't manage caravans to Diamond City. That had to include the northern settlements, didn't it?
If he could arrange to travel with the Minutemen as they went north... then at least half the time he would be surrounded by the closest thing this land had to soldiers. It would be the safest he could be outside of Diamond City, and he could use it to postpone any other settlement visits, and thus danger to himself. I'm no craven, I'm not. But I don't want to die.
Reassuring himself somehow did not purchase him the full comfort it might once have, but so be it. Even if it did make him a craven, he would not risk danger when he could instead have an escort. Even better still, if he could avoid the out-of-city part of the job, now with the realm in apparent upheaval. The gods themselves would know what was to come, and he wasn't certain yet if he wanted in on the secret.
"Sun said part of the job was to undertake charity work to the settlements that can't afford medicine," he felt like biting on his fist as he spoke, as if he'd damned himself to leave the settlement - and her - with his own tongue.
"I figured that was part of it..." Piper did not sound surprised, but at the same time she did not seem enthused about it either. Was the outside even worse than he thought, if someone like her could react like this; "...did he say when you had to go?"
"He was not specific, nor about where," Martin shrugged, adjusting the posters in his grip; "If I... go with the Quincy people, it is safer, yes? More people is safer, and they have weapons."
"Martin..." she sighed, and it was not a happy sound; "No. At least, don't rely on the Minutemen for protection, they can barely protect themselves these days, let alone someone they don't know. The north is safer, generally speaking, at least there's fewer ghouls and supers...most of the time, but you should wait for an actual caravan to come down, and then go with them instead."
"Sun could send me somewhere else before that."
"I know, just..." she seemed to bite her tongue, holding back whatever was next; "I think it would be stupid if you survived the subways, just to get killed because you trusted the wrong people..."
The conversation was not taking a turn he appreciated, instead becoming more and more dour. He did not like either, the way his suggestions of charity work in the Commonwealth had doused Piper's spirits in a way he had not expected.
"You don't trust the Minutemen," it wasn't a question.
"Not...anymore, no..." she admitted, shaking her head; "When I was a girl, dad taught me the Minutemen were the good guys. You could always depend on them to come to the rescue... But, you've seen what's left of them, I guess. Politicking and bickering, and losing the Castle, all that reduced them to...well, this."
It was much the same as Garvey had implied. Whatever force for good the Minutemen had been, it was a thing of the past.
It was almost an hour later when they plastered the last public notice to the wall, near to a long row of concrete brick houses, shoddily assembled compared to the pre-War buildings outside. It was the Diamond City shelters, used as lodgings, homeless housing and temporary shelters for those without a home of their own within the town's walls. The concept itself was admirable enough, and paid for with the very money the merchants and traders brought to town. He wondered if the Imperial City had something similar, but for all he'd lived in the capital for years, he'd never ventured far from the Institute's grounds. Still, he hoped that if there was one in the Imperial City, at least it looked better than this...
"I can't imagine it's a fun place to end up, especially after losing everything," Piper muttered, looking to the dull, grey facade. The roof was thick with wood and baked clay, and looked none the cozier for it; "We'll put one up here, so the traders can't say they haven't seen them."
An hour later, they plastered the last poster against the concrete walls of the Dugout's exteriors. Vadim looked on with something between understanding and disapproval, though the latter seemed more a matter of principle. The man, as Martin understood it, liked his walls clean. Strangely the quieter brother, Yefim, was easier to convince.
"It is not bad for business, but, ah... bad for Commonwealth, yes"? Vadim muttered, eyes rowing through the printed text.
"It will be bad for business," Yefim noted, shaking his head; "Half of clientele, the traders, they stop by on the way to Quincy. Now we're most southern trade hub, they might not." he turned an eye to Piper and Martin, having not yet left the Dugout; "How is the head, Piper?"
"...Fine, thanks," she shrugged; "How's business?"
"Eh, usual," Vadim declared, some cheer back in his voice, though it lacked mirth; "Quincy people have been through some shit, yeah? We give discount, they still drink enough to pay for themselves."
"They drink a lot?" Martin asked. Vadim cocked a brow at his question.
"They drink like ryby, like fish, yes," the man hummed to himself; "Bad things happen, make people drink to forget. Some can't forget, even if they drink. Sad business, it is sometimes, yes."
"People lose their homes, their families," Yefim nodded; "Some of them lost children, they live with the grief now. Dugout is not a happy place, they weep in the corners. But, it's...quieter, than when they're sober. Only one doesn't drink. Garvey he just sits there. Says nothing. He does nothing too."
What could one say to that? Martin felt his ideas of joining these people squashed, realizing how far they had fallen. Piper was right, how could he entrust his safety to people who seemed keener on drinking themselves into an early grave, than carrying on?
"Hey, Martin, yes?" Vadim poked him on the shoulder, a sudden enough movement that for a moment, he didn't register it. Then he flinched, as well at the raised voice; "You work for Sun. He's still in bar. He drinks like the Quincy people now, is not good for medicinal practitioner..."
"Sun?" Piper seemed disbelieving. Martin, less so. To a degree he was starting to understand his employer. Somewhat. It was hard to be sure, but the man had lost people in Quincy. The only surprise was that he had not seen him there last night; "Poor guy."
"Can you get him back to work?" Yefim sighed; "I understand a man must grieve, but he is the only doctor in Diamond City."
Martin hesitated. For one, he feared Sun's reaction if he was disturbed. Whomever he had lost, it had driven him to drink, and he doubted the man would appreciate being told off by his new employee. At best, it might cost him the job. But, on a more personal level, he felt too much pity for Sun to want to rouse him from the bottle. Even if it wasn't healthy for the body, for the mind to let go, at least for a while, could be what he needed.
And even if he got his superior out of the bar, and back to work, would he even be able to? Emotional trauma and alcohol, mixed with a probable lack of sleep and an environment as unstable as this... he did not like putting such a man back to work as a doctor, no matter the man's expertise.
"Let Sun be, I think..." the words were dry in his mouth as he spoke them. It was tantamount to assuming an authority he did not possess; "I can take over, for a day or two, at least."
Yefim eyed him incredulously, whilst Vadim hummed something to himself in words Martin did not understand. Piper, at least, nodded and seemed supporting of his decision. It made him wonder if she had known about Sun still being in there after all, and had led him here for it. But, she had seemed genuinely surprised.
"You can work alone?" Yefim asked.
"I was trained to," Martin replied, shifting his feet to stand firmer. In this, at least, he knew he was qualified.
"I've seen him work," Piper spoke up; "He's good. Really good."
"Eh, we were lucky we had an actual doctor, Yefim," Vadim shrugged; "If Sun took him on, it means he's good, no? At least he won't kill patients."
The older brother - Martin assumed he was, no one had told him yet - frowned, scratching at his chin. Yefim by far was the more contemplative of the two, yet for all Martin had thought they would get along better for it, he preferred Vadim. Genuine joviality was a harder commodity in the Commonwealth. As Piper put it, the Wasteland had enough stern faces.
"I suppose..." Yefim sighed, hands in pockets; "I will get the keys from Sun, he locked the clinic down, yes?"
"So, still thinking of going with the Minutemen?"
"Is this still that?" Martin asked, glancing to where Piper stood, leaned against the same beam she had been when Garvey handed in his and the Minutemen's resignation. He didn't know if there was more to her reluctance at him leaving, but...he appreciated it. Even if it was part of his job now, he liked it as little as she did. Sun's keys slid in and turned with a clank that spoke of years and years of use. Frankly, that it still had some integrity was impressive. Piper, unmoving, gave him a look.
"That's not a no."
"I don't know..." he sighed, pushing the door open; "With what they have fallen to..."
Josh, at least, was asleep still, breath steady. It struck Martin that, if he hadn't taken on the task, no one else might have even remembered the wounded Minuteman was here. By Kynareth, he'd almost forgotten it himself! It was a moment of shame, though he hid it well enough, he hoped, and pretended it was no surprise at all.
"...I know they are not soldiers," he continued, storing away the keys in a small clay pot on Sun's desk. It was strange, being here without his superior. Said superior currently being drunk on grief and moonshine, did little to detract from the strangeness. If anything, it added; "When you told me of them, in the tunnels, I thought back to the soldiers of my homeland. The Legion. I thought maybe the Minutemen were the same, and even when they came here, and I saw them, I still dared to hope. But... they're not soldiers, are they?"
"Citizen soldiers, at least that was the idea once, I think..." Piper shrugged, though her tone did not follow the gesture; "So, what're you gonna do?"
"What you suggested," he sighed, sinking into Sun's chair. It was as comfortable as it had looked; "I will probably follow a caravan, but... not until Sun has come back. Is it...bad, with him? That he drinks, I mean?"
"What, people don't drink where you're from?"
"I haven't seen grief drinking before," he clarified, and Piper nodded, understanding; "People say to let them drink, others to take the bottle from them. I don't... know, which is better. And I don't want to be cruel to Sun, not after..."
"...yeah," she fingered the rim of her cap, a replacement for the one lost out west, and sighed in kind; "It's not a pretty thing. Never is."
"You've seen it before," it was clear that she had, by the tone of her voice. A place like Diamond City, a refuge for those escaping the dangers of the outside, likely saw a lot of it. He tapped his fingers on the desk, briefly lost in thoughts. It seemed like nothing in this world ever came without grief; "Here?"
Piper frowned, her mouth a thin line as it seemed she contemplated what to say. The expression on her face was no more cheerful than before. In the end, she shook her head, and he knew to take it for an answer in its own right. A subject she did not want to broach, though it started his own mind off. Maybe, she herself had indulged in it, following the death of her parents. Likely there would be some guilt, to let Natalie see her like that.
He understood, then. And did not feel like prying.
"So..." her tone resembled her initial question, already casual once more. Forced so, he supposed, but did not say. There was, it seemed, a lot he did not say. A lot she did not say either. Was that how friendships normally worked? Am I terrible at this? I feel like I might be...should I ask anyway? "What now? Until Sun gets his act together, you're..." she gestured at the room; "...more or less it, for Diamond City. It's your show, I guess."
"That's terrifying."
"It should be," she shrugged, though something resembling a smile peered out. It warmed him a little to see; "Means you take it seriously. Public health sector's funded by the city, s'long as you can justify the expences. Any overhauls or changes have to be taken up with the mayor's office, by the way."
Martin paused, halfway to contemplating what ideas he could implement. He glanced to Piper, rolling on her heels where she stood. Sometimes it was difficult to remember she was technically older than him, her behavior could resemble that of a youth... Gods, no, I don't want to feel this old already...
"What?"
"You are well-informed of the city's bureaucracy?" he asked. In what was starting to become something he recognized as her default reaction to almost any query, Piper shrugged.
"Have to be, I'm a reporter," she said, crossing her arms; "A poor reporter would just make assumptions. I actually sat down with the books," the last part accompanied a long-suffering groan, enough that he understood the quality of reading. There was a reason he'd stayed far from politics or jura; "Back to the question though. What now?"
"...did it ever cross your mind I might not have the most remote idea?" he muttered, leaning back in the chair. He was already starting to regret stepping up, maybe he could still go back and retrieve Sun from his drunken stupor? No... no, he had said he would do this. Backing down would be akin to admission of defeat, that he was not qualified as a healer.
"A bit," Piper hummed; "But, I think you do have some idea. You're too much of a cautions-first kind of guy to just jump both feet into the deep end...Right?" her confident facade cracked, and she coughed, laughing nervously; "Honestly, tell me if I'm wrong, I've known you like, ten days, I'm not that good with people."
Ten days, already? Somehow it felt like no time at all, and simultaneously, a lifetime. He still felt like he could awake, at home and safe, in his clean, sanitary apartment. Soft sheets and a soft bed. One day, perhaps, even his own labo-
"I need a laboratorium," he muttered, mostly to himself as the thoughts pressed to the surface. Piper perked up at it, and he realized he'd spoken louder than he'd meant to. He frowned, a little ashamed; "I...need a laboratorium. I can't make the medicines Sun used, but maybe I can make those I was trained in."
"Like?"
"Poultices, potions, anodynes..." he listed them off without much thought, mind already racing. If Sun had a laboratory, he wouldn't need to purchase glass wares from the market, provided it was properly stocked.
Then, the problem was to gather ingredients. He knew next to nothing about the plants and minerals of this land, which in itself would provide the greatest hindrance. He needed a way of gathering them in large enough quantities that a mass-sampling could be carried out, and he could test his way through every flower and root and mushroom until he found those suiting his needs. That in turn would mean he had to leave the clinic- no, he couldn't leave the clinic, not while Sun was like he was. But that meant he'd have to purchase them instead, hoping some people for some reason went around picking flowers and mushrooms in the wastelands. There had to be a better way of gathering them than merely to hope...
"Wow, that's a frown if ever I've seen one," Piper whistled, leaning against the wall with a hand curled against her chin. That she even spoke up reminded him of her presence. What had they been doing today anyway? Plastering posters all over the town with public announcements? What...wait, no...; "Some serious thinking going on in there, or just constipation?"
"If I... wanted to order posters, like those you made for the mayor, just smaller, what would it cost?" he knew they would not be free of charge, no matter Piper's hospitality. Lodgings and food was one thing, but paper was a finite resource here it seemed, and doubtlessly costly. The Empire had massive paper-mills, and even then paper was still one of the greatest expenses in his life. Here, he could not imagine a better situation; "I will pay, as soon as Sun pays my salary."
"Wait, I thought you wanted to make a laboratory?" she frowned; "Actually, pretty sure Sun has one of those old chemistry tables somewhere."
Was that what it was? He'd seen a covered-over crate outside - at least he had assumed it was a crate - with the words 'Kemistry for Kids' barely visible where the cover did not reach. That was good, it meant he wouldn't have to shop for hardware.
"I need ingredients, and I don't know this land," he explained, fingers idly scratching at the desk; "I wanted to... make a poster, saying that the clinic wants to purchase herbs, flowers, roots, mushrooms... I can sample them for their effects here, but I don't know where to look outside for them..."
"Their...effects?" Piper looked at him as if he'd said something strange. Had he? Reviewing his words, he found nothing there out of... the ordinary...for an alchemist. He sighed.
"Most plants and roots, mushrooms, herbs, they have certain attributes and effects upon consumption," probably he was explaining it poorly, he hoped not; "Alchemists, people who...make potions, we can examine ingredients for their attributes by taste. It's a twelve-month course before they even let you make a poultice."
"Sounds rough," she huffed; "Never thought about plants having effects like that. I'm guessing they're useful, not just some flashy oils?"
"A properly made poultice can do much the same I would, only over slightly longer time," he explained, gaining a look of dawning understanding from her; "My magicka...it doesn't restore itself in this world as it would in my own. I can't rely on it, and I don't fully understand your world's medicines yet. I have to adjust."
"Damn," Piper grinned. It looked almost like childlike excitement at such prospects; "If you could make that of flowers and mushrooms you'd make a killing. So, what do you need from me?"
"Just a poster, somewhere visible. That we purchase herbs, flowers, roots, mushrooms...bugs, I suppose," he paused for a moment. That alone would see people throwing their garden weed at him, if people here even had gardens, he hadn't checked yet; "Small samples only. Bulk purchases will take place only when beneficial effects are determined?"
"Not a bad first draft..." she nodded, a contemplative look upon her face; "I'll write something up. Short and simple, few people bother reading longer posts anyway, and it's cheaper."
"I appreciate it."
"Well, yeah, thought you would," she hummed, rolling on the balls of her feet. Up and down, more than once, in a spectacle that was to him strange, but more so enjoyable to watch. It took his mind from things at hand, until she spoke again; "Let's call it a favor owed? I don't like money between friends, so I'll just call something in later from you, yeah?"
That... took him a moment to process. It was still a strange notion to him, and even more so in a land as hostile as this, that people would call on favors over coin for honest work. It seemed... like something to be exploited, by people worse than him. Khajiit would certainly grasp the chance.
"...you know I would heal you even with no favors owed," he felt it had to be said, just in case this was what she meant. He hoped it wasn't, it would leave him further in her depth if he could give nothing back for this either. And, he still wasn't sure he wasn't going to pay her anyway, at the very least he would pay for her expenses at hosting him; "Anything else... don't hesitate."
"Great, I've got just the thing," Piper stood out from the wall and grinned. It almost appeared as if she had thought this through before even speaking of favors. Had he walked into something far more troublesome than merely paying honest coin - caps - for honest work? "Later, though. Okay, so we'll plaster the whole town with notices, right? Let 'em all know Diamond City hospital is now also a florist."
"Funny," he shook his head at her. Honestly, she was fun, though strangely it was mostly when she didn't seem to intend it. Still, he wondered just what kind of favor she would want in return. He stood from the desk, mind made up; "The sooner they're out and posted, the better. I'll start taking inventory meanwhile, I must see how well-stocked this place actually is..."
This wasn't how he had intended on starting his career as a healer, back when he'd first applied with the Institute of Restoration. But, all things being what they were, he supposed it could be worse...
...actually, now that he thought about it, there was a very likely famine around the corner.
Food prices would sky-rocket if or when farmers fled their fields as the raiders had free reigns, and squalor would follow suit in any walled-off settlement. Soon enough, people would be cutting one another down, both outside and inside the 'Great Wall' of Diamond City. His employer had taken to drink from grief and he wasn't even sure if he would get a salary now or just work until someone threw him out.
Without the Minutemen, and in his current position, he wasn't looking forward to the end of the month. At all, actually. With the apparently sole source of stability in the Commonwealth reduced to some traumatized refugees in a bar, and an entire town massacred for no apparent reason.
"...things are going to get bad now, aren't they?"