The first thing that went through Six's mind was that it was too damn sunny out. This coming from the man who regularly wakes up hungover in the middle of the Mojave, occasionally on the arm of a cactus, and once smack dab in the center of a deathclaw nest. That last one sure made for one hell of an afternoon.
Right, back on task. Six, ignoring the assorted aches and pains racking his body, managed to crack open his eyes with a groggy groan. Various painful sensations were nothing really new to the man who had helped stabilize the political powder keg that was the Mojave, but one of the things causing said sensations certainly was. It was a weird ass scorpion, and this is coming from the man who generally sees no less than a hundred scorpions of various species and sizes each day. This thing was three feet long, had a trident for a tail, a couple of what looked like flippers, and two spiky-ass claws currently jammed into his right leg.
Six just stabbed it through the head with his knife, good old Blood-Nap. His stabbing reflexes were on point, given his experiences had pretty much made it into an instinct. He could probably stab someone in his sleep, and not wake up until their pool of blood soaked into his underwear. Removing the scorpion's claws from his leg, he was about to start figuring out the best to to determine if he could eat the freaky thing, but before he could he started to take a look around, and his mind went blank.
He was on a beach. A Real-Ass-Goddamn Beach (tm). A pretty damn nice one, too. Palm trees, white sand, crystal blue water, the whole nine yards. Six, however, didn't notice these things right away. His first thoughts were how exactly he got there. He forced his fogged up mind to use whatever neural capacity it had left, after taking two bullets and a whole lot more, to figure out just how the hell he got there. Right, Mojave was good, the Legion got their asses kicked at the Hoover, the NCR, gangs, and tribes took control of their land, House still ran New Vegas as a free city, things got quiet. Thus, Six got bored.
"OK," Six thought to himself, "Still doesn't explain why the hell I'm... wherever the fuck I am." He continued retracing his steps. After he got bored, he bid farewell to his pals and hiked his way out to San Francisco. Figured he could see how the drinks were, take a look around town. After he did both those things, he figured he could hijack a motorboat and take a joy ride out into the Pacific. Had he ever driven a boat before? Nope. Had he ever even been out on the ocean before? Also no. In all fairness, he was 90.69% sure he was blackout drunk when those thoughts passes through his mind. Those Shi sure do make a killer rice wine.
Next thing he remembers is the boat getting caught in one hell of a squall, him grabbing onto something moving in the water, and then he woke up. "Ah," he said to himself, "Nice going, dumbass, you managed to wreck the first boat you ever set foot on. Still, there are worse places to be shipwrecked, I guess." He guessed right. With how clear the water and airs felt, he could swear that the bombs never even fell. This place was probably one of those nice, tropical islands in the South Pacific he read about in those pre-war magazines in Vegas. Nice place to visit, but most of 'em were too small and unimportant to bother dropping a bomb on. Still, given the freaky water scorpion he woke up attached to, it was clear this place hadn't gotten through entirely unscathed. Probably got some fallout washed ashore from California or Hawaii or some other place that got hit.
"Come to think of it, if that weirdass thing is the worst this place has, this'll be a nice getaway." He said to himself, as well as the gull which had landed next to him five seconds ago. It looked pretty healthy, compared to the rad-gulls back in California, though the teeth on its beak showed it, like the scorpion, hadn't come through the war unchanged. "Y'know what, I've got no one else on this godforsaken sandbar, so you're my new friend. I'll name ya Richard." Richard squawked indifferently, though he was likely somewhat disappointed this odd man in a trench coat and gas mask was not, in fact, a tasty corpse. Six grabbed Richard, and began stroking his back like one would stroke a cat, which oddly seemed to soothe the bird. "Now, Richard, we should probably find wherever the hell my ship is. We'll have to patrol the shore, and search all day if we must!" Six stated with gusto. Then he turned around, and found his ship, a mid sized, rather makeshift yacht, sitting dashed on some rocks just a few yards in front of him. "Ah, I suppose that's as good a place as any to wreck I guess. I must have done something to gain the favor of the sea gods, eh Richard?" Richard, being an irreligious avian, declined to reply.
Six clambered aboard his vessel which, miraculously, was sitting upright on the rocks. Upon further inspection, despite the gaping holes in the sides, it was in pretty decent shape. "Well Richard, suppose we should look for some supplies." If there's anything he learned from the Mojave, it's that you never go anywhere without being prepared for anything and everything. And they do mean everything. He opened the hatch into the hold, and began to take stock. "Let's see, we've got my weapons, my ammo, my pip boy, my booze, various foods, Raul, more food, more booze, drugs...wait." It was at that moment he realized he wasn't quite as alone as he thought when Raul gave a pained groan. He was laying on a pile of Cram and Fancy Lad Snack Cakes, wearing his mechanic outfit, which Six imagined was not the worst way to wake up after a shipwreck. He walked over and leaned over Raul as his eyes opened. "Boss?," Raul asked, "Did we wreck?". Raul figured he already knew the answer. "Yep," Six replied, "But on the bright side I'm pretty sure we're on Fiji. By the way, this is Richard." He held the bird up to Raul's face, which garnered minimal reaction from either party. Raul had been with Six long enough to know not to question the chaotic workings of his mind, and Richard didn't care because Raul wasn't food.
As they clambered their way out of the hold, Raul let out a long whistle. "Wow, boss, you sure know how to pick a prime shipwreck location." He said. "You bet your pruny ass I do. Now while we *cough* you *cough* repair the ship, we can spend our free time sipping on pineapples and eating coconut slices." Six said. Richard squawked approvingly. He had no idea what the hell the weird guy had said to the dried up man, but he had a feeling it was about food, which Richard was always up for. "Well, boss, I'm not sure about what exactly you just said, but taking a look at it we'll need some scrap to patch up the hull. Pretty sure the engine and most of the workings are mostly intact, and the boat came with a tool kit, so once we get that scrap it should take me four, five, at mist six days to get her seaworthy." Raul said. "Great! You take a look at her, me and Richard here are going to go see what's good to eat here. You can play some music on my pip boy while you work. See yah!" Six said, as he took off into the jungle with Richard in his arms.
"Boss! Wait, shouldn't we...?" Raul never finished his question. Six was already out of earshot, which was, of course, the usual situation. Raul just sighed, used to these sort of antics, grabbed his tools, and set to looking the ship over. He grabbed the pip boy, and tried to find a good radio station, though he was only met with static. "Ah, well we are in the middle of Dios sabe dónde. Makes sense we wouldn't get any channels." Raul thought to himself. So, he just contented himself with the sounds of the surf and the cries of the gulls. "La musica de la naturaleza." He said to himself, though he did hear a few strange calls coming from the jungle. He just hoped that Six wouldn't cause too much trouble while they were here.