Ulysses was always the one who had the upper hand on the Courier, the more experienced person who knew everything about the Courier. Putting Ulysses into situations where he is not the dominant force in the conversation, where somebody else has to carry the conversation and I can't let Ulysses be all philosophical because he is unfamiliar with his surroundings… it's very annoying to do and hard to get right. :(
We're also a couple days late, sorry for that (I try to post on Saturdays).
Chapter 21: In The Pale Moonlight
Vale by night was quite a spectacle – much more impressive than the likes of New Vegas. New Vegas was all flashy lights, money, and blackmail. True, Vale surely had its own fair share of crime and wrongdoings, but it was just so much more civilised than anywhere back in the wastes and it certainly looked the part too. Perhaps it was not as attractive to oneself when compared to New Vegas sitting amongst miles of barren desert, Vegas having a marvellous light show through the night skies, though Vale, to the Wastelander, was a clear cut above it.
How had this place not seen the light of nuclear fires? Where was this place?
They had walked west and miraculously happened upon this lush oasis, free of war and tyranny with only one major driving force against a completely joined and peaceful society. The Great War destroyed the earth, irradiated the seas, Ulysses knew this much, so why was this place completely unharmed by the devastation caused by the nuclear exchange?
Another thing that perplexed Ulysses was the moon, shattered and broken in the sky. Why was it like this? A holographic projection, perhaps? Last he knew the moon was perfectly intact.
There were many questions, but answers were not the first priority for Ulysses. The first priority was history, personal history from the veterans of this place. Ulysses had set off to Vale earlier that day and night had fallen quickly. The first targeted location was a book shop. It may not have the history he needed, but it was a place to start and perhaps the owner would be able to give him the latest hearsay around town.
The store was entitled 'Tukson's Book Trade'.
"Welcome to Tukson's Book Trade, home to every book under the sun!" There was a slight stutter, almost unnoticeable, when he registered Ulysses' unique appearance.
Tukson had supposedly never seen anybody wearing a duster before (old-fashioned as they were), and if he had he had probably never seen someone who looked just so blatantly messy. The duster was caked in dirt and, unless he was a huntsman, that was not something you would see much on a casual day in Vale or any other city. Most people preferred to look presentable when appearing publicly in Vale, but this guy looked like he had walked through from a sandstorm. He looked like trouble, if his odd appearance and the giant golden-eagle-tipped staff on his back were anything to go by. The duffle bag also wasn't common wear.
"How may I help you?" Tukson gave a friendly smile, of which Ulysses merely acknowledged mentally and gave no friendly response, only answering back with his own question, straight to the point.
"Looking for rarer history books."
Tukson pointed somewhere near the front of the store, "The history section is-"
Ulysses cut him off bluntly, "Rare." He repeated, "Old, ancient history. Not recent."
Tukson faked a smile, a blatant fake, and spoke in a friendly tone, "I'm afraid we have nothing over twenty-nine years back."
Ulysses gave his usual blank stare as he had almost everybody else in his life, "'Every book under the sun'. You're lying."
"Sir, we don't-"
"White Fang." Ulysses lay his palms on the countertop, "Tell me."
Tukson's expression dropped, "You're with them." He scowled.
"No." the bell above the store's door rang, a pair of teens wandered in: boy and a girl. Ulysses paid them a quick and crude glance over his shoulder. Silver hair, green hair.
"Then how did you know?" Tukson's voice lowered and he leaned into Ulysses, threateningly close with his hands at the ready.
"An animal may struggle against another for territory. Humans and Faunus. You have no struggle, can tell from your look, the way you walk, the way you talk – you had connections. Won't leave until I find what I want."
"Listen, just-" Tukson paused and his eyes shifted to the right quickly, then back, "How do I know you aren't here to kill me?"
"Because they are." It was something Ulysses did passively, picking out the smallest movements and changes in tone and inferring a great deal from those small hints. He could see a liar from a mile away.
"…yeah, I figured that out." Tukson scowled again
"Tell me."
"Listen- I- just… I can't just tell you… just… find Maxx's Armament and ask for Judas, he can help you – tell them you're selling to him." He put on an angry tone and raised his voice, demanding, "Now get out of my store, you're bad for business!"
Ulysses gave his regular blank look, "Best not to break the moulding of history." He stood straight and paced placidly out the door, ignoring the other two 'customers'. Just as the door swung closed, he heard Tukson start up again.
"Welcome to Tukson's Book Trade…"
Tukson would most likely be dead within the next hour or so. It was not Ulysses' place to decide if he lived or died; that was a part played by history and best left undisturbed.
He asked around for Maxx's Armament, stopping a couple passing casuals – the third of which was able to point him in the general direction. It turned out that it was on the far end of the town from where he was now.
As Ulysses walked the streets, he couldn't help but feel slightly unsettled by the extreme lack of sophistication that Vale seemed to display. Initially, Ulysses believed that society would be more advanced than the pre-war existences, but it seemed to be the complete opposite.
Almost half the stores on the streets either sold weaponry or clothing; the weaponry being displayed was simple, almost primal, in terms of pre-war technological advancements. Flimsy swords, war hammers, and other bladed and close quarters weapons ate up space in the shops' display windows, the occasional gun being thrown in there.
There were a few stores selling 'dust' which he had read about. If there were stores selling this 'dust' then why had he never seen any throughout his lifetime? It seemed to be in decent abundance and widely used, too. Apparently it was used as a fuel source so there was no logical reason as to why there wouldn't be any eastward.
The airships he had seen floating around were indeed a small step ahead of pre-war technologies, but only a small step.
And the Grimm… this was the first Ulysses had heard of such creatures. The supposedly greatest threat to humanity and Ulysses had heard no word of it throughout his lifetime. And Faunus too, Ulysses had never caught wind of their existence, even if they were exclusive to… wherever this place was.
All of this accumulating together… it was impossible that this place could have existed in pre-war times and it would have been highly unlikely for a society so well-constructed and peaceful to come about two hundred years after a nuclear war.
There had to be an explanation.
It was not Earth, or at least it wasn't the Earth that Ulysses had learned of, that much was obviously apparent.
Answers were needed, and they were not forthcoming. Perhaps if he learned the truth he could tell the Courier and the Malpais Legate. Perhaps.
Maxx's Armaments was not a store as Ulysses had expected, but more of a supply depot, military in style. It was in a less urban area, basically detached from the city itself and cut off into its own small sanctuary just off to the side of the modern populace and loomed over by the great Valian wall which separated the city from the Grimm horror that lurked beyond the safety of the city.
Large semi-circular metal tubes were lined in sequence, each with a light green tint of paint coating the old rusted metals, and covering a vast expanse of dirt and patched grass, fading with age and dead through the sheer dryness present in the air. The temperature seemed to pick up the closer Ulysses stalked to the depot, but only by a near unnoticeable few degrees – it was unusually cold considering that it was night.
An aging metal chain-link fence surrounded the large compound, topped with shambled barbed wire that made the crude defence look as though it had seen no maintenance or replacement in at least ten years. In a few places the link was broken and it seemed as if the weather had given way to small dog-sized holes in the fence.
The dirt road Ulysses ambled down was greeted by two great wooden struts, a crudely-made wooden sign sitting atop said struts, reading: Maxx's Armaments in poorly wooden blocks. There was no gate, but simply a rough parting in the fence between the struts in such a way that it looked like the fence had been cut to form a makeshift opening to the compound, though the details were hard to spot with the darkness encroaching further.
The poor maintenance of the outside area made Ulysses somewhat suspicious, questioning the reasoning for being so unmaintained. The small concrete building sitting just beyond the dull sign had seen better days – corners chipped and moss dangling from the roof and spreading infectiously across the walls. A set of stairs with a rusted and snapped metal railing led to the solemn metal door to the building and Ulysses strode in seemingly nonchalantly as he always would.
He adjusted the duffle bag on his back slightly.
Inside, the building was lacking in all decorative purpose or thought, just simple concrete walls and metal folding chairs lined against those walls. One wall had a button, glowing a faint red, and with a sign written in pencil above it: Push for service. Adjacent to the button was a small counter with a metal mesh protective screen and small deposit slots like those Ulysses had seen in pre-war banks.
Seeing nothing else of interest, Ulysses, albeit slowly and cautiously, pushed the button as he drew an aged 12.7mm SMG from his lower back, concealed by his duster.
The button made a soft buzz and something clicked open somewhere distant, the all-too-familiar sound of doors unlocking further in the building. From the outside, the building looked to be just the singular room he was standing in as of the moment, so the only explanation was some sort of subterranean compound of sorts.
What sounded like a heavy metal hatch flew open behind the small counter opposite him and a small, scraggly man hopped up and thumped his arms down onto the cold metal counter, resounding a somewhat cheerful "Can I help you?" to the customer.
"Selling." Ulysses replied and the man shook his head.
"We don't buy, I'm afraid." He smiled some pain aching grin.
Ulysses unslung the duffle bag from his shoulder and replied, "Selling to Judas."
The man's smile instantly dropped, "Who are you?"
"I'm a traveller, friend of Judas." Ulysses replied
"Then how come I ain't ever seen you 'round 'ere before?" The man sneered as he let a hand slip from the metal counter, presumably to press a button. With no more words, Ulysses unzipped the duffle bag and pulled a plasma pistol from it, slipping it through one of the small deposit slots. He had managed to take a few smaller weapons from Six's duffle bag before the Courier had made his abrupt exit.
The man slowly raised a hand to pick up the plasma pistol, his eyes focused solely on Ulysses, suspicion in his pupils. The scraggly man had never seen anything like it before, but it was definitely a weapon of some sort.
"I guess the boss might be able to see ya then."