Good Morning!
Y'know, I always enjoyed making characters in Fallout games that had no luck (like, literally 1 point luck). It always made me feel like I had worked much harder to keep them alive, especially on survival and harder difficulties.
Anyway, hope you enjoy!
Sincerely,
Gatekeeper
P.S. To clarify, italics is used for flashbacks while "italics" are for thoughts.
Chapter two, War makes for strange bedfellows
Bell emerged from sleep like a drunk, slowly and meandering.
She tried to remember how she got to lying down, with a warm but clothed body next to her.
"Dammit" she thought "if Murphy thinks he has an open invitation to my bedroll because of that one night I got drunk and pulled him in to sleep with, I'm gonna stamp his face with 'Made in the Hub' from my rifle butt!"
She tried to recall what happened that morning.
It was, in her mind, a pretty nice day in the Mojave. The blazing sun was partially covered by some white clouds and a breeze was rushing through the wasteland just enough to bring cool air to her patrol group but not enough to kick up dust. The cazadors buzzed in the far distance, far enough to be enjoyable without having to worry about being killed by a dog-sized flying abomination.
Indeed, it would have been a pretty nice day.
And then Murphy started talking.
She knew somehow, Murphy had something to do with this.
This, and the massive wave of pain her body decided to finally tell her about.
"Shit! Feels like I got thrown by a Deathclaw! Oh."
Bell didn't even remember when they started fighting the Legion patrol, but now she was lining up a shot on a recruit that was rushing towards her.
She squeezed the trigger and watched him fall before moving onto the next one. Just like her Dad told her to.
The battle was vicious. Murphy was down, and so was Dan, but they'd stayed at about equal strength between their 5 man squad and the 9 man Legion patrol with 5 Legionnaires down as well. A Legionnaire was closing in on Sergeant Moody and Smith was covering the rookie (which had been her, not that long ago) while the last three Legionnaires advanced on them (one of them had this sideways mohawk plume that she couldn't make heads or tails of.).
She turned to help out Smith when she heard a guttural roar.
From right behind her.
She turned and saw that cresting the dunes behind her was a Deathclaw.
An alpha male Deathclaw
Before she knew it, she was picked up in its crushing grasp and thrown towards some vaguely human shaped objects before the darkness came.
She grimaced both at the memory and pain but forged on, now trying to get a better look at her bed-mate.
She turned and found that it was definitely a 'he', judging by the broad shoulders she could barely pick out in the flickering light.
He was passed out, but his breath hitched on every intake, like it was painful to even breathe. She squinted to try and get a better look at his garb, and saw red.
Legion red, barely visible in the light against the leather straps over it.
She rolled out from the sleeping bag and went into a crouch.
She was seven years old when her father first showed her the knife. It's black blade was worn and battle tested, with a blue-colored leather covered hilt. She saw a faded emblem of a star on a striped field stamped on the hilt.
"Knives are tools, Bell. Never forget that." Her father rumbled as he handed her it.
The knife was heavy in her hands as she tried to hold it like he did. He chuckled before she handed it back.
"But every tool has a primary purpose, and this knife is made to stab. Mommy's kitchen knives are made for cutting, but see how this one is shorter and thin? It's like that to help it make holes quickly." His hands twirled the knife around with practiced ease. He thought for a second before he set his jaw and furrowed his eyebrows, like he always did when he decided something.
"Here, let me show you how to use it. Just in case."
She was 12 when she first had to use it, and thanked her father every day for making her practice.
She pulled her combat knife out from its sheath and raised it up as she got ready to lunge.
She heard a muffled pip and a sudden force ripped her knife from her hand, making it fall with a clang to the ground.
"Oh hey now, let's wait a minute there little missy." A tired voice said quietly.
Bell looked towards where the voice came from and saw a figure just at the edge of the light of a nearby campfire. He sat in a chair with his back to the gas station wall.
"And why should I? He's Legion! He's probably a slaver!" she spat, trying to reach for the knife again.
Another pip and she saw the brief flash from a muzzle, followed by a small spray of dirt and a clang and the sound of the knife tumbling a little farther away.
"And he carried you here before passing out. I'd say that warrants a little patience, missy." the stranger said calmly.
"Or what? You'll shoot me?" Bell said as she put a hand on her pistol holster.
a tense moment of silence was drawn out, before the sleeping man sat up and said
"But Ma, don't shoot the bloatfly. I need him to trade for Nuka-Cola with Jimmy!"
He then promptly lay down and cocooned himself in the sleeping bag.
the now awkward moment of silence soon stretched out far too long.
The stranger chuckled. "You two, have got to be the most colorful pair I've seen in my life."
But Bell saw how he put the gun away in a overly dramatic way, to signal his truce attempt. She responded in kind, letting her hand hang loose by her side.
The stranger sighed before he continued "But on my word, he did bring you here. Carried you in like a ripped sack of Brahmin dung, but he did anyway. He didn't even realize I was here, I think. Not like a legionnaire to be so unaware, don't you think?" He mused.
The stranger got up, and took a step towards Bell, who stood up in response. "Tell you what, since you seem unwilling to sleep, why don't you wait till dawn when he wakes up? That way you'll have the upper hand in talking to him. And if you could keep watch, that'd be swell. I could use a kip."
Bell couldn't believe the man would be so trusting of his life and possessions. "And what makes you think you'll wake up and your things will be here? We don't even know each other."
The stranger chuckled again. "Because I don't sleep soundly like your friend over here." His voice went cold for a second "Try anything, and it won't be your knife that's sent to the ground."
Bell could feel a chill go through her, and knew the man was much more dangerous than he appeared.
She nodded "Sure, okay. Whatever. What's your name anyway? I'm Bell."
The stranger mused on this for a second. "For now, call me Coyote. Good night, Bell."
Coyote turned, and sat himself down again in his chair. Getting himself comfortable, he spoke again.
"I apologize for hitting your knife like that. It's a fine piece of work, that was probably made for the old Desert Rangers. It was a hell of a journey to make, getting it from Flagstaff to the Hub. I almost wanted to just take it for myself but I was on a job, you understand."
"Thanks." Bell muttered. "It was my Dad's." She turned and searched for it quickly, wiping the dust off of it and putting it back in it's sheath.
She turned and went to sit by the fire by a bit. She always kept an eye on the Legionnaire that had, apparently, carried her away from the battle.
She found herself getting drowsy and was about to fall back into the embrace of sleep when her mind pieced it Coyote's words together.
She turned sharply to face the old man "You mean you traveled from Flagstaff to the Hub!?" she exclaimed.
His only response was a short snore before tugging on a blanket he'd gotten out.
She turned back again, muttering to herself.
"That means you knew my dad. But why did he never tell me about all of that?"
She brought her knees to her chest and covered her head with her arms, unaware of the tears falling down her cheeks as she tried to figure out more about the strange man who snored in the chair near her.