John

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The door opens from Milliways onto the tumbletown ruins of what used to be an industrial area on the fringes of Arlington. The temperature is summertime-warm, the air dry; the last rains to pass through here are long since gone. Overhead, a scavenger bird or two circles, visible only to people who know what they're looking for. A breeze listlessly stirs the air, kicking up brief dust-devils along the shattered ruin of the local roads. Beyond that, the place is quiet in the way that only emptiness can bring.

"This is where I came in," Ellen says over her shoulder. "Like I mentioned the other day, it's about a day's travel to the Fort Bannister region from here. There's still some pre-war asphalt laid down here but pretty soon it all gives way to open sand and scrub. The nearest radiation source is a hundred yards northeast of here, and we're not going in that direction, so unless my Geiger counter goes off without warning we should be all right."

Comments

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Then you sleep first," Ellen says. "You're my guest. I may not have your kind of abilities, but I'm awake, my armor's online, and Dogmeat's awake. That should add up to a decent amount of alertness."

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

"We'll keep going until we find somewhere secure," says the Spartan.

The journey continues as the sun sinks lower and lower. Through the dusty winds, the sunset is spectacular. It's small compensation for the end of civilization. There's no one left to appreciate it.

The sky is fading fast when John spots a concealed position at the top of a rocky ridge line--plenty of view without being exposed.

After coming up, he unloads his equipment into an organized pile on the side of a rock and sits down on the dusty ground to remove his helmet. He adjusts himself slightly for comfort, but not many would call reclining against a rock comfortable. The seals on his helmet disengage.

The air isn't as acrid as he thought it would be.

It's just... dusty and dry...

"If you need me," he says, "I'll know."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen nods. "Hopefully you'll get to sleep," she says. She's started unloading provisions from her pack; they look for all the world like civilian versions of old military MREs, albeit with faded colors on the once-cheerfully bright packaging. "This has been one of the better days, I think."

She's got the means to make a fire if need be, but these particular ready-meals are normally heated by ripping open the chemical pouch inside that drops magnesium shavings into an otherwise-sealed water packet, thereby starting the necessary reaction to warm up the whole shebang. No need to cook. And fire, while nice for keeping Wasteland beasts at bay, tends to attract mutants and humans with ill intentions.

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

John watches Ellen silently heating up the ancient civilian meals in the dim light. It strikes him then. The dust choked air. The desolate, barbed land.

The emptiness.

John had a team, and had ideas for training the next generation of Spartans in the years to come, if he wasn't killed in action. He had access to an entire network of like minded engineers, doctors, soldiers, and philosophers. Sitting here under a cold, dark sky, with an archaic, yet dependable consumer product, and her canine companion, this was one of the better days for Ellen. There were worse too. This was it for her.

The Spartan feels an emptiness in his chest that has nothing to do with the chilling breeze.

"You'll be fine?" he asks, feeling days of combat and fatigue weighing down upon him.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Oh yes," says Ellen, looking up. "I've done this plenty of times. Probably not as often as you, since I spent most of my life in Vault 101 instead of out on the surface, but I can manage pretty well." She resettles her position a little, wishing- not for the first time- that itches could be scratched through power armor. The suit's helpful, but it was never individually fitted to her and there are still a few spots that chafe. "It's a nice night out, anyway. I can see even more stars here than I would in Megaton. That always helps."

She's still not entirely sure how to read the older man's expressions, but there's something about the question that prompts her to ask, a little more quietly, "How about you? Will you be okay?"

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

John checks his armor for breeches. "I wasn't hit," he confirms.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"That's not what I meant," Ellen says, "but that's good to know too."

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

"What did you mean?" John asks.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"I didn't do very well my first day and night on the surface," Ellen says. "I'd lived nineteen years with the walls never being farther than three steps away, and with someone always within yelling distance. I've had people come here from Milliways who lived in... well, they lived in better worlds, when it comes right down to it. This place bothers them almost as much as it did me. I just... thought I should make sure you weren't too rattled or anything. That's all. I mean, if I've misjudged something, tell me- I do that all the time."

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

"I've seen worse," says John. This place reminded him of the worse. It reminded him of his failures. "I'll be fine."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen nods. "All right," she says. "In that case, the food should be ready soon." She hands over a sturdy, sizable bottle of water so free of any taste or smell that it had to have been atmospherically distilled, and pours out a little of her own into a small metal dish, which turns out to be for Dogmeat. He'll be getting some dried fishy-smelling jerky for his own supper once the humans have theirs.

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

John closes his eyes in reply. It was easier to switch to never go to sleep than to come back.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

If Ellen were alone, she'd be turning on her Pip-Boy radio about now to see if Three Dog had anything new to say. It can wait, though. There's not likely to be anything happening in DC that'd be urgent enough to affect them all the way out here, and she's not going to do anything to disturb John. Like she said, he's her guest. He's come here to help her. Imposing further wouldn't be fair, or appropriate.

She'll look for a standing door in some ruin come dawn, and see about bringing at least Annabelle Newfield through. Moon Shadow might not be able to make it if the timing is wrong, but- well. She'll deal with it then. For now she's got dinner to distribute, and then a watch to stand, and then her own fitful sleeping to do. Dawn's a long way off.