Finding Dave

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

North of the de facto borders of the Capital Wasteland, the terrain turns rocky and a stone massif begins to thrust itself towards the sky. What had been rolling hills and the occasional ridge gives way to more vertical, less hospitable terrain, dusted with scrubby brush and the long-dead remains of spindly trees. A ghost of green covers the occasional patch of lowland soil, the only sign that here, it's technically spring.

Ellen's got her Chinese stealth suit on, but the headpiece is pulled down around her neck, and a pair of oval-lensed red-striped goggles covers her eyes. As Dogmeat sniffs furiously at the ground around them, she scans the landscape. "I have no idea what half of the trails I'm seeing are," she says of the trackless terrain, "but there's a definite streak of 'humans were here' heading up that slope to the northwest."

Comments

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

That's fine. The point wasn't to draw a reaction so much as to offer warning; you don't really want to be running around effectively invisible in front of somebody heavily armed unless they know you might be there.

"Dogmeat, stay."

The blur turns and heads for the hill. Dogmeat begins circling the area, nose low and ears pricked forward.

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo stays put, eyes and ears open as Ellen makes her way up the hill, occasionally checking the other slopes out of the corner of his eye.

This looks more like an avenue of approach than a base camp area. Then again, the road to hell is paved with assumptions.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

There's no sign of human presence here, and very little is moving, save for the occasional breeze through the branches of what's left for the trees. Somewhere in the distance, maybe, there might be the sound of stone clacking against stone as it rolls down the hillside, but that's it.

And shortly afterwards the human-shaped blur arrives again anyway. "The trail definitely leads up the hill," Ellen reports, "but I didn't hear or see anybody in the area. They might've stopped there to get their bearings and verify nobody was after them, from what I could tell."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo grunts. "Might be our best chance of getting a lead. We get lucky, they might've left behind a map, maybe a GPS receiver."

He secretly doubts they'll find anything quite that unambiguous.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"A what, now?" says Ellen. Then: "Oh, right, the data system that lets my Pip-Boy do surface mapping... well, it can't hurt to get up there and look, or at least it can't hurt much. Dogmeat, c'mon."

She's not going to bother turning the stealth field on this time. Someone would've shot at her already if they could've.

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo sets off after her, occasionally turning around to make sure nobody's sneaking up on them - unlikely, with no ambient sound cover, but still.

A white/red speck out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. He leans in for a closer look - sure enough, it's the splintered remains of what used to be a fibula in a small pool of blood leading up the hillside.

"Got a blood trail. Bone fragments, too," he murmurs. "Watch yourself."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Crud." Ellen crouches low, but doesn't engage the stealth field yet. One person alone is more likely to be attacked than two. "I hope that was one of them, and not Dave..."

Not that she can tell, with the way the scent trails are all muddled up in her vision here. They were traveling close together at this point, and the goggles render all the human scents as different shades of the same orange-yellow anyway.

"At least I haven't seen deathclaw sign. This far north they're a danger."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo doesn't respond, instead adjusting his grip on the foregrip as he watches over the slopes behind them. Vigilance is a small price to pay for staying in one piece.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

There's nothing coming up behind them, for once- a rare thing in Ellen's experience, and one greatly to be appreciated. As they make their way to the crest of the hill, though, Dogmeat begins to growl. That's Ellen's cue to engage the stealth field immediately. Makes sweeping the area ahead with the rifle's scope easier.

"Nothing moving," she mutters, "but-"

Ah. Hm.

"There's a lot of blood down the slope. More than a person's worth."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo turns, takes in the blood -

( had to be at least two liters back there, probably more )

( breathing hurts )

( don't know how he's still alive )

- and just stops.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

She's crept along another several yards before she realizes she's alone.

"Voodoo? You okay?"

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo stares at the blood, mouth open, eyes still. The M60 falls to his side.

( you're gonna be fine, Rabbit )

( but I'm so dizzy )

( just fine )

"I'm okay," he rasps. "Just...I'll be fine."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

She's... been there. Murder Pass. She remembers.

"All right," she answers, just loud enough to be heard. Then she braces herself against the nearby rocks, Gauss rifle poised and ready. It might not be that machine gun Voodoo's so fond of, but she can cover him until he snaps out of it.

(Is there something moving downslope, out of the scent-vision goggles' range? She's not sure...)

[boston_bruiser]

Whatever it is, Voodoo catches a glimpse of it, too, and it's enough to snap him out of it. His weapon's up and ready in a flash.

He's not sure what he saw. He's not even sure he saw something to begin with. But he's damn sure that if it's hostile, its life expectancy just got a hell of a lot shorter.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

There's a low, rumbling growl from nearby. Dogmeat's given up on pricked ears and progressed to raised hackles and bared fangs. That's all Ellen needs to know. She targets the last place she saw motion-

It charges, a low-slung explosion of motion that's all fang and claw and bristle- an enraged yao guai, come back to the place where its mate was killed, looking to inflict a little grievous bodily harm all its own.

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo opens fire, the M60 bucking against his shoulder as it chews through the belt. He gets halfway through before it jams with a CLACK -

( the Dishka's turning, it's turning )

- he slings the machine gun and takes out his pistol, emptying two magazines into the beast -

( Mark, mark )

- before a cartridge stovepipes in the ejection port.

That's okay. That's okay.

Tomahawks never jam.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen's never been a big fan of automatic weapons. Bullets are expensive. Every single one has to count.

Works the same way with microfusion cells, too. Fortunately, with that Gauss rifle, one is all she needs.

BANG. And the two-mil round slams into the mutant bear with such force that the wounded beast is hurled to the ground.

[boston_bruiser]

THUNK.

That's the sound of a tomahawk cracking open the bear's skull.

ROAAAWR.

That's the sound of the yao guai giving off one last bellow before it slumps down, dead.

"...Christ."

That's the sound of Voodoo waking up.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen lowers the rifle and looks from the man to the bear and back again.

"Still with me, Voodoo?" she finally says.

[boston_bruiser]

"...yeah." He puts a boot on the bear's head and yanks out the tomahawk, wiping it on his trousers before sheathing it.

"Yeah, I am." He works the M60's bolt a couple times, clearing the jam, then sets to getting the stovepiped cartridge out of the pistol.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen nods and looks at the dead bear thoughtfully. It goes very much against the grain to waste that much meat, but they've got supplies, and not enough time to even properly skin the beast.

She settles for settling in to gut the bear, since Dogmeat is fond of offal.

[boston_bruiser]

The cartridge flies free of the pistol, and Voodoo holsters it, taking the machine gun into his hands.

"See anything useful?" He's hoping for a map. He's also aware how bad their luck's been already.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen glances up, wiping her hands on the bear's hide. (Dogmeat's very happily tucking in.) "Scent trail heading off that way," she reports, pointing northward with her knife. "Doesn't look as thready as the one leading here. They're moving slowly- probably got somebody wounded. Other than that, just some discarded tin cans and soda bottles."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo grunts. "We move fast, we might catch them. Might even get another blood trail, if we're lucky."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Fast, I can do," Ellen says. "Dogmeat, come on. We need to get moving."

Few things are more pitiable and at the same time more disturbing than a dog making puppy eyes of sadness with his muzzle covered in blood and guts.

"There'll be more later. We need to move."