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aaaaaaaagh_skyThe Wasteland's quieter these days than it used to be, but it's still not a wise idea to travel anywhere alone. There are still mutants, monsters; there are raiders. Just not as many as there used to be. It's quieter. It's not tame.
Maybe someday.
For now it's quiet, and Ellen has garrison duty, which at the moment doesn't mean much. The Scribes are happy working with Moira. Jerald especially; some of the stuff coming out of her archive copy is way more useful anything he expected from a public library. The Knights keep their watch and report what they need to. There's not that much call for a chaplain's services beyond daily ritual and the occasional blessing request, which Ellen's happy to give. It's something to do and she's fine with that. It's just not much.
(She understands why it's not much. After Jerald found her in the Citadel storage closet and she broke down all over his robes, she told him everything that had happened in Point Lookout- all of it- and all that she dreaded would be coming as a consequence. Not even Knight-Captain Colvin heard that part from her, and he's the one who stood at her ordination. Jerald must have brought the information to Cross or Tristan. Three Dog might not talk about her as much as he used to, but her number still comes up on the radio; it would be bad for morale if 101 went all to pieces in the field. Better to put her somewhere quiet for a while, give her time.)
So when night falls and the Megaton lights come on, and she says goodbye to Jerald because he lives in the garrison and she still has her Megaton house and there are things you don't do until they're proper, she's got time to herself. And sometimes that's a good thing. There's studying to be done, from Moira's books or Brotherhood holotapes. There's praying. Meditation. There's preparation for the next day's work. Music to listen to- Agatha's, especially; no offense to Three Dog's collection but Agatha's been on a roll lately. There's ways to fill up that time and quiet before sleep.
They're not always enough, though. It feels like there ought to be something. This is the longest she's gone in one place since leaving Vault 101, and the longest there's been any kind of relative peace. It's… she ought to like it. Or at least ought to accept it, deal with it, get better in it. That's what it's for, only it's not working. Even in the middle of all the work being done, everything being rebuilt and remade, without some kind of a mission Ellen can feel time passing her by.
So one night, when she's back from Milliways and the thought of the Exodus journey to Lost Hills is in her head, she gives Wadsworth a message for anyone looking for her. She gives Deputy Weld at the town gates the same message- the robot's always awake, after all- and drops off a copy with the Knight on guard duty down the road: If anyone is looking for me, I'm patrolling the western fringe of Megaton territory tonight. Armored, armed, accompanied, and in the saddle. If I'm not back by dawn, I have my radio and I'm wearing my old Pip-Boy; I'll signal if I can.
It might be quiet, but it might not be, and she'd rather not assume things will work out exactly the way she needs them to. She's not her father.
Maybe someday.
For now it's quiet, and Ellen has garrison duty, which at the moment doesn't mean much. The Scribes are happy working with Moira. Jerald especially; some of the stuff coming out of her archive copy is way more useful anything he expected from a public library. The Knights keep their watch and report what they need to. There's not that much call for a chaplain's services beyond daily ritual and the occasional blessing request, which Ellen's happy to give. It's something to do and she's fine with that. It's just not much.
(She understands why it's not much. After Jerald found her in the Citadel storage closet and she broke down all over his robes, she told him everything that had happened in Point Lookout- all of it- and all that she dreaded would be coming as a consequence. Not even Knight-Captain Colvin heard that part from her, and he's the one who stood at her ordination. Jerald must have brought the information to Cross or Tristan. Three Dog might not talk about her as much as he used to, but her number still comes up on the radio; it would be bad for morale if 101 went all to pieces in the field. Better to put her somewhere quiet for a while, give her time.)
So when night falls and the Megaton lights come on, and she says goodbye to Jerald because he lives in the garrison and she still has her Megaton house and there are things you don't do until they're proper, she's got time to herself. And sometimes that's a good thing. There's studying to be done, from Moira's books or Brotherhood holotapes. There's praying. Meditation. There's preparation for the next day's work. Music to listen to- Agatha's, especially; no offense to Three Dog's collection but Agatha's been on a roll lately. There's ways to fill up that time and quiet before sleep.
They're not always enough, though. It feels like there ought to be something. This is the longest she's gone in one place since leaving Vault 101, and the longest there's been any kind of relative peace. It's… she ought to like it. Or at least ought to accept it, deal with it, get better in it. That's what it's for, only it's not working. Even in the middle of all the work being done, everything being rebuilt and remade, without some kind of a mission Ellen can feel time passing her by.
So one night, when she's back from Milliways and the thought of the Exodus journey to Lost Hills is in her head, she gives Wadsworth a message for anyone looking for her. She gives Deputy Weld at the town gates the same message- the robot's always awake, after all- and drops off a copy with the Knight on guard duty down the road: If anyone is looking for me, I'm patrolling the western fringe of Megaton territory tonight. Armored, armed, accompanied, and in the saddle. If I'm not back by dawn, I have my radio and I'm wearing my old Pip-Boy; I'll signal if I can.
It might be quiet, but it might not be, and she'd rather not assume things will work out exactly the way she needs them to. She's not her father.