Voodoo - Salamank

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

There used to be forests hereabouts, and farm country to some degree, but that was a long damn time ago. These days whatever grows expends a great deal of effort to do so and looks as unappealing as possible in an attempt to avoid being eaten. As for the farming, well... Voodoo may at some point catch sight of a few creatures in the distance that look familiar. There were critters like that down in Point Lookout. Not a whole lot of vegetable farming to be seen, though, not around here.

Maybe it's that it's October.

Maybe not.

Either way, this is a place where you have to work damned hard to get anything out of the land at all, and not everybody necessarily appreciates that. Some people would rather just take what other people raise up. There's always somebody like that.

It's been a mighty quiet journey south towards Salamank. That wisp of smoke up ahead in the distance has a nasty, heavy, greasy look to it that doesn't exactly promise more quiet.

Comments

[boston_bruiser]

-well now.

Voodoo looks around the place - it's not bad, for post-apocalyspstick.

He takes Patience off his shoulder, putting it down on a nearby table. "Got the city grid up and running?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"A good part of it," says Penelope. "Antoinette, put the man's gun down, we're safe now- the power's from Kinzua, down the Allegheny. You won't find a more fiercely protected point of pride anywhere on the river, not even the fisheries."

[boston_bruiser]

"You don't say."

He walks into the kitchen, setting the boar down on the first surface that looks halfway sanitary and stable.

"Last lighted house I saw had hurricane lamps. No hydroelectricity around for miles."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Coming from the north, were you?" says Penelope, as she opens one of the drawers and produces an alarmingly hefty cleaver. "Well, that's no big surprise. Used to be dams up there, so I hear- big ones- but they were wrecked even before the War. Sabotage, apparently. There's stories, but I don't know which of them anyone can believe and which are just some kind of fever dream made up to keep folks company while the Canucks are prowling around in the night."

She eyes the boar, and then Thomas, then shrugs and sets about the initial butchery herself.

"We've got a basin and a pump if you want to wash up," Thomas says. "Right this way."

[boston_bruiser]

"Thanks."

He follows Thomas out to the pump, unbuckling his helmet and setting it down, revealing a carefully-managed crop of brown hair - more akin to a cop's than, say, a Marine. His sunglasses and gloves are next - both get dumped into the helmet.

"Those raiders looked like a small patrol to me," Voodoo says, pumping some water into the basin. "Some kind'a foraging expedition, maybe. I'm guessin' their bossman's set up shop somewhere around here. Either he's got his eye on this place or he will soon."

He cups his hands in the basin, splashing the water on his face and running it over his head. It's not a proper bath, not by any means, but it means a lot to finally get the days of dust and grime off his face.

"You have many run-ins with these guys around here, or was this a first?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Fairly often, unfortunately," says Thomas with a resigned sigh. "When I was younger it used to be just a handful of stupid young fellows with a taste for excitement and a bad chem habit, but this past year there've been raids and attacks more often. The Council sends out parties to dispel them when it can, but..."

[boston_bruiser]

"-but you don't have enough guys to spare, and they keep on comin' back."

He splashes some more water on his face, wiping his hands on his cammies before putting his headgear and gloves back on. No need to buckle the helmet, not just yet.

"Well. There's four less to worry about now." He stands aside, flipping the carbine's fire selector to safe and letting it hang at the end of its sling as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"Live here long?" he asks, leaning against the house's exterior.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Since I was a boy," says Thomas, with an expression that suggests those days are very far in his past indeed. "I'm not Seneca, mind. I was born south of here, about halfway to the Pitt. Things were a lot worse down there then- Mother came north after Father got killed, and got a job on one of the farms here. Been here ever since."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo grunts, turning one ear to the wind.

"The words 'Capital Wasteland' or 'Brotherhood of Steel' mean anything to you?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Thomas thinks for a moment. "There's a woman who goes by 'Yinzerella' living on the south side of town," he says. "She was a slave in the Pitt. Said the Brotherhood of Steel showed up with an army of robots behind them and started trading them for people- and letting the people go free. I don't know where she's from originally, but she survived the Long Eighty and made it here in one piece. That's about all I've got for you, though."

[boston_bruiser]

Another grunt from Voodoo. "Pitt's the last place I wanna go, even if the Brotherhood's there. -still, can't hurt. What's she look like?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"About my daughter's height," says Thomas, indicating Antoinette's height with one hand. "Keeps half her head shaved, wears all the rest of her hair over to the right. Dark skin, and a lot of rings in her ears. She's a full-time guard at Peter Minner's general store."

[boston_bruiser]

"I'll go talk to her."

He stops in the doorway, leaning on the frame.

"One more thing. Teach your daughter how to shoot, or get someone who knows how to. It'll be the difference between her burying you and you burying her."

He looks at Thomas over the frames of his sunglasses.

"You get me?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"A-all right," says Thomas. "I don't think she'll argue much after everything that's just happened. Thank you, Voodoo."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo nods, once, then shoves off.

After collecting the allotted poundage of pork promised him from Penelope, the next stop is the south side of town. There's more people here than at the gates, and a few business-owner types, but only one of the women's got her head half-shaved and has an earful of rings.

He stops in front of her.

"Yinzerella?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

She's in the process of working up some more rings with a pair of pliers and some salvaged but clean scrap wire; she doesn't even look up as she says, "Who wants to know?"

[boston_bruiser]

"Someone who wants to know everything you do about the Long 80."

One of the raiders had a rifle similar to hers. He digs into his vest and procures a magazine, placing it on the table in front of her.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The mag gets an interested look; she sets the pliers aside, then glances up. "Heading south?" she says. "Planning on trying to grab someone on the other side, or is there a man who doesn't know he's dead yet?"

[boston_bruiser]

"Neither."

He crosses his arms.

"Tryin' to get to D.C. Got a friend with the Brotherhood of Steel."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Up go the eyebrows. "Is that right?" she says. "I'd ask who, but I only got maybe two names of theirs anyways. I don't know how many of 'em there are in the Capital, but it's gotta be a lot more than that. You're gonna have a hell of a time getting through Weed territory, let me tell you."

[boston_bruiser]

"Oh yeah?"

He inclines his head, listening closely.

"Tell me why."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"The Weeds," says Yinzerella, "they got everything between Treasure Lake and Clearfield. Gang that wants to be a tribe, that bunch. Half of them are Senecas who killed somebody or raped somebody or broke some other law here and ran before the Nation could hang 'em. They mob traders, run down caravans- any way they can get their hands on better guns and better chems. Not the kind that get them high, though. Shit like Buffout and Psycho, to keep them on their feet longer and fighting harder. You shoot one of them, he'll know it, but he won't give a shit about it. Won't even slow him down, not 'til he's dead."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo grunts. Intoxicated combatants. That's nothing new. Just means he'll have to watch his shots more closely.

"Tell me everything you know about 'em. Their territory, their leader, their tactics, whatever you remember."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"If it puts more of them in the ground, sure," says Yinzerella, shrugging. "Bastards used to sell prisoners to the Pitt. Then they lost their market, so if they take somebody alive, well, they ain't above keeping their own slaves an' all that. Mostly so's they have meat shields, since they give 'em machetes and the worst leather they got and make them the first wave in a fight. They don't get chems. The Weeds save that and the good armor for themselves. Real fond of shotguns, too, and explosives. Closest I came to dying on my way up here was one of them pitching some kind of bomb packed with shrapnel. I got scars so bad from that thing you could almost read 'em."

[boston_bruiser]

Another grunt and nod.

"So how'd you make it through?"