Return to Philly
Dec. 16th, 2014 04:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aaaaaaaagh_skyIt would have been nice to gather her thoughts and talk to Jerald or one of the Knights before doing anything else once she got back home, but Ellen didn't have that luxury. The door to Milliways had opened straight from the doors of the Eastern Pen into the Bar, and would take her back to the same spot. There were Flyers waiting; there'd barely be time to cover her accidental Bar visit by stumbling, let alone compose herself properly.
Well. She'd just have to hope she didn't ram a foot down her own throat with the Blood Prince the way she had with Rikki.
The stumble, it turned out, wasn't even needed. An unfamiliar building full of unfamiliar armed strangers was exactly the sort of thing to get Dogmeat's attention. As Ellen stepped back into her world and through the doorway, the heeler charged past her, heading for the nearest of the Prince's guards. Jerald lunged for the dog's fortunately sturdy leather collar before he could leap; Ellen breathed a sigh of relief. She'd heard weapons being drawn the instant Dogmeat started moving.
"Enthusiastic, isn't he," said a man's voice dryly from the other end of the room. "Where'd you get him, the Friends?"
Ellen looked up, and paled. The speaker was dark-skinned, with a closely-trimmed mustache and short-cropped black hair. His armor, unlike the stuff their ice ganger escorts wore, was the sort of heavily reinforced gear you'd expect to find in the ruins of a Bureau of Alcohol, Drugs, Tobacco, Firearms and Lasers barracks. More than that, where the others had daubed their gear with orange paint, or sometimes orange and black, his was marked in both colors and purple besides. "I'm sorry, sir," she said. "Dogmeat's usually better behaved than that.
The man raised one eyebrow. "Dogmeat, huh?" he said. "Okay, I take it back. The Friends wouldn't sell a dog with a name like that."
"Given that I have no idea where these Friends are, let alone whether or not they'd sell me a dog, I'd probably take your word for it," Ellen said. "And if you don't mind my asking, sir, do I have the honor of addressing the Blood Prince?"
Jerald, she knew, was wincing. She didn't have to look his way to know it. The man she was addressing lifted his other eyebrow at that and leaned back on his heels, arms crossing over his chest. "Good question," he said. "Who would you have the honor of addressing if that's not me?"
"My next guess would be the captain of his guards, or possibly his second-in-command," Ellen said. "Either way I wanted to be sure of who I was apologizing to."
The man snorted, but it was an amused sort of sound; he gestured to the guards to put away their weapons. "Yeah, that's fair," he said. "In which case- yes, you have the honor of addressing Carroll Clayton Hiller, better known as the Blood Prince, captain of the Flyers ice gang, and West Philly's longest-standing championship son. Your turn."
Whatever Ellen had been expecting of a man who called himself Blood Prince, it wasn't that. Something more like Lord Ashur, all formality and cautious menace, maybe, or like Thor Odinson or Diana, who were both royalty in their own worlds… well, it didn't much matter what she'd expected. She was here now, and this Blood Prince was watching her expectantly. "Ellen Park," she said, "Paladin 101 of the Capital Wasteland Brotherhood of Steel. These two armored gentlemen are Knights Kang and Conklin, my escorts, and the man in the robes is my husband, Scribe Jerald Cancio of our Order of the Sword."
There was a cough behind her.
"And the man with all the teeth around his neck is my guide, Doctor Painless Parker."
"Pleased to meet you, Paladin," said the Prince. "101, huh? Victory tally?"
"Um-" Ellen's brow creased briefly. "I'm not sure I understand, Prince."
The Prince indicated the ganger guards on either side of the room. "Every one of my boys and girls here got to where they are now by winning a hell of a lot of ice battles," he says. "The ones who've kept up a streak of wins like to make sure everyone knows it. Shows in the names they use."
"Oh- no, no, afraid not," said Ellen. "I'm not an ice ganger, just a soldier."She paused, and added, "I lost track of how many battles I came out of alive a long time ago."
(Her father, she knew, would never have approved of a statement like that. But he wasn't here, and anyway a man who prided himself on beating his enemies in combat for fifteen years running didn't strike her as someone who would be particularly kindly inclined towards the modest or the peaceable.)
The Prince nodded. "Fair," he said. "So if you're not here to get yourself and your boys into the Arena, why are you here? The Capital's been out of touch longer than the Pitt."
"Well, sir- it is sir, right? I hope?"
The Prince waved one hand absently. "Yeah, sir's good."
Ellen nodded. "Well, sir," she said, "the Brotherhood of Steel's recently spoken with a woman who originally came from this city."
She'd said as much to the guards at the gate, but those had just been guards. And this was no Lord Ashur situation, where all she needed was to get in, get one person, and get out. Nothing good could come of withholding their actual purpose in the city from the man at its controls.
"She told us about the ruins of a factory from before the War. We were sent to scout the grounds out if at all possible, and report back on whether or not a recovery mission would be worth the Brotherhood's time."
The guards' mutter had that peculiar edge that only comes of vulgar words spoken too quietly to hear at a distance. It scarcely mattered; she could fill in the blanks a dozen times over. The Prince's more-or-less genial expression flattened at her words. "Is that so?" he said.
"In all honesty, sir, the woman hadn't been in Philadelphia in so long that she couldn't tell us anything else worth knowing about the place," Ellen said. "Including whether or not it was even still inhabited."
"'Whether or not-'" The Prince stared at her. "Just how long ago was this woman here last, anyways?"
"Long enough ago that it was still called 'Philadelphia' rather than 'Philly', sir," said Ellen, but he kept right on staring. "She'd… well, she'd been born before the War."
"Before the War? Was she a meatface or something, like Wagstaff?"
"If a 'meatface' is one of those people with all their skin coming off who've been exposed to so much radiation they should've died-" The Prince nodded, sharply. "-then no. There was technology involved- suspended animation, of a sort. She'd essentially been frozen for two hundred years, and the last time she'd seen Philadelphia, the bombs hadn't even fallen yet."
The Prince's eyes narrowed. "Are you bullshitting me, Paladin?"
"No, sir," said Ellen evenly, "I am not. I am not very good at bullshit."
"She really isn't."
"Not helping, Jerald."
"Hmmmph." The Prince's flat expression deepened into a scowl. "This woman," he said. "She have a name?"
"Judith Seitz."
"Never heard of her," said the Prince with a dismissive shrug. "Doesn't mean anything. You could be making it up for all I know. You mind telling me exactly what factory this Seitz woman told you people you could take from my city?"
Ellen heard Kang shifting his weight behind her, like a man getting ready for a fight. "Stand down," she murmured, and then raised her voice. "She was talking about the ruins of General Atomics International, which she said are in the northeastern part of town."
"Oh."
It was never good to hear an entire room's worth of people react exactly the same way….
Well. She'd just have to hope she didn't ram a foot down her own throat with the Blood Prince the way she had with Rikki.
The stumble, it turned out, wasn't even needed. An unfamiliar building full of unfamiliar armed strangers was exactly the sort of thing to get Dogmeat's attention. As Ellen stepped back into her world and through the doorway, the heeler charged past her, heading for the nearest of the Prince's guards. Jerald lunged for the dog's fortunately sturdy leather collar before he could leap; Ellen breathed a sigh of relief. She'd heard weapons being drawn the instant Dogmeat started moving.
"Enthusiastic, isn't he," said a man's voice dryly from the other end of the room. "Where'd you get him, the Friends?"
Ellen looked up, and paled. The speaker was dark-skinned, with a closely-trimmed mustache and short-cropped black hair. His armor, unlike the stuff their ice ganger escorts wore, was the sort of heavily reinforced gear you'd expect to find in the ruins of a Bureau of Alcohol, Drugs, Tobacco, Firearms and Lasers barracks. More than that, where the others had daubed their gear with orange paint, or sometimes orange and black, his was marked in both colors and purple besides. "I'm sorry, sir," she said. "Dogmeat's usually better behaved than that.
The man raised one eyebrow. "Dogmeat, huh?" he said. "Okay, I take it back. The Friends wouldn't sell a dog with a name like that."
"Given that I have no idea where these Friends are, let alone whether or not they'd sell me a dog, I'd probably take your word for it," Ellen said. "And if you don't mind my asking, sir, do I have the honor of addressing the Blood Prince?"
Jerald, she knew, was wincing. She didn't have to look his way to know it. The man she was addressing lifted his other eyebrow at that and leaned back on his heels, arms crossing over his chest. "Good question," he said. "Who would you have the honor of addressing if that's not me?"
"My next guess would be the captain of his guards, or possibly his second-in-command," Ellen said. "Either way I wanted to be sure of who I was apologizing to."
The man snorted, but it was an amused sort of sound; he gestured to the guards to put away their weapons. "Yeah, that's fair," he said. "In which case- yes, you have the honor of addressing Carroll Clayton Hiller, better known as the Blood Prince, captain of the Flyers ice gang, and West Philly's longest-standing championship son. Your turn."
Whatever Ellen had been expecting of a man who called himself Blood Prince, it wasn't that. Something more like Lord Ashur, all formality and cautious menace, maybe, or like Thor Odinson or Diana, who were both royalty in their own worlds… well, it didn't much matter what she'd expected. She was here now, and this Blood Prince was watching her expectantly. "Ellen Park," she said, "Paladin 101 of the Capital Wasteland Brotherhood of Steel. These two armored gentlemen are Knights Kang and Conklin, my escorts, and the man in the robes is my husband, Scribe Jerald Cancio of our Order of the Sword."
There was a cough behind her.
"And the man with all the teeth around his neck is my guide, Doctor Painless Parker."
"Pleased to meet you, Paladin," said the Prince. "101, huh? Victory tally?"
"Um-" Ellen's brow creased briefly. "I'm not sure I understand, Prince."
The Prince indicated the ganger guards on either side of the room. "Every one of my boys and girls here got to where they are now by winning a hell of a lot of ice battles," he says. "The ones who've kept up a streak of wins like to make sure everyone knows it. Shows in the names they use."
"Oh- no, no, afraid not," said Ellen. "I'm not an ice ganger, just a soldier."She paused, and added, "I lost track of how many battles I came out of alive a long time ago."
(Her father, she knew, would never have approved of a statement like that. But he wasn't here, and anyway a man who prided himself on beating his enemies in combat for fifteen years running didn't strike her as someone who would be particularly kindly inclined towards the modest or the peaceable.)
The Prince nodded. "Fair," he said. "So if you're not here to get yourself and your boys into the Arena, why are you here? The Capital's been out of touch longer than the Pitt."
"Well, sir- it is sir, right? I hope?"
The Prince waved one hand absently. "Yeah, sir's good."
Ellen nodded. "Well, sir," she said, "the Brotherhood of Steel's recently spoken with a woman who originally came from this city."
She'd said as much to the guards at the gate, but those had just been guards. And this was no Lord Ashur situation, where all she needed was to get in, get one person, and get out. Nothing good could come of withholding their actual purpose in the city from the man at its controls.
"She told us about the ruins of a factory from before the War. We were sent to scout the grounds out if at all possible, and report back on whether or not a recovery mission would be worth the Brotherhood's time."
The guards' mutter had that peculiar edge that only comes of vulgar words spoken too quietly to hear at a distance. It scarcely mattered; she could fill in the blanks a dozen times over. The Prince's more-or-less genial expression flattened at her words. "Is that so?" he said.
"In all honesty, sir, the woman hadn't been in Philadelphia in so long that she couldn't tell us anything else worth knowing about the place," Ellen said. "Including whether or not it was even still inhabited."
"'Whether or not-'" The Prince stared at her. "Just how long ago was this woman here last, anyways?"
"Long enough ago that it was still called 'Philadelphia' rather than 'Philly', sir," said Ellen, but he kept right on staring. "She'd… well, she'd been born before the War."
"Before the War? Was she a meatface or something, like Wagstaff?"
"If a 'meatface' is one of those people with all their skin coming off who've been exposed to so much radiation they should've died-" The Prince nodded, sharply. "-then no. There was technology involved- suspended animation, of a sort. She'd essentially been frozen for two hundred years, and the last time she'd seen Philadelphia, the bombs hadn't even fallen yet."
The Prince's eyes narrowed. "Are you bullshitting me, Paladin?"
"No, sir," said Ellen evenly, "I am not. I am not very good at bullshit."
"She really isn't."
"Not helping, Jerald."
"Hmmmph." The Prince's flat expression deepened into a scowl. "This woman," he said. "She have a name?"
"Judith Seitz."
"Never heard of her," said the Prince with a dismissive shrug. "Doesn't mean anything. You could be making it up for all I know. You mind telling me exactly what factory this Seitz woman told you people you could take from my city?"
Ellen heard Kang shifting his weight behind her, like a man getting ready for a fight. "Stand down," she murmured, and then raised her voice. "She was talking about the ruins of General Atomics International, which she said are in the northeastern part of town."
"Oh."
It was never good to hear an entire room's worth of people react exactly the same way….