leanonstuff | PSL post for daughterless

PSL post for daughterless

[The NCR had sent Norman to the Vault because the area was surrounded by Fiends, and he was damn good at blending among the various "criminal" groups around the Mojave. No way an ordinary NCR trooper would be able to get inside without being attacked. And according to their intelligence, exactly what was inside was of such great importance that they couldn't possibly wait to go after it just in case Caesar's Legion got wind of it and acted first. Norman was searching for a box of special bottles that appeared to be beer or vodka bottles, but were actually filled with a chemical that, when introduced into a water supply, could spread a deadly bacteria that would wipe out anyone who drank the contaminated water for at least a month.

Unfortunately, finding the bottles was turning out to be far more difficult that Norman had anticipated. He'd gotten into the Vault in the first place by wearing old, torn and dirty clothes that could pass as those a typical raider or Fiend might wear. He'd even bought a few chems from them to help gain their trust (and to use them later, though he planned to tell the NCR that he'd disposed of them instead). The Vault seemed to be empty of Fiends, luckily, but he wasn't too optimistic that he wouldn't eventually run into ghouls or worse.

10mm pistol in hand, Norman opens the door to the Vault infirmary, hoping he might have some more luck locating the bottles in there.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Okay. Sounds good to me.

[Except the desk turns out to be pretty damn heavy, and his injured arm isn't having any of it when he tries to push it with both hands. So instead he turns around and tries pushing it back by crouching slightly and shoving it from behind. It's awkward, but manages to do the job after making a good deal of noise screeching across the floor. But hey, if that didn't alert anything, they probably are alone here.]

You think you can move over here, or do you want to tell me how to do it?

[Handling explosives might also not be the best idea if he's unsteady and half asleep. ...Then again, Norman is also half asleep, so him doing it might not be much better. Maybe he'd better just let Joel do what he knows how to do.]

[ooc: lol yes there are so many different options it is fun to see what you can come up with!]

[As Norman shoves the table over, Joel's looping the twine around the body of the nailbomb, careful not to jostle the contents around too much. It takes all his focus just to keep his hands hands steady (steadier, at least, than when he'd been bleeding out all over the floor), and he only glances up at Norman when he's done.]

I got this. [Joel can't disagree with Norman there, but he's set enough of these things before to do it in his sleep (and the prospect of the other man juggling unfamiliar explosives isn't exactly appealing either.) Hobbling over to the desk, he keeps his weight off the injured leg and balances himself on the furnishings. The twine stretches across the edge of the doorway, tied down on one side, nailbomb and detonator on the other-- a guaranteed unpleasant surprise for anyone trying to shove their way into the room.

Done with his part, Joel sits back for a moment, letting the tension trickle out of his shoulders as weariness presses back down on him. Damn, but he's tired out even by that brief stint of movement.]

Alright, that should do. [Glancing back at Norman, he doesn't look to be in much better shape-- and at least Joel had gotten some rest.] How're you holdin' up?

[Another thought that occurs to him is that there's only the one couch, and not a whole lot of room. Well, whatever. They'd make do.]

[He watches as Joel prepares the trap, trying to keep careful track of what he's doing in case he wants to replicate the process in the future. Unfortunately, he's so exhausted that his focus is off and he misses a few steps. Well, he can always ask Joel later.

Once that's done, Norman goes to join him on the couch. While Joel is taking a moment to rest, Norman starts to doze off. The question jolts him back to an alert state.]

Fine. [The reply is quick and reflexive. Between the injury and the amount of chems in his system, the need for sleep is by far the most pressing item on his agenda.]

Tired. [The fact that there is only a single couch does make it through the haze in his mind. While he has absolutely no issue with sharing the space with Joel, he doesn't know if the other man feels similarly.]

Want me to sleep on the floor?

[Joel's slept in worse and more cramped conditions, next to people he wasn't sure if he was gonna have to shoot or do business with the next morning, so their current situation hardly makes a blip on the meter of "shit Joel is not okay with." (And if anything, it's Joel's turn to sleep on the floor.) At Norman's question, he cracks one eye open just long enough to reply.]

That ain't necessary. [He shifts a bit more to the side, more sitting than lying down, and leaving at least half the couch open for Norman. On the job, Joel is generally a light sleeper, and not one to shift around too much (knowing anyone else on the job tended to also be light sleepers with twitchy trigger fingers), but he's too drugged out and exhausted to give a shit right now, so whenever they get around to waking up, Norman might find Joel encroaching and sprawled over more than just his half of the couch.

Alright.

[He's glad for that; the floor is really filthy and hard, not the kind of place you'd want to sleep unless you had no other choice. Norman also shifts around some, trying to get as comfortable as he can before drifting off again.

As someone used to doing spy work, he's also generally a light sleeper. Infiltrating gangs always leaves open the possibility of one's cover being blown, which would mean a quick getaway was necessary. Same goes for infiltrating vaults, where sometimes raiders or creatures are lurking to try and get in an easy kill.

Right now, however, he doubts he'd be much use in a fight even if one came right to them. He sleeps for a long while, but when he does wake up it's to find Joel half-lying on him. Blinking down at him, Norman also notices that his uninjured arm is draped over Joel in return. Huh.

Not wanting to disturb his sleep, he allows Joel to rest there while he grabs for that computer magazine. Might as well read a little while he's waiting.]

[He wakes up somewhat warmer than he expected. There's someone next to him, and for a long moment, Joel holds very still, eyes closed, trying to work out where he is and what's going on. Shootout in the desert, check. Holing up in some nearby building and patching themselves up after, check. And now he's lying against Norman, feeling the rise and fall of the other man's chest against his back--

Joel sits bolt upright, not quite jerking away, somewhat surprised to feel Norman's arm sliding off his shoulder.]

...Sorry 'bout that. [He looks away, awkward as he reaches for his pack. Most of the throbbing in his injured leg has died down. When he gingerly tests his weight, there's a flare of pain enough to make him wince, but it'll hold. Just as long as they've got enough Med X to tide him over.]

Ready to go?

[Feeling Joel suddenly sit upright nearly causes Norman to drop the magazine in his hand. He watches him for a few seconds, waiting to see if he reacts poorly. An apology isn't really what he was expecting. Much more welcome than shouting, of course.]

It's okay.

[Norman puts the magazine down, then reaches for his bag. Is one night enough to make Joel ready to continue on? That's probably a big no. He doubts they'd get far, and the odds would be more than against them in fight with able bodied troops or gang members.]

Hey-

[He reaches out as if to stop Joel from rising fully to his feet.]

I don't think that's a good idea. You need more rest.

[Yeah, Norman's a worrier alright. Joel pushes up and past his intervening hand.]

Give it a couple of days, and we'll have Legion battalions and NCR troopers knocking on our doorstep. We left a trail a mile wide out there. [Hero or not, stupid fucking suicide mission or not, Joel's put his mind toward the job and part of that means remaining undetected long enough to do the damn thing.]

I got no plans on stickin' around long enough to see who gets here first. My leg-- [He almost says, "is fine", but that would be so blatant a lie that Norman probably wouldn't even dignify it with a response. He amends his initial statement.] It'll hold. 's long as we got enough meds to tide us over.

[And they sure do have that, right, Norman? Right?]

Hopefully both at the same time. Then they'll be too busy killing each other to notice us.

[But in all seriousness... he understands and shares Joel's concerns. The question is whether their chances would be better sticking around here for at least one more day, or making very little progress while Joel limps along. Being exposed on top of that doesn't sound too good to him.

Norman tries to hide a slightly nervous look at the mention of the meds. He's already craving another Med-X after sleeping. Even if Joel didn't noticed the discrepancy in their supply before, he's sure to eventually.]

I wanted to take today to look around this place for more of them. Never know when's the next time we'll find some.

[Joel glances up from his leg just in time to catch the queer expression on Norman's face. His eyes narrow slightly, not sure what to make of it-- but the moment's passed. The other man isn't wrong either, as much as Joel hates to admit it, he's not in any great shape to travel. But they can't really afford to wait either. His mouth twists reluctantly.]

...Can't hurt to have a look 'round before we clear out.

[But he also doesn't want to do the post-apocalyptic equivalent of couch surfing, and he'll die of boredom waiting for Norman to get back from scrounging around the building. Pushing away from the couch, Joel shrugs his pack over his shoulders.]

I can cover the ground floor, if you take the stairs.

Yeah.

[Noting that suspicious look, Norman clasps his hands together to stop them from fidgeting too much. He'll need to sneak in a Med-X once he's out of Joel's sight. Then he can make up for it with whatever he finds, or come up with some sort of story about where the others went-

...Wait.

Norman glances sideways at Joel, unsure if he's hearing that right.]

That's stupid, Joel. [He unclasps his hands long enough to stand, then busies them with preparing his own pack instead.]

You'll start bleeding again, and then sticking around an extra day won't help us at all.

Yeah, well it ain't up for discussion.

[Joel knows it isn't exactly... the best of ideas (stupid sounds about right, actually), but goddamnit, he doesn't want to be useless, and he isn't some kind of invalid who can't pull his own weight.]

I'll take it easy. You said it yourself-- the place looks clean.

Edited (whoops icon) 2014-01-28 08:11 (UTC)

[Norman sighs, shaking his head. He definitely gets the feeling that arguing isn't gonna get him anywhere.]

Fine. But if you start feeling like crap, try to get back to this room before passing out.

[He reaches into his pack and pulls out a Med-X and a few stims, which he passes off to Joel. The rest stay with him. The last thing he needs is Joel taking inventory and making it even easier for him to know when something goes missing.]

[Hey, shouldn't the (more) injured guy get to hold on to the meds? Well, Joel doesn't argue-- less chance for Norman to hassle about Joel exploring the building for himself-- just starts heading for the door and ignoring Norman's comment about 'passing out.'

He's careful when disabling the bomb trap, not allowing himself to relax until the whole thing is dismantled string to detonator and the pieces tucked back into his pack before pushing the door open with a low creak.]

Right. Coast looks clear. Give me a holler if you see anything-- or anyone comin' our way.

[Just gonna start poking around the desks of the main... hall. Entrance area. This looks like a pretty standard office sort of building, lots of official looking desks, but Joel starts rummaging around the drawers anyway. People keep all sorts of weird (and useful) shit in there.]

[Yeah, maybe he should. But he's not, and Norman isn't going to offer an explanation for that either.]

Alright. You too.

[He tries to keep his injured arm mostly stationary as he heads for the nearest stairwell. Since this is uncharted territory, Norman draws pulls out his pistol and treads quietly around the dimly lit halls. The eerie quiet of these buildings always gets his pulse quickening, and he has to do his best to suppress the instinctual urge to jump at certain shadows.

Norman gladly slips into the first unlocked room he comes across and starts searching for supplies. There are some bandages, which he readily shoves into his pack. A few knickknacks here and there... well, he'll keep looking. There's bound to be at least a few chems around here.]

[Hopefully Norman's got better luck than Joel, 'cause he's upended nearly every desk and drawer in the main room, and found practically nothing. The most interesting things he's picked up are a petrified bag of old skittles and two bottles of Nuka Cola Quantum. He'd found a hidden compartment in one of the desks-- but been disappointed find nothing but a stack of papers covered in characters he couldn't read. What the hell?

Eying the glowing bottle, he wonders if he ought to take a swig or shoot up with one of the stims. His leg hurts, to nobody's surprise, a bone-deep ache complete with sharp twinging up his leg. Limping into the next room-- some sort of side closet, the shelves covered with dusty bottles of bleach, Joel peers through the window shades and squints at the bright sunlight outside. Nothing but sand and scrubs and... footprints, their own tracks clear as day, approaching the building. Goddamnit. They needed to get the hell out-- sooner, rather than later.]

Hey! [...not even sure if Norman can hear him from downstairs, Joel starts hobbling toward the door.]

[One Med-X. One lousy Med-X is all he finds before he hears a muffled voice calling out to him from below. That makes him halt in place, worried about why Joel might be calling out for him. Well, he isn't going to waste time wondering about it too much.

Norman hurries for the stairs, taking them two at a time in his rush to rejoin his companion. He also draws his pistol, preparing for a fight. Shit... hopefully Joel can handle whatever trouble there might be until he rejoins him. Assuming there is trouble. Norman isn't about to get his hopes up imagining otherwise.]

Joel?

[It isn't like him to be spooked by his own shadow, and Joel knows that, but he also trusts his instincts and right now his nerves feel like they've been doused with ice water. There's a burning sense of get going, get going, get out now, that he doesn't quite know how to put into words, his senses running way ahead of him. Tess might have understood the urgency, that sudden near-inexplicable knowledge of what was coming next, back when they were both running guns into and out of the Strip, but that was... a long time ago. ]

Time to clear out. We're too goddamn exposed over here. [What the hell was it that had set him off? Joel tries to think back, remember: footprints in the sand-- their own, heat-haze rising over the dunes, the glint of sun in his eyes, too bright after the gloom of the building... except that he'd been facing west and the sun was still due east, and what he'd seen was the glint of sun off something bright and reflective over the edge of the dune. A scope.]

Think they might've got a sniper outside.

[Does the Legion even employ snipers? Joel can't remember off the top of his head, but if it's one of the trained NCR rangers out there, they're due to be in a world of trouble.]

Fuck!

[A sniper might mean they'd gone so far as to call First Recon on them. The elite sniping forces of the NCR, they have a well-earned reputation of not missing their targets, regardless of the distance. If there's First Recon out there, he and Joel are not getting outside through any of the doors...]

Could be First Recon. [There's no point keeping that thought to himself. Joel needs to be aware just how serious this might be. For a moment, Norman actually feels sorry for the guy, having gotten himself involved in this mess. Still, it's too late now to worry about that.]

They'll probably have the building surrounded. Then it'll only be a matter of time before they send ground troops in after us.

[This is very, very bad.] We need to find another way out of here.

We might be tangling with First Recon? [Joel shakes his head, muttering curses under his breath. Say what he might about the shitstain that was the NCR, nobody in their right minds messed around with First Recon.] Christ, that is some grade A death wish material right there.

[He is starting to really regret getting himself mixed up in all of this. Still, regrets won't see them through this ordeal, and it won't help them escape. Though if all the exits are being covered by snipers, this is going to a real problem. Joel does a slow turn, taking in their surroundings, trying to come up with an answer-- it's all desks, more desks, chairs and a whole fat lot of nothing.]

Maybe we could collapse some walls, hole up somewhere, and let 'em pass us by. Office building this size could have a shelter in the basement... [He's talking aloud now, trying to come up with a viable plan. A bomb shelter would be an obvious hiding place, but if they could seal the doors shut, maybe it would buy them some time.]

Yeah, I know.

[He was never buddies with anyone in First Recon, but he knew some of them by name. The idea that they might be hunting him now is more than a little nauseating.

The mention of a basement perks him up, however.]

That's right... these places do usually have basements.

[Probably would be somewhere near the executive's office, so that the important people could find cover first. Fat lot of good it would have done when the bombs fell, but they probably thought it'd help. Maybe it did for a couple days, until those people became the Wasteland's ghoul population.]

Come on, I think I know where to look.

[He'd seen a room with a fancier looking desk earlier. Norman grabs Joel's elbow, intending to give him support as they move. There isn't really time to argue about it.]

[Joel gives Norman a look, intending to warn him away as he grabs his arm, but there's no time to argue as he follows wherever the hell Norman's trying to lead him.]

You got a plan in mind? [His turn to be dubious now. Basements and shelters are great and all, but there's no doubt that any half-trained trooper will check all the floors of the building, and being underground won't keep them from getting discovered.]

The executive's office.

[He leads Joel down the hall, checking the placards over the doors as they go.]

It might just be a basement, but there might be an escape tunnel too.

[From everything he's learned about pre-war civilization, people were extremely paranoid, and for good reason it seems. It would not be at all without the realm of possibility to find escape tunnels in these office buildings.]

Smuggler like you would do well to know that.

[He turns his head briefly with a smirk, before continuing to lead Joel to the door labelled "executive's office".]

[Joel shoots a distinctly unamused look at the back of Norman's head, with half a mind to tell him not to get cocky. Still, Norman seems to know what he's doing, and the reasoning behind it is sound enough, in that fucked up way that only makes sense to the rich and power-hungry.

The office is pretty much like every other room in this damn building-- in ruins. Joel squints through the think layer of dust before pulling away from Norman to investigate.]

Got any idea where that s'pposed escape tunnel of yours might be hid? [He knocks at the dessicated wood of the big office desk, feeling pretty damn silly.]

Yeah. You're touching it right now.

[He gives Joel a pointed look as he knocks on the large desk. The tunnels tend to be beneath the desks, their access locked through computers. Norman isn't much for hacking, but the passwords can often be found in locked safes... and he is great at lock picking.]

Keep an eye on things while I get to work picking locks. We're gonna need a password for the terminal, and I'm not gonna risk locking us out of it by fucking up the hack.

[Norman pulls off his pack and rummages for his lock picking tools, then gets to work on the first lock. Holding up his injured arm is an unpleasant strain... and knowing there are enemies just outside makes him work as fast as he can. Unfortunately, the owner of this office wasn't taking any chances, and these locks are not easy to crack.]

Edited 2014-02-07 21:08 (UTC)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject