i drink it down but the next day i still feel the same

Independent Fallout RP blog for Skeeter Maccabee, a musician wandering the Boston/Mojave area. ABOUT / RULES

[nolonelyroads]

DW Falls, Death Valley National Park, CA

[askmemesyo-blog1]

Send me “🎁” to see what my muse would give yours as a Christmas present.

[dirtyredbandana]

How they sleep (sleeping position, schedule, etc):

Skeeter plays night shows (the prime time gig, not that she’d brag about it) and often stays up to party with the patrons afterward, so she doesn’t often stumble into bed until 6 or 7 in the morning. She sleeps fitfully, thrashing about quite a bit. The sheets and blankets are usually on the floor by the time she wakes up--suits her fine, cuz she gets hot as a furnace when she’s sleeping

[dirtyredbandana]

A weird/obscure fear they have; The carnival/arcade game they always win without fail

A weird/obscure fear they have

Bold of you to imply Skeet has only one weird or obscure fear 

She’s fucking terrified of super mutants - not for...you know, obvious maim-y reasons, but because she’s absolutely horrified at the idea of turning (read: being turned as part of some fucked up experiment) into one. There’s a lot of fear of being a science project packed into that one.

The carnival/arcade game they always win without fail

It doesn’t often come in handy (honestly, more often than not, the opposite) but Skeeter’s “Very Small Dog” level of anxiety and paranoia mean that she’s great at whack-a-mole type games.

[nacholatkes-deactivated20151014]

Let's do a weird headcanon thing

Give me a character and I’ll tell you my headcanon for:

What they smell like:

How they sleep (sleeping position, schedule, etc):

What music they enjoy:

How much time they spend getting ready every morning:

Their favorite thing to collect:

Left or right-handed:

Religion (if any):

Favorite sport:

Favorite touristy thing to do when traveling (museums, local food, sightseeing, etc):

Favorite kind of weather:

A weird/obscure fear they have:

The carnival/arcade game they always win without fail:

[dirtyredbandana]

We miss Skeeter! Hope you're doing well! 😃 (@dearestrevenants)

// ;_; The sheer sweetness of it all!!! Skeeter (and ofc me) misses yall too!!!! Specially that Valen character ...!!

[theliel]

To basically everybody I rp with

[naturerps-deactivated20190120]

theliel :

[dirtyredbandana]

mysweetbread:

“I guess from the country-side!” he replied with a bit of a laugh. As he continued, he reached up to adjust his scarf, feeling the cold tickling at his neck, and went back to lean against his cane.

“I mean, I ain’t from anywhere in particular- just a wanderer really, livin where ever the jobs could take me, which were mostly on farms and rural ranches. Only time I ever been in Vegas was to gamble like my life depend on it- those were the days!”

“I’m nothin but a country boy, honestly,” he gently added with a small grin. “What about you, yain’t from Freeside are ya?” with that he let out a chuckle, his inflection hardly serious. 

Skeeter’s smile wavered a little. Being from Freeside was nothing to brag about--that much she knew--but it was worlds better than the hole in the ground she crawled out of before landing her gig at the Atomic Wrangler. “Heh. Well, as a matter of fact...” Sheepishly, she stuck her hands in her pockets and shrugged. “I played a show at the Wrangler for a spell before movin’ out east. Ain’t as bad as it seems, though, really! Freeside’s got its charms. They’re just hidden under about a three inch thick layer a’ grime.” 

Somewhat eager to change the subject from her unglamorous past, Skeeter asked, “So, uh, when’d you make the trek on out here?”

[dirtyredbandana]

fancycoatpossum:

Yarrow had blocked out the hollers of the radgulls as a probable false alarm, so when a human voice came a-hollering he almost jumped out of his skin. “Fukken – NO SHIT it’s fukken haunted,” he yelled back, picking up a piece of driftwood just because talking to strangers near his cellar full of food made him nervous and holding a stick made him feel better about it. “Th’ ghost’s my fukken buddy!”

He didn’t brandish the stick aggressively, to his credit – the hollerer was smaller than him and not coming at him, and he had no need or desire to, like, steal her sack of shit or anything. Philip, however, was always ready to steal from people, and the interloper was being investigated by several large birds wheeling over her head.

Skeeter honked a scoff, still tightly plugging her nose with one hand. “Ain’t no kind’a ghost makes friendly with the living!” She glanced skyward as the birds began to loom overhead. “Yech,” she shuddered. Big bastards were probably just as haunted as the rest of the place. She took a small step forward and clutched her haul to her side in an attempt to shake them, then turned her attention back on the doomed asshole on the shore. 

“Y’all need some salt!” Skeeter yelled back. “Whole bunch of it! Them ghosts is liable to possess that brain a’ yours if y’don’t take some precautionaries!” Turning a cautious eye to the birds, she slipped a hand into her net and pulled out one of the few fish she’d caught and held it out to the guy. “Least you can do is nail this to your door! Ghosts’ll know y’ain’t fuckin’ around if you do!”

[dirtyredbandana]

// doing drafts tomorrow!! Sorry for being Mia. It’s parent - teacher conference month!

[dirtyredbandana]

// me : it’s so much nsfw tags today?? why is everyone on my dash so fucken horny?? how come I can’t go to the god damned Chick fila

[dirtyredbandana]

@fancycoatpossum liked for a starter!

The day had been long and uncharacteristically sunny, and it showed on Skeeter’s face. Sunburn glowed on her nose and cheekbones as she swung her meager day’s catch in a sack by her side--a handful of blister-covered haddocks, a single, very sexy high-heeled boot, and not much else. With a grumpy huff, she headed back down the road. At least she had dinner for tonight. 

As usual, the path back to her camp took her past that creepy dadgum lighthouse. Skeeter shuddered as the specter of it peeked over the horizon and, as always, she held her breath as she approached to keep the ghosts from flying up her nose and haunting her brain. This time, however, there seemed to be someone on the beach near the lighthouse. Someone not dressed in a white sheet and rattling chains...someone human. What the hell?

“Hey!” Skeeter shouted a nasally shout--she was still plugging her nose with one hand. “Y’ought not be out over there! Don’t you know that damn place’s haunted!?”

[dirtyredbandana]

mysweetbread:

There was a noticeable glint in his eyes at the mention of Vegas, there was only the slightest twitch in his smile at that piece of information- turns out she was from back home, how exciting. At her question, though, Valen sheepishly shrugged his shoulders as his initial response.

“People ‘round here don’t have much the same tastes in music like they do back West. I’ve caught up with some folks in Sunshine Tidings and Diamond City, other places here and there, but it’s all temporary things- that and panhandling is all I’ve managed since I’ve been here.”

Then he added rather candidly, “Diamond City is stuck up and while I’m told Goodneighbor loves musicians, their taste is a little more specific.” He managed to maintain a smile, even through his gentle complaining, “Hope you’ve been doing betta than I have?”

Skeeter chuckled mirthlessly and plastered on something between a smile and a grimace. “Well, uh...” she hummed, rubbing at the back of her neck. “No sir.” For whatever reason, she felt a little guilty admitting she wasn’t having much more gig work than Valen, as if she owed a fellow musician her success in the face of such critical reception. “Y’ain’t wrong ‘bout ‘specific tastes.’ Reckon if you don’t swing or croon in some capacity, you’re right outta luck. Folks don’t seem keen on anything that ain’t...well, relaxing.” What she really wanted to say was “boring,” but that seemed excessively rude. Rudeness just wasn’t in her character.

Skeeter shook her head, rolled her shoulders, and gave Valen a half smile. “Well, what can a body do? Panhandlin’s been my only real employ since I rolled into town, myself. That and scroungin’, a-course.” She looked the man over. Valen was obviously a looker--that was as plain as the charming-ass smile on his charming-ass face, but he didn’t seem to be an uppity Diamond City or Strip type to her. “Where ya from Vegas-side?”

[dirtyredbandana]

Character Tag!!

NAME: Michelle Labeikovsky NICKNAME: Skeeter AGE: 20 SPECIES: Human....far as anyone knows, that is.............

personal.

MORALITY: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true RELIGIOUS BELIEF: Thanks I hate it SINS: greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath VIRTUES: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice PRIMARY GOALS IN LIFE:  Making enough caps to comfortably drink herself into a stupor a few times a week, being idolized and adored by strangers, general survival LANGUAGES KNOWN:  English and sign language (ASL) SECRETS:  Her identity/past SAVVIES:  Kicks some SERIOUS ass at Spades, capably plays guitar, secret knack for fashion and sewing

physical.

BUILD: scrawny / bony / slender / fit / athletic / curvy / herculean / pudgy / average HEIGHT: 4′11 WEIGHT: I don’t fucken know SCARS/BIRTHMARKS: Pockmarks all up and down her arms/legs, stretch marks on either side of her tummy, big ol’ nasty stab wound on her thigh that got infected and scarred up real nicely ABILITIES/POWERS: She can be pretty convincing/charismatic and occasionally even a little cunning RESTRICTIONS: Anxiety, general...physical weakness

favourites.

FOOD: Salisbury steak DRINK: Doesn’t really matter as long as it can burn the wart off a bighorner’s ass PIZZA TOPPING: Peppers and ground beef COLOUR: Mustard, tomato paste red, faded purple/periwinkle MUSIC GENRE: Blues and rock and roll BOOK GENRE: Superhero comics are all she really reads MOVIE GENRE: She’s a sucker for sci fi ATTACK OF THE GIANT BUG kinda deals SEASON: Summer CURSE WORD: She’s very fond of “bastard” and “sumbitch”  SCENT(S): Sun-baked dusty earth, that sick asthma-inducing sweetness of radroaches, nosehair-singing alcohol

fun stuff.

BOTTOM OR TOP: Oh there is no god damn way she’s answering that (and that should be all the answer you need in itself) SINGS IN THE SHOWER: >implying she showers Sings pretty much anywhere and everywhere, though LIKES BAD PUNS: AND FUCKIN HOW

Tagged by: @mysweetbread ;-*

Tagging: @blackwiidowsniper @meadowlarksingingoverhead @mementomorphosis Have yall done it yet?? If not consider yourselves tagged!!!

[dirtyredbandana]

dearestrevenant:

Unfortunately for Rick, despite being a rather perceptive person, there came moments where he was oblivious enough that most fingersmiths could easily pickpocket him. It just didn’t typically happen because once he noticed, they had a six-foot-tall grump to contend with which wasn’t ideal.

He was browsing a magazine rack on a mobile stall where a resident merchant was selling a selection of reading material, local newspapers, and vintage instruction manuals. Until he felt a tap on his elbow, which was blunt enough to feel through his coat. As he turned, his brow was already furrowed, ready to confront someone who might have been eager enough to sneak their paw into his jacket, but his expression relaxed when his gaze fell on this young woman. Her question caused him to pause a moment, hesitant to answer- he even squinted at the thought that it might be a set up for a taunt, but he answered honestly anyway…

“Oh uh… I had someone else cut it but I maintain it myself. Why do you ask?”

Skeeter frowned thoughtfully, rubbing at her cheek. She gave the man’s head another hard look. It didn’t look ridiculous or unkempt--surely not by her standards, which were naturally a bit lower than the average. “Well,” she hemmed, running a hand through her own frizzy pile of hair, “I been lookin’ for a body to do somethin’ with mine. Reckoned I’d cut it myself, but...” she pivoted to the side and pointed to a missing chunk in the back of her head. Where the rest of her hair fell past her shoulders, the piece she’d cut herself seemed to barely clear her chin.

With a sheepish grimace, Skeeter turned back to face the man. “Hairstylin’ ain’t exactly my forte. Tell ya the truth, I was sorta hopin’ I could get yer assistance. Be good caps in it, a-course!”

[dirtyredbandana]

cajunspoons:

Spoons steeled herself for a painful question, something she was far too used to. She simulated a sigh, but honestly, that wasn’t so bad as other queries.

“Well.. I’m definitely synthetic, but I ain’t made by them people y’r thinkin’ of.” She paused, head ticking to the side. “I think I prefer ‘robot’.”

To some degree, that seemed to put Skeeter at ease. That, however, presented a further question. She rubbed at her chin and twisted her lips, giving the robot’s chassis a scrutinizing look-over. It certainly seemed very well-made--smooth, shiny, and curved, not with all the hard angles and clunky attachments of the robots Skeeter was familiar with. “Well, who did make ya?” Hastily, she added, “not to pry too much, now! Just genuine curiosity, here.”

[dirtyredbandana]

mementomorphosis:

A radstorm was coming. The sickly greenish tint to the clouds and the vague dance of irradiation upon August’s crumbling skin was telling, although it might’ve just been the patter of the rain. Nevertheless, onward he trudged through the deluge, shivering, tensing his neck in a feeble effort to stop what seemed like a gallon of water cascading down his collar, hoping against hope that Savoldi had some of that fairly inexpensive brandy left that didn’t taste like toilet cleaner siphoned through an old straw. 

Quite suddenly, a voice called to him. 

August’s gaze darted towards the source. He squinted. They appeared, at first, to be a very small tent with overall’d, duct-taped legs, but upon closer inspection revealed themselves as a young woman, much to his relief. It was nice to know he wan’t going mad just yet. 

“It… It depends on where you’re headed.” the ghoul called back as he slowly ventured towards her, puddles splashing in his wake. Slowly. It wasn’t as if the folks wandering the ruins were the most trustworthy type. 

He should know. He was one of them.  

Skeeter breathed a relieved chuckle when the figure called back. The response was just neutral enough for her to keep up hope that the fellow was friendly. With a wide grin that she hoped would read more warm than bloodthirsty, the girl looped her thumbs under her overalls and shifted from a walk to a brisk jog towards him. As she drew closer, it was easier to make out the ghoul’s features: he was skinny, not very tall with sunken features. Seemed mighty approachable to her.

“Bunker Hill,” Skeeter responded with a smile as the distance between the two of them closed. “I’m fixin’ to do a little trading up yonder. Reckoned I’d catch up with a caravan headed that-a-ways on the road, but this dad-gum rain seems to have all sane folks headed for cover.”