#courier tip

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Today on “Tip Makes Friends With Everyone”

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There was a house. There were many houses and Tip walked by them all, only occasionally inviting themself in to pocket a few things that weren’t being used by anyone and would benefit them more anyway. But this house… This house stood, like many houses, away from the road. This house was burned and charred, unlike many houses. This house sagged under the weight of its roof, and the roof sagged under the weight of the sky, and all of it would eventually crumble to the dirt to be smoothed over and forgotten, more forgotten, under the harsh sands of their desert. But this house…

Tip could see the flames licking up the side of it, could smell the fragrant wood as the tongues of fire licked and caught on the timbers, wrapping around the wooden beams in a strangling embrace. They watched as it kicked out a window to climb the side of the house, no longer content with remaining cooped inside. They didn’t blame it; the fire was only doing what it knew how to do, what it was meant to do, and it was not at fault for this.

The house slowly burned as Tip stared. They saw it blacken, the wood turning to charcoal in an almost even pattern from side to side and the ground up. As if at a distance, they heard the screams of the people who were trapped inside, listened to them cry for help, then cry for one who was not there, and finally just cry. Their tears would do nothing against the indifferent fire, but Tip supposed there was little else to do in the face of such a fate.

Tip remained motionless as the pyre burned higher into the star-bright sky of their desert. Respect should always be paid to the dead, which was why Tip saluted the houses they stole from before they left. They knew better than to upset those who have gone before, especially out here in their desert; they were not mad, even if they were half-empty. So they stayed, a sole witness to this house and its tragedy, until it burned down to its original state, once again defeated by nature and time.

Then they felt ED-E at their back, soft nudges and low chirps. They held their hand out to the side and ED-E bumped into it, hovering at their side now and rotating slowly between Tip and the house.

“What’s with the house?” Tip startled to hear Veronica to their other side. They thought they were alone watching the house burn, but then ED-E...and Veronica...and it appeared they were not so alone as they thought. They frowned. “I mean, it looks like it might have been a nice house once, all the bones are still there.”

Tip flinched at “bones” and stared resolutely back at house, the broken timbers, the sands already piling up at the windward sides of what was left of the structure. The house would not be too long unreclaimed. They stepped backward and felt protesting muscles that had stood for too long.

“Oh good, are we going to get on the road again? Not that I don’t love house hunting as much as the next girl, but I’m not so much into spending hours looking at the ‘burned and uninhabitable’ market.”

Tip blinked at Veronica, carefully stretching one leg and then the other.

“Takes a long time to burn,” they said finally, and turned back to the road.

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I wanted to write something cute so... this happened

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Tip sat cross legged in the sand, the warmth leeching into their legs a pleasing sensation as the sun began its descent. There were many hours of daylight yet, but Tip had nothing they felt like doing today other than the task they were already bent on. Each of their weapons lay in front of them on the sand, carefully parallel to each other: machete, smaller knives, spiked knuckles, the one 9mm they kept just in case. One by one they worked through the line, cleaning, sharpening, repairing, reloading. Every weapon received the same treatment, the same long inspection of handle, guard, and blade, the same smooth strokes of the whetstone catered to its bent, the same self-satisfied twist of Tip’s lips when they tested the edge and found it to their liking.

Veronica had wandered off, bored, after servicing her own power fist, and only ED-E remained, whirring quietly to and fro behind Tip as they sat and worked. They found the sound lulling and peaceful in a way few things were now.

They finished with the blades but didn’t move to pick up the 9mm immediately, just sat with their eyes half closed, listening. ED-E motored back and forth, stuck in the same pattern he’d been in for hours now. Tip twisted, looking over their shoulder to the little robot, and let out a little whistle. ED-E paused, swiveled, and rocked side to side when he was facing Tip. They jerked their head, turning back around and patting the patch of sand next to them, and picked up the 9mm.

Halfway through cleaning the 9mm, Tip heard the robot whirr, click, and putter closer. He hovered beside them, rotating slowly from what felt like watching their actions to keeping an eye on the whole Mojave. Tip kept working, finally slotting the magazine back in place and aiming down at a cactus fifty feet away. They frowned, shrugged, and set it back on its scrap of fabric on the sand. Guns were...not their favorite. They had their uses but by and large, Tip preferred to only hold on to them as a temporary holdover between looting and selling.

With the cleaning cloth in their hand, Tip looked over at ED-E, squinting one eye closed. They reached over, lightly swiping the cloth across his shell. He rotated back to face them, beeping softly. Tip beeped back. ED-E pulsed back a few inches before moving forward again, closer to Tip, who chirped at him and held up the cloth. ED-E rotated minutely, as though looking between the cloth and Tip, before hovering closer and dropping lower, within easy reach of the courier and their cleaning cloth.

Veronica came back from her walkabout to see Tip sitting on the ground with ED-E practically in their lap, clicking, chirping, and beeping at each other while Tip polished ED-E’s shell. She hung back and watched as the courier finished cleaning and held ED-E gently by his gun mount, balancing a gourd blossom on the top of his dome, just above his front grill. They tapped the laser with one last chirp and turned back to their weapons, brushing them off one last time before re-homing them on their person or in their pack.

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“What kind of tip?” asks Tip, who would love some tips.

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current mood: wanting to listen to the entire Bastille discography to find a good song for my courier

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Tip finally makes it to New Vegas, talks to Mr House, agrees to bring him the chip...

and things go sharply downhill from there.

1. Benny’s a lying sack of suit 2. Tip wastes the goon squad sent after them 3. Finds a vending machine and steals some nuka cola  4. Now the whole Tops is after them 4.2. Who even was that Tommy guy? We’ll never know 5. The Strip is now shunning Tip 6. At least the Legion is nice?

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things i know about tip so far

they like sunglasses

they like wearing boone’s hat (that they looted off his corpse)

they really don’t talk much (silent protag thing aside)

they are weirdly possessive about the desert, it is theirs

they don’t really like guns as a general concept

MACHETES ON THE OTHER HAND

they are suspicious of everyone (except ed-e)

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Whumptober Day 22 - hallucination

feat. Tip (fnv oc)