@tunnelsnke and @some27-url tagged me for WIP Wednesday. The fun thing about upending my entire writing process is that most of what I have right now is very much in the first draft stage, but here's a little something from a thing absolutely nobody asked for that I drafted last week anyway.
"You want me to cheat on the GOAT?"
Alex stares at his father incredulously. He can't be hearing this right.
"I need you to take this seriously, Alexander." His father leans back in his chair with a frustrated sigh. He shoves the paper across the desk. "The GOAT may be a simple test, but your results will determine the entirety of your future here."
"Jesus, dad, I know." No fucking pressure or anything, just dump the weight of the world on a not-quite-sixteen-year-old's shoulders. He glances down at the answer key. What position would he play on the vault baseball team? He knows nothing about baseball. The vault doesn't even have a baseball team, for fuck's sake...
"Then you know why you need to answer correctly," he says sternly.
"Why not just answer truthfully?" he snaps back. He'd honestly never have pegged James Rousseau to be the type to encourage his son to cheat on anything. Or to steal an answer key, for that matter. While working as an intern in the Clinic, a patient with a strange infection on his foot stumbles through the door. "If this is supposed to say so much about who I really am, wouldn't it be better for me to have a job I'm actually, I don't know, suited to? Maybe even something I like?"
"Medicine is a noble profession, son."
"I'm not saying it isn't, but maybe it's not the right job for me."
"You have a strong aptitude for it, and it ensures you will remain essential to the vault."
"And what the fuck does that have to do with anything?"
James' face darkens. "Language, Alexander," he says sharply. "There are a great many things about life in this vault that you do not yet understand, and for those, you will simply have to trust that I have your best interests at heart."
@noraleedoes posted a #MyDeacon questionnaire so of COURSE I had to do one because, as we know, I have a very very specific Deacon (technically I have two - because of the nature of the current one, there had to also be a previous one, but I'm just doing the current. Hm, maybe a second one for Vicar later? We'll see).
Some of these were REALLY tough to answer, and a lot of fun to think about. It took me way too long to get this finished and you can very clearly see the ones where I was like 'I'm tired and I just wanna post this already' lol.
Anyway, my Deacon.
Pre-Fieldwork Checklist
0. Is he _______? Check all that apply. Supply additional notes as desired.
[ ] A synth?
[ ] A ghoul?
[ ] An alien or other cryptid?
[ ] A time traveler?
[ ] From before the war?
[X] From a vault?
The one, the only Lone Wanderer of Vault 101!
[ ] From the West Coast or New Vegas?
He isn't, but his predecessor is...
[X] From the Capital Wasteland?
[ ] Married?
[ ] A widower?
[ ] A father?
[X] A former raider/gang member?
A young, bitter, angry Alex, shortly after faking his death in the Capital and a miserable stint in the Pitt, counted himself among the UP Deathclaws for a time. And he was sort of a Tunnel Snake, too. Still has the jacket...for the time being.
[ ] A former teacher?
No, but he was the vault chaplain in 101.
[X] Recovering/recovered from chem addiction?
After he left the vault, chems became a way of life for him for a long time. Med-X was his drug of choice, but on a bad day he'd take whatever he could get his hands on. Had a decent chem trade going on in Megaton once he got some lab equipment set up in his house; Leo Stahl was a regular customer. By the time he found his way to the Commonwealth, he'd stopped caring enough to keep up his old habit of periodically detoxing. The UP Deathclaws offered him all the chems and company he wanted, and that was good enough for him at that point. He quit chems when he joined the Railroad, and sticks to booze, caffeine, and nicotine now.
[ ] Agamemnon?
[ ] John D.?
[ ] The/a founder of the Railroad?
[ ] The current and/or secret leader of the Railroad?
Casual Observation
1. How old is he? How old does he look?
29 during MBWATD (start of FO4). He looks late 30's, maybe 40 at that point.
2. How tall is he? What's his default posture like?
6'2" and he's learned to hate it. He stood out enough in the vault, but in the wasteland it's even harder to blend in like that. He leans and slouches a LOT, and is always grateful for those rare covers where his height isn't a disadvantage.
3. What's his body type/build like? Is he as strong/agile as he looks? Less so? More?
Lean and muscular. Not skinny by any means, but he's never been especially bulky. Strong arms and shoulders from lugging that rifle around all the time.
4. Is he naturally bald, balding, or would he have a full head of hair if not for removing it? What is his natural hair color? Does he have body hair?
He would have a full, thick head of red hair if he let it grow. And while yes, it is a distinctive color, and that's his answer if anyone asks why he shaves it, that's not the real reason he does. He has what I would consider to be a fairly average amount of body hair, and doesn't usually shave or trim that.
5. How often does he wear that pompadour wig? Does he have other wigs?
He wears it when he needs to, but would rather just go bald - wigs are annoying and kinda itchy and require maintenance. He has other wigs, but he can only drag around so many at a time, especially if he wants to keep them in usable condition, so he usually just has one, maybe two available at any given time. Anything more specific needs to be retrieved from storage.
6. Does he have any scars? Freckles or other marks? Any tattoos or piercings?
He had tattoos and piercings, but he removed all the metal in his face (and *cough* elsewhere) and had his tattoos lasered when he joined the Railroad. He cried when it was time to start on the Tunnel Snake. He gets a bit freckly when he spends more time in the sun, but he's not as fair-skinned as some redheads. He has a variety of scars, which is pretty normal in the wasteland - lord knows he's been shot, stabbed, burned, or blown up enough times - but I've never particularly thought about what or where.
7. What kind of clothing does he wear when he's not working/when he's at rest?
If he's really and truly alone and someplace he feels safe, a pair of sweatpants or boxers and maybe a t-shirt. If there are people around, he never really feels like he's 'off duty', and is always dressed and ready for action.
8. What are his hands like? Soft, calloused? Are his nails rough, neat, bitten?
His hands are a bit rough/callused. He takes care of them as best he can, always keeps his nails trimmed and as clean as possible. Doesn't bite them anymore, but he used to when he was young. Sometimes has ink stains around his cuticles.
9. What does he smell like? What are his hygiene habits like?
Mostly smells of cigarettes, his favorite pine tar soap, and sweat. I have a lot of thoughts on personal hygeine products in the wasteland (including deodorant), and I'll make a post on that some time. He stays as clean as humanly possible when he's on the road (old vault habits die hard, and he doesn't like being dirty), and gets a little cranky when he can't at least wash thoroughly (but preferably shower).
10. When (if ever) does he take his sunglasses off? Why does he wear them?
He has photophobia. Whether it's genetic, or just a result of spending 19 years underground in shitty fluorescent lighting, he doesn't know - but the sun is a deadly laser that stabs him in the eyeballs every time he steps outside, so he's worn sunglasses since he left the vault. Later on they gave him the added advantage of hiding his big pretty blue eyes. By this point in his life, the world feels and looks wrong to him without them. He takes them off when he's alone indoors.
Further Investigation
11. Who is he, in his mind? How does he define himself? What name(s) feels right, if any?
There's a very clear divide between Alex and Deacon in his head. Alex is the person he was, not who he is anymore, and Deacon...well, Deacon is a title, tool, a weapon, a means to an end. A collection of carefully curated traits and skills and self-deprecating humor that he's duct taped together to keep himself upright. Certainly not a person. His face is no longer his own - even his voice is a constant performance. Alex gave up the right to be a person a long time ago; Deacon has given up on the idea that he can ever earn that back. So instead, he fights for the personhood of people who can't fight for themselves. It's not until he meets the Sole Survivor that he realizes he didn't bury Alex quite as deep as he thought he did, and that maybe the man he used to be isn't as dead as Deacon hoped he was (I'm so normal about it).
12. Who does he trust, if anyone? With some things or wholeheartedly? Why?
Almost no one. Ironically, the one person he trusts the most for a very long time - his predecessor, Vicar - is probably the one he should trust the least.
He's very conflicted about Jules for a while, especially when she's fresh out of the vault - mainly because he develops such an immediate, intense fascination with her, and it (rightly) scares the absolute shit out of him. He knows his objectivity is...shaky at best for a while, and he can't rely on his own judgement where she's concerned. By the time she finally joins the Railroad, though, he's spent so long watching her that she's become the one person he really fully trusts (hello, words, I'm actions and I'm speaking awfully loud). He knows she'll fight and kill and, if necessary, die for the people she loves, and he can work with that. That's predictable, reliable, and to Deacon, worth more than any misguided brand of altruism.
13. What made him choose Deacon as a codename - or is it not a codename at all?
He didn't choose it - it was handed down to him by the previous Deacon - but he finds it endlessly amusing given his former occupation in the vault and, later on, the fact that their headquarters is under an old church. If he were the kind of man who believed in that sort of thing, he might even call it destiny.
14. What is going on in his head? This could be just a notable train of thought or it could be a full exploration of what makes him tick, up to you!
Everything. He has ADHD (not that he knows that) and PTSD and anxiety and gets pretty paranoid at times. He is never not overthinking EVERYTHING and he. is. tired.
15. When did he become involved with the Railroad? Why?
He was first introduced to the Railroad in Rivet City in 2278, and didn't think too much of them back then. He helped Harkness out because it seemed like the right thing to do (or maybe just because he was bored and high), sent Zimmer packing, and promptly fucked off back to Megaton. It wasn't until a few years later that he got dropped back in at the deep end and became who he is today.
16. When might he retire or step away from the Railroad, if ever? What might motivate or influence that decision?
He'll retire eventually, but he continues with the Railroad for a while after the Institute is destroyed. By that point, he's put a lot of work into healing and spent quite some time grappling with the idea that he might deserve to be a person again, but it's the birth of his daughter that finally pushes him to step down. He's fought long and hard to make the world a safer place, both here and in the Capital, and he finally feels he's earned the right to live his own life for a change.
17. Where is he from? What was his early home life like? How does he remember it?
Growing up in Vault 101 sucked. He had to watch everything he said and did, because someone was always watching him. The emphasis was always on who he was to the vault, what he could be for other people, and he felt suffocated by that sense of responsibility for as long as he could remember.
His relationship with his father was complicated - James was a loving dad, but he was always busy and often distant. He had a hard time letting go of his wife's memory, and seemed to Alex to always be distracted by the past rather than living in the present. By the time James left the vault, he and Alex barely spoke anymore.
18. Where is the farthest from the Commonwealth that he's been? Why did he go there?
Point Lookout, MD is probably technically the farthest he's been from the Commonwealth (I'm too lazy to look up the exact distance; I'm just eyeballing it on a map). He'd say he went there to help someone, but he'd be lying. He was mostly in it for the money, and his own curiosity.
19. Why does he favor the tactics/weapons that he does? Is he proficient with others?
He's learned to kill in a lot of creative ways since he left the vault, but he favors distance and stealth because he'd rather not have to watch someone die up close unless he can help it; he's done too much killing as it is.
20. Why/when did he first take interest in the Sole Survivor? What were his intentions?
I've written about how exactly she ended up on his radar, so you can read about that if you want to, but it was the similarities between their stories that really drew him to Jules - a woman who didn't belong to this place, tossed out into an unforgiving wasteland she never thought she'd live to see, let alone have to actually live in. Searching for the only family she had left, fighting to survive, struggling to adapt.
It's the deeper struggle that he relates to the most, though. After certain events (which we haven't hit yet in the fic), she finds herself searching for a reason to keep going, to get out of bed every day, to keep putting one foot in front of another, and that's what keeps him haunting her steps on the long road that eventually leads her to the Railroad.
21. How did he get in the habit of lying? Does he remember? Could he stop?
Growing up in an authoritarian wet dream like 101 meant you learned to lie early and often. Speaking your mind was strongly discouraged, and was likely to land you in a lot of hot water. As a queer teenager grappling with his sexuality in a society where 'procreation is your civic duty', those lies became even more essential. And when his entire world fell apart and he was forced to learn to navigate an unforgiving wasteland where everything about him screamed 'easy target' to every asshole he met, lying was a matter of basic survival.
He lies with every muscle and every movement. It comes as naturally as breathing, and when he admits to Jules that he 'can't tell the truth,' it's because he never really learned how; it's going to take him a while to figure it out.
22. How well can he actually lie or maintain a facade? Does he have any particular tells or nervous fidgets? If so, is he aware of them?
He's very good at lying, and doesn't really have any specific tells; never had many to begin with, but Vicar did a good job of beating the rest out of him. Still, somehow, his pet vaultie can read him like a book.
Emergency Improv
23. Share a lie that he uses often, that he is particularly proud of, or that he's amused by. What sets it apart in his mind?
His favorite 'lies' are the ones that aren't really lies. Little crumbs of his real life that no one would ever believe no matter how sincerely he delivers them. "I grew up in a vault; I was a morale officer." Entirely true, and very much how he looks at his time as vault chaplain. "I hate playgrounds." Bonkers. Who hates playgrounds? Well, a man who had to dodge frag mines and sniper fire through an abandoned playground just to make a few caps might. It's a little thrill, dangling outright truth under someone's nose and them being none the wiser.
He's been telling those lies long enough that he hasn't stopped to consider he might one day meet someone who'd hear them (really hear them), file them away, and slowly arrange them into a picture he didn't think anyone was capable of putting together anymore.
24. Share a truth that he usually keeps to himself. Has he/will he share it with any one/few person/people in particular? Why?
That's he's not the first agent to call himself Deacon. That he was the Lone fucking Wanderer, once upon a time. That there was a time he believed in what the Brotherhood stood for, when the rank of Knight meant something to him, when a better man led them and the wolves weren't yet snarling at his heels. Vicar knows most of those; Jules will figure them out.
25. Free Space. Fun(?) fact or ramble of your choosing.
Spoke fluent French as a kid, but started to lose that as he spent less and less time around his dad. His vocabulary is pretty terrible now but his accent is good. He can read it better than he can speak it.
Refuses to call Jules by a name until he has a codename to call her by. Until then it's the vaultie, One-Eleven, boss, the chief, the general, etc.
Oh hi, it's me, and yes I'm still working on the fic. @omkdear tagged me for WIP Wednesday, so have a lil snippet. Things have been a little chaotic around here lately (LOL understatement of the year) but apparently quitting caffeine, while literally painful, has made my brain work better (hallelujah) so I'm slowly plugging away at this beast. I'm trying to actually draft at least a couple more chapters before I finish editing the next chapter tho, so here's a nibble to tide you over.
No pressure tag for @tunnelsnke and @some27-url (you already fed us SO well today but mayhap you have another morsel to share?). Can't think of anyone else to tag, so y'know, share if you wanna and feel free to @ me.
make-believe wears a thin disguise - chapter 6
read it on AO3.
"Well, I'll be goddamned," the synth says quietly. "There's a damsel I never expected to see again. Though if there was any place in the Commonwealth you were gonna haunt me, I suppose it'd be here."
What the hell is that supposed to mean? The vault? The Triggermen? Boston in general?
"Wha—" The vaultie braces herself on the doorway. "Are you really —"
"Guess I finally lost it," Valentine mutters, half to himself. "Hafta say, that's one hell of a hallucination the old circuit boards cooked up this time." He finally flicks the guttering match from his skeletal fingers and takes a couple steps closer. The light that filters in through the massive office window catches on his battered synthetic face, on the worn seams and jagged tears of his features. The vaultie's gasp echoes in the space between Deacon's breaths; her fingertips are white where they grip the doorframe.
Fear, he realizes, or something damn close to it, and the sudden absence of her usual confidence shines a glaring spotlight on the contrast, throwing that fear into sharp relief.
"You're — you're not a ghoul."
Deacon just blinks stupidly at the back of the vaultie's head. She walked into this vault expecting to find...a sentient prewar ghoul? How does she even know what ghouls are?
"And you're not real, so I guess we're even. Sorry to disappoint." The old synth gives his head a shake as though to clear it. "Boy, that dame must've done a number on me with that bat of hers..."
He hadn't anticipated any of this — how could he? It was supposed to be a fucking recon mission, maybe a chance to trade blows with the Institute if he was lucky, not a torturous deep-dive into his traumatic past.
And now this vaultie...fuck. There's a complication he really didn't need. She's shaken something loose beneath his mask, an instinct he hasn't felt in a very long time. Something fierce and covetous, born of a bone-deep need to comfort and protect.
That Deacon will do whatever he can to help her is a foregone conclusion, he realizes. The only question remaining is how far he's willing to go to do it.
A survivor and a wanderer, from worlds as similar as they are different, collide. The wasteland will never be the same, and neither will Deacon.
BEHOLD, CHAPTER 1 IS UP!
make-believe wears a thin disguise 👇
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
@userdogmeat tagged me to share a snippet last week for WIP Wednesday — better late than never, right?
Y’all are not even gonna know what’s hit you when this chapter comes out.
Existential questions about existence and personhood aside, however, the present problem with Nick Valentine seems to be that he's simply not around. Actually, missing is the word his secretary uses, while Deacon presses his ear to the door and strains to shut out the noise around him so he can eavesdrop. Working a missing persons case, apparently, and simply wandered off to Park Street Station all by his lonesome like he didn't have a care or responsibility in the world.
Deacon wonders, briefly, if the human Valentine was an idealistic idiot, too.
The vaultie's bland aggravation pulls his focus back to the rickety door in front his face is pressed against. "Wouldn't be the first time I've had to —" she breaks off with a sigh. "Never mind. Guess I'm off to rescue Detective Valentine. Can't say that was on my to-do list for today, but what are you gonna do?"
The other woman gives an awkward little laugh. "I don't mean to be rude, but…just you? Well, and the dog. But —" She sounds a little incredulous, and Deacon can't blame her. If the Great Synth Detective didn't get very far, one little vaultie isn't likely to fare much better. "It's just…there are a lot of them."
"If you have any suggestions on how I might clone myself in the next twenty-four hours, I'm all ears."
Ellie chuckles. "You could try asking around, see if you can find a mercenary or bodyguard for hire."
"So city security really won't do anything, huh?"
"'Fraid not. And with Nick gone? Well, he was about the last person who cared enough, you know?"
"Yeah, I'll just bet he was," the vaultie mutters, almost too soft for Deacon to hear. There's an odd, bitter note to it. "So where would I start looking for some extra help, were I so inclined?"
"The Dugout Inn's as good a place as any, plenty of folks go through there every day. You should probably get a room for the night anyway — don't want to be stuck out in the ruins after dark if you can help it, and they're the only game in town. Ask the bartender if he knows anyone looking for work. If you tell him I sent you, he might even tone down the flirting a little."
"Flirting, I can deal with," the vaultie says dryly. Deacon doesn't doubt that; she was bound to be used to it. He's not sure how well she'd deal with some of the mercenary types around here, though, and he feels a twinge of…concern at the thought. "Thanks, I'll check there." There's a long moment of silence before she speaks again. " I have to ask — the detective, is he…" She trails off, the echo of her hesitation clear as day through the rusty old walls.
"Is he what, honey?" Ellie asks gently. She sounds concerned, maybe.
Another pause. "Never mind. It doesn't matter. Thanks for everything, um…"
"Ellie."
Hoping to be done editing it this week, but we’ll see. In the meantime, catch up on the first three chapters if you haven’t already.
It hadn't been too bad the first couple of days. He'd camped out in one of the abandoned houses down the street from One-Eleven's place, keeping watch through his binoculars by day, venturing closer every so often under cover of darkness or stealth boy.
When she wasn't curled up next to her missing baby's crib sobbing, the vaultie spent her time drinking herself senseless on her threadbare old sofa. The robot, meanwhile, fussed over her like a mother hen, and kept trying to coax her to line her stomach with something solid to soak up some of the booze.
When she doused the Sugar Bombs it tried to feed her in rum, it finally gave up and turned its attention instead to the more pressing task of keeping her hydrated; she'd survive without food for the time being.
Deacon didn't begrudge her her choice of coping mechanism; he hadn't been much better off when he was in her shoes all those years ago. And she had the Handy to look out for her, which is a damn sight more than he'd had those first days out in the real world.
And as much as he regretted the tragedy that was responsible for it, he'd appreciated the downtime her little staycation in Margaritaville afforded him. This end of the Commonwealth was quiet, out of the way, and her breakdown had given him time to mend the more fragile bits of his psyche after his little foray into the vault — or at least shove them away someplace dark and deep where he wouldn't cut himself on the sharp edges.
He'd even managed some halfway-decent sleep for a couple of nights. Closest thing he'd had to PTO in…well, ever.
