So I gathered up all my leftovers and scraps from the Luminous Nine Patches and sorted them by colour with the idea to make quilts out of them and not waste the fabric.
This is the yellow/orange set. I cut them into 10.5”x2.5” pieces, along with some black for the background.
I was originally gonna do the pattern “Spangled” by Cozy Quilt Designs, but after cutting my strips decided that I would do “Thataway” instead.
I do love the way yellow and orange pop off black. Always a delight for the eyeballs.
Hello, I'm back with more installments of my playthrough of Fallout New Vegas. Hope you enjoy the thoughts of my shithead courier as she recounts (the slightly exaggerated for narrative purposes) things she comes across. Canon typical violence.
2281 October 29th.
Maybe I’m cursed. Feeling mightily like an approaching omen.
I’m at Nipton, and the NCR army proves once again to be completely useless. What the hell are they up to? Surely not protection. This being the third settlement targeted by some random faction or gang. Was too late to help, not that I could. Don’t remember much from before, but I know I can’t take the Legion. No way, no how. Nearly pissed myself talking with that Vulpes Inculta asshole. Managed to part ways intact by sheer luck. Wanted to send a bullet right between his eyes so bad, my trigger finger still itches.
Whole town’s been shot to hell. Folk slaughtered like dogs. Worse than dogs. Others weren’t so lucky. Strung up on crosses, most of those ones are still alive. Crucified like criminals of old. Tried cutting one down and he died in my arms.
Damnit, Primm and Goodsprings should be warned. Can’t afford to backtrack, but maybe I’ll find a working radio transmitter in town. Should send word that the Legion is in the area.
2281 October 29th. Midday
Found a radio. Busted beyond repair.
2281 October 29th. Midday? Evening? Suns halfway between overhead and the horizon.
NO. I’m not going back. I’m playing catch up as it is. Don’t give a fig about those damn yokels. I DON’T.
2281 October 29th. Dusk
GOTDAMN, FUCKING SHIT, MUSH FOR BRAINS.
Got shot in the head, ‘course it’s all mush up there. Bleeding heart, is what I am. Couldn’t stop thinking of poor Ruby Nash, or Sunny, or Trudy strung up and crucified. All of them had some hand in getting me back on my feet. Can’t leave them without warning.
2281 October 30th.
Ok, i've calmed down and am taking a break. Back in Primm, sitting on the floor of the old casino surrounded by pages of a still legible programmers manual. Folk took the news of Nipton’s attack as well as one could. Asked for help in replacing their dead and useless lawmen. Suggestions given were the idiot NCR man at the gates, or their ex-sheriff now locked up for his own failures. How bad do you have to be to get locked up in the wasteland?? Either evil as the devil, or stupid as dirt. Terrible options. So here I am, wasting more time as I try to figure out how to reprogram Primm Slim’s protection protocols so he’ll defend the town. Honestly, I can't believe this funky little pre-war robot has lasted this long. Seems durable. Has to be the best choice.
2281 October 31st.
Made it back to Goodsprings and stocked up. Least I got vittles and chems out of the trip. Rested a spell at the saloon, but Trudy’s dropping hints about warning Ranger Jackson over at the NCR outpost to the point it's insufferable. Fat chance, I said. Not doing any more of the NCR’s work for them. I'll throw in a few extra stimpacks to sweeten the deal, she says. Call me a sellout, but I took her up on the offer. At this point I’m tracking my would be killer in spirit only. One can only hope he is being besieged in the same ways.
Mildly inconvenienced by the denizens of the wasteland, is what I’ll have them put on my gravestone.
I played New Vegas all day yesterday. So meet my edgelord courier 6. This is a silly idea but it kinda lets me write for fallout without delaying my other wips lskfjd. Indulge me a little while i give epistolary fic a shot lol.
Warnings: canon typical violence. Lots of murder. My courier's got that murder first ask questions later dog in her.
2281. October 25th
Got shot in the head and it scrambled my memories. They're still there, just…have troubles holding on to them. Think they want to slip out the hole the bullets left. Asked Doc Mitchell whether I should try writing things down, and he says it might help. Said it in a way that made me think he’d say anything to get back to the nothing he was doing beforehand. But what the hell, here we go. In case I forget who the fuck I am, my name is Cordy. Ma named me after aunt Cordelia, who wasn’t my aunt, but an odd bird in town with a penchant for taxidermy. Pa gave me the nickname Cordy. I remember being annoyed I couldn’t have a pretty one like Delia. Only thing I have left of him now, so I suppose I’ll keep it.
Tempting to stay in Goodsprings and leave everyone from the before times to rot, to be honest. Except fuckin’ Mr New Vegas somehow got word of my survival and is blabbing it to the entire Mojave. If I was a betting woman, I’d say that cowpoke robot is to blame. Whatshisname. Victor. No evidence other than my own reasoning of who the hell else would have the means to transmit the info. Won’t accuse him out loud, this’ll stay in my head. He pulled me out of my grave, that bought him significant goodwill.
2281. October 25th. Evening
Actually, I’m gotdamn annoyed that someone shot me. Left me to rot. Didn’t even have the wherewithal or common sense to check if I had a pulse. Amateurs. Can’t even properly execute me point blank.
I’m gonna track ‘em down.
2281. October 27th.
Fucking useless.
The NCR can bite my ass. Primm - next town down from Goodsprings, I wasted an entire bag of ammo clearing it of thugs. Big NCR soldier man camped at the gates didn't have the resources apparently, so stood at the entrance doing shit all. How then did I manage it with my piecemeal armor and a single 10mm, hmm?
All for the measly tidbit that my failed murderer was seen on his way down to Nipton. At least the previously besieged town members were grateful enough to patch me up and send me on my way with food and water. Small blessings.
I fed a bit of cram to one of the town’s mutts. It started following me, and I almost let it. Could do with a companion. I think I had a pet when I was a kid. Remember loving it. Can't remember anything else about it.
2281 October 28th. Night
Nights are getting too cold for comfort out here, which you'd think was a relief after the scorching heat of day. Maybe I'll try sleeping during the day and travelling at night. Having bad luck with fire too. Think I'll chance taking shelter in one of these decrepit buildings.
2281 October 28th. Still fucking night.
Should’ve stopped at the old gas station. Didn’t care to deal with radscorpions, so took my chances at the pre-war police station further down the highway. Shot up a gang hunkering down in it, woulda let them be, or kept on walking if they hadn’t tried gunning me down. As it was, meant I had a warm, well stocked place to sleep, almost cozy if it weren’t for the pile of corpses at the front door.
There’s a raven hopping just outside the station's grimy window.
A raven! How could I forget him?... Used to have a friendly pet raven and I built puzzles for him to solve. Ma called him Breezeblock. When he died, aunt Cordelia taxidermied him. Was her best work, in my opinion.
Ok, enough writing for now. I have clothes and armor to repair, and guns to clean. Hopefully my trek to Nipton is uneventful. Knock on wood, toss salt over my shoulder, and all that.
I had a chance to play a bit more of Fallout New Vegas this week, which means here's the next installment of my Courier's adventurers (Cordy I'm sorry I'm sorry you're suffering through my bad choices lol) Canon typical violence. Language.
2281 November 1st.
Cursed is my lot in life. CURSED.
Rose of Sharon Cassidy, the woman that you are! Everything I could possibly want in a woman. Which here means, within that leather and plaid ensemble, she contains a disdain and bitterness for the NCR that exceeds my own.
Now, I've done my due diligence. Trudy, I hope you're happy. Legion sightings are reported to Ranger Jackson (it must be noted, I don't think much of him). Then went to find succor at the outpost’s bar. Who do I find, but the thorny Rose herself, deep in her cups. Bitching and moaning about her lot in life; my kindred spirit. My bosom friend.
Was seconds away from debasing myself onto my knees, begging her to come with me. Lamenting left and right about her failing caravan business, talking about how the Ranger wouldn’t let her go and handle the attacks on her caravan, how he only sees the worst outcome in everything, and decides to do fig all about it. Yep, sounds about right. Sounds pretty standard for the NCR in our little corner.
Maybe the desert's made me delirious, but my heart, she's perfect. Oh, how we'd help each other. We’d take on the wasteland as a team!
But, but, but. Her pride’s wrapped up in her work and she’s not ready to abandon it. Understandable, I suppose?!?? Would love to get your business up and running again, sweet Cass, but I've my own business to take care of first. So, almost perfect. Like I said, I'm cursed! My checker-suited would-be murderer has made too much ground. At this rate, I can’t afford any more delays.
If only I could persuade her to abandon her work. Instead, I leave the Mojave Outpost with a heavy heart, and wish I had more charm in these bones.
2281 November 2nd
Made it back to Nipton and now onto Novac; the last place I have any sort of hint on where to go. It'll be the end of the line if I don't get answers.
2281 November 2nd. Night.
I’m finally getting a new radio station, thank the almighty. Two more minutes of Mr. New Vegas and I’d lose my mind. His schmaltzy routine was fun for a second, but he’s a nosy sonuvabitch. Who the fuck is giving him updates, am I really that unobservant to folk watching me? Surely there are more interesting things to report on than little ole me.
2281 November ??????
DAMMIT I’ve been shot at, I’ve been shot
I’m chock-full of chems right now. Chased over hill and dale. Don’t know what the date is anymore. Up to my eyeballs in drugs, can’t even read the small print on my pip-boy.
2281. Later.
Found a lean-to in the hills. Collapsed into it, more like. Don’t know how long I've been out, but I've managed to get a fire going in a nearby metal bin, so I'm no longer in danger of shivering myself to death. Lord almighty, no one has a hobby anymore. Ambushing travellers is not a gotdamn hobby. I know for a fact the stuff they're scrounging off us poor, sadsack travellers is not enough for the ammo they're wasting.
If I die here, and you're reading this, please take my things and kill these fuckers. Who are they? Memory's janky on that one. Maybe it'll come back to me. Gang has an animal name, I think?
Was an idiot, I'll admit it, OK? It was a bad fight. Bad. Close to shuffling off this mortal coil, when a roving Legion gang joined the fray. Managed to hobble off in the confusion. They gave up their chase, so here's hoping they take each other out. Now I'm good and lost and only slightly bleeding out.
2281. Even Later.
Radio Free Utobitha is all that keeps me company as I convalesce. My new favourite station. Seems to be run by a super mutant who might be called Best Friend Tabitha? Or maybe she's the best friend. Unclear. I know you're thinking, Cordy, you've lost your damn mind. TO which i say, yes. A bullet to the brain. I will in fact reference that event every chance i get. Anyhow. The anti-human propaganda is a hoot.
There's a ghoul prisoner they bring on, always with a cheerful announcement of his eminent execution. He's such a cheeky, smarmy bitch. I dream to be as unbothered as this fucker.
Raul Tajeda, I'm your number one fan, here's hoping they don't execute you.
