#wickedhertz

[spakonarchive]

OOC. nate seeing 8 sonjaculate

six watching 8 sonjaculate

[cheatdeathsarchive]

happy halloween!!

[o-rusted-heart]

@wickedhertz​.

Nick had been a little iffy on it when Six arranged for any kind of communication between the Mojave and Big MT, but he’d at least calmed on it when she mentioned who the liaison was going to be. His time in the crater (an abudction) had been odd enough to pass off as a fever dream. If he had fevers.

But he remembered Dr. 8. The peculiar brain in a jar was the only reason Nick had agreed to help, largely because the robot would have a strange time buzzing across the desert on his own. The Detective waited at the drop point of the.... transportal--transporter--atomizer... thing, smoking a cigarette with his hat tipped low until he heard a familiar hiss of static.

“Hey, Doc. Hopefully the traffic wasn’t too bad, huh? I’ll be your cabbie today.” A smile lit up on his face as he stepped forward to greet those bizarre monitors like an old friend. “Welcome to the Mojave.” 

[dyedmaxiian]

@wickedhertz​ / sc.

Usually abnormalities in the Commonwealth were few and far between. The bar had gotten a SIGNIFICANT raise, so it was far from an exaggeration when the word ‘crazy’ was thrown around, but this was particularly strange. Sitting before him is a large makeshift relay tower, ONE he is certain did not exist when he’d first arrived that much was certain. So much for a ‘normal’ day in the Commonwealth.

“Well...I suppose now I can officially say I’ve seen everything.”

HE remains cautiously distant but he studies quietly to get a better understanding of it before puffing out softly.

[spakonarchive]

@wickedhertz​

The trip across the United States is one seemingly cursed from the very beginning. Nate isn’t sure what to make of the strange way he feels when he steps onto the Prydwen before it lifts off from the Boston Logan International Airport, but he is reminded of a looming dread, one that he carried with him from Illinois to Anchorage.

It all makes sense to him, finally, when dust storms kick up across the Mojave. It’s a dead zone, they claim, one where Brotherhood do not exist. It means there is no one close enough to radio for help when something abnormal grounds the large dirigible. It’s a fully staffed vessel, one that needs all hands on deck. Nate volunteers for patrol with a handful of Scribes and other foot soldiers. It’s a listlessness he’s not entirely sure he understands. Maybe it’s Nora telling him to go.

The sun is hot as it bears down on them, and it’s strange -- all of this is. Stranger yet is the way they’re picked off -- one by one. It happens slowly, over time, after the small scouting party is seemingly spirited away from where the crash site had been. Nate’s never been fully a city slicker or a country boy. He doesn’t know what to make any of this all the same -- either way doesn’t seem like it’d do him any good anyway.

It’s a crater, one littered and run down for all the buildings that remain in it, surprisingly well kept. The sound of his Pip-Boy has brought him here, to the distress signal one of the Scribes managed to send off. Boxes call this Big Mountain. If it was, it isn’t any more.

He is relaxed as he can be as he walks into the building that opens for him unlike so many buildings that have locked out the ruined world. What he expects to find is not waits for him -- floating orbs, television monitors. They stare at him. It is now, finally, that the foreboding he felt all the way in the Commonwealth finally makes sense.

“I’m looking for someone,” he says, his laser rifle in hand, but not drawn, “I’ll be out of your way once I find them.”

[spakonarchive]

@wickedhertz​          /          starter.

There’s been a few more nights since 8 has woken up. Several more than a few, in fact. Sensations, Six hopes, aren’t as painful a shock to his system anymore and being human is more and more approachable. She’s had to come and go a few times, and it’s her hope that in addition his relationship with Dr. Mobius has returned to normal the same way his body and brain have. 

The recovery process has been fruitful to be certain, and now that there is no Klein or other Tanks hurling threats and accusations or sensory overloads that need abundant patience, Six has something she is thankful for: time to talk. Her latest stint in the Mojave is done, and with the free time she has she returns straight to the Big Empty, as she has dutifully been doing. Higgs has been the latest of her projects, and she comes with this and that to make the small neighborhood feel whole again.

Well, not all of it. Only two of the houses and to hell with the rest. The ones that still have living residents who deserve more than the furniture-less rooms that their chassis needed for centuries. With time the tables and chairs have gone wobbly, and so she sits in the living room of Dr. Drew Bennet’s residence taking apart and reassembling the dining room chairs.

“Hopefully this’ll help,” she doesn’t nod until she looks over her handiwork and sees nothing wrong with it. That done, Six rights the chair and pats the seat, “Give it a try, doc? Let me know how it feels now. Reckon after I finish up the table you can take me around and show me what all them roboscorpions been excavatin’.”

[cheatdeathsarchive]

six: fusion cells work great as a vibrator 8:

[spakonarchive]

@wickedhertz

Gritting his teeth against a breath of alarm, P8 glances over his shoulder, then starts towards the door N7 entered through. A quick twist of his wrist locks the room from inside, allowing them to interact without fear of being interrupted by Ayo’s lackeys or one of the lesser maintenance synths that mill about the Institute like bowing, scraping shadows— ever-present and unnoticed, save for the odd occasion when one of them malfunctions.

“Please, have a seat,” he drones, thrusting a chair towards her before setting about preparing for the impromptu medical procedure. “Would you like something for the pain? Med-X has been in short supply lately, but I still have some left.”

Normally N7 is not one to use up supplies -- she doesn’t mind a few dings. Though they are safely within these walls, she still is paranoid. Small tells are how she hopes to get the point across. She doesn’t want to leave without saying goodbye. Goodbye just has to be elsewhere, where there is no promise of bugs or spying and perhaps where she can ask if he wants to make a break for it, too.

“I think I’ll take some,” she agrees, giving him a very open look that says far more than her agreement, “I should be ready for my next mission topside. You can get me ready for that, right?”

Maybe it’s a change of heart. Maybe she wants to be here, but P8 knows her well, and smart as he is, she’s sure he knows better.