memestertrucks | MARCH TDM

Entry tags:

After tumbling through shadow you find yourself in a shrouded, ruined garage. It’s full of shattered windows and broken mechanical equipment, with all sorts of sharp edges to watch out for. Between that are strange symbols scrawled into the ground. Outside is cloudy weather and the beginnings of a storm flickering and rumbling.

Beyond the rundown garage is a rundown gas station surrounded by rolling, grassy hills. Close by is a Convoy of vehicles, either parked or driving up to station.

01: SUMMONING CIRCLE

This time the summoning circle and car garage is attached to retro diner, and an old wind turbine, barely still spinning and providing fading power. There’s also a broken radio playing a message about Nirvana and imploring people to head north. In fact, there’s a large amount of broken electric equipment in here and spitting sparks.

A fan circles overhead, stirring those sparks and creating a breeze. Trails of paper are attached to the fan, spinning lazily about. If Drifters choose, they can easily retrieve those paper talismans with little more than a slight static shock. While the paper is tattered and smeared with ink and blood, the following can be made out: “Broken in two […] Nothing to lose-“ “Moon mourns, call her down, ease her pain-“ “Need […] Better vessels from afar. Stronger souls-“ “Imbue with moon sigils, Give blessings of moon, share her pain. Put the ritual right.”

Hard to say what that all means, but it seems to have something to do with the summoning circle here. And there’s lingering power crackling through the building. The sort that makes the lights flash and flicker… And line up eerily with flashes of thunder on the horizon.

02: START UP 

New arrivals will have a similar experience to before; a Convoy waiting outside for them, and a collection of vehicles, one of which feels like it belongs to them. The key to the vehicle may already be in the ignition, on the dashboard… It may have even been on their person, ever since they woke up in that garage. Either way, Drifters have the keys to the vehicle now.

…But there’s a few rough edges on these vehicles. Flat tires, cracked windows and mirrors, maybe some stuck doors and locks; all of them requires two pairs of hands and supplies. The garage can take care of the supplies… Now it’s just a matter of finding some extra hands.

03: STORM WARNING

There’s something odd in the sky; it shifts between a dark cloud, and a collection of birds. As the thing draws closer, it clearly becomes a mix of both. Car-sized, dark feathered birds and skeletal avians fly in a thundering flock, and turn the sky stormy in their wake. That alone is bad… But what’s worse is how the shiny chrome of the Convoy and vehicles draws the birds. As they dive towards the ground to snatch at the shiny metal, they pull the storm and bring a tornado with them. The Convoy does its best to anchor to the ground, but lighter vehicles and Drifters might not be so lucky.

The garage and diner takes it worst of all: the electric devices start spitting sparks and can even act as homing beacons for lightning strikes if a Drifter with electric abilities gets too close to them. Any remaining, intact windows shatter as the storm winds pick up, pelting Drifters with razor shards. And water starts pouring in, further shorting electric equipment and soaking anyone to the bone. There’s even a strange droning, siren like noise to warn about the storm and cut into one’s hearing. It’s difficult conditions for anyone caught up in the blow-out.

04: WEATHERING

Once the main force of the storm hits, the following happens:
Diversion: Those with Fast cars can drive away from the station and divert the birds. They’ll want a second Drifter to come along; either to snipe at the pursuing birds, or keep eyes on the terrain! Eventually the birds will tire or get culled enough that the storm disperses.
Updraft: There is the risk of getting swept up in the tornado winds. Damage, injuries… And a particular quirk this storm has. Drifters who spend more than a minute in the storm winds will find that they begin to take on traits from the Harpy monster. These traits increase in potency if the Drifter experiences hunger or violence. As the weather clears and days become calmer, the traits fade.
Downburst: If Drifters get slammed into the ground by the storm, or the dark birds flying about. They may also find themselves drenched with rain. Any injury they take mends quickly, but is replaced with scales, as the Drifters begin to resemble a Naga monster. These changes grow worse if they tell lies, but disperse with the storm.
BIRDS: The birds themselves are vicious: those afflicted with Naga traits are seen as prey, while Harpies are seen as rivals. The birds are deadly, but also clumsy if forced to the ground. The screens on the Convoy recommend crippling the wings before finishing the bird off on the ground.

04: MONSTER SHIFT, NAGA

This month, Drifters will have access to the serpentine Naga. On top of all Naga species traits being available, the following occurs:
+Cold Blooded: the rain and storms can potentially make Naga slow and sluggish, or inclined to sleep or seek out other heat sources to gain energy; this includes basking in body heat from others!
+Water Divert: With their water shaping, Naga can divert falling rain and even ground saturation to make the area or other Drifters more dry. They can also concentrate water into different areas, and can also change water into mist or ice.
+Blue shift: the scales of Naga become more vibrantly blue, or a strange mottled combination of blue and stormy gray, the more intense the rains become. These scale colors can also reflect their moods.
+Extra arms that are painful and disorienting to grow, and can result in coordination issues.
+Scale Pains: Pain and discomfort when scales grow in, as well as fangs or talons!
+Water glide: during floods from the rains, Naga find they can easily traverse deep water as though they were simply walking (or slithering) across it.
+Thermal vision, making it easy to track others in the middle of storms. Vision may also become disorienting, and eyes become slitted.

04: MONSTER SHIFT, HARPY

The storm will bring a second monster this month, in the form of Harpy. On top of all Harpy species traits being active, the following occurs:
+Storm Rider: high agility and capable of flying through the storm winds without hindrance. Even tornadoes can be mastered!
+Feather pains: itching, or full pain when growing feathers or wings. Talons may also be painful when growing from fingers or from feet.
+Wind Affinity: able to shape wind, including diverting the worst of the storm winds, or summon and focus wind into razors.
+Warbling Voice: words may waver and slip into something more songlike, or even a damaging sonic scream if emotions are heightened.
+Height Call: a need to get higher into the air, whether through perching on buildings or the convoy, or through flight. A sense of euphoria as they go higher.
+Nest Building: a compulsion to create a nest out of spare and soft objects, and feeling more safe inside that space.
+Heightened vision like a bird of prey, able to pick out details even at great distance. This may be disorienting at first, as vision becomes telescopic.

05: RAIN, SHINE, OR SALVAGE

Upon culling enough birds, the storm disperses. The monster avians dissolve as they drop into streams of energy, feeding into Drifter Sigils and providing limited healing. And handful remain intact when they hit the ground and can be harvested for meat, feathers, and possibly even talons.

There is one extra problem, in the form of falling debris. After being pulled up into the sky, wreckage (and possibly stray Drifters) are going to drop back down. It’s advised to look out for falling objects and people. It might be possible to salvage something in the form of scrap metal for any vehicle repairs, but such a task requires two.

06: STORM SHOT 

The storm can be dispersed in one of two ways. One is waiting the storm out. The second is a battered collection of machines melted into the roof of the garage and gas station. When touched they burn the hands of Drifters, but also fire a jolt of lightning into the storm. One shot lessens the effects of the storm, repeated shots completely disperses the weather.

In the aftermath of the storm, something different rains from the sky in the form of glowing, quicksilver feathers. These feathers can suppress one avian or serpentine trait for a month, and can also drain away any Naga or Harpy changes from the event completely.

Alternately, the feathers will allow Drifters to temporarily access flight for one day. Doing so completely robs the feather of its magic: only one effect can be chosen from a feather.

MICRO ENCOUNTERS:

PLEASE NOTE! These are small bits of set dressing for players to include in threads if they wish, rather than full fledged prompts or events. You may handwave your exploration of these areas, or thread them out.

Windy Days: Preceding the storm are gales of strong winds, enough to stagger Drifters or send them staggering into other people or other vehicles.

Diner Is Served: While the retro diner attached to the garage has only limited food stores, curiously there is a respectable amount of cooking equipment that can be plundered. Portable stoves, pots and pans, spoons, and the like are all available for the taking.

Fading Storm: In the aftermath of the storm, the garage and diner look like they’re on their last legs, barely held up by their shelving. Anyone who wants to try salvaging had better move fast and carefully, before the entire thing comes crashing down.

NAVIGATION || RESERVES || APPLICATIONS

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ The wind is not something Arcade is unaccustomed to - not after several years spent living on the open, desolate plain of desert where New Vegas is planted, in spite of all possible inhospitable acts of nature. Which makes it all the more embarrassing when a gust catches him off-guard, strong enough to nearly whip the coat right off his back, and sends him reeling.

He doesn't quite manage to catch hold of the nearest vehicle, swept up almost as if in a strong current, but he snags on something, anyway. Or - someone snags on him, an arm as firm as a steel band stopping him from being bowled over entirely. For a minute more, all he can do is hang on, one hand clutching his glasses to keep them from being snatched right off his face, as the wind first intensifies and then, finally, begins to die down.

When he can finally be heard over the dying roar of the air rushing turbulently around them, he offers a somewhat breathless, ]

Uh, thanks.

[ The radstorms in the Commonwealth get almost like this, sometimes, but Danse isn't used to weathering those without his power armor, either. He'll say one thing for the conveniently abandoned suit of X-01 he's adopted; the model might have some unfortunate associations, which he generally tries not to think about, but it wouldn't have budged in this situation for love or money.

It's all he can do to plant his feet and keep from slipping or leaning as the wind picks up even harder, because even his 210 pounds of muscle aren't a substitute for a walking tank, but it bolsters his efforts to have someone he feels compelled to help, shifting his grip to secure it further around the stranger's waist and bracing them both until the gale finally subsides. Only when thanked does he have the wherewithal to feel faintly awkward about the whole business. ]

Don't mention it.

[ He's a little slow to disengage, because he wants to be sure the wind has truly relented for the moment, and definitely not for any other reasons. Clearing his throat, he looks away and busies himself making sure his laser rifle is still securely holstered. ]

You all right?

Fine, I think.

[ He offers this with a brief, perfunctory smile, as he fits his glasses back on his face and immediately attempts to fix his thoroughly windblown hair. The air isn't stilling, though, and it's instantly in disarray again, while Arcade reaches to pat down his own pockets - and check the plasma pistol on his hip is still tucked into its holster, too. (He's suddenly relieved not to have brought the ripper out with him, too, today. That thing banging around in these hurricane gale force winds would be a safety hazard well beyond what it usually poses.)

When he glances up again, his eyes are drawn immediately to that laser rifle, which - remarkably - looks almost familiar. In build, at least, if not exact make.

But maybe out here isn't the best place to have that conversation. ]

Were you headed somewhere, before I bumped into you? Because I think getting under cover might be the best option, for now. At least until this dies down a little.

I was on my way back to the garage. My vehicle isn't operational yet, but I didn't anticipate needing it for a quick recon trip up the hill. If yours is in the vicinity, I'd appreciate the shelter.

[ Just until the wind dies down, after all. He'd like to get the pickup truck working well enough to make a little home of it, the way others seem to be doing with theirs, but he's still slightly adrift right now, surrounded by people who generally seem to be taking every bit as well to his brusque military demeanor as the civilians of the Commonwealth did.

He hadn't even really wanted to gather intel by taking a walk up the hill. He's just never seen an area so green before. He doesn't know how to phrase that in a way that doesn't sound frivolous, and he wouldn't say it to a stranger anyway.

But this doesn't mean he can't try to be friendly, in a way he's more accustomed to. He nods toward the plasma pistol with a raised eyebrow. ]

Nice piece you've got there, by the way.

[ It's never a bad time to have a conversation about guns, as far as Danse is concerned. ]

It's not.

[ It's the truth, but he offers that a little too quickly, still, stiffly shrugging a shoulder as he attempts to elaborate, ]

I'm more used to walking than most people here, I think. It's a hard habit to break.

[ If he has other reasons for avoiding the truck he's been saddled with, to navigate this place, those are his business. He wouldn't tell a stranger who wasn't wearing around a very obvious energy weapon, either. ]

If we stick to a brisk pace, we can probably still reach the garage before one of us gets blown away, though.

[ It likely won't be such an issue, anyway, when they're back on lower ground, Arcade hopes.

He also hopes he doesn't sound quite so apprehensive as he does intrigued, when Danse also makes note of his pistol. ]

It's really nothing special. But, uh, thanks. That's a laser rifle, right? You don't see a lot of those around.

[ The haste with which Arcade answers is not lost on Danse, who might not win a lot of prizes for picking up on typical social cues, but who has enough suspicion in reserve to go around when it comes to things he still thinks of as within his remit to judge. Even when nothing actually is, anymore.

There's nothing to push back against, though, and so he doesn't, though his gaze lingers for a good moment for reasons that no longer have anything to do with admiring the pistol or its wielder. ]

I suppose it is. [ A hard habit to break, that is. ] I find myself wishing some of these people would be more conscientious about fuel conservation, too.

It would be less of an issue if anything around here ran on fusion. You're the first person I've encountered who's even recognized a standard-issue laser rifle.

[ Standard Brotherhood issue, that is, which he leaves unspoken only because it still hurts a little to say so. ]

Yeah. [ A small, humorless laugh escapes him. ] Get used to that. Most of these people aren't exactly accustomed to this kind of living.

[ They're the rare exceptions, weirdly enough. Which is something on which Arcade has terribly mixed feelings, none of which he's really stopped to examine. None of which he's going to stop to examine, now, because he thinks he can already hear another of those bowl-you-over gusts of wind winding up across the grassland. ]

They're trying, though. We're all just, uh, kind of trying not to die, out here. You'd think with exponentially fewer rads and so far exactly zero deathclaws, though, it'd be easier.

[ Deathclaws have a habit of showing up precisely when you think you're safest, he could say, and he doesn't know how many rads they could be taking when he hasn't seen a Geiger counter since he got here, but he says neither of these things.

Until now, there's been just enough plausible deniability that Danse can still slot all of this into his existing worldview without straining it to the breaking point. It's been possible to stubbornly believe that the Institute's teleporting radio frequencies have just glitched out and picked him up and flung him to some part of the country he's never been, even if deep down he knows he's lying to himself. ]

I'm never comfortable when things feel too good to be true.

[ Because "trying not to die" is just the status quo everywhere he's ever been in his life, and Arcade is clearly someone who understands that, and trying not to die while provided with clean beds and showers and free pancakes every morning is one hell of a step up. ]

We really are further from home than I thought, aren't we? [ Quiet, almost to himself, as if steeling himself to accept it. ]

I... wouldn't worry about that.

[ While there are definitely some unprecedented (and at times rather unbelievable) luxuries, here, there are plenty of drawbacks to temper those creature comforts with.

And being perpetually lost in the middle of nowhere, at the mercy of some most likely artificial intelligence that hasn't even bothered with giving them the most cursory of answers, is a pretty big one, at that. ]

We're a long way from anywhere, here. And getting farther from it, every day. ...But, there's the garage, at least.

[ Danse gives a noncommittal hum at this, still not sure whether he really agrees, given what all he's seen thus far.

He should defer to the expertise of someone who's apparently seen a little more of the road around here. But when the only thing presently werewolfy about him is his hair after that wind gust, and he hasn't had the chance to undress yet and see the sigil branded on him against his will, he still thinks the convoy edges out the basement of Listening Post Bravo for places he'd rather be. Just barely. It's harder to complain, with nothing left to lose. ]

I'll admit, I don't like the sound of those radio broadcasts, but even so--

[ When the wind hits again, it does so swiftly and without warning, sending even Danse staggering backward over the uneven ground to trip and land flat on his back. All right, maybe Arcade's got a point about this place. ]

[ Arcade would gladly go on debating the potential benefits of being stuck here (there is some nuance to it, whether he likes it or not), but that gust of wind catches him, too. It nearly tugs his coat off one arm, this time, practically whipping it up and over his head - which leaves him struggling to hold on as he reels across the grass. He ends up sprawled in the dirt, his glasses tossed into the weeds before he can catch them. ]

Oh— Dammit.

[ Stumbling back to his feet, he tugs his coat roughly back into place and starts to anxiously sift through the tall grass. That's his only pair, and he's definitely not going to relish being stuck here without them. ]

[ Danse has had the wind solidly knocked out of him, and he lies stunned for a second before his training makes itself useful and he pulls himself together. By this point, Arcade is searching through the grass, de-spectacled, and this is one of those rare moments where Danse wishes he were less of a brahmin in a china shop, because he doesn't usually need to worry about small lost breakable objects in his immediate vicinity.

At least the lack of power armor is a blessing this time. He carefully rights himself on hands and knees, as long as he's on the ground anyway, and scans the base of the weeds for the glasses, using a flashlight attachment on his rifle--still, thankfully, on his person and not flung somewhere far away--to illuminate where Arcade is looking. ]

We'll find them.

I don't have much of a choice. [ Wind or no, he's not giving up the search. They can't have gone that far, at least. It was more his coat that knocked them loose than the wind, itself. ]

You have no idea how hard it is to find a pair of two hundred year old glasses in the right prescription.

[ Then again. Arcade glances sideways at him again, and that rifle. ]

...Or maybe you do. You don't look much like a New Vegas native, but maybe it's some other corner of the Wasteland that you call home?

New Vegas?

[ Why this comes as a surprise to him, even a mild one, he's not really sure. There's nothing about Arcade's accent that Danse has been able to identify as regional, with his relatively limited experience, and the insignia on the coat doesn't mean anything to him, but he's already met one person claiming to come from the Mojave desert, and that guy certainly looked the part.

With no reason to draw a connection between the two of them except that they both seem as familiar as Danse is with the consequences of the same war-that-never-changes, Danse has found himself idly assuming Arcade is from somewhere closer to his own side of the country, because he's not accustomed to meeting people who aren't. Unless they're transplants from a Western chapter of the Brotherhood, and those usually tend to make the native Easterners uncomfortable enough to avoid. It's awkward. ]

No. I'm from the Capital. [ He'd mentioned the Commonwealth to Len, but his relatively brief and unpleasant sojourn there feels unimportant in this context, even if he is technically from Boston in a way he'd rather not acknowledge. ]

And I've spent enough time junk-picking there to know exactly how rare a find that must have been. I'm astonished you got that lucky, however you managed it.

[ Which is why he feels compelled to help look, but as the only one here with decent eyesight, it occurs to him that he probably ought to be doing a bit more than just shining the flashlight. He continues combing the shorter grass around them. ]

--Is that them?

The Capital?

[ Cue the same clear surprise crossing Arcade's face, as he glances up briefly from his searching. Another too-strong breeze ruffles his hair and he reflexively combs it (futilely) back into place. ]

That's pretty far east.

[ Like, all the way, basically. It's sort of funny to think about, actually meeting someone from the opposite coast so abruptly. Travel that far is rare, and Arcade is struck immediately by a sense of opportunity. There are about a hundred questions at the top of his mind, already.

But, with respect to another potentially violent gust of wind coming at any second and the newness of Danse's personal displacement - he doesn't ask them. Though it's probably obvious on his face that he'd like to.

At least until relief overwhelmingly supplants that look, too, as he snatches his glasses up out of the grass. ]

Yes!

[ He grins a little, despite himself, as he folds them carefully into his grip. ]

Thanks. For the record, my eyesight isn't that bad. But I'd still really rather not spend the rest of my life with a headache from squinting, either way.

[ The history of the former D.C. area, up until the present day, is one of the few subjects on which Danse has ever been told to "stop being a nerd." The others include guns, about which his new acquaintance seems rather less enthused, and power armor, on which the jury is still out, but nonetheless, those visible questions on Arcade's face are not met with the kind of trepidation he might expect. Rather, Danse looks surprised and then downright hopeful.

Were it not for the wind and the more pressing matter of finding Arcade's glasses, he'd happily conduct a little cross-country information exchange right here, and then the latter issue neatly resolves itself. Kaidan had had a salient point that it's probably not a coincidence that people here seem to have an above-average level of martial competence, but Danse finds himself wondering somewhere in the back of his mind, evaluating Arcade's smile and wind-tousled hair, if there's a reason for there to be so many uncommonly handsome men around either.

But this hardly seems the time to be noticing these things, so he stows it away and gets up. ]

Can't say I blame you.

[ His smile is friendlier than his previously impassive expression might have given him credit for--though still faintly awkward, as infrequently as he does it. He inclines his head toward the garage, all the more ready to get back to a place where they can hold a decent conversation. ]

I'm Danse, by the way. I've known people from your neck of the woods before, but they've all had a pretty...specific perspective, so I sure wouldn't mind hearing more about what it's like.

Arcade. And I can only imagine the impression you have of us, from anyone crazy enough to make that trek.

[ Not that it's likely to be far off the mark. Anyone crazy enough to march from one coast to the other is bound to be exactly the type of person the western Wasteland would spawn.

Though it's in just as terrible disrepair as anywhere else he's seen on this road, yet, the garage at least provides a much-needed wind break, the walls at least intact enough (for now) to keep them safe from another dangerous gust. Arcade visibly relaxes as they round the side of the building, more than bruised enough for one day. ]

It definitely isn't easy living, but I'm content to go where the Followers send me. ...For the most part, anyway. I'm not saying it wouldn't have been nice to end up somewhere other than a desert filled with raiders and fiends, but you can't really argue the people there don't need the help.

[ This gets a wry little hum of acknowledgment, because there's a lot Danse could say about the reasons he's known people to have for making that journey, but either it would run afoul of his lingering Brotherhood loyalty or it would delve into the kind of thing he thinks would take a lot more context to explain. There will be time for that, he supposes. ]

I'm not familiar with the Followers.

[ Danse usually takes a slightly dim view of regional organizations that aren't the Brotherhood, but when he knows the western chapters don't recruit like his own, he can't fault anyone for turning elsewhere. ]

If they're a charitable organization, that's commendable. It's just a shame that raiders and fiends are such a universal constant, but...so are those who care enough to help, I suppose.

[ As if Danse hasn't sneeringly used the phrase "too charitable for their own good" about more than one organization before, the Brotherhood included. He has some self-aware sense of regret and shame these days, at least.

He scans the line of vehicles as they walk, mostly out of idle curiosity, taking in the various details. ]

That's the Followers of the Apocalypse. Which is, uh, quite the name, I'm aware - but our aims are strictly pacifistic. We were founded on the basis of spreading knowledge and medicine, so most of what we do is just that.

[ As for the rest - well, Arcade never gets volunteered for that sort of thing, so it's probably fine if he just conveniently leaves out the organization's other pursuits. (It's not like he'd start spilling their secrets to anyone who was familiar, either, anyway.)

Another gust of wind tears past over their heads, scattering loose debris out into the grasslands and drawing Arcade's attention, as he very carefully puts his glasses back on. ]

The Wasteland's far from perfect, and I know we're vastly outnumbered by the people who'd prefer to make it that much worse for everyone, but... Aegroto dum anima est, spes esse dicitur. Where there's life, there's hope.

[ "Spreading knowledge" is a phrase that will raise a red flag or two for any self-respecting Brotherhood tech-hoarder, and Danse remains no exception, but the suspicion tinging his expression at this is still faint and he continues to listen without protest. It softens again at the rest of the explanation, anyway. If this is the sort of organization that trains medics, and provides care without gouging the needy--well, someone's sure as hell got to do it, and it's a noble enough service that Danse imagines he could overlook a fair few objections in the name of supporting their mission anyway, much as he does with the Minutemen (while still shit-talking them whenever Preston isn't in earshot.)

He's about to ask if Arcade is a medic, then, with interest both practical and personal, but he doesn't get the chance to interject. Nodding in silent agreement at this general assessment of the Wasteland's problems, he pauses at the poetic coda to it, visibly startled by a feeling he can't even quite name in response. It takes him back to the very first "Ad Victoriam, brother" he'd ever heard, the way the weight of lost history behind the dead language had moved him to a tightness in the back of his throat, the sense that he'd fallen in with people capable of preserving a small piece of something worth keeping and hard to find. Even the Brotherhood scholars he so admires don't go in much for actual poetry, Latin or otherwise, but Danse has never quite been able to convince himself that it's too frivolous to bother with, a hidden part of him always wanting to seek it out and never having the leisure time to do it.

He's never heard a full sentence of Latin spoken aloud. Not even haltingly read from a book, let alone pronounced so easily and fluidly as to be an auditory pleasure and a display of attractive competence in one. Who is this guy? ]

I-- [ For god's sake, he berates himself, pull yourself together. He clears his throat, not that it entirely helps. ] That's...a beautiful sentiment, actually. [ He's never even heard it in English before, and he appreciates it even in translation. ]

Did you learn that from the Followers? The Latin, I mean.

[ Arcade is accustomed to getting strange looks, on occasion, for his - admittedly - odd preference for expressing himself in the most definitively archaic of terms. He can't really help it if he finds language and philosophy so fascinating, though, and the root of so much of both especially. (He also can't help being maybe just a little bit of a compulsive know-it-all show off, once in a while, either.)

So he's not really surprised by the pause, expecting a different sort of question or a confused brush-off (at best). Compliments aren't in the rota of obligatory responses, though, and that does throw him off, surprise coloring his expression as he glances quickly back at Danse. ]

You recognize it?

[ His tone is pleased, and so is the look that replaces that surprise, another brief smile. ]

That's right. The Followers have extensive libraries. Of which I made liberal use, where I could, while I was studying.

[ Though that does beg the question— ]

No offense, but I wouldn't have taken you for the well-read type. [ He does mean no offense, even if there's a hint of humor in it. ] Where did you learn it?

Oh--no, I didn't mean to imply--

[ Danse is hardly in a position to take offense at that anyway, when he's left himself open to that misinterpretation. He'd be the first to say he's no scholar, not like the Brotherhood scribes are in one way or another, when he's always known that he could no more do their job than they could do his. He looks embarrassed. ]

It's not that I recognized it, just...appreciated it.

[ Not for lack of wanting to recognize it, but lack of opportunity, among other things. He wants to think he's decently read, at least--and for as long as he can remember, he's found himself recalling odd bits of trivia that he now thinks must be part of some basic Institute-programmed education--but certainly not in such a way as to be on par with someone who makes liberal use of extensive libraries.

It's a shame, he thinks, in the back-of-his-mind area he's been trying to keep away from. He'd like to be able to actually merit a smile like that from Arcade. But they've only just met, after all, and there are at least other subjects Danse can hold his own on. ]

The only Latin I know myself is "Ad Victoriam."

[ There's a hint of self-deprecating humor to that in turn, a little twist of a smile, seeing no reason to hide that much even if he no longer belongs in the place where he learned it. He glances away a moment--

--and freezes, eyes locked on a nearby truck with a sharp inhale between gritted teeth.

Slowly, deliberately, he clicks the safety off his rifle. ]

'To victory'? That's—

[ Whatever the rest of that thought may've been, it dies on his lips at the black look that very abruptly supplants the charming hint of a smile on Danse's face. Arcade takes a half-step back, eyes darting around the loose gathering of vehicles and the gaps of grassland visible beyond them searching for movement or some kind of threat.

Of course, he sees nothing out of the ordinary, but that instant, sharp wariness is plenty adequate warning to put him on edge enough to reach for his own pistol. ]

...Uh. What is it?

That truck.

[ Danse is not a man who loses his temper easily--at least not outside of the heat of battle, which is where he lets out everything he keeps otherwise controlled and contained--but it's hard to keep his blood from boiling at the absolute shamelessness of that symbol painted on it, his voice low and seething.

But it's all the more important to keep calm, the better to stay on his guard. Pistol or no pistol, Arcade still reads as a civilian to Danse, or if not entirely, then still the sort of person who ought to stay further from danger while people accustomed to wearing power armor put themselves between him and it. Danse flatters himself that he doesn't need the armor right now to take care of a problem like this. ]

Of all the brazen displays...whoever owns that thing is downright begging for a laser through the eye.

[ Oh.

Shit.

Arcade drops his arm back to his side, paling as his wide eyes dart between Danse and the truck in question. Although it still makes him grimace every time he opens the door to climb inside, he's grown fairly numb to the constant reminder he's been saddled with. He does everything in his power to pretend it isn't there - to the point that he hasn't even considered someone else might not give it the same treatment.

Or that there'd be a chance of anyone recognizing it at all, frankly. Even in the Wasteland he knows, that would be a longshot. Just his luck. ]

It's— Well, none of us own these vehicles. They just... show up when we do. I'm sure violence isn't warranted for... whatever that thing is.

MARCH TDM

wimdy

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