In Search of Old Friends ( Join Request / Fast Posts)

Not far from the small camp, a man with a large pack on his back emerged from an abandoned building, a 12-guage shotgun in his hands. The gun was about the only thing intimidating about the guy, and it seemed very out of place in his hands. The reason for this was the fact that the gentleman didn't look like the kind of person who would even hold a gun, much less possess the ability to pull the trigger on another human being. He was dressed in an orange tweed jacket, a sweater vest with a button down underneath that, slacks, and topped off with a gray bowler hat. To some Ghouls, who had been alive before the war, he often reminded them of a university professor they had had in their previous life.

This was Good Ol' Mister Sherman, and he was a Prospector...if you were to be polite. A lot of folk just called him a scavenger. He was a regular down at Canterbury Commons, and a welcome site to a great deal unfortunate people in the Capital Wasteland. He had the fortunate reputation of being one of the most honest and warm-hearted prospectors in the Wasteland...so much so that a fair amount of people wondered how in the hell he wasn't dead yet. He never swindled people, he always was willing to work out a deal, and, every now and again, he would give you something for free, as a gift. He tried to have something for everyone; guns, spare parts, ammo, Stims, chems, alcohol, Nuka-Cola (occasionally he had this strange drink called Sunset Sarsaparilla, which no one had ever heard of), and even toys and candy for children. Currently, his most valuable item was a Pip-Boy 3000 in pristine condition, which he had taken out of one of the old vaults that he had explored. It was a radio, a map, a flashlight, a notebook, a inventory tracker, and even a Geiger Counter, all in one. Nobody had bought it from him yet (the asking price was 3000 caps), but he was sure someone one soon.

As Mister Sherman emerged from the building, he saw a tail of smoke fluttering in the wind. Someone had made camp not far from him. The Good Prospector raised his weapon and slowly crept up the hill to see who it was. He had no intention of fighting, but if it was a camp of Raiders, he'd have to be quiet to avoid being spotted by them. Raiders were bad news for almost everyone, but especially for people like Mister Sherman, who had good valuables to steal.

It was indeed a camp of somekind, but Mister Sherman couldn't tell if they were Raiders or not. One of them had a mask, a Raider warning sign if ever, and alcohol and celebrating were both evident and more evidence towards them being trouble. But, somehow...they didn't seem like Raiders. They weren't dressed like them. They didn't have dead bodies littered around them as decorations. And they didn't seem to be abusing chems.

Still, it was perhaps better to stay out of their way...just in case.

Sherman quietly began to go around the group, his shotgun still raised.

One of them had left the camp. A woman. Stargazing, from the looks of it. Mister Sherman continued in his attempts to sneak around. He still didn't know who these people were.

The Good Prospector was crouching behind a bush, still holding his own shotgun. His plan was to creep down the hill enough that he was out of sight, and then quickly and quietly move on before anyone caught wind of him.

That was the plan. But the man had a large pack on his back, as well as his gun in his hand. Instead of quickly sneaking off down the hill, he found himself falling over off balance and rolling two times down the hill. His belongings were secured in the pack, and he didn't lose anything...but he had fallen right out into the open. The noise was not great enough to be heard over the party back at camp...

But she would certainly hear it...

Maybe there was still time...

He tried to scurry back behind the bushes.

Nothing happened for a moment after the woman called out.

Then, Mister Sherman slowly came out, holding his hands out and his shotgun slung harmlessly over his shoulder.

"Just me, ma'am," He said, peacefully. "Believe me, I have no interest in raiding any camps. I'm just a Prospector looking for valuables, is all."

Sherman's appearance usually had the effect of calming situations and, in a lot of ways, that was good. It was really hard to take somebody seriously as a threat when they were wandering around in a bowler hat and a tweed jacket. Many raiders had taken potshots at Sherman solely because they thought he was such an easy target. They never suspected that he actually was wearing an old world bullet vest under his clothes. He'd scrounged a few of them in an old police depo somewhere in another state, and rather than sell them he thought they might be quite useful. They'd saved his life several times.

Hopefully, they'd save it again now...if it came to that.

So far this was not going as expected.

He wasn't dead, thank goodness, but he wasn't sure what was really happening right now. He couldn't tell if this woman had ill intentions against him or not. She was now offering him a rubber duck. As a Prospector, Mister Sherman was good at noticing things. It was how you found the real valuables sometimes. And right now, he was noticing the fuse in the rubber duck. He heard her about to say "fuse" but stopped at the last minute. Was this some sort of trick? If it was, he had to admit, this was a strange way to present it.

"Er..." Mister Sherman said, skeptically. "If it's all the same to you, ma'am, I'd rather not. No offense to you or...the duck...but...well, out here you can't be too careful. You understand, I hope..."

He paused.

"Sorry to disturb you," He said, adjusting his pack. "I'll be on my way then. Happy trails, madame."

And with that, he began to walk by.

(Just an FYI, I wasn't trying to leave the thread. I guess I was expecting Nessa's group to get involved with their meeting in some way )

"If you happen to be hungry or thirsty we have things to satisfy those cravings! Also if you come across any ducks let me know!"

Mister Sherman stopped walking and looked back towards the girl.

"That's quite alright, ma'am," He said, smiling. "I always have food with me. Food and drink, two of the top best sellers...they actually manage to outsell guns and ammo most of the time." He paused for a moment, and then rooted around in his pack. What he eventually brought out...was a rubber duck. This one was older, and faded in comparison to her own...but it was still a rubber duck.

"I actually DO have one," The Good Prospector replied, smiling a little hesitantly. This girl's odd obsession with rubber ducks was strange to say the least. "If you have any interest in it, I could sell it to you for two caps. I have a wide assortment of goods if your people are interested."

Though he still wasn't sure, Sherman was beginning to suspect that this group was not the kind that would attack him...not if they had someone like this around. Or maybe they were all crazy and out for blood. It really was hard to tell, these days. There actually was a middle ground between Raider crazy and Good Samiritans.

He'd just have to keep his guard up.

"Well..." Sherman said slowly. He guessed he was going down to meet the rest of the group. "Alright, I suppose."

He followed her back to her camp. She had said that her people were good, but she also said that they were bounty hunters. That meant they could be anything, really. Talon Company, Regulator, a random merc...really it didn't help him feel better about what he was walking into.

(Short post, couldn't really think of anything to write about.)

Sherman and Nessa were walking back to her camp when a hulking thing of a creature came up on them faster than you could blink, or so it seemed. Nessa stumbled slightly, kicking up plumes of dirt that would soon be illuminated by the moon as the dirt rose into the air with the movement of her feet as she attempted to regain her footing. As she turned to face the creature she instantly pinned it as a Super Mutant. It wasn't the first one she'd have try to swing its giant fists at her pretty face. 

Some of Nessas hair fell in front of her eyes in strands as her heart began to beat rapidly. Her brain began to send messages to either fight or run. Just as her mind began to register the exact scale of the thing that was standing in front of her and Sherman, she held both of her arms out in front of her. In her left hand she held the rubber duck, and in her right hand, a small trinket held right at the butt of the fuse coming out of the rear end of the toy. 

Her voice no longer carried her usual soft, sweet bubbly tone, it was now flat and blatantly threatening.

"Tsssst! Ah ah! Yer a big fella! Take another step and you'll be added to the list of your brothers that have wandered to close for my liking, as well as myself!"

She then directed her next line of words toward Sherman. "I told you, it's not nice to upset the ducks feelings!"

Known to only a handful of people, Nessa had a strange obsession with packing high explosives into the little toys that she carried, particularly toy rubber ducks. And to make it even more interesting, she did not believe in doing so in small doses. Even though the duck was the size of her hand, it had the explosive power to level a two story building, at least from one side.