Homeward With No Home

So little Amiee Diaz continued to surprise.

A fan.

He'd actually never had a fan come and find him. Call in and chat, sure. He had a handful of regulars. But come in person? She had to be smart to do that. He had pre-recordings of himself, he had ways to bounce the signal around so he wasn't so easily traced...

And still she'd found him.

He looked to her hand, just noticing it now. Metal. Like his old buddy Nick, almost.

"I'm good. But thanks." Cary said, not hiding his suspicion at all. Of course he didn't want to be widely known. He didn't want his air hitting Diamond City, he didn't want people to fucking come find him... But she was, presumably, a fan. And the hand made him curious.

There were codes out the ass with the Railroad. Maybe she was a part of it, maybe she wasn't. People didn't just go around with metal prosthetics, not when hatred against synths was so damn high. If she was with the Railroad, she'd know to respond with saying hers was in the shop. And if she wasn't... Well, he'd find her a glove to hid it with at least. She was likely to get killed over that alone out here.

"Say, kid... do you have a geiger counter?"

She blinked, a bit surprised by his refusal to help make his equipment. Maybe he didn't want to risk his home being encroached on? It was a bit remote...

Maybe she could at least give him a basic security system?

"Hm? Oh - I have one in my pipboy." She replied to the question - not understanding the coded message behind it. She wasn't affiliated with any faction out in the Commonwealth except for maybe the Minutemen. After everything that happened in the Capital she...tried to stay away from that. Simply help the common people where she could.

"Do you need one? Or need to check s-something for radiation s-sir? I could help you with th-that!" She smiled at him, just wanting to be helpful some how to the man.

"I could also help you with a s-security s-system if you'd like - s-since you're s-so far out."

"I didn't say you needed to be perfect, but do your best. Whether you like it or not, this is happening. Do your best to be as ready as you can be."

GRANTED, he knows full well that she's probably still stressing about the whole situation. He couldn't really relate fully, but nowadays he's just trying his best to make a difference. She was so young. TOO YOUNG to be forced to deal with these kinds of things when she barely knew who she was.

He wouldn't ever dream of forcing someone so young into a situation like that, and while he figures she's probably so busy being wrapped up in that she hasn't really gathered it fully yet, Jamie suspects with time & age she'll be able to look back & recognize how defining this moment could be for her.

"Liberty Prime is going to lead the charge. You, Sentinel Lyons, and I are going to try and break the line to get into the ante-chamber where Project Purity is being held captive by the Enclave."

Do her best? For something like this? She doubted her best would be enough.

Her best had her barely scraping by in this wasteland, barely surviving. Her best had nearly gotten her killed multiple times. Her best got her captured by the Enclave.

Her best wouldn't be enough. It was never enough. She'd be relying on others - once again. Unable to bare her own burdens.

How the Hell would she ever make it all up to them?

"Alright." She replied softly, looking down at the rifle in her hands. "...I...All you have to do is get me to th-the chamber. I sh-should be able to st-start it." She had listened to her dad's old holotapes. She knew the code. Honestly - she probably could guess it without the tapes.

He was always sentimental like that.

"When do we launch th-the attack?"

Her awed questioning was met with only a small smile, his hands folding in front of him as she stepped back to curtsy. Humans were always so fond of such gestures, salutes and curtsies and bows, it was almost amusing. He bent at the waist slightly, returning the gesture of respect with a shallow bow before straightening once more.

“I am.” He finally answered, looking to the horizon, a few gunshots echoing over the distant hills. It seemed that the outlaws had met their demise, only a few minutes too late. “I have come to bring you before Saint Peter, as all souls must stand.”

One massive hand reached out, being offered to her as the other waved casually, a golden portal opening just above the surface of the water, through which drifted the sound of bells and the aroma of incense. “Come now, I am sure you have questions.”

Saint Peter...her soul was to be judged now. She did her best to live a good and honest life - and she can't imagine Saint Michael would be sent down to pick up a sinner.

But still she was nervous beyond belief. What if she wasn't good enough? Would she end up in Purgatory? She liked to think she wouldn't be damned but...she couldn't assume.

She swallowed, looking at the portal with anxiety and slight apprehension.

...If she was allowed into Heaven though...maybe...she'd see her father again. Maybe she could meet her mother...

She hoped she had made them proud.

She couldn't bring herself to speak, mouth suddenly drier than she had ever experienced. She simply nodded, looking towards the portal before taking a small step through it.

ASSORTED PAPER MARIO TTYD QUOTES

modify as desired.

Send a 👫and I’ll write four headcanons I have about our muse’s relationship

"I don't know. It's just a rumor."

West suddenly felt bad. Immediately awful. Like he'd just liked to Amata or Dad or... something like that. He didn't know why. When she woke up and looked like he'd just told her the world had ended... She had more sympathy for those people that he did. But he'd gone through a hell of a lot. Maybe she was lucky enough to avoid being manipulated by awful people. Unlike him. Maybe she was smarter.

Didn't explain the suit...

"They say the Kid from Vault 101 did it. And that's the suit you're wearing. What am I supposed to believe, huh? They don't ever describe the kid. And you look like a kid to me... Get up."

West felt his stomach churn, quickly grabbing for her gun while she was mourning the deaths of people he'd killed. Moria and Gob had been decent. Nice, even. The Sheriff... West tried not to think about it, taking a step back so she could stand. He didn't know what he was doing exactly. He hadn't exactly stopped to feel guilty for those deaths. He hadn't wanted to. People he didn't know. People who let Moriarty do what he wanted instead of stand up to him...

West had so much anger... Why did that resolution crumble when this girl started tearing up?

"What's your name?"

He shouldn't have asked. That was stupid.

He didn't want to hurt her. That's why he asked.

"Where did you get that suit?"

"Just a rumor??" She was befuddled how the inhalation of an entire town could only be a rumor. She supposed the other hadn't gone there to see for himself. "I didn't do it! I would never! I disarmed th-the bombs! Th-there was a man who wanted th-the town gone, maybe he framed me??"

Her voice was wavering with distress with each word. She didn't do it - she could never hurt so many innocent people like that. Especially people she had come to know and care about.

She snapped out of her distressed thoughts when he took her gun, standing up as she tried to grab it back. "HEY! Give th-that back! I didn't pull it on you!" The fear in her voice was palpable. Was this guy with Talon? Enclave? Just some random guy?

She swallowed, unsure if she should answer his questions or not. But he had her side arm and a rifle. She could dive for her own but no doubt she'd be full of lead by the time she grabbed it. Shit.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

"..A...Amiee...Amiee Diaz...." She muttered softly, tears now rolling down her cheeks. "I..I got it from th-the vault. Well. I mean...Moria gave me th-this s-specific one, s-since it's armored...but I also st-still have mine from th-the vault..."

She swallowed again, her throat feeling...so dry now.

"...Are...Are you from Talon Company?"

Stuttering and apologizing was not something he expected. No wonder she had a dog out here. Protection. He couldn't begrudge a girl for that. As she posed her question, he maneuvered the rifle in his hand quickly, years and years of experience with such weapons. Just in case. He wasn't in the habit of killing little girls, but sometimes they could be just as deadly. Sometimes the stammering and apologies were just to catch someone off guard before fucking up their whole life.

"What, kid?" Cary raised an eyebrow, holding the rifle in both hands, but not aiming it at her. He didn't want to shoot a dog either and he couldn't blame the animal if it was set on defending her either. But he wasn't gonna die in his own front yard because he was too unprepared. Not after everything he'd done to prevent that.

She might also be a synth. There was that. How she'd gotten this animal, however, lent itself more to the fact that she'd been out here a while. Not one of the ones from the Institute or ones the Railroad had gotten to. He had his codes with them. People in the Railroad knew him as Hemmingway (on account of the cats) but knew not to call him that on air. If he had someone coming that they sent to hide for a bit, they'd request certain songs that usually changed month to month. Cary kept it simple, usually using Bob Dylan or protest songs from the 1960s, that got really popular again a decade before the Great War ended and the world was put to shit.

This girl seemed so innocent. The apologies... No one just apologized like that anymore. Right away. That intrigued him. Softened him enough to give her a chance to say something.

"Are you th-the man who runs th-the radio st-station?" She asked, not really all that off put by him grabbing his rifle. As long as he wasn't pointing it at her, things were going well. She couldn't fault anyone for being cautious out here.

"My name is Amiee Diaz, I run a workshop a little ways from here. I've been catching s-some of your broadcasts and I figured you might like s-some help with your equipment?" She offered with a small smile as she extended her partially mechanical hand to him. Despite her baby face it was obvious the young woman had seen her fair share of the wasteland herself. In addition to her metal fingers, her skin was covered in sun kissed freckles, with a few faded scars on her face and hands. "I can probably help you st-strengthen your s-signal if you want! Or I could s-simply s-see what I could do to help your s-sound quality."

She hoped the man accepted her offer. Music was often a comfort for her when she first entered the wastes - Hell it was a comfort now as she worked on personal projects and work orders. She'd hope he felt the same...just a little light in a rather bleak world.

Cary could hear the barking and quickly turned to his terminal, shutting off the turrets that were placed around his home. Mostly they shot down mirelurks near the river, but the occasional yao-gui or rabid dog would be it's target. And this stupid dog, who didn't sound feral so much as excited, was just lucky enough that Cary was paying attention. He climbed out of his bunker and into the small shack that was his home, grabbing his trusty rifle and heading outside.

"What the fuck, man?!" He shouted, expecting just to see a dog, not a little girl with it too. Well, she was a teenager. Maybe older. Fuck, he was getting old. The augmentation of the dog was noticeable and intriguing. But his first order of business was getting the cat out of the tree. It was always Catgut. Probably went looking for friends, like he does...

"Fuck..." Cary walked over, using the butt of his gun to poke at the orange cat, who jumped onto Cary's shoulder then leapt off, past the mended fence and vegetables and into the house. Sure having veggies in the front yard wasn't great for hiding out, but assholes that came looking to rob him made excellent fertilizer.

"Keep walking, kid. And take your stupid dog, too."

"I am s-so s-sorry s-sir." Amiee apologized as the man came closer. "He didn't hurt him - just s-scared him really badly. Again I am s-so s-sorry."

She relaxed some as she saw the cat make it to safety, letting out a sigh of relief before turning to the man.

Ah. He was...grumpy wasn't he? ...Though to be fair she didn't make the best first impression.

"Actually, I have a question for you s-sir, if you could s-spare a moment?" She asked. She was pretty sure this man was the one on the radio, but maybe he simply lived with the radio host?

Man she hoped she could salvage this...

West, that's what he decided he would call himself now. Wesley was a dumb innocent kid who thought people could be trusted, more or less. Wesley was the kid who got bullied in the Vault, the kid who though his father hung the moon. Wesley was a stupid fucking kid who was so so smart and was going to be a doctor. Wesley Parrish didn't know fucking shit.

Wesley had watched his dad die without being able to tell him he was sorry for being so angry with him all this time. For yelling at him and calling him selfish.

West moved into the next room, quietly, a pistol in his hand. It was just some girl. Some Vault girl. He approached, a little closer. He still had his own Vault Suit but he didn't wear it. Not after what he did to Megaton. The moment James had brought that up, West knew Dad blamed himself. That all of Wesley's anger had been building up because of Dad's lies and abandonment. But Dad didn't know the whole story and West was too ashamed to even begin to tell him, so he was selfish and just let Dad believe what he did.

It was plain as day on the collar of this girl's suit. He took a deep breath, instinctively reacting (he rarely took the time to weigh such pros and cons as he would have before his involuntary brain surgery in that damned swamp) and kicked at the chair the girl slept in. West held the gun, but not directly in her face. He wanted answers, not a fight. West wasn't yet 20, but he looked older. Maybe late 20s by now. He couldn't really tell. He just knew he had changed a lot after that spaceship.

"Where did you get that suit? Are you the kid that blew up Megaton?" He accused. It was best to play it this way. Play up the fact that the 'Kid from 101' was a villain he was after. No one would suspect that kid was him if he did.

Amiee awoke with a jolt and a gasp, sitting up straight in the chair as she went to reach for her sidearm - a slightly banged up 10mm pistol. She spotted the other once her brain caught up with what was going on, and soon spotted the gun he held.

Oh.

Oh no.

She pulled her hand away from her own gun, looking up at him as he spoke, blinking a few times at his words processed in her brain.

Wh...what? Blew up Megaton? Had...had someone - Oh God.

A look of horror crossed her face, eyes wide, "What? Did - did s-some mess with th-the bomb in town? Did th-they manage to rearm it?" She thought she had ensured that it couldn't be rearmed, but explosives were far from her forte. "I-I didn't do it! I disarmed it, like Sheriff Sims asked! Oh God - is he alive? Moira? Gob?"

She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. All those people just...gone. Oh God...

He nods quietly, letting her work through it mentally as he leans back, simply listening and waiting for her to reach out to him again before finally offering some insight.

"I've got them taken care of thank you, but make sure you're ready. This is going to be a difficult crusade even with help, so you need to be in tip top shape if you want to reclaim your legacy."

Tip top shape? She was far from that. She was not nearly athletic enough, only just starting to lose some of that vault weight - though that was mainly due to her rationing her food perhaps a little too much. And her mental state...well. It was basically being held together with duct tape at this point.

"...We don't have enough time to wait for th-that." She replied softly with a sigh. "...Fake it till you make it I guess."

She pulled her rifle into her lap, beginning to look it over, unloading and unchambering the round before getting out her toolkit to begin repairing it.

"What's th-the plan? For th-the assault? Do you know?"

He had never really seen just how EASY it was to get broken down by the unpleasant nature of the Wasteland. He'd tried his best to continue forth, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't been tempted on more than a few times to stop and simple allow himself to sink.

BUT HE KNOWS BETTER, he'd survived enough to not be willing to give back up again. He'd been able to defy all odds and adjust. It wasn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination, and it certainly wasn't anything easy, but he'd done it either way.

He watches her for a moment before drawing in a QUIET breath, clearing his throat before he finally acknowledges the final sentiments, trying his best to continue being reassuring despite the fact that he is hardly the best at such a feat.

"You just have to make it to Project Purity, you let us worry about the how and whens of getting there. At the end of the day, this is your legacy, no one else's. We'll help you, but it's yours to protect. Use that."

"Okay." She replied softly, nodding her head some. "...I...I guess I sh-should prepare for th-that th-then?"

How did one prepare to be apart of a military assault mission?

"Maybe I sh-should bring Fawks with me..." She muttered softly. "...I definitely need to repair my weapons...uh - do your guns need a tune up Mister Lawson?" She looked over to the man. Fixing his gear was the least she could do for him, especially after he talked sense back into her.

He watches, she seems UTTERLY distraught. More than he would have expected but unfortunately, he is having to once again remind himself that she's little more than a young girl. Admittedly, he struggles with that fact having been robbed of any semblance of grace in his youth that he softens.

EVER SO SLIGHTLY, but it's enough to showcase he's trying his best to understand. He was hardly in any position to be judging. He'd tried his best to adjust, but he had to admit to himself that he was anything but empathetic when it counted most. A breath escapes him and he watches her.

"You are going to take back what was stolen from you. You're going to stand up, and you're going to join the Brotherhood as we siege it and take it RIGHT BACK from the Enclave."

He crouches down beside her, trying to drive the point home that she needs to do ANYTHING but give up.

"You're not going to let those selfish monsters rip away the legacy your father left behind. You claim you're not special like your parents? How could you possibly know? You can't. And you WON'T if you don't try. The only way you'll prove yourself right is if you elect not to try at all."

She sniffled, looking over to Jamie, listening to him carefully. He...he was right. She couldn't let the Enclave taint what her parents worked so hard to create. She couldn't let them release that horrible virus into the water system - God only knows how much destruction it'd create.

"...What can I do?" She asked, not in the self pitying way, but seeking direction. "I'm...not much of a fighter - I'll probably just s-slow down th-the Knights...but...you're right. I gotta do s-something..."

Maybe she could find something useful for the attack. It seemed she was good at that. Or maybe fix some of the power armor? Weapons? She was decent with a rifle - maybe she could snipe? Was she even good enough for that?

Worst comes to worst she could just ask Fawkes to be by her side and run along with him. He was always reliable when it came to keeping her safe.

She gave him a small smile, though tears were still rolling down her cheeks, "...Th-thank you Mister Lawson."

Raven Kennedy, Gold

@waste-land-artist said:

"If you are expecting to be pitied, you should look elsewhere."

IT'S UNUSUALLY cold for him, but she was wallowing, and all that was going to do is make everyone else miserable, as well as herself. She was capable of more. He believed so at least. But she seemed to need to convince herself, and if she couldn't she'd never succeed.

"You are better than this––sitting feeling sorry for yourself. You have already accomplished GETTING your father to project purity, FINDING him at all was a feat all its own. You're too young to be believing that you're not capable of failing and picking yourself back up."

HE HUFFS quietly, arms crossing over his chest for a second as he eyes her. He suspects this kind of TOUGH TREATMENT isn't going to sit well with her initially but it's what she needed.

"Pick yourself up...and try again. You are not alone, but the only one who can push you forward...is you."

Amiee looked up at the man, tears still streaming down her face as she blinked. She sniffled as she looked away and tried to whip them away, his words slowly sinking in.

She was better than this? Was she though? She really didn't feel like it. Not...Not after everything that happened. They all worked so hard, sacrificed so much...and for what?

It all seemed like it was for nothing now. And what could she do? She was just some kid from a vault, who was constantly flying by the seat of her pants as she navigated the wasteland. She always had some kind of goal, someone to lead her to her next point. Tell her what to do next.

And now...she was neck deep in something far beyond her capabilities. It was only by luck and God she managed to escape that awful, awful place...

"...But what am I s-suppose to do now?" She asked, voice soft and a bit hoarse. "I can't fight an army Mr. Lawson. I...I dunno where to go from here. What to do...I'm not...I'm not s-special. Not like mom. Not like dad."

Hovering between the fire and the meat, a tin cup catches drippings. Stretching their resources, unless or until instructed to do otherwise. Charon's protocol dictates that he address their survival.

From this moment forth, his priorities are to preserve every scrap and to keep his foggy eyes toward darkness. Corroded by time and radiation exposure, his long-distance vision is in a sorry state. Charon could see as far as the edge of the firelight. Coming that close, any living thing will have to fight to remain that way.

"It is uncustomary for me to have such spare time to dedicate to hobbies." Rather, Charon fortifies himself with evasive language and deflection. Few experiences are his and his alone.

"Shall I do the cutting?" Giving her his focus, Charon's incomplete features are flush in the fire tones. Rippled by shadows; darkening the textured geography of his skin - wherever there was skin.

The tin cup sits aside. A skinning knife has deftly replaced it and waits for her order.

“Oh.” Amiee replied softly, not too sure how to respond to such an answer. Ahzrukhal said he had been basically “programmed” to do whatever his employer told him more or less but…she didn’t think it would be that extreme.

“Well…if you wanna pick up any, feel free to.” She finally settled on her response. “I don’t mind.”

“Uh, s-sure. Th-thank you.” She gave the ghoul a small smile, trying to ease the tension and her nerves. She felt the silence fall between them again and felt the urge to fill it. She wasn’t use to anything like this.

“Ahzrukhal…wasn’t very kind to you, was he?” Of course not. That’s the main reason she bought his contract in the first place. But…she had a feeling she didn’t really know the depths of all the crime lord did. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”