Miss Vicious , Her saga and story... Options

[Renee]

Chapter One: Miss Vicious Delicious

Date: August 19, 2277, 11:06 AM

Location: VAPL-66 Power Station

They called them raiders, Takana and Neeptu. Social and demographic miscreants who nobody would touch. Nobody would accept. Not the Enclave. Not even Talon Company. Collectively, they were groups of young adults who lived each day as though it'd be their very last. Because often it was their very last.

As the Psycho they'd squeezed into their arms took brilliant effect, both of them were sizzling.

The common misfit known as Neeptu Daalu steadied himself, and squinted his eyes. "See? See her now?" he asked his partner. "Told ya there's a wastelander out there! The little b----. Look how she's dressed. In a freeking Parkstroller! Prob'ly good for a few caps." He was speaking loudly, his booming voice being echoed by a nearby overpass.

"Haah? I don't see a thing," said Takana Topov, Neeptu's partner. Takana had done well as a dancer, far away at Dukov's place. But she'd done even better as a thief.

Together, Takana and Neeptu had plotted to steal hundreds of caps from her former employer. And they had been successful at this. In fact, the job had been easy. Neeptu pretended to be a john while Takana depleted some of Dukov's stash of cash. It was over in less than a minute, their getaway boat floating just meters away. Then the good life had begun. They'd finally been able to afford Psycho, Jet, and all sorts of other goodies, which had been clouding their judgment for days.

"Ya need some glasses!" Neeptu announced. "C'mon, just follow me!"

The pair scrambled off. They readied their pieces: Takana's pistol went *clink!*, and Neeptu's went *shink!* ... but neither of them could possibly know their prey was not some gentle lamb who'd cry and run.

"Oh hell no!" The lady in the Parkstroller brandished her only weapon, a rusted old iron tool.

She went to work. Jumping, hopping, and skipping around the raiders and their clumsy efforts at gun play. ...Bam! ... Crash!... At close quarters, their Chinese pistols were next to useless. The lady in the Parkstroller might never be as good with a hand weapon as the cannibalistic fiend known as Rattler, but as a member of the 'raider' demographic herself, neither was she somebody to try messing with.

----------------------------------------

Takana Topov

Neeptu Daalu takes a beating

"Oh hell no!"

Unexpected help

Goo' boy!!!

Miss Vicious Delicious throws away her Parkstroller for something new

This post has been edited by Renee: Jan 21 2022, 03:09 PM

[Renee]

SubRoea: Fortunately, Rattler will be spoken of in this tale from afar! Let's hope, anyway.

Lopov: Me and my silly names. Vicious is not DiD because I'm writing this story about her, and also making a mod idea which she'll basically be the tester for. As you know, I can't just roll a Test character like you.

Acadian: I got inspired to write from their perspective first for some reason. Raiders are similar to bandits in Elder Scrolls games. They haven't got the money or know-how for the more expensive heavy armor often worn by marauders, nor are they trying to gain knowledge as conjurers and necromancers do in their pursuit of magic. Vicious herself was a raider, and is unsure of her future.

I'm going to try to write this today, although my Inspiration is low. My Logitech keyboard is starting to get that feeling, you know? Like maybe it'll soon be time to head back to Office Depot! It's keys aren't quite so springy, lately. Maybe today's tale will be a shorty.

------------------------------



Date: August 20, 2277, 9:24 AM


Some things, you never forgot. Some things, little things, they stayed with you. In your thoughts the rest of your life.

Take the number thirteen, for instance. Thirteen, supposed to be the number of bad luck. The lady who called herself Vicious had first read about this number years before as a child, in a Grognok the Barbarian comic book episode. She herself had been the age of 13, at the time. Maybe that's why it stayed with her.

The number thirteen had been featured in that comic somehow in a bad way. As though thirteen is always akin to evil eyes, and malevolent moments, for those who encounter it. Throughout the rest of her becoming years, she'd hear about this number occasionally: from her caretaker, from some old Newsreel, from some old wastrel. So it was ironic that the impeccable structure known as Tenpenny Tower was exactly thirteen stories tall.

"My my...."

Tenpenny was the first landmark her wandering eyes were able to identify. Easy to spot, since it was so damn tall.

She first noticed the former luxury hotel as she stumbled out of a dusty dip; the armor she'd taken from that dead little b---- the day before squirming and flexing. The sight of Tenpenny Tower made her smile. Ever since she'd awoken in that shack days before, she had no idea where she was. Far to the west, for sure. But nowhere near the 'comfort zone' she was more familiar with: Megaton, Rivet City, Springvale, Big Town.

As she neared the place, she began counting its layers of windows. Thirteen. Lord have mercy. She counted again, trying to ignore the haze of hangover. Thirteen, from bottom to top. My my.

She had been to Tenpenny in the past, maybe a couple years and some odd months before. At the time, she'd been with a group of others known as Jehovah's Witnesses. Good, God-fearing Evangelist types, back when she herself was trying to figure it all out. At the age of 16, she was the youngest of the group. None of them expected any kindness from the residents of the gigantic tower (indeed, it was rare they'd manage to give out their pamphlets without somebody shooting), but Tenpenny had been much different.

She knew there'd be complications. But she could not remember exactly what these complications might be. First thing though, would be to strip away her diabolical-looking C-cup armor, and replace it with... anything else. She had left that hideous parkstroller back in that power station, glad to be rid of it, and she was not going back! Fortunately, she was able to locate a traveling brahmin merchant nearby. The merchant spoke in riddles, everything a little word game. He sold her a set of scruffy, but otherwise inoffensive, clothes. Once inside these clothes, she practically ran back to the tower, ready to deal.

"Look mate," said the guard after Vicious pressed the Tenpenny buzzer. "I thought I told you ghouls you got no place here in Tenpenny Tower. I don't care if you're feral or not. You got no place here. Now get lost."

"Well, I ain't no ghoul, fool," she raised her voice an octave or so. "It's tough out here. Hot and tough. You can't let a nice, young lady inside for a couple days?"

Well. Whatever it was, the guard behind Tenpenny's front gate relented his position, somewhat. Miss Vicious could be vicious, but she could also be delicious. She tried her tone. The guard seemed to like what he was hearing. He could let her in, if she was successful at one of two scenarios. She could either (1) pay a one-time fee of 100 caps, or (2) go on some weird ghoul-hunting rampage. Apparently there was an undergrond location full of ghouls nearby. The tower's master, a puffy-sounding fellow by the name of Lord Allistair Tenpenny, would personally make things pleasant for anyone who took care of them. Looking down at the beat-up handgun she'd acquired from one of the raiders a day ago, Vicious knew this would not be enough to take down a whole supposed platoon of underground menaces.

"Don't go nowhere. I'll be back."

Desperate to get inside, desperate for its safe walls and multitude of guarded corridors, Vicious's only option was to raid the RobCo Factory nearby. Hopefully she'd find something inside to scavenge and sell. To her credit, she already had 87 caps on her person, so it would only be a matter of pushing that cart, right over the edge.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

The next day

"Isn't it wonderful living here in Tenpenny Towers? I wouldn't dream of being anywhere else in the Wasteland!"

Miss Vicious rolled her eyes at the primly-dressed debutante before her, while pleasant music played in an endless loop. "Any idea where I can buy and sell?" she asked, lighting a Lucky Strike. She hoped her cigarette might foul some of the primly-dressed debutante's perfume, or something.

Over the previous twenty-four hours, Miss Vicious had managed to scavenge all sorts of tings in a nearby RobCo factory. She used her 10 mil handgun sparingly, shooting at radroaches and a couple molerats, only when necessary. The work had been grueling and dark. And now she was ready to make back some of those hundred caps she'd had to spend to get into this dump. Had it all been worth it?

After wandering around for half an hour, finally she had found what amounted to Tenpenny's trading desk. Time to sell her wares.

"Welcome to Boutique Le Chic," announced the lady in the perfectly-tailored pink dress. Not a parkstroller, but close. "I'm Lydia Montenegro, proprietor," she said, her voice absolutely cultured. As though the magnificently dirty and dangerous Capitol Wasteland did not exist, meters outside. "Here, you'll find only the best. With a price tag you can boast about to your friends!"

"Um well see, I got this conductor for sale," Vicious began awkwardly. "And this ammo....."

"Oh, you must get out of those clothes!" a second lady interrupted, chuckling. "What are those, hand-me-downs? You should suit up into a parkstroller, and Lydia's the lady you want to speak to!"

"Hey. Mind your own damn business!" Vicious snapped, causing Lydia Montenegro and the second lady to blink. Vicious herself was also a little surprised. Really feeling awkward. Wondering, why did I come in here? Really, what did I expect?

"Excuse me," Lydia reeled. "You look like an adventurer. And we could use someone like you."

"You could?"

"Have you any interest in taking care of those ghouls?" Lydia shivered. "If they got in here, they'd get their filth on everything! You can smell them a mile away!"

"Uh...."

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

One Hour Later

"Hey you, you got another cigarette?" asked the bimbo seated across the table. A regular floozy in fact, her hair the color of platinum blonde.

Vicious fished a Lucky out of her pack. "Damn, that's the third one you bummed since I came in here." Both young ladies were in Tenpenny's lounge. "I been countin', you know?"

"I'm Janet!" the bimbo extended her hand. "I'm from West Virginia! Vault 94! That's how I got this Pip Boy! Where are you from?"

"Uh... around."

The blonde bimbo now identified as Janet sat pensively for a moment. Eyes darting here and there, as though her mind was in constant, rapid thought. "Hey you know, you don't have to pay for drinks in here!"

"I don't?"

"Pfft no! Just walk around. Nobody locks their doors around Tenpenny! Just look in peoples' fridges! And like, their cabinets and stuff. I sneak liquor all the time! Wanna come with me?"

As one lady followed the other lady out for some fun, so continued the plunge of Miss Vicious Delicious back into her former life of drugs, dread, and debauchery.

---------------------------------------

Thirteen floors of Tenpenny

A traveling brahmin merchant

RobCo, a convenient place to raid

Eager to get in

100 bottle caps. Was it worth the expense? -- (I just read there's a way to sneak into Tenpenny! Some wall we can jump over. Oh well.)

"That bimbo over there. Watch out. She gonna bum a cig off you, girl..."

Screw Tenpenny Tower. Vicious got her own pad.

This post has been edited by Renee: Sep 23 2020, 02:40 AM