Autumn's Tale, My attempt to put to "paper" the story of my FO4 character Options

[ArtemisNoir]

OK...*deep breath* here goes.
I've thought about actually writing down this story for several years, but, for one reason, or another, I've never quite managed beyond a sentence or two. Right now, my life is topsy turvy, but, ironically enough, it's also a good time to begin. Both encouraged by, and inspired by, Renee and Treydog, I've mustered the courage to finally post. Some notes first, though:

* Anyone familiar with the game will observe I'm using mods. I don't go overboard, or anything, but there are changes.
* This fiction is based on the main events of the game, but, sometimes, there will be differences in the details.
* I have tried to strike a balance between enough exposition so that anyone who doesn't know the game won't feel lost, while those that do won't be overly bored. I'm not sure how well I'm succeeding, but it's something that will evolve as it progresses.
* I'm hoping to post an installment once per week, each entry consisting of somewhere between 600 and 900 words. So... not huge chapters, but they're manageable. Right now, I'm not having any trouble getting out the words, so perhaps I'll eventually increase the schedule. As I wrote though, I'm also distracted by RL, so I'll see how it goes.

~ ~ ~

Entry 1: Awoken



Her first sensation was one of light. Searing and brilliant, it was nearly an assault after her struggle through Vault 111’s dimly lit passageways. Long moments passed, and then, perhaps jolted by realisation, as well as the view before her, Autumn gasped, reeling.

The Vault had been constructed on a small hill, and from her relative vantage point, she took in the wreckage of her home, and the small suburban neighbourhood in which she….no… they… had lived. The urge to scream and flail wildly almost overwhelmed her; somehow, maybe it was instinct, she repressed it.

Trying to steady her breathing, Autumn attempted some level of coherent thought. Time blurred, only the sun’s high position in that blazing, cerulean sky told her that no more than a few minutes had elapsed. Grappling with the stark certainty of her circumstances, and for want of a more obvious plan, Autumn slowly began to make her way down the hill, noting, despite herself, the dappled display of sunlight that glittered through the verdant canopy overhead. This, though, made her pause. The trees surrounding her towered high, their trunks gnarled and witness to countless seasons. Although she remained on the edge of hysterical panic, walking had calmed her somewhat, and it was impossible to ignore the onslaught of her thoughts.

“Those trees were hardly more than saplings..... how much time has passed?” she muttered. Her only answer was a strident caw somewhere deep within the leafy branches. “A crow?” she queried. Autumn shook her head, recalling the giant cockroaches that had impeded her progress through the vault. She, no doubt, needed to worry about whatever wildlife existed in this surreal new reality, but crows represented the least of her concerns. Another thing of note was that the path she followed, familiar, yet not, appeared oddly clear of debris, and an obvious attempt had been made to prune the bushes that sprawled alongside it. Autumn found herself unsure whether these observations provided comfort or unease.

A few steps further brought her to a small wooden bridge that traversed a glittering stream.
Miraculously, both were much as she remembered. Memories…. Autumn closed her eyes, flicking them open again as a surge of nausea threatened. Shaking, she lowered herself to the bridge, sitting down, her legs dangling just above the burbling water. Had she not seen her husband shot at point-blank range as he attempted to protect Shaun, their infant son, from kidnappers, mere hours before, and were it not for the grimy pastel-coloured rubble she could glimpse through the trees, it would have been almost idyllic.



Aware that she could not rest for long, Autumn attempted to stand. She swayed, light-headed; a sudden growling made her tense, but at a second wave of nausea she realised that it was her stomach, and she remembered her last meal, a bowl of Sugar Bombs and the coffee that had been prepared by Codsworth, their ever buoyant Mr. Handy Robot. The day had seemed normal, even finally opening the door to that persistent Vault-Tec salesman and securing their spots in the nearby underground facility, did little to indicate the turn their lives were about to take. After that, her recollections became a tumble… cuddling Shaun, discussing their plans for the day, then, Codsworth urgently calling them to the TV. They arrived in time to hear the anchorman announcing that bombs, nuclear bombs, had dropped. Panic. Horror. Disbelief. Their rush to the vault. Fragmented images flashed through her head. Autumn lurched, and vomited the contents of her stomach. Sugar Bombs did not taste sweet the second time around.

All too mindful, after voiding her stomach, that her body was now bereft of anything that might be considered food, Autumn willed herself to push forward. Up close, the jumbled, torn rubble, the homes her neighbours had lived in, and strewn human skeletons told the harrowing story of those who had not been on Vault-Tec’s list.

For possibly the first time, Autumn’s sentiments towards Sanctuary, the suburban community in which they’d lived, were without conflict, though she did reflect that its developers had likely never intended for the name to be ironic.

Walking up the gently winding road toward her old home felt strange; Autumn remembered all those times she’d ardently wished the place could be transformed into something different; she also remembered the never-ending fights with Nate as she argued that her apartment in Cambridge was a preferable location. Now, stumbling over rubble, fallen trees and the bones of her neighbours, she experienced a bleak, deep stab of remorse. A wave of memory engulfed her, and the impossible brightness of the day faded into black as Autumn teetered to the broken ground.



This post has been edited by ArtemisNoir: Apr 21 2023, 07:38 PM

[ArtemisNoir]

@Acadian,
Thanks! Codsworth is indeed a wonderful little chap, and Autumn would be very lost without him.

@Burnt Sienna,
You are kind, cheers! Although the dialogue-writing is going much more smoothly than I expected, I appreciate that, because I've found it challenging in the past.

@Treydog,
I love your wife's description of that state! It so absolutely feels like like being part of a flow, or that the flow is moving through you, carrying what you want to express, and delivering it to whatever medium you're working with.
Thanks so much!

@SubRosa,
Absolutely, just like all the candles and oil lanterns placed on wooden furniture. I've often ended up RPing that the nuclear fallout, ironically enough, had a fire retardant effect. It's a ridiculous idea, but in my head, I needed something that would make logical sense... Kind of like being able to explain away such things with magic in fantasy.
Yep, Codsworth is definitely one of my favourites as well. I did not realise when I began writing that he'd take on such a prominent role, and I'm glad he did.


~~~


Entry 3: Best Laid Plans

Autumn, observing Codsworth’s agitation, realised he had further questions; she raised an eye in response, and hoped that he’d steer their conversation to less wrenching topics.

“Ma’am, you were frozen?” She nodded. “That would explain it, then, I suppose.”

Now, Autumn found herself curious, “Explain what, Codsworth?”

The robot dipped and swivelled, as if buying a few moments, before continuing. “Well, that you’re in such extraordinary repair, of course! It’s been 200 years, well closer to 210, actually, taking into account a few dings to the old chronometer.”

Autumn jolted, but, recalling the trees from earlier, she was, in fact, unsurprised. The confirmation, however, raised troubling uncertainties. Were her most recent memories part of a continuous thread, or were they disjointed fragments? Was Shaun even alive? Doubting that she’d find answers amongst Sanctuary’s ruins, the enormity of what lay ahead came crashing down.

As if reading her thoughts, Codsworth turned to her. “Miss Autumn, perhaps we should go to Concord, somebody there might be able to help us find Young Shaun.”

She had surprisingly fond memories of Concord. The small, nearby city, a popular tourist destination, had made her previous life somewhat tolerable. Instead of pastel, plastic, and aluminium many of its colonial era buildings had been constructed from brick and wood; nestled amongst those businesses that provided the standard amenities there had been booksellers, several coffee shops, and even a deliberately offbeat, incense-drenched little spot that sold vintage clothing and assorted esoterica.

The bookshops had been her favourite refuge, and the musty scent of aged paper, faint spice, and leather returned in a sudden rush. They had offered escape, both literal and metaphorical. Curling into a comfortable armchair, provided for the purpose, it was easy to lose herself in a much-loved volume, and there was little likelihood she might encounter any of her neighbours.

Concord’s cornerstone had been The Museum of Freedom, which celebrated the American Revolution and various subsequent military victories. She’d always found the displays interesting, and well put together, but it had not been one of her more frequent haunts. Even Nate, especially following his deployment to Anchorage, and eventual honourable discharge, was ill at ease there. The hollows beneath his eyes would become even darker, and his gaze, speaking volumes, would turn inward, reliving horrors he refused to recount. The harrowed screams of Nate’s nightmares, though, often betrayed him. It had been this, in the end, that drove Autumn to believe in the “healing power of parenthood.”

Attempting to halt her current train of thought, she shuddered at the naïveté that had, all too frequently, misguided her. The shadows in the room had further deepened, and although Autumn had just slept through much of the day, its events, and the conversation with Codsworth had exacted their toll. Concurring that an exploration of Concord was a good plan, she rolled onto her side and, after a time, sank into mercifully dreamless sleep.

Dawn promised a day just as clear as the previous, and setting off, rested, fed, and even cleansed, with Codsworth at her side Autumn felt, if not necessarily hopeful, at least somewhat prepared to confront whatever adversity Concord might hold. Codsworth had explained that the small city’s present inhabitants seemed to be of the rougher variety, which caused her apprehension, but, just as had been the case with every “decision” she’d made since stepping out of that vault, her options were limited. Nonetheless, she’d discovered that her new world actually had at least one working radio station, and that it was based in a place named “Diamond City.” Presumably, if their efforts in Concord ended up fruitless, trekking to this Diamond City would be a logical next step. Codsworth knew little of the city, but he was able to inform her that it was the largest settlement in “The Commonwealth.”

They could have just avoided Concord, she supposed, but it was nearby and on the way; further, Autumn’s experience as a lawyer had been that it was almost always worthwhile to investigate any potential lead, no matter how seemingly mundane. Beginning in Concord also made strategic sense. From what she’d gleaned listening to the awkward DJ who hosted Diamond City Radio, it was a dangerous world, which meant that combat was inevitable; Codsworth had also confirmed this to be the case.

Autumn knew how to handle an assortment of weaponry; she also knew how to dodge bullets and how to take down an enemy unawares. However, due to her pregnancy and various other circumstances, it had been some time since she’d engaged with such pursuits. This, combined with the effects of having been cryogenically frozen for over two hundred years, ensured that she was not in any shape to take on challenges in untravelled areas far from her only known “safe” location. Autumn concluded that Concord might provide both much needed reconnaissance and the opportunity to refresh her skills; moreover, if she was injured, at least Sanctuary would be nearby.

Soon after they’d crossed the rickety wooden bridge that essentially served as Sanctuary’s gateway, a familiar red sign took her by surprise. “Oh yes,” confirmed Codsworth, a gleam in his eye, “The Red Rocket is still standing, and even quite intact.” Autumn couldn’t help but feel intrigued, the old gas station might just be worth some exploration.



This post has been edited by ArtemisNoir: Apr 21 2023, 07:43 PM