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]

@SubRosa,
Heh! In many ways, I think Codsworth is not only irrepressible, but also the glue that both holds Autumn together, and the little ragtag band slowly starting to turn Sanctuary into a home. When I first began writing, I didn't quite expect him to take on such a pronounced role, but I think it suits his character really well.

@Acadian,
Indeed, they all really needed that evening... It's something that I wish was in the vanilla game. Instead, any dialogue like that tends to occur when the player character first encounters Preston and Co. in Concord, which, I feel, isn't great timing...since they have more pressing issues at that point.

@Treydog,
*grins* I enjoyed adding The Hound to that scene; I felt he completed it. As I mentioned to Acadian, I feel the game doesn't do quite enough to establish a sense of community amongst the original Sanctuary inhabitants, and, honestly, they did a real disservice to some of them, so I wanted to start working with that a bit.
As you can tell, I adore Codsworth.
Yeah.... the situation re: Shaun is going to be an interesting write... on numerous levels..

S.G.M ??? I've seen this used in some of the fics I've been reading, but I have yet to figure out the meaning.. so, help?


~~~

Entry 10: Re(con)naissance

Once again, Autumn rose to a clear, pink-hued dawn. Groggily, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and went to sit on the worn stoop outside her home. She was struck by the jarring juxtaposition of the scene... the destroyed houses, rubble… and the wrenching loveliness of the slowly awakening day.

Codsworth had joined her, and, as if reading her thoughts, commented, “Mother Nature never ceases to amaze… Through all the postwar devastation, the sunrise is still quite impressive.”

“That it is,” agreed Autumn.

“How is the old leg doing?,” asked Codsworth, ever solicitous.

Autumn smiled. “It feels good. I should be able to do some scouting with you and Preston.”

Codsworth frowned. “Are you certain, Ma’am? Also, if you are indeed feeling up to snuff, it would be better if the pup and I remained here. Sanctuary has certainly been safe these last 200 years, but still, you never know, and these people will need help, should something go awry.”

As always, Codsworth had a point. Considering their plans for the day, Autumn shifted her focus to the tedious business of bathing. Once she’d hauled sufficient water for boiling, she set it upon the fire. Acutely aware that the scavenged clothing she wore was as filthy as it was blood-soaked, she recalled that the much despised blouse Codsworth had procured the previous day was in surprisingly good shape. She braced herself and headed to the bedroom closet, where she discovered that most of her old clothing was, for the most part, intact.

Happy that she’d be able to peel off the tattered (and overly ripe) bits and pieces she was wearing, Autumn grabbed several favourite items, along with another horrifying floral print number; the latter would serve as an adequate wash cloth. She then returned to the now scalding water.

“You know, Codsworth, we really need to do something about this plumbing situation, if it’s even possible,” she commented.

The robot chuckled. “Perhaps we could just remake you as a robot. You’d do General Atomics proud, I’m quite certain!”

She decided it would be better to accept this as a compliment.

“More seriously, Miss Autumn, I have no idea if we could do such a thing, but, once we’ve sorted out the basics, perhaps Mr. Sturgis will have some ideas.”

“Maybe I’ll try my hand at making soap again too,” she mused. Somehow, the thought of attempting to wash off the grime with Abraxo, the still ubiquitous, highly abrasive, household cleaner was unappealing.

Bathed, fed and dressed in clean(er) clothing, Autumn went to find Preston. It was easy to spot the man in his distinctive colonial-style duster and strikingly unique hat; he stood near the scattered detritus of what had once been a home. Hearing Autumn’s approach, he turned to face her, sighing as he gestured across the rubble.



“We certainly have our work cut out for us, don’t we?,” he remarked.

“Yeah,” replied Autumn… “it’s going to be difficult enough to make the houses that are still standing habitable, I have no idea how we’re going to clear all of this mess. We’d need an army.”

“Mmhmm, maybe….” Preston’s vaguely enigmatic response made her curious, and she raised an eye. The Minuteman only smiled, and asked if she was ready to reconnoitre the area. Autumn nodded, and the two set off. When they reached the rickety wooden bridge, Autumn stopped.

“I remember, yesterday, when Codsworth and I were near the Red Rocket, there was some kind of tower past the trees,” recalled Autumn. “I’ve no idea what it is, but it could be a good place to start. If nothing else, it’s a landmark.”



“Should we check out the Red Rocket, while we’re there, do you think?,” asked Preston.

“Nah, let's leave it for Sturgis. He looked like a little boy going past a candy store yesterday,” she grinned.

Preston let out an amused laugh, and the pair headed toward the tower. As they drew closer, it became apparent that said tower had once been an electrical pylon. It occurred to Autumn that it had probably been responsible for supplying power to Sanctuary, and she found it ironic that she’d never really been aware of it until now. More curious, however, was the structure that had been built up around its base. For all intents and purposes, it resembled a large shack that had aspirations of one day becoming a farmhouse.

Cautiously, they approached. Autumn, somewhat to her surprise, saw that lush, well-tilled fields surrounded the dwelling. Vegetables grew in abundance, and a two-headed bovine of some kind (two-headed?!?) was pastured close by.



“Wow,” said Preston, clearly impressed.

Before Autumn could respond, a man, steel-eyed, with his rifle raised, advanced toward them, she spoke up quickly, “It’s OK, we’re friendly, we don’t mean to cause any trouble. We’ve come from Sanctuary, nearby, and we’re just getting our bearings.”

The man adopted a slightly less threatening stance. “If you say so. But be warned, we’re armed here. So don’t try anything.”

Preston spoke up and held out his hand, “Preston Garvey of the Commonwealth Minutemen, and this is my friend, Autumn.”

Appearing mildly confused, the man returned the gesture. “Blake Abernathy. Seeing you here is good news; I thought that after Quincy, you guys were gone for good. Things have been worse since the Minutemen disappeared.”

Expression haunted, Preston replied. “I’m one of the last Minutemen, maybe the last, but… I don’t know, I guess I’m hoping maybe we can rebuild.”

“Well, that’s an idea I can get behind,” commented Blake. He gestured toward the farmstead’s rear. “Last time raiders hit us, my daughter, Mary, tried to stand up to them. If you’d been here then, Mary might still be alive… Now, she’s buried out back.”



“I’m so very sorry about your daughter, Mr. Abernathy,” said Preston.

“Blake. Please call me Blake.”

Autumn, swallowing her own emotion, replied softly, “There’s nothing worse than losing a child. Believe me, I know.”



Blake studied her, curious, and then, hesitating, spoke. “If you’ve a mind… those raiders took the only thing we had to remind us of Mary. It was a silver locket…. I know where they’re based…. It’s at that old USAF station, Satellite Olivia.” The plea in his eyes mirrored Autumn’s own anguish.

“Of course,” she murmured. “We’ll do everything we can, that I promise.”

This post has been edited by ArtemisNoir: May 1 2023, 07:18 PM