feverrayseda
Master Thief
The wind whipped at his back as the young man stumbled through the empty city streets. His clothes were caked in blood and dirt, his skin peppered with bruises and cuts, some more severe than others. He hissed as another tremor of pain hit him in his side, where the glass had pierced through skin and cut in deep. Maybe throwing himself out the window wasn't the best plan, but it'd been the only one at the time.
And it wasn't like the raiders were going to leave him many options.
Thankfully nothing had been broken, as far as Bobbie's medical expertise could tell. He could move every limb, though they quaked with the pain, and he could breathe easily enough, so his ribs had to be okay. And even luckier still, he had managed to keep most of his gear. The pistol he'd collected from a dead police officer that still worked. The few bullets he had for it kept in his hoodie pocket, the backpack filled with a mostly empty bottle of water and some pieces of bread he'd managed to snatch from a grocery store before feral mutants ran him out of it. He'd used the last of his bandages on wrapping his hand, which had taken the worst of the fall, as a large shard of glass had torn through entirely. He'd cleaned the wound as best he could, but he had nothing to stitch it with, so he'd wrapped the cotton bandages around it as tight as he could, but the blood still seeped through. Bobbie could still move his fingers though, and that was the most important thing. He'd worry about infections later, for now he needed somewhere to bunker down for the night, as the sun dipped low beyond the horizon, casting long shadows on a dead city.
The man turned a corner and found a building that appeared to be alive with music, voices and lights. Sighing with relief the young scavenger trudged onward. His hand was stinging and his body ached for rest and warmth. As though to remind him, another surge of wind ran through him. He shivered, pulling his thin and torn up hoodie closer to his body. His clothes had suffered a lot of damage, but all he could really do was use tape and any other bits he could find to keep them together. He'd need something better though, as it seemed as though the winter months were creeping in, and he'd die of cold if he kept this up.
Bobbie came to the steel door and gingerly reached out with his good hand to open it. Inside the music was louder, the voices stronger, and he could make out the strong smell of cigarettes and alcohol. The heat crashed over him like a wave, and it was a welcome feeling, one he'd nearly forgotten after so many nights of not feeling safe enough to light a fire in case it brought trouble. He wasn't sure how long he'd been separated from his group. Weeks? Months? Maybe a whole year or two? He couldn't remember. All he knew was that he'd let his siblings reach the safety they needed, the safety he could never provide. They'd have a good life, even in a hellhole like this. The question was; what was he supposed to do now?
The young man maneuvered past the bodies that filled the space, people either ignoring him or giving him quick glances, but finding him not interesting enough to bother. He reached the counter, which was smooth and very clean looking, and Bobbie almost didn't want to touch it with his grimy hands, before he shifted himself onto the bar-stool. The bartender asked what he'd like and he ordered a simple beer, paying with the caps he'd collected on his last scavenging hunt. While he waited for his drink, he suddenly became aware of two large shadows looming over him. He glanced up.
Two taller, burlier men were sneering down at him. One had a large scar running down his left eye and had a full dark beard. The other had long, greasy blond hair pulled into a tight pony tail and a mole on his chin. Neither looked particularly pleasant.
Bobbie's chest clenched, but he wouldn't show them he was scared. Fear didn't get anyone anywhere these days. "Either of you have anything important to say?" he asked instead, keeping his voice monotone, "Or do you just want to stare at me all day?"
"Look at this, Jay," the one with the scar said, "The little man thinks he's big shit."
The one called Jay laughed, low and bitter, "Reckon he ought to be taught his place, this one." To prove his point, Jay pulled a switchblade from his pocket. "That is of course he wants to pay some... compensation fee. You see, we run this part of town, little man, and not just anyone can walk in......"
((Please continue from here. This rp takes place in the Commonwealth of Fallout 4 during the events of the game. You can play as your sole survivor, oc or any canon character. My oc is not MacCready, they just have the same first name "Robert."))
And it wasn't like the raiders were going to leave him many options.
Thankfully nothing had been broken, as far as Bobbie's medical expertise could tell. He could move every limb, though they quaked with the pain, and he could breathe easily enough, so his ribs had to be okay. And even luckier still, he had managed to keep most of his gear. The pistol he'd collected from a dead police officer that still worked. The few bullets he had for it kept in his hoodie pocket, the backpack filled with a mostly empty bottle of water and some pieces of bread he'd managed to snatch from a grocery store before feral mutants ran him out of it. He'd used the last of his bandages on wrapping his hand, which had taken the worst of the fall, as a large shard of glass had torn through entirely. He'd cleaned the wound as best he could, but he had nothing to stitch it with, so he'd wrapped the cotton bandages around it as tight as he could, but the blood still seeped through. Bobbie could still move his fingers though, and that was the most important thing. He'd worry about infections later, for now he needed somewhere to bunker down for the night, as the sun dipped low beyond the horizon, casting long shadows on a dead city.
The man turned a corner and found a building that appeared to be alive with music, voices and lights. Sighing with relief the young scavenger trudged onward. His hand was stinging and his body ached for rest and warmth. As though to remind him, another surge of wind ran through him. He shivered, pulling his thin and torn up hoodie closer to his body. His clothes had suffered a lot of damage, but all he could really do was use tape and any other bits he could find to keep them together. He'd need something better though, as it seemed as though the winter months were creeping in, and he'd die of cold if he kept this up.
Bobbie came to the steel door and gingerly reached out with his good hand to open it. Inside the music was louder, the voices stronger, and he could make out the strong smell of cigarettes and alcohol. The heat crashed over him like a wave, and it was a welcome feeling, one he'd nearly forgotten after so many nights of not feeling safe enough to light a fire in case it brought trouble. He wasn't sure how long he'd been separated from his group. Weeks? Months? Maybe a whole year or two? He couldn't remember. All he knew was that he'd let his siblings reach the safety they needed, the safety he could never provide. They'd have a good life, even in a hellhole like this. The question was; what was he supposed to do now?
The young man maneuvered past the bodies that filled the space, people either ignoring him or giving him quick glances, but finding him not interesting enough to bother. He reached the counter, which was smooth and very clean looking, and Bobbie almost didn't want to touch it with his grimy hands, before he shifted himself onto the bar-stool. The bartender asked what he'd like and he ordered a simple beer, paying with the caps he'd collected on his last scavenging hunt. While he waited for his drink, he suddenly became aware of two large shadows looming over him. He glanced up.
Two taller, burlier men were sneering down at him. One had a large scar running down his left eye and had a full dark beard. The other had long, greasy blond hair pulled into a tight pony tail and a mole on his chin. Neither looked particularly pleasant.
Bobbie's chest clenched, but he wouldn't show them he was scared. Fear didn't get anyone anywhere these days. "Either of you have anything important to say?" he asked instead, keeping his voice monotone, "Or do you just want to stare at me all day?"
"Look at this, Jay," the one with the scar said, "The little man thinks he's big shit."
The one called Jay laughed, low and bitter, "Reckon he ought to be taught his place, this one." To prove his point, Jay pulled a switchblade from his pocket. "That is of course he wants to pay some... compensation fee. You see, we run this part of town, little man, and not just anyone can walk in......"
((Please continue from here. This rp takes place in the Commonwealth of Fallout 4 during the events of the game. You can play as your sole survivor, oc or any canon character. My oc is not MacCready, they just have the same first name "Robert."))
