Fandom Flags of Our Foul-Ups -- Main [[Open!]]

[Bealocwealm]

Welcome to Flags of Our Foul-Ups, a Fallout: New Vegas RP set between the First and Second Battle of Hoover Dam.



This RP centers around a group of fresh recruits to the New California Republic Army, going through basic training at Camp Golf. It is a literate RP and a touch more realistic than the game mechanics -- the majority of characters will be new recruits, though other chars around Camp Golf are also possible.

Please visit the OOC thread to join, we're Open!

RULES:
- Literate/Para RP. Being unclear as to the difference between Lit and Para, I ask that each post be a minimum of a paragraph long. Going into long detail is fine, but woe betide you if you provide tons and tons of text yet nothing for another player to interact with. (Psychic characters are not permitted, so oodles of internal monologue or backstory is not interact-able.)
- Characters must fit in the Fallout universe, circa 2281. All chars are subject to review by me, and I'm both picky and pretty decent with lore.
- Typical RPN rules apply.
- CHARACTERS may behave in bigoted ways. Homophobia is common to the NCR, as is disdain for Tribals, Ghouls and (to some) basically anyone not from the NCR. PLAYERS, however, must not behave in bigoted ways. Note also that real-world type racism pretty much isn't a thing in the post-apocalypse; all the racism is Fantastic Racism against mutants and ghouls and the like.
- Avoid metagaming. Characters should only know things that char would reasonably know -- for instance, a character who was raised entirely in the West Coast wouldn't know about purely East-Coast factions or the existence of Synths.

---

 

[Bealocwealm]

Jackalope had done his best to blend in, to resemble any wastelander. He wore a buttoned, somewhat stained shirt, brown trousers and suspenders, with a broad-brimmed hat and a faded bandana about his neck. His curly red hair had even been cropped pre-emptively shorter, only a couple inches long. He'd had a great deal of help -- the Followers had been an invaluable resource. Not only in the last six hours, but in the past six months. If it hadn't been for all their help, he doubted he'd be here today. Not here as in alive. His injuries had never been so severe as all that. But here -- fresh off the wagon, at the entrance to Camp Golf, someone in brown holding them up, fussing over the papers of all the new recruits who would soon be guided in.

It wasn't a wagon, exactly, so much as some old-world military vehicle which had been modified somewhat to be easier for Brahmin to pull. But it had been astounding to Jackalope -- he resembled some awestruck country bumpkin from far out West, satchel dangling loosely from his shoulder, hand holding to his hat, before whoever was looking through paperwork and from paper to recruit and back was, apparently, satisfied -- barking almost distractedly to the assembled recruits. "All right, you lot will be in Tent F, go right down the road through and it'll be to your right when you go between two lines of tents, clearly labeled. Put your stuff in there and stay put, your instructor will be there shortly."

He didn't even wait til half of them were past before groaning to the lady keeping watch on the road beside him: "I hate newbies... thank god they aren't keeping 'em in the building with us anymore..."

Frowning, Jackalope proceeded down, glancing around at all his fellow rookies curiously -- it had been hard to on the ride there, with some of those on the wagon being fellow recruits, and others being soldiers catching a ride on their way elsewhere, and the cover over the vehicle's back keeping it quite dim.

 

[Stricken Steel]

George Washer Siebulls Jr.

They were finally here. As in they, A couple of military rooks and a few lonesome soldiers returning from god-knows-where. The man stretched his legs, before grabbing his well-worn brahmin leather suitcase. He rubbed his sunburnt nose before hopping off the wagon and following the others after his papers were examined. "Tent F, Said it was as clear as day. Let's just hope this day goes by well..." He mumbled to himself as he walked. The man's heart almost stopped as he took a look at his new home, It was quite...awful but it was livable nonetheless. Time for a whole new chapter.
He then noticed a much shorter man, shortened red-curly hair, wearing what seemed to resemble your everyday settler...or colonist outfit. "Howdy, stranger." He spoke before catching up a few feet to the man. "I'm George Siebulls Junior, If I also may ask...What is your name?" The blue-eyed man spoke before wiping a bead of sweat off of his forehead. He tightened his grip on the suitcase, as one of the screws was missing on one of the bottom hinges and it would be embarrassing to have it dropped and his items spread all over the Mojave dirt.

Bealocwealm

 

[Bealocwealm]

Jackalope carried only a stained canvas satchel with him, and by the way he walked, it looked to be pretty light. He paused in front of the tent only a moment. Stepping inside, he just stopped, blinking repeatedly. It was terribly familiar. Having spent some time at the Old Mormon Fort, even the bunks didn't seem so new to him -- but, of course, he hadn't been the one to put up this tent. Nor, from the looks of things, would he at any point be taking it down. These tents seemed to be pretty permanent installations.

Bunks lined every edge of the large tent with its dirt floor, a foot locker at either side of each bunk. And that... was pretty much it, in the way of furniture. He frowned, choosing a foot locker pretty much at random, and gently placing the satchel, as well as his hat, into it. Frowning, as if unsure if its contents would actually be safe -- but he looked up sharply, as he was addressed, again blinking hard and repeatedly. "Ah -- Jackalope," he answered, voice and expression blank. "Lisner," he added as a complete afterthought, regarding the bunk beside the foot locker he'd chosen carefully. "Junior, hm... suppose that means you have the same name as your dad? Doesn't it get confusing?" His avoidant posture and eyes wandering damn near everywhere belied how nervous he was, but he might as well get to know those he'd be training with, surely.

 

[Stricken Steel]

George Washer Siebulls Jr.

The man was a little late to reply, but with everyone here being new recruits...There was no shame in that. "Jackalope...An odd name at that, but hey. Isn't everything odd these days?" George placed down his suitcase and kicked it under the bunk, left row, first bunk. The man wasn't too picky, He couldn't be anyways, Not much left these days.
"Yup, We share the same names. However, He lives all the way on the coast, In NCR-controlled L.A. I usually mail him once to twice a month, and he always responds. And yeah, Sometimes the caravans and runners get a little mixed up, They seem to handle it though." George let out a exhale, before finally taking off his leather hoodie, folding it neatly, and storing it into the footlocker of his bed.
"So, Jackalope. What did you do before you decided to join the NCR?" He asked before standing in front of his bunk with his hands in the pockets of the faded blue jeans he was wearing.

Bealocwealm

 

[DapperCharmer2.0]

'...Bingle, bangle, bungle I'm so happy in the jungle I refuse to go. Don't want no jailhouse, Shotguns, Fish hooks, Golf clubs, I got my spears. So no matter how they coax him. Yeeeah, I'll stay right here. They have things like the atom *click*'

Roscoe turned off the radio attached to his belt; right at his favourite part too. But he'd arrived at the NCR camp and doubted that they'd be as fond of his music as he was; he didn't need to give them another reason to not like him. Roscoe made his way forward, only to be stopped by a few of the soldiers that were posted. Two pulled out their weapons while another approached. "You haven't attacked us yet, so I take it you're one of them thinking zombies. So listen up, turn around."

Roscoe wasn't surprised by the prejudice. Even though Ghouls were, more or less, common place some people still saw them as lesser. It was annoying, but Roscoe knew that reacting in any way would be bad for him. "I am a recruit," he said as he very very slowly moved his hand into his bag, "I am grabbing my form that proves that." The men tensed up, but didn't fire. After the sound of lots of clinking bottles, Roscoe produced a document.

Reading it, the soldier gave a nod; along with a half-hearted apology for misunderstanding. "Two others have already arrived," he said before pointed the ghoul in the direction of the other recruits. The other soldiers went back to their business and let Roscoe go. Taking the form back, Roscoe headed to where he had been directed.

Heading into the tent, he noticed two humans talking; no doubt his future team mates. "Sorry to interrupt, smoothskins," he announced as he fully entered, "which bunks mine?"

Stricken Steel Bealocwealm

 

[Bealocwealm]

Jackalope only shrugged at the suggestion his name was odd. Of course he'd heard so before -- the lady who'd handled the citizenship paperwork in particular had made all her opinions on his name well-known to him, and she had quite a set of them, as he recalled. He figured it'd be a damn shame to make use of another name after all the effort he'd gone to to get this one back.

So Junior here had ties, and good for him, frankly -- he opened his mouth, but George asked the very question he himself had been about to ask, and he frowned deeply, tsking. "Used to be a Tribal, I think is what you lot call it. Out in the mountains." It was technically accurate, though it might mislead one into thinking he was from the Californian mountains. It was also less likely to get him punched in the mouth by an oversuspicious fellow, which was to say, someone as suspicious as Jackalope himself. "What ab --" He stopped, mid-word, as in stepped a tall ghoul. His eyes fixed on him, and his jaw went slack for a moment.

And then, absolutely alarmingly, the dull-eyed, dull-voiced Jackalope seemed to spring to life. Not in any hostile or fearful way, either, which might perhaps be expected -- he bounced in place like an excited child and exclaimed: "A burnseal -- hello! Please, pick whichever -- we've only picked these two so far!" It was certainly a unique reaction; he seemed to react to Roscoe's presence as if it were a real honour.

 

[Stricken Steel]

George Washer Siebulls Jr.

The man smiled once Jackalope told him where he was from. It seemed he was about to ask George where he was from whenever a ghoul stepped in. The first thing that hit him was the ghoulish rotting scent, but the man was used to it. "Howdy, fellow recruit." George spoke before smiling at the ghoul, a only half-cheery smile.
"Names George Washer Siebulls Junior, Guessing everyone is wanting to enlist, huh?" The man spoke before turning to Jackalope. "A burn...seal? Is that a word from where you come from? Another word for ghouls? Ah, never mind," He turned back to the ghoul. "A pleasure to meet you...eh...What's your name?" The man stuck his hand out towards the new recruit, hoping to make this new guy an ally.

Bealocwealm DapperCharmer2.0

 

[DapperCharmer2.0]

Roscoe felt a smirk grow on his face as the red haired guy greeted him with excitement, "finally, the respect I deserve," he chuckled as he moved to pick one of the free bunks. He was a little surprised by the stranger's reaction. Roscoe hadn't seen that much excitement for a ghoul, since he'd briefly been a part of The Children of Atom. George's greeting was a bit more expected. It seemed polite enough, though Roscoe was unsure whether it was genuine politeness or politeness for the sake of being polite.

"The names Roscoe, Ross to my friends," the ghoul spoke as he dumped his bag onto the bed. It landed with a audible clutter of bottles. Roscoe opened it up, revealing a large collection of Nuka Cola; including Quantum, Wild, Cherry, Grape, Orange, Quatz, plus a few that came in custom labled bottles. Pulling out a regular Nuka-Cola, Roscoe took a few sips. He then gestured to the bag, "help yourselves smoothskins."

Stricken Steel Bealocwealm

 

[Bealocwealm]

Not just a burnseal, but one bearing gifts of Nuka-Cola. Jackalope rubbed with one scarred forearm at his face, briefly overcome with emotion, before staring at the astonishing assortment there -- all he'd ever seen was regular old Nuka-Cola and a few Wilds, back in the day. He stammered, attempting to answer George's question -- "It's -- it means the same thing, yeah, but it ain't so -- disrespectful if you ask me!" Of course, to almost everyone, including most Ghouls, Ghoul was the respectful term -- jerky, corpse, zombie or the like being the less friendly variants.

He selected a Nuka-cherry carefully from the lot. "Thank you, Roscoe." He wasn't going to assume off the bat that they were friends, it seemed. "I'm Jackalope," he offered, this time without being directly asked. One of the human persuasion might find it mildly insulting that he seemed significantly more enthusiastic about talking to ghouls, from all appearances. "Er -- George -- what do you go by? Only it's a bit of a mouthful, all those names. And I was meaning to ask, what'd you do before this?" He opened the Nuka-Cherry with clear reverence, savouring the first sip of the lukewarm stuff as if it were the nectar of the gods.

DapperCharmer2.0 Stricken Steel

 

[Stricken Steel]

George Washer Siebulls Jr.

George smiled but his smile soon turned into a face of seriousness. Although the man was astonished at the collection and delicacies of the Nuke-Cola branded drinks. "I'd be careful, If those Troopers find out we had some of these they would take 'em for themselves. However, I'll take one and hide it, For the sake of it. Thank you, Roscoe. Also, If you drink Quantum and urinate later on...Your pee'll glow a light blue."
The man took a bottle of Quantum and carefully hid it under his bunk before getting back up. "Oh, Just call me Junior. I was taught to be polite, Sorry about that." He answered before another question was asked. "I've actually been in the Caravan Guard business since I was sixteen. I've been around quite a few old-world states, saw this, shot at that, but in the end I do get some pretty decent discounts."

DapperCharmer2.0 Bealocwealm

 

[DapperCharmer2.0]

The more that Jackalope talked, the more respect for Ghouls he seemed to have. Roscoe had no problem with this, of course, but it did make him very curious. Jackalope certainly didn't seem like the Child of Atom type, but Roscoe couldn't think of any other groups who seemed so enamoured with Ghouls. This thought, however, was interrupted when George brought up the NCR taking his Cola. "Right, there's plenty but I'd rather keep it between us," he nodded as he hid the bag under his bunk.

"That being said," he chuckled as he sat back on his bunk, taking a swig of his drink, "it wouldn't be the end of the world, got stashes of the stuff all over the Mohave." Roscoe then took note of Georges statement and smiled, "well, it's glad to see I'm not the only well travelled person here. Though I promise that the number of places I've been, makes your travels look like a trip around the block."

Bealocwealm Stricken Steel

 

[Bealocwealm]

Jackalope looked up, and saw no reason not to take Junior's supposition seriously -- the fellow would probably know better about what the proper Troopers would do than he would, certainly. But he looked on with bemusement which became exasperation, at the way the two hid things. Under bunks! He took another sip of the Nuka-Cherry, and shook his head, disbelieving. His voice dropped a little quieter. "Ain't you two ever had to really hide something? You can't stick it under a bunk, that's the first place anyone looks. You put it in a mattress, if you have one --" And they did, though the bunk mattresses were pretty thin, "Or you dig into the floor to hide it, or you stick it where you don't sleep -- way better hiding spots out there," he gestured with a jerk of his thumb in the general direction of the outside. "And no way to tie it to any of us."

He cleared his throat, a little awkwardly, realizing after a moment that this might all come off as a little much. Nor did he comment on how well-travelled he might or might not be -- over seven hundred miles or no. "Er... yeah, how far have you two been?"
DapperCharmer2.0 Stricken Steel

 

[Stricken Steel]

George Washer Siebulls Jr.

George smiled once more. "Either way thanks again. And I'm glad you got this stuff hidden everywhere. Dunno when we might get our first assignment." The man lowered his voice a bit as well, so sneaky Drill Instructors couldn't surprise them.
His head perked up when he was asked how far he had been. "All the way up to the old Canadian border. Up there it's a bit more tribal than it is here. The furthest south I've been is New Mexico. It's overwhelmingly hot there, and geckos think boots are food." He wiped a bead of sweat from his face, before going back under the bed and placing the Nuka-Cola in the footlocker. "Now I can't get in trouble or anything because I do know some of the troops. So if something happens, I know one or two of them have my or your backs. But it shouldn't be a problem anyway because I'm not hiding it."

DapperCharmer2.0 Bealocwealm

 

[DapperCharmer2.0]

Roscoe felt a small smile grow on his face as George mentioned them having each other's backs. Roscoe hadn't considered that, seeing as they just met, but he reckoned it was true. They were a squad now, or at least part of a squad, they had to be there for one another. From now until the end of there training and beyond. It was actually something he hadn't experienced in a while; most people didn't find themselves very fond of ghouls after all.

"Gotta admit, that's pretty far," Roscoe chuckled, "though still got nothing on me. I've been to Washinton, Boston, Southern California, West Virginia, most everywhere in the Great American Midwest, hell I even took a trip to Alaska just to see of it was as cold as they say. It is." Roscoe smiled as he finished his drink, hiding it with the rest under his bed. "Don't feel too bad though. I'm sure you'll get that far too, if you live to be as old as me." Roscoe then turned to Jackalope, "what about you? How far you been?"

Stricken Steel Bealocwealm

 

[Bealocwealm]

Of course, Jackalope thought it was likely, if not guaranteed, that their Sergeant or drill instructor or -- whoever it was to be, he didn't fully understand -- would have a look through those foot lockers anyway, but if Junior was confident in his connections, all the better. And hopefully a bit of nuka-cola wouldn't be too much a problem... he was clearly enjoying his, anyway. He was quite content to listen to their tales.

If he hadn't grown up in the way he had, he'd not have any idea what they were on about -- but he knew Old-world, and even some pre-Commonwealth geography, to some extent. (Some of the east-coast names were lost on him.) Well enough, at least, that suspicion prickled at the back of his neck at the mention of New Mexico, and his mouth drew into a thin line. Which was notable, given the taste of Nuka-Cherry made him smile. To get to New Mexico, you'd have to go through Arizona -- maybe Utah, if the route was roundabout, but either way... Traders, after all, sounded a whole lot like another word, and he found himself analyzing Junior's face very carefully. Before realizing he'd been asked a question. (And by a Burnseal, of course.)

"Ah..." The trouble was, he really didn't want to lie. These were meant to be his brothers-in-arms, after all, not to mention lying to a Burnseal felt wrong. He just understood basic self-defense began, and could end, at the words you chose. "... a fair long ways, I guess. Thing is, I only became an NCR citizen a few months back, 'cause they require it for the enlistment... been a good -- something like seven or eight hundred miles over the years." He hadn't lied, and he hadn't changed the subject. But he knew it sounded cagey, the second it left his mouth. "To be honest I wasn't much in a position to consult a map most of that time." That made it sound better, right? He winced. "You figure we won't get into any trouble over the Nuka-Colas, then?" He checked with Junior.
DapperCharmer2.0 Stricken Steel

 

[Stricken Steel]

George Washer Siebulls Jr.

Junior stared at the ghoul after he remarked how his travels were like walks around the block. Then Roscoe said something about Washington. "Are you talking about the state of Washington or Washington D.C.? And isn't Alaska where all those troops were sent before the nuclear holocaust?"
The man opened up his suitcase and stored everything into his footlocker from the brahmin leather suitcase: Pen and Paper, Extra set of underclothes, Socks, ID Papers, and 200 worth in paper NCR Dollars.
His head jerked up at the question being tossed at him. "Oh yeah, yeah. We'll be fine. They might say something but it usually isn't too bad. Just don't try to hide them, or they won't be sure to trust you. I also suggest leaving any weapons on the top of your footlocker, so they won't be suspicious." The man pulled out a .32 Revolver and dumped it's 6 rounds onto the top of the metal footlocker. The bullets clinked together like chimes in the wind before finally staying still.

DapperCharmer2.0 Bealocwealm

 

[DapperCharmer2.0]

"Washington DC," Roscoe said as he pulled out his modified laser pistol, placing it on his own foot locker. He also placed his remaining cells, though there weren't many left. "That being said, I did travel a lot of the surrounding Washington area as well. Roscoe thought back to that time. He'd actual been there twice. The first was a few decades after the bombs, then about a century or two later. It had actually been really interesting to see how the place had changed; though that was a feeling he felt often.

"That's actually where I joined a cult," Roscoe mentioned casually, "or religion, depending on who you ask." Roscoe sat on his bed as he continued. "Call themselves the Children of Atom. They actually worship radiation. Well, actually they worship Atom, radiation is just his holy glow. It's actually not a bad place if you're a ghoul. They saw me as some sort of holy man or something, said I'd been blessed by Atom," Roscoe chuckled, "I tell you, they treated me like royalty."

Stricken Steel Bealocwealm

 

[Bealocwealm]

And yet, apparently, the Children of Atom didn't ring any bells to Jackalope. His face seemed blank of recognition, only curious. And perhaps a touch too curious. At Junior's suggestion that he place any weapons atop the locker, he opened it up again. Speaking as he pulled a couple knives out of the satchel he had put in earlier.

"Never did get anyone back at the Medical clinic to explain what radiation is... They weren't too fussed if it wasn't what was ailing you, I guess." Admittedly he had had other things on his mind at the time, but this made the question prickle again. Jackalope took the opportunity to organize things. Mostly it was the same as Junior's, though with an awful lot of pencils and a bound journal. A mug, too, with the four points of the Followers of the Apocalypse painted on. A lot less money, though, hardly enough caps to rattle. He set the knives on the lid and sat down again, more beside his bunk than on it.

"Not gonna lie, though, sounds a little like my tribe. Though Burnseals to us were more... Like wise people you should listen to or things would go wrong. Wasn't a religion, really, not in my time. Though I guess when my great grandparents were around, things did get a little culty. A Burnseal founded our tribe, actually, brought people together after the great war." He volunteered all this quite happily.

DapperCharmer2.0 Stricken Steel

 

[Stricken Steel]

George Washer Siebulls Jr.

Junior raised an eyebrow at the mention of D.C. "Is the White House still standing? Or what about the Capitol Building? I read all about D.C. in pre-war books when I was younger, I taught myself." He saw Roscoe pull out a non-standard laser pistol and some spare ammunition for it.
He heard Jackalope say something about not knowing what Radiation was. "Jackalope. Radiation is a special kind of poison. It can sometimes be safe, or be very poisonous. The closer you get to the source, The more Radiation you get. The more Radiation you get, The more you get poisoned. Too much, Well, Sometimes you have a person that turns into a Ghoul, Like Roscoe. Most are usually somewhat Immortal, Like Roscoe, He was probably from before the bombs. I can't say Great War because...There was already a War called the Great War, long before the bombs though."

Bealocwealm DapperCharmer2.0

 

[DapperCharmer2.0]

Roscoe couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, or at least the area where an eyebrow would be if he wasn't a ghoul. "Your tribe was really founded by a ghoul?" he asked curiously. It was actually quite surprising to hear. Most people he'd met were either hostile to ghouls, or just ambivalent. He'd never heard of anyone liking one enough to form a tribe with them; let alone a tribe that lasted long enough to where ghouls were considered wise-men. "That's why you call me burnseal? You think I'm wise?"

Stricken Steel Bealocwealm

 

[Bealocwealm]

Jackalope tried to understand -- a poison that worked without needing to actually eat or touch it, that could make you ill from mere proximity -- that was strange indeed. But when Junior explained that radiation created ghouls, Jackalope seemed all the more perplexed, nose wrinkling. The matter of a Great War before the one which people delineated the difference between modern day and some vast before was even more -- had he missed reading about that, when he'd had opportunity to read so much? ... Well, yes, and quite easily, he recalled -- he hadn't cared so much about studying war as a kid. A mistake, clearly. He was visibly arrested in thought and confusion, til addressed with questions.

"Well -- I mean, yeah, it was founded by a ghoul, who brought a bunch of kids out of a school into the mountains where she thought it would be safer. There were some survivors there, too. They taught us all the history when we were kids." He didn't seem to understand why it was so surprising. "I don't remember if she was shown to be a burnseal just then, or if that came later..." He considered, but then laughed. "Wise? Probably. Burnseals usually are, you're old enough. It's just what my tribe called ghouls, and 'ghoul' still sounds weird to me -- you ain't ghosts. You're just made of old-world fabric. Old-world fabric doesn't fray if the edges are burnt, but you only find out if you're burnt sealed after you get your threads pulled, and most people don't... survive getting that many pulled. Is that what you call radiation?" He asked Junior, uncertain. "Might explain why no one ever gets what I'm on about with thread-pullers, if you're all calling it something else."

It was a very unusual way of looking at things, but there was some truth to it -- old-world fabric tended to have a great deal more polyester, and burning the edges would protect it from fraying. How or why this view had been extended onto people, or radiation that the founding ghoul would have known full well about so renamed, was a bit odd -- but if the tribe was really as old as he described, it would have been going for many generations. Plentiful time for things to be twisted and made strange.
DapperCharmer2.0 Stricken Steel

 

[Stricken Steel]

George Washer Siebulls Jr.

George listened to the two talking to each other. They shared some form of history of being founded by ghouls, and or taught by ghouls. "Yep. Radiation due to the greediness of the pre-war militaries. It sucks we have to suffer this, all of us. They could've just shared resources and work together, Instead of going to war and wasting all those things just for it to be wasted without purpose. However, Ghouls are wise and smart, believe you me."

 

[DapperCharmer2.0]

Roscoe chuckled lightly as both of his team mates agreed that he was wise. He wasn't exactly certain that he believed that himself, but the compliments were nice nether the less. "Come on guys, you're making me blush," he joked, "or you would be if I still had the ability to blush." That was actually a relatively new discovery, for a ghoul at least. He'd only actually realised that he couldn't blush about 5 decades ago. "But if you ever need advise, please let me know."

Roscoe then sat silently on his bed for a little bit and just waited. "So what happens now? Do we just wait for more people to show up or do we try and find the option in charge?. I mean, I'm loving getting to know both of you, honestly. But I kinda wanna get into some action"

Stricken Steel Bealocwealm

 

[Orihara]

It was at that point that another recruit found his way into the tent, giving his regards to the first three with a silent nod before plopping down on a random bunk and reaching deep into his socks. Pinching his fingers between the sides of his feet, he slipped out a blunt and a lighter with the words "Free Spirit" printed on one side. He didn't pause to look up at the other recruits until he'd lit the end and took a long drag.

"Sup shitheads~" Mike sang as smoke seeped from the sides of his goofy grin. After another inhale he held it out. "Wanna hit?" he asked everyone in general. He looked like he was already geared up for the mission, wearing an iconic Diamond City Guard uniform minus the helmet. His overall look said "punk" though his messy blond hair and young face yelled "manchild."