New Vegas: Blood Ties

Tom looked at the stranger who was glaring at Yasmin, he tried not to interfere by taking a step out of the stand off, but then realised to himself, 'Wooo Tom take it easy, groups stick together, remember?'.

Tom twisted on the spot, surprisingly well for a man suffering from severe dehydration, he rubbed his eyes with his hands and looked up at the man in black, "Mate, if you can't walk through a camp without giving everyone 'the eye', then maybe you need to get some people skills, now fuck off".

Tom thought he had managed himself reasonably well, then it hit him, his stomach turned uncontrollably. He immediately sprinted to the nearby toilet-cabin and spewed his guts into the toilet. 'Jesus Tom, you had nowt to celebrate, yet you still go and do something stupid like drink half of the Crim's alcohol'.

He steadied himself for the second wave...
 
David walks outside of the cabin. He sees a man arguing with Yasmin and Tom. David looked at the armour, and recognised it was T-51b. David didn't like the look of him. Yasmin might be able to surive cazadors and fiends, but he didn't fancy her chances against a man in power armour, even salvaged power armour. He pulled out his 9mm pistol, put a clip in, cocked it, and leaned against the wall, keeping an eye on the man. Yasmin may be a bitch, but she didn't need to die over some squabble.
 
The mask-breathing of the man was far from unnoticeable, but became considerably heavier as stress from the hostility came about. He reached behind his head and removed his mask, revealing a youthful, clean-shaven face consumed with distraught -- it became quite clear he was socially awkward. His voice remained unchanged despite this, only reflecting an aggravated tone. He squinted into the eyes of the woman as he spoke, passionate with his words.

"You people are so narcissistic you cannot even fathom the concept of trust, and as such there is no reason in believing you would not try to attack me with... a primitive spear... for... some of those... bottle... caps!"

He found one of his feet had been planted between the woman's, almost as though he were to strike her. He hadn't even noticed. Now realizing this, however, he submissively retreats a couple of feet and begins to strap his mask back on. Unsure of himself, he only stares through the visor at the woman.
 
Yasmin raised an eyebrow. ''Ok, issues. I might be interested in decyphering whatever that was supposed to be about, but I have a team to build.'' her voice turned from condecending to a growl ''And the next time you try to get in my face again, be prepared to add a knife to the list of things in your body. I don't take well to intimidation.'' She turned her back on him and was surprised to see David standing there. With his gun drawn. Glaring at the man. She did something which surprised her and, she suspected, David: she smiled an actual smile at him.

''You got my back?'' It was a simple question, but held much more to it. It was an offer to stay. She worked with people she disliked often. But if they would watch her back, she'd watch theirs. Solidarity.

(Sorry for any crap spelling. Posting on my phone.)
 
(It's okay Raven, I barely use my computer for nma. I mostly use my ipod touch.)

Brad got out of bed. It wasn't a very good bed, but it was better than the one at crimson caravan. He had a couple hours before his next guard shift started, so he could get breakfast. He definately wasn't getting it in freeside. He remembered seeing a man selling rodent and bug meat. His stomach churned at that memory, so it was best not to think about it before breakfast. Maybe there would be sugar bombs for sale at crimson caravan. He put on his black combat armor and swiped a pre war hat from an empty room near his. He pushed it down just far enough that he could see fine, but it covered his eyes. He walked to Crimson Caravan and purchased a box of sugar bombs and a nuka cola. He sat down against a cabin. Enjoying his meal. After eating the sugar bombs, he still had some nuka cola left. He walked toward the exit, swigging the cola.
 
The strange man's aggression slowed to a halt. As he spoke, he was backpedaling further away from the woman. His words were less reinforced with confidence, as he felt attention to him, and therefore a lack of respect, had been diverted.

"You people are all the same!"

He stopped walking a few feet away, the intimacy of the conversation fading. But still he stood there.
 
Up early as usual, Sol strolls nonchalantly through the caravan encampment. He sidles up to a rough looking ghoul cook and with a few quick words barters a packet of smokes for a bowl of dog guts and rice. He nods to him, grinning. "Always trust the dead!" He spies the bossy woman arguing with an impressively armoured man and walks over. He stands politely back and listens to the man's gasping speech, nibbling at his hearty meal and marvaling at the technological wonder.
 
Brad turned around when he noticed Yasmin's voice. He noticed the man she was talking to was wearing something he remembered seeing in one of his magazines. It was called...power armor, that's it. He sat down at a space where he could hear them, but remain unseen. He pushed his hat down a little further though, just to be safe. Then he was hit with a swift kick and fell over.

It was Derick, the khan who confronted him back in vegas.

"You thought that you could run? That you could hide? Too fucking bad. You're coming with me, wether you like it or not."


"Listen, if we're going to do this, let's take it outside. We don't want to piss off the caravaneers with guns."

Of course, the real reason is so his old team wouldn't notice him. Once outside, Brad quickly pulled out his combat knife.

"Look, I've got a nice deal going with the Van Graffs. It's not the best lifestyle, but it beats working for Ceaser."

Derick quickly kicked Brad's left hand, causing him to drop his knife. He then let loose a fury of punchs and kicks until Brad was knocked out.

"Dammit, with all the trouble he's been giving me, I should give him to the legion after the raid."
 
I should just get out of here, these outsiders are dangerous...

Thinking to himself it would be best to simply leave, the man began walking backwards again... until he bumped into someone... or something. He spun around, nearly elbowing whomever it was.

"Argh! What the hell are you?!"

Peering down into the creature's meal, the man aptly ran over to the side of the bunk, where the woman and her suspected crew had been staying, removed his mask and began vomiting. Straightening up from his hunch, he saw he had gotten sick next to a man holding a 9mm.
 
Yasmin looked around at the strange group that had accumulated. ''And I thought I was weird.'' She focused on the mutant eating....she really didn't want to know what. ''Ok, one conflict delt with. So, what do you want?''
 
David was surprised by Yasmins smile. At most he had expected her to acknowledge the help. The man in armour then ran over to him after seeing the samurai mutant and its meal. He looked down at the man as he vomited. He just walked away, having no quarrel with the man, smiled to himself over how the man acted tough, but vomited when he saw some guts. Not the most pleasent thing in the world, but when you face danger every day out here, you learn to live with it.
 
Pawnsy was quickly loading up Midas with his usual cargo:Trunk of Medical supplies, tribal knack knacks from the wastes, and his most prized sack of gold coins. The thing which seemed out of the ordinary to his morning routine was the growing group of people outside a nearby cabin. Pawnsy did hear McLafferty complain saying "The Crimson Caravan's becoming a hotel by the minute" but he thought the comment was directed towards him. upon inspecting the group he concluded they were mercenaries,he also noticed one of them was throwing his guts up. Sensing a business opportunity before he left the compound, Pawnsy smoothed back his "hair",straightened his tie,and slowly headed towards the group like a pre-war business man ready for a sale.
 
Sol watches the man run away with faint curiosity and takes anouther bite. Hearing the lady's voice, he turns back and steps closer. He calmly wipes his mouth and bows courteously. "I was wondering," he inquires deliberatly, "if you have any positions open. My sword is for hire."
 
Yasmin put her hands on her hips. ''Why the fuck am I suddenly popular? And why would you just offer your services? You don't know if I need services or what I'm going to do. I could be planning a mass suicide.''
 
His stomach emptied of it's contents, the man leaned his back against a wall and breathed. He was disgusted with not only the mutant, but it's appetite. He placed his mask back on, this time hoping it would stay. He walked back into view, looking to the woman and those she attracted. It took him a moment to realize the woman had shifter her focus to others, and so he calmly made for the gate.
 
Sol shrugs. "I could give you some tips. Not the first time. And some of the good merchants told me you were picking up mercs. Although I would like to know what you're planning first."
 
Dreick's stomach growled. He realized that in his haste, he forgot to get food. He dragged Brad a little ways away from the caravan hq and entered, disguised in a caravaneer outfit.

Brad soon came to. He was barely consious, though. His body was aching from the barrage of punchs and kicks from Derick. He felt like he took a shotgun blast to the gut. He staggered over to crimson caravan. He mustered all his strength to open the gates. Once inside, he staggered some more until he collapsed again in the middle of the compound.
 
A man fell to the ground, obviously in need of help.

These people are savages, but...

Shaking his head, the man in armor stopped in his tracks and hastily walked over to battered victim. He knelt down, placing his hand on their shoulder and inspecting the damage.

"You possess no serious wounds or injury, but this should help get you on your feet," he said in a whisper.

He retrieves an object from his pocket, administering it to his patient and discarding it in a second pouch of his cargos.
 
Brad slowly rose, pushed his hat back down, and shook the stranger's hand.

"Th-thank you. Do you need anything? Caps? Supplies? Anything? I feel like I owe you something."
 
The armored man slowly rose from his kneel, only to be greeted with a handshake. He returned the gesture, providing a firm grip.

"Th-thank you. Do you need anything? Caps? Supplies? Anything? I feel like I owe you something."

There was a brief silence, his gracious inquiries going unanswered.

"I do not wish to exploit you, but would you happen to have any energy cells?"

He reached down into his pocket, drawing his AEP7 laser pistol.

"And no, I refuse to acquire any from those thieves at that... Silver Rush, is it? They absolutely cannot be permitted to handle such technology, let alone sell it to any wastelander that stumbles through the door."
 
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