ROBCO EVENT LOG V2.66
Theme toggleSCENE LISTING SCENE SCHEDULE Scene Schedule RSS Feed
Owner Pose
Smash This building used to be a home, but no one has lived in it for quite some time. Now it is a place rented out, usually for a week at a time. The roof has a tattered blue tarp pulled over it, and one corner is held up from collapse by a pillar of bricks that look like they were scavenged from a cobblestone path somewhere.
The people currently renting it have turned it into a small bunkhouse. Sleeping bags and and whatever passes for padding are strewn about the living room, and the second floor, where Chloe is led by a dirty man drinking a Nuka Cola mixed with something harder, was a bedroom, but has been turned into an office and... triage center? The big table has fresh blood stains and first aid equipment. Two couches face each other with a coffee table in between them.
The evening sun coming in through the glassless window spills onto both tables without hitting the couches, but it does cut across the legs of the man sitting there. A massive man. He is nearly as tall as Chloe's escort despite sitting, and heavily muscled. He wears patchwork leather armor with many signs of repair, and is in the middle of smearing dirt off his face with a damp rag. "Boss, this's...." The cola drinker looks over at Chloe and trails off.
Chloe     "Chloe." Chloe gives the massive muscled wastelander a sneering grin, "nice place you've got here. Especially the hired help." She looks around at the fresh blood stains and the likely ratty couches, "it almost reminds me of home - if home lost its roof and acquired a penchant for moldiness." Mint green eyes glance towards the Nuka Cola, "so. Are you going to offer your guest a drink?"

    The trek was long, but Chloe decided to make it nevertheless. After hearing about this growing group of raiders, she practically leapt at the chance to meet its presumptive leader. Dressed much like she was when first entering past the city gates of El Dorado, she wears an oriental-inspired floral dress, heavily pockmarked black stockings, and a pair of studded black knee boots. She had to flirt at least a little with her escort, in order to be allowed further into the dilapidated abode, but by all appearances it felt quite worth it.

    Settling down on the opposite couch, Chloe crosses her legs and leans back, lifting her arms to rest broadly on the furniture. "So. Is everything I've heard true?"
Smash The average size man sees himself out, though his eyes linger on Chloe until he misses a step and nearly goes down the staircase face first. The remaining man in the room, big as life but only half as ugly, regards Chloe as he crumples up the rag and drops it on the floor beside the coffee table. "Hardly." He puts no effort into projecting, but his voice fills the room. "I don't spit bullets back out after I'm shot, and I ain't never fucked a brahmin, so I definitely never killed one with my dick." He keeps his eyes on her as he reaches over the arm of the couch to claim a bottle with no label, uncorks it, swigs, and passes it across to Chloe. "But you're prob'ly talking 'bout the rumors 'bout this posse we're fleshin' out."
Outside there is a gunshot accompanied by the sound of breaking glass. Cheering and complaining follows. Someone lost a bet. Someone won. Smash does not react to any of it. "Got a few guys gathered up so far, but we ain't lookin' for a sea of mooks. Been there. Done that. We're lookin' for people to help us organize a revolution." His irises are the size of pin pricks as he leans forward into the sunbeam; icy blue eyes intense on her face. "What makes you qualified?"
Chloe     Smiling coquettishly at the average sized mook, Chloe giggles to see him nearly take a dive down the stairs. "Well then. I hope there's at least some truth to that second story. A brahmin's an awful large animal..." Her gaze wanders downwards suggestively, only to slowly make its way back up. "Why thank you. Such a gentleman." She leans over to receive the unlabeled bottle, and takes a generous swig of it herself. This causes her to cough violently for a few precious seconds, as she quickly realizes the stuff is almost certainly a particularly potent brew of rotgut. Rubbing her mouth and regaining her composure, she hands the container back. In a somewhat strained voice, she replies, "your posse has certainly been making the rounds, yes."

    She flinches at the abrupt explosion of glass, head turning in its general direction. Frowning a moment, her attention eventually returns. Brows lifting, she asks, "a revolution? Sounds more ambitious than your average collective of thugs."

    Leaning forward herself, she smiles seductively and declares, "honey, I'm miles more qualified than any dirty bundle of rags you'll ever find wandering the wasteland. Isn't my escort's...approval all the proof you really need?" She leans back, "besides, I'm the best thief this side of the fence, and you'll find few people more comfortable with blood than I."
Smash The man does not attempt to hide his amusement as he takes the bottle back, has another swig, and sets it down on the table between the two of them. He lifts a foot-the calve above it cleanly bandaged-and sets it on the couch next to where she sits; bisecting the coffee table and making it groan softly under the weigh. "I am sure that medusa smile of yours turns at least part of most men to stone." He speaks in a low tone, but that rumble-rough voice still can likely be heard halfway down the stairs. "And I heard ya can steal the ring off some fucker's toe while he's got his boots on, and that's all fuckin' swell." He leans back into the couch, almost disappearing from the knee up for the second it takes eyes to adjust as he leaves the sunbeam. "But can you organize? Can ya lead a crew on a heist? Can ya handle emptying a bank while all its dumbass guards are lured out into town to fight 'them dispicable raiders'? Can ya lead, or are ya just a solo act?"
Chloe     Mint greens flicker towards that intrusive hairy leg, compelling Chloe to frown just a bit. Still, the act doesn't entirely destry her sultry demeanor, and she pointedly ignores the settled appendage. Smirking faintly, she affirms, "at least part, yes. But I generously free them of the curse my smile brings, so long as they are loyal." Chuckling lightly, she notes, "I can still the toe itself and its owner would be none the wiser. Running off with a simple ring is child's play." Rising from her couch, she greedily takes up space on the other, "I've lead men before, and organized them for survival. In fact, if it wasn't for the Enclave, I wouldn't be sitting here all on my lonesome." A hand dances across the leader's chest, "let me answer your question with another question. Wouldn't it be lovely to empty the bank right under the noses of those dumbass guards, without a single shot fired?" A bright smile, "unless, of course, you'd like to?"
Smash The man looks thoughtful as Chloe speaks. Or distracted. Those expressions can be similar on Smash's face. A touch squinty with just a hint of set to the wide jaw and a splash of lips pressing together. Maybe he is thinking about dinner, or maybe she has put an extra hamster in his headwheel. "What we have planned," he says as he sets a hand the size of a shovel down on her thigh beside him without any of the grace of her more classy touch. "It isn't small. It isn't quick. It's gonna rock this fuckin' desert." The rotgut is all one can smell on his breath. "If ya wanna earn your place with us? If ya wanna put your foot down somewhere and scream 'Fuck you!' at anyone that presumes the right to control you?"
He could have got his point across at a lower volume, but outside someone can be heard howling and calling out, "Fuck you, NCR!" then someone else, "Fuck you, taxes!" followed by some laughter.
"...then this is the posse you. The Marauders. 'cause fuck you." He squeezes almost her entire thigh in that big hand of his, but stops it shy of painful. "Gotta earn our trust first, though." He gives her that considering look. Maybe he is hungry. "What'd'ya say, Widowmaker? Want in?"
Chloe     Chloe looks down at that hefty hand, though she makes no move to shy away. "Oh, I can be patient, sweetie. Very, very patient." She leans against the human truck, "we're going to rock this fuckin' desert together, you and I." In response to all those neaby shouts, she calls out, "fuck you, human decency!" Her brow arches at the pressure placed against her thigh, bringing a hand up to grab (at least part of) his wrist, though she stops short of pulling him away. At that look of consideration, she shifts around until one leg goes over his lap, arms crossing casually behind his neck. "Baby, just let me know what I can do to make -our- dreams a reality, and the Marauders shall have their fucks."
Smash What a lap it is to straddle. Smash moves his hands to where they can rest easiest. The top of Chloe's hips, where their weight only encourages her to sink down further. He still looks down at her even in that position, being nearly two feet taller. "One step at a time, ya little slut." The way he says thst hardly makes it sound like an insult. It sounds complimentary if anything. "Ya got anywhere to be tonight? 'cause I'd like to see yer skills." There is a mischievous look on his face now as he speaks in clear double entendre. "See how well ya can move without makin' noise. See how well you can take somethin' biiig and hide it somewhere nobody's gonna find." He cracks a wide, toothy grin. "Or maybe do some stealin'."