a·nach·ro·nism

IVY | & DARYL:

THE DIM GLOW OF THE FIRELIGHT ILLUMINATED the pair of lonely wastlanders as a few seconds passed between them. Daryl assumed she was carefully assessing him just as he was doing the exact same to her. Not everyone was as they SEEMED in the COMMONWEALTH. He learned too early on that most folks had a SINGULAR focus in mind when it came to surviving and a mentality that he harnessed the moment he was left to fend for himself when his brother all but abandoned him to the volatile abuse of his Daddy. Frankly, Daryl couldn’t blame this young woman should she decide to tell him SCRAM. She was already too GENEROUS enough allowing him within the small allotted confinement of her camp.

But Ivy seemed not to care that he could be any wastelander and made room for him to sit beside her and the warmth of the fire. The snapping of fire crackling cinders into the air like a cascading dance was familiar and WELCOMING enough that Daryl was willing to take the risk. So he moved to come to a crouch, sitting atop his haunches directly across from the young doctor. Already she appealed to him. Folks with such medical skills were few and vastly far between in the COMMONWEALTH and a profession one didn’t want to divulge so brazenly either.

“Nice t’meet ya, Ivy.” Mutters the bounty hunter as he eyes her through the lapping lick of flames, head tilting again to exhale another thick cloud of smoke from his cigarette.

Before Daryl can even agree to the offering of alcohol, already he can see the young woman digging through her knapsack of supplies in hunt of the bottle she was referring to. She’s an overly friendly wastelander– that’s for sure. It made him curious about whether she’d recently got loose from one of the VAULTS that were nearby. In his own travels, there had only been one VAULT he’d actually gone in to explore through. A few trinkets were all he ended up nicking from it and a few circuit boards he managed to sell for a few couple hundred CAPS. Otherwise the VAULT was a maze of long hallways and a cacophony of HORRORS he didn’t want to bother investigating into. A series of experiments seemed to have gone wrong and the vast majority of the population of dwellers were GONE.

When finally Ivy procured her elusive bottle of what she believed was vodka, Daryl eyed her carefully as she took a swig of the concoction. Her face distorted in blatant disgust but passed the battle along to him anyway. Daryl hesitated at first receiving the bottle. This whole ALOOF survivor she was playing at could easily be a decoy. Perhaps she was preparing him for capture to one of the numerous factions he knew that sought power in the area– there WAS a nice bounty on his head, but that was something he wasn’t about to admit to Ivy. In any case, Daryl made a reach for the bottle in spite of his current INDISCRETIONS.

“Well,” he began, juggling his cigarette to take a quick pull of the liquor. Letting out an exasperated rasp from the HARSH bitterness, the bounty hunter returned it quickly back to Ivy. “’scuse me, I reckon from what I know in those old pre-war books, I’ve traveled beyond the state lines, yeah. Ain’t much different from here. Same more or less. Came from south o’ here, but ain’t nothin’ out there neither.”

Giving his head a quick shake, Daryl returned to nursing the rest of his cigarette. That liquor be damned. It was absolutely god-awful. He was glad he didn’t go BLIND just as she speculated. “I reckon, if I go blind, I know just the gal to blame.” He warned blithely.

One might not have thought it possible, but her smile widened when the stranger opted to join her. She had worried for a second that he might politely move on instead, leaving her once again to the dark chill hovering just beyond the glow of her campfire. He accepted the bottle and weathered its contents with more dignity than she did, but that neither surprised nor embarrassed her. The man looked like he comfortably chewed glass for breakfast. Strong drink wasn’t likely to faze him much. 

Still, Ivy was disappointed at the lack of news, and it showed. She slumped a little, the corners of her mouth dropping from their former heights. “Figures,” she sighed. “I don’t know why I expected anything different.” 

Because she’s desperate. Lonely. Exhausted. Terrified that this is it, her new life, her new reality, convinced more and more that she’ll never find her way back home

Daryl’s jibe earned a second, albeit less bright smile. “Come on, it’s not like you’d be missing out on gorgeous scenery, or anything,” she dryly reminded him, motioning at the surrounding gloom. The vodka made its way back to her, and by her third or fourth sip, she was already getting used to the taste. “Especially in Goodneighbor. Ugliest town in the Commonwealth, if you ask me.” 

Not that she is especially well-traveled, mind. Her business tends to take her to the same key areas over and over again, rarely more than a day’s walk from Diamond City. This most recent excursion marks the furthest she has ever ventured from the Great Green Jewel since emerging from the Vault, and virtually every town she passed looked exactly the same as the one before. The only one that stands out in her mind is Covenant, and something about that town gives her the willies. She tends to avoid that place when she can. 

IVY & OZIAS 

As challenging as the rocky fort ahead of them was perceived by his client, he merely observed yet another guarded fort, hardly varying from any GUNNER base aside from its creative hideaway in the formations surrounding it. Clearly, their target did not want to be found, but this he’d known about researching the name GORSKI before even accepting her hire. It raised a multitude of peculiar questions regarding her motives, all of which he resolved to keep to himself until their goal was reached - then he’d lay it on her, for the real CAPS. 

…cooled your goddamn jets… The Commander turned his head forward with a soundless laugh, armored shoulders bobbing with the subtle shake of his tattooed head. She thought she knew better than him? Then by all means, he’d let her have her way - even if that meant having to rush in to be her savior when it all fell apart, because he’d get that payment in full, one way or another, bonuses aside. That meant making sure she made it out alive, but not necessarily that he didn’t get to enjoy watching her suffer for her arrogance. 

“Whatever you say, Princess. But when the dust settles over your bloodied carcass, there won’t be time to hear me say I told you so.” The rifle was shifted into one leather-clad hand, and with a sigh of his own that matched hers, he acknowledged her following suggestion by pointing toward the two lower turrets. “I can get those two quick, but the top will have found the source of fire by the time I finish ‘em. Use it to get to the terminal; if you reach it fast enough, you’ll be outta their line of fire.” Then his head turned, focus apparently dead set on her before he latched that pointer hand around her nearer, upper arm with a nearly threateningly tight vice. “You move when I start firing. Don’t fuck it up.” 

That much said, the man was on the move, abandoning her in their spying grounds to climb swiftly across to another rocky ledge where cover could easily be found when the plan began. After securing that position, he took the GAUSS in both hands and charged the loaded 2MM ECs with his back pressed flush against the stone pile behind him. A quick glance, adjusting his poise with the eager weapon, and then he spun fast around and began firing.

Narrowing her eyes -- ‘Princess’? Really? How original, Lancelot -- Ivy made the uncharacteristic decision not to get sucked into an argument and kept her attention on the path before her. The path she was about to charge, headlong into turret fire with the very real possibility of being shredded like tissue paper before making it ten steps.

The thing about Ivy is that, for better or worse, she tends not to worry about the odds. If she has just 1% of a chance at pulling something off, she will take that chance and run with it even with a chorus of people screaming NO in her wake. Life is too short, particularly in the Commonwealth, to equivocate or linger in uncertainties, and she has never had patience for anyone content to stand by wringing their hands when decisions have to be made.

So when Ozias wheeled away from her and began firing with neither warning nor fanfare, she didn’t hesitate. She couldn’t. Isobel would have hesitated. Her mother would have hesitated. Anyone with more than a superficial instinct for self-preservation would have hesitated. But Ivy has nothing to lose that she hasn’t already, other than her life of course (but how could she come so far only to die now?), and everything to gain back if she can just do this one, seemingly impossible thing. Or series of things; but for now, one problem at a time. 

She ran. She ran cursing out loud, wide-eyed, half-screaming, summoning dormant track and field skills from the dregs of muscle memory, probably looking like a scared shitless jackrabbit. Bullets whistled past her and lasers cut the air with an electric hiss that raised every hair on her body, but it was Ozias they were aiming for. He made short work of the machine guns, exploding them with a few well-placed shots before she even darted past their platforms. The laser turrets, more high-tec, more sophisticated, were all that stood between her and the terminal. She wondered dimly how long until their biometric scanners turned their sights on her. How long before her mercenary found himself pinned down, out-gunned? No. She couldn’t think about that. She couldn’t think about anything other than the terminal rushing closer and closer -- 

Or the mechanical whirring overhead, warning her that the laser turrets must have decided that the fast-moving object speeding toward them was a bigger concern than Ozias some distance back. She ducked her head just in time to feel a blazing hot streak hum past her cheek, close enough to leave a faint red line scored along her cheekbone. Another blast from the turret’s twin managed to hit closer, grazing the curve between her neck and shoulder. 

“FUCK!” she yelped, reaching an automatic hand up to nurse the seared flesh. Her steps faltered, veered slightly off-course, but she saved herself by falling into a clumsy forward roll that brought her right up to the blast doors. Scrambling upright, ignoring the scream of pain in her shoulder, she flattened herself against the doors and didn’t dare breathe. The turrets were right overhead and couldn’t get an angle on her directly below, but the lasers were cutting awfully close and scorching the ground just behind her heels. If she leaned back even a few inches, she’d be reduced to ash.

The TRUTH was it hurt, it hurt like utter shit & he wasn’t going to do anything about it till he was alone because any sign of weakness meant being vulnerable to the wrong person… maybe. He knew it was fucking ridiculous to think such a way, that his trust issues lead him to more problems than good sometimes. So what if this woman was actually trying to help…? Maybe he was being unreasonable, it was too late to apologize now… or so he felt. But the need to do that was there, even if he rather chew on his own tongue. Seems pride is staining him, maybe this is why he rarely had any CLOSE friends aside his group… he loved his group more than anything, they were raised on sheer loyalty that existed long before he even rose in his rank as their leader, they would die for him, others probably not as loyal but at least thankful for his consideration, thankful for a roof over their heads. And he still didn’t consider any of them close enough to know the real him. How sad. 

Still, no cigarette, meaning nothing to cool his tension or distract him the pain—maybe he should’ve taken that stimpak, after all. “Bunker Hill, you say? Alright, I can do that.” He replied to her request, with a long sigh. “Hey—! You got any Med-X on you? Yeah, I know I refused help but… Med-X also helps calm the nerves.”

Ivy flashed him a triumphant little smile, entirely too pleased with herself. Sometimes people just need a push in the right direction, whether they can admit it to themselves or not. As a doctor, you learn to help them along even if that means dragging them kicking and screaming. This guy clearly wasn’t the kicking and screaming sort, but she felt responsible for him regardless. 

The request turned her smile crooked. He was too good for Stimpaks, but not Med-X? She regarded him shrewdly for a moment before reaching back into her bag and digging around for a syringe. “I guess it’s better than doping you up on Calmex,” she grudgingly assented, tossing it toward him. He wanted to be relaxed, not practically comatose. “This is my last dose, so enjoy it.” 

@anachrxniism​  cont. 

Any challenge is an opportunity for growth - something his father had taught him, in addition to how to kill a man with your thumbs, and the best way to manipulate a woman into doing what you want. This mission was indeed an opportune task he could fulfill and expand not just his revenue, but the victories in his ongoing resume; the fact it came with a woman was merely a plus to the skills Victor Krane had passed on to his greedy, eager son. 

The good doctor - bad for some - had a familiar name which when originally mentioned to him, had definitely piqued the GUNNER COMMANDER’S interest. And when the knowledge of his whereabouts and lack thereof had begun to pour in with uncertainty and confusion, Ozias knew this would in fact be a challenge. But his resources stretched far and wide in the COMMONWEALTH, and one contact after another with only the occasional need for the threat of a hungry pistol or a knife not yet painted in red, he at long last gained her the general coordinates. What had come with that, however, was the warning of several forms of defenses which lay in waiting for just such a couple of hunters - regardless of if they meant to simply speak with the guarded or kill him. To Ozias’s annoyance, stuffing the place full of grenades was simply not an option. 

Ivy - a determined woman he’d found, but an inexperienced one. Wherever the hell it was she’d come from, certainly hadn’t been the COMMONWEALTH. He’d witnessed her eyes widen and her body shrink at the sight of certain horrors passed on their way to the GLOWING SEA, an assortment of deformed and mutated GHOULS and animals which he’d taken out mercilessly with just a few blasts of that expensive, metal beast - the GAUSS RIFLE. In some effort to comfort the traveler, he’d laughed in spite of her shock and made a little gesture to follow; just another day in the life. Maybe he’d thought her interests would change given the threat, but his client seemed still very much intent with conversing with their subject. Annoying. 

In his crouch, he placed the rifle across his knee and then his arm on top of it, turning his head with an agitated sigh in her direction. Though his eyes were shielded by the reflective aviators - that pleading expression staring straight back at herself - his lowered brows and the lines between them very easily revealed his frustration. 

“And just how the hell do you expect we get in there, huh? Even after the turrets are down, you can count on the door being several inches deep of pure metal. You either hack the terminal, or I’m busting the goddamn thing down.” Ozias had no patience for hacking. He could unhinge just about any lock, both metaphorical and inanimate, but computers were a nuisance, especially where explosives could do the trick. “And my way is a hell of a lot quicker.”

Ivy bristled, equal parts anger and fear crowding her throat. If Ozias got it into his head to buck her authority and go with his plan, she could lose her only chance at talking to the one person who might be able to get her home. She had kept her reasons for seeking Gorski out intentionally vague, figuring Krane neither cared about nor needed to know the details -- which she doubted he would believe, anyway. It was tempting to spill her guts now, to make him understand why she couldn’t risk any harm coming to the scientist inside, but she could already hear her hypothetical pleas falling on deaf ears. If a pretty face had any real sway over him, he wouldn’t have been so damn expensive in the first place. 

Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she snapped it shut and breathed sharply through her nostrils, eyes closing to block out her baffled expression in his sunglasses. 

“Your way might be quicker,” she assented, in a mostly civil tone. “But it’s also louder, messier, and a lot more dangerous. So I’d appreciate if if you cooled your goddamn jets for a minute.” Hesitating, she cleared her throat and added, more calmly, “Just...give me a chance to crack that terminal, okay? If that doesn’t work, you can throw all the grenades you want.”

Without waiting for an answer -- because it shouldn’t matter,  it didn’t matter what he thought -- she turned her attention to the security door. She guessed it was about a hundred yards away, with two laser turrets mounted above it and no visible intercom next to the terminal on the concrete wall. If that wasn’t enough, flanking the entrance were two machine gun turrets chugging away on makeshift wooden platforms that offered a panoramic view of any conceivable moving target within fifty feet. Gorski clearly had no desire to entertain visitors. Really, he wasn’t giving her much choice here. She was being forced to barge in, whether by disabling his defenses or simply blasting through them. 

The question was, could she even get to the terminal before being shredded? 

BEYOND THE CHERRY RED GLOW OF THE EMBER emitted from his cigarette, Daryl can visibly see the pistol still cocked in his general direction from the woman sitting across him. With his hands still cupped around the tip of the still igniting cigarette, the bounty hunter ignores her threat. If she wanted to KILL him, she likely would have already done so as she perceived him as a THREAT to be handled. But just as imposing as he appeared to be, Daryl wasn’t looking for more than a few directions to find GOODNEIGHBOR. As an always necessary precaution, he needed to suss out how valuable her information was and whether she could PROVE to be any sort of asset in his travels through the COMMONWEALTH.

“I’ll be passin’ through it, I reckon. I’m headed for GOODNEIGHBOR,” he admits as the woman seems to only want to indulge in small chit chat. Frankly, Daryl is rather pleased by the friendly nature of this stranger. Last time Daryl had bothered to inquire for directions, he unwittingly encountered an ASSASSINATION attempt on some poor bastard that owed these GHOULS a good couple hundred caps. With his intrusion, Daryl had been perceived to be a SPY for the man and was quickly chased off. Needless to say, the bounty hunter hurried off without much else but a penchant to put paces between himself and the ghouls.

“I’ve got business out there with a couple o’ folks an’ have had one HELL of a time tryin’ to get there.” Taking a long drag of his cigarette, Daryl tips his head up to expel a few ringed circles of smoke above their heads. It’s a trick he learned from his brother a long time ago and one he wanted to perfect. “You live ‘round here or you headed fer DIAMOND CITY, too?”

Everyone had somewhere they HAD to be– whether it was dealing with another fellow of the COMMONWEALTH or a hunt for a means to make some heft CAPS. Regardless of her reasoning, Daryl was astutely aware that not all folks were kind or SELFLESS for that matter. “Mind my manners, ma’am, but my name’s Daryl.” 

Ivy knows she kind of...stands out, here in the wasteland. She is too soft, too clean, too cute (as she has been told, more than once, and not always in a complimentary fashion) to have any business travelling these roads by herself. There’s a wide-eyed greenness to her that she can usually pass off as a Vault-dweller’s inexperience with the world above ground, a naivete that people take pity on but more commonly aim to exploit. She has had to learn how to guard herself; not just her person, but her words, her expressions, her reaction to things. No matter how surprising something is to her about this world, even months after being shoved head first into it from her own timeline, she knows she has to pretend like she has seen it all before. She can’t risk being exposed as the clueless, fragile interloper she is. Such a thing would be a death sentence, akin to wrapping herself in meat and parading through a Super Mutant complex.

A wizened, experienced wastelander would end the pleasantries and stiffly wish the stranger well on his journeys, with a distinct tone of finality. Move along, now. If desperate, maybe she’d entertain the idea of a trade before sending him on his way. But an experienced wastelander would have learned to ignore the ache of loneliness long ago, or at the very least, ignore the boredom of so many nights alone by a campfire. She would know better than to be charmed by, gasp, manners. Or a surprisingly soft, raspy voice that seems completely at odds with the harshness of the stranger’s face, even more pronounced in the glow of his cigarette.

Ivy is not quite that experienced. 

She almost snorted at the ma’am, but it was so sincere that she didn’t want to be annoying about it. Instead she broke out into a delighted smile, completely ignoring forgetting Patrick’s rule about being too friendly too quickly. “Hi, Daryl,” she returned brightly, teeth flashing in the firelight. “I’m Ivy. Dr. Marshall, if you want to get fancy, but Ivy suits me fine.” 

Scooting over, she made room for him and motioned for him to sit. “Sounds like you could use some time off your feet. Want a drink? I have a bottle of what I think is vodka, although to be honest, I’m not sure. Too scared to try it by myself, in case it makes me go blind, or something.” 

As she spoke, she turned to root around in her backpack without waiting for Daryl’s reply. “Goodneighbour, huh? Well, if you’ve had a hell of a time getting there, I’m afraid it’s not gonna get any easier. Boston is kind of a mine field of horror, you know. One step down the wrong alley, and you’re either mutant food or a bullet sponge for Raider target practice. And that’s if you somehow manage to avoid the dogs and ferals and roaches.”     

She finally emerged from her bag with a cloudy bottle in hand that looked as though it hadn’t seen the light of day in centuries. Which was, she supposed, a distinct possibility. Swishing its contents, she uncorked it and took a cautious sip before immediately cringe-gagging. “Oh, oh, that is just...that is rancid. Ugh. Yuck.” She took another, bolder sip, then held it out to Daryl as though it weren’t toxic pisswater. In her experience, nobody was ever too delicate to pass up free booze, no matter how ungodly it tasted. 

Ivy drew herself up to her full height and smirked down at the other blonde.