Past Our Expiration Date

The gothic man shook hands with the other and greeted him with a smile. He returned back to sewing the last thread the armor needed. He was just about done, but sewing and stitching really never had a proper estimated time to be done.

“I don’t mind either, most folks usually just call me Church, though.”

“When I first came out here to the Commonwealth I first lived in Diamond City and did clothing commissions. It may be the Wasteland but people still have a desire to be fashionable, and boy, do I relate to that, I’m sure you could tell that by my two day smudged eyeliner and black clothes. I guess in a lot of ways, me making clothes and fashionable armor makes me feel a bit at home. Wasteland is already grim enough as is.” He paused to overlook the armor, to inspect it, make sure everything was threaded properly and secured.

“How long have you been in the Railroad? I’ve been there for awhile, not a long time, but awhile. I don’t do a whole lot of recon or intel missions but I help wherever I can, and Des knew how valuable I was, and I think Deacon vouched for me. I swear that man has eyes and ears every square inch of the Commonwealth. Probably some even in the Glowing Sea.”

Man, Church liked to talk. It was refreshing for Morgan, listening to something besides a job brief or someone complaining about how rough things were. Sure, life was hard in the Commonwealth, but Morgan couldn’t exactly imagine it being much easier anywhere else.

“Church it is then. The eyeliner suits you, doubt I could pull that sort of thing off,” Morgan joked, despite knowing he’d wear anything if someone asked him to.

Rainbow tuxedo? Full outfit made of tinfoil? Morgan would wear it. Didn’t mean he’d like it, but he’d wear it. Fortunately, from what he could see of the armor Church was working on, it was neither rainbow nor tinfoil. Being as plain as Morgan believed himself to be was a perk when trying to go unnoticed.

“Deacon and Glory are the best friends I’ve had in quite some time. Deacon may be a whole load of chaos but he’s clever and a hell of a lot of fun to hang around. I met him when I joined up... months ago, or something like that. I was a scavenger and somewhat of a thief. Used to steal little things that wouldn’t be missed, keep accumulating caps until I could go into places like Diamond City and be able to afford snacks or a toy for any kids there. But they’ve had me out and about almost nonstop since I joined,” he explained, chuckling a little.

The redhead halted, turning her eyes back to Dallas. She looked him over again, this time seeing the profound sadness in his eyes. He looked as if the core of his entire being was gripped by grief. She was all too familiar with how that felt. She gripped the strap of her pack against her shoulder, considering his words. It definitely wasn’t safe to travel alone in the Commonwealth, but she’d only just met this man. Could she trust him to have her back in case of an emergency? Would he cut her throat in the night and run away with her caps?

Nora had always trusted her gut. It was part of the reason she went into studying law. She’d always been good at reading people, and that was a desperately needed skill in this world. She listened to his words, but it was the emotion behind them that she could feel. He wanted to help the world, in whatever small way he could. She was familiar with that, too.

“Alright,” she said, and nodded at him. “I’m going to pop in and say hello to a friend, and then I’ll restock some supplies as well. I’ll meet you at the city gate in an hour.”

She gave him another quick nod, before turning away from Power Noodles and heading into the alley past the schoolhouse and Swatters. About an hour later, Nora made her way to the Diamond City gate, lighting up a cigarette and giving a friendly wave to Danny Sullivan behind the counter. She’d donned a militia hat, pulling the brim a little low over her eyes as she came to join Dallas.

“Well, here we go.”

Selling off his excess supplies to Crazy Myrna went quickly, despite her dislike of him, and he made sure to refresh his ammo count... the raiders may have been dealt with, but that didn’t mean the trip was going to be buttery smooth. He was uncertain whether or not he and Nora would work well together on this task but she had appeared sincere. His main concern had been addressed. Once Zimonja was safe for settlers again, he could keep on with his original plan. 

He said very little to Danny Sullivan as he waited for Nora, contemplating his decisions up that point. His son’s body wasn’t at Zimonja. If he found him, he wanted a place he and his boy could come back to. He didn’t want his son growing up on the road the same way he had. It made for an interesting but friendless life, never staying put long enough to really form any close connections. 

Dallas had spent his free time, his thinking time, slumped down against the wall with an old newspaper over his face. He’d tug it down whenever he heard footsteps to peek at who it was. When he saw Nora, he tucked the old newspaper into his back pocket - he commonly kept one to help with fires or for some light reading if he really got bored - before noting the cigarette. 

“I’m guessing you don’t mind if I do the same?” 

He motioned to the cigarette as he spoke, digging around in his bag for his own box. He knew it was a bad habit, but so was going guns blazing into random buildings for a handful of caps. Because of it being... mildly unpleasant... he tried to avoid doing it in crowded settlements or around those who perhaps would disapprove. Like his wife. She hated it. 

Desdemona had told Churchill to not leave his shop in Goodneighbor and to stay put. Which, Church was not complaining, it gave him more chances to earn more caps and get more orders for clothing and armor. However, Church was now kind of complaining. Although he offered to give supplies to the Railroad and be an agent, his weekly income was cut because he was making new clothing and light armor sets for some of the agents. Specifically Deacon and Morgan.

The windchime attached to Church’s shop door rang, and the gothic man peered up to see Morgan.

‘ I swear, either Deacon or Desdemona are spying on me constantly without me knowing because every time I am just about done with a piece for one of us they send them over. ‘ He said with a large grin on his face.

‘ I am just about finished making some light armor for you so when you’re on a mission you don’t have to worry about too much weight if you need to run or sneak your away around. Desdemona said something about how your last armor got shredded or along those lines, so I took it as she wanted me to make you a new set. ‘

Churchill stopped his words for a few moments, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and a small grin cracked his face. ‘ Come to think of it, I don’t think we’ve ever properly met, Desdemona just told me a general idea of what you looked like and said you’d be the only one coming to my shop that isn’t a regular customer of mine today. ‘ He snickered lightly to himself at the situation. ‘ The name’s Churchill, it’s best I don’t have a code name since that would be too suspicious to any customer that may walk into my shop and hear it, unless you consider my nickname, Church, a code name, which it very well could be. The Sole Survivor introduced me and Desdemona begged me to help with armor and clothing. Sorry for uh- babbling along there, I’m used to chatting storms up with my regulars. ‘

Morgan, often referred to as Spades within the Railroad despite everyone knowing his actual name, only ever seemed to come to Goodneighbor on business. A shame, since he rather liked the place. Dez had told him about Churchill, somewhat. The bare minimum really. She had said that he good at what he did, working in Goodneighbor, and that was about it. 

“Deacon is always spying on somebody, although I don’t think he realizes that once you get to know him, his disguises aren’t effective anymore.”

The new armor would be an immense help. Morgan had made his last set of leathers himself and while the quality had been tolerable, he was excited to have some gear made by someone who knew what they were doing. It took a swarm of feral ghouls for him to get new armor, one chomped right through his armor. It left him with a slight limp while as it had yet to fully heal, and as he walked over to offer Churchill an introductory handshake, he had to wonder what the feral that bit him had tasted. Did ferals even stop to consider whether or not something tasted good? 

“Shredded... yeah. It was already worn down, but that was the nail in the coffin for it. Thanks for making more. You’re a huge help,” he ran a hand through his hair as he spoke, grinning at Churchill. “Most of them call me Spades, but Morgan is fine. Feel free to talk as much as you like, I don’t get to enjoy casual chats all that often recently.”

He wouldn’t be surprised if Dez had described him to Churchill as bland. He  was largely monochromatic today, with the dirty red flannel and his dusty jeans. His light brown hair, slight tan, and coffee colored eyes made it so he didn’t stand out much. The splash of freckles across his nose was hidden by the dirt, since he had admittedly gotten into a scuffle or two on the way. If by a scuffle one meant blowing up a building... an empty one, of course! 

Nora remained quiet as Dallas spoke, her eyes fixated on her bowl of noodles. She let out a heavy, shaky sigh, and placed her elbows on the counter top. Digging the heels of her palms into her eyes, she shook her head. She should’ve gotten back to Zimonja months ago–but she’d gotten so caught up in tracking down her husband’s murderer, the abductor of her son…

Since waking up in this new world, Nora had made many friends. She’d formed a connection with so many people. Good, innocent, hard-working people who were only trying to get by. Every settlement she helped establish brought a new wave of tired souls and hopeful faces.

These goddamn Raiders…

Nora raised her head, looking in deep thought for a moment. She worried at her bottom lip until it was cherry red, and while she looked absolutely worn ragged, something in her posture turned to steel. She sighed and hopped off the stool, reaching down to hoist her pack up over her shoulder.

“Well, I guess I better hurry up and get some supplies. It’s a long walk from here to Zimonja.”

“If you give me a moment to sell this stuff and get some new supplies myself, I could come with. I was going to try to make a home there. My wife was killed by those raiders. If you feel you have to rebuild it... I want to help.”

A point blank admittance of his failure, it tore at his heart. But, having Nora understanding his motivation sounded like a good way of increasing the chances that she would permit him to help Zimonja. He needed to do it, not only for his wife and the settlers who died in the raid but for his son... so that they would have a place to return to. 

“I should have been there. To help fight them off. But at least they’re dead now. We should be able to fix things, make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Nora gave the man a smile–a genuine, kind smile. Even in this broken, damaged world, she still believed people deserved common courtesy. She shook her head as she began to dig in to her noodles.

“Nah, that’s fine. I appreciate it just the same, though.” She paused, setting down the bowl, turning her hazel-green eyes to really look at him this time. “Did you say Zimonja? I… helped start a little settlement there, a few months back… I haven’t had a chance to head back up there to check on everyone…”

She bit at her bottom lip, her appetite suddenly gone. The weight of the world was thrust upon her shoulders, once again, and she felt heavy with guilt. Being the General of the Minutemen was a full-time job, and there were people all over the commonwealth that desperately needed her help.

She shook her head, refocusing on the man beside her. Remembering her manners, she extended a hand.

“I’m Nora, by the way.”

“Dallas. Pleasure to meet you.”

He shook her hand, as was polite, before quietly returning to his own meal. But the news that she had helped a settlement there... a few months back... he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t aware of the settlement’s current status. He stayed silent for a moment, wishing he knew nothing and that he didn’t feel so obligated to tell her the bad news. 

“Nora, you should know... I don’t think many of the settlers made it out. I arrived there roughly a month ago with my caravan. We wanted to settle with them, turn Zimonja into a thriving trading post. I went to look for other near by settlements to try and make contacts. Took a few pack brahmin with me. By the time I came back, raiders had hit the camp.”

It had only been a few there, when he had come back. He assumed they were keeping control for the boss or something. He took those few out, and searched the outpost. He found his wife, dead, but his son was nowhere to be seen. Dallas chose to believe he survived. He had only mustered the emotional strength to go back about four days ago after failing to get help in Diamond City.

“I hadn’t gotten a good head count on everybody so I could be wrong... but the number of bodies suggested...” he trailed off, leaving her to fill in the rest herself.

“Down south, in the Empire Wastes.” Nathan found himself explaining the Empire Wasteland, specifically Broken Land, because few dares travel through the Bronx or Manhattan in order to reach it. The Bronx fell to the Super Mutants a hundred years ago, and Manhattan, close to the detonation site in the Hudson River, was home to few but the ferals and masochists. “Is south of Flatlands, down in the remains of a place called ‘Coney Island’. Is good town, hearty folk. We hunt the krub and trade to local settlements.“

Nathan enjoyed the tale he’d crafted of Broken Shore over the years. Few travelers dared make their way to Broken Shore, so the story was up to him. His home could remain the way he remembered it, and he liked it that way.

As bad as Nathan was with social cues, he couldn’t help but notice a pattern forming in his new friends tone.

“Friend, you do not talk very highly of yourself. Why you talk like this, you seem good enough to me.”

“Ah, I see. I’ve been around many places but... not there. And while I’m glad to hear I don’t strike you as all that bad, I’ve asked the locals too many questions. They’re too afraid of the Commonwealth boogeyman to bother with me anymore,” Dallas explained, wondering if that level of detail would suffice.

He wouldn’t feel right if he dragged this man, someone he had just met - and yelled at first thing, to top it off - into his personal problems. Hoping to keep from inconveniencing Nathan at all, Dallas sifted through the information he had been presented for a means of keeping the conversation on Nathan and Broken Land. 

“Krub is a new term for me, that colloquial? Ya know, kind of like a dialect thing?”

If only Dallas realized Nathan had his mirelurk pet with him. It would be a thing to envy, surely, that his companion was small enough to bring into the city. Dallas’ own beloved pet was none other than his favorite brahmin, who unfortunately was not very easy to travel with when he knew he was going to be fighting frequently. 

woman-out-of-time

Nora was tired. The kind of tired where you desperately need a beer, a bath, and a bed–in any order possible. She’d cleared out a group of super mutants that were terrorizing one of her settlements, barely escaping with her life. She’d come back to Diamond City to restock and catch up with her dear friends, Piper and Nick. The tell-tale sound of a rumbling, hungry stomach hit her ears, and she realized it belonged to her own. How long had it been since she’d eaten?

She sighed and headed straight towards Power Noodles after entering the gate. It wasn’t the most nutritious food around, but it was readily available and a great deal better than baked bloatfly. The market place of Diamond City was busy as always, and the little eatery was no exception. She barely registered the annoyed sigh of the man seated on one of the stools, plopping herself down right beside him. She raised a brow at his question, looking at him with an almost amused expression before looking towards Takahashi, the ever-present Protectron in a chef’s hat.

“Nani shimasho-ka?” “Yes, please. Thank you!”

Nora smiled as the robot placed a bowl full of steaming hot broth and noodles in front of her, before looking towards the man to her side. The redhead felt particularly sassy today, and she paid no nevermind to the blood splatters on the fellow’s clothes. There wasn’t a lot that phased her, nowadays.

“No need to be rude, friend. I’ve got no intention of disturbing your peace, so long as you don’t disturb mine.”

It took him a moment to process that he had accidentally harassed someone who had no intention of harassing him in the first place. Shame on him. His misfortune did not excuse his rude behavior, he understood as much. With another heavy sigh and a sip of cola, he grimaced as he looked at the woman beside him. She probably wasn’t a bad person and she most likely was in the same boat as him. Tired and hungry. No sense causing her any further problems.

“Sorry miss, just a little sick of people looking at me like I suddenly sprouted another head. Shouldn’t’ve assumed you’d be the same but uh, ‘ere we are. I’ll make it up to you, if permitted,” Dallas offered, wanting to stay on decent terms with the few people in Diamond City who didn’t actively avoid him.

After pressing for information, when Nick and Piper both happened to be gone, many of the locals were wary of him. His poor timing had kicked him hard that last visit to Diamond City. Myrna seemed to hate him, but liked his supplies. Arturo was fine with him still. Most people though... they just seemed to assume Dallas was a harbinger of bad luck. 

I have three canon divergent “sole survivors.” Luke Husky, Clark Washington, and Yuri Khalski. These are my little headcanons about their reactions to Vault 111 or, wherever they survived from. 

Luke - Luke came out of Vault 111, having only recently moved to Sanctuary with his wife Meredith and his infant son, Madison (this is subject to change if Luke is interacting with another sole in a thread, he will have survived 200 years some other way). Upon losing his wife and child, he would be devastated. Even after falling in love anew and reuniting with a much older Madison, Luke would likely have taken the wedding ring from his wife and rushed off to try and find his son. He would let Shiloh and the Minutemen settle Sanctuary without any fight, but would ask they not touch anything in his house or Vault 111. 

He would come back later, repair his house as best he could, and remove everyone from Vault 111. After burying them all in separate, labelled graves, his house would become somewhat of a time capsule. Everything would be restored as close as it could be, nothing in his son’s room would be touched, and a small shrine to his wife would be set up in his bedroom. Something to make it feel like she was still there. Luke would likely spend a lot of time alone in that room, trying to make sure he never forgot a detail of her. 

Eventually, after finding his son, he would clear out that room and turn it into whatever space was practical for him. It would take the help of friends and whoever helped him move on and love again to get him to be ready to put the past behind him. Eventually, only keeping the holotape she left him, Luke would move to Far Harbor with his new spouse. 

Clark - Clark, Luke’s best friend from their military days, was unmarried and without children. He survived in a different vault, via some different methods. As a result, he wouldn’t mind Vault 111 as much, although once everything was cleared out of the vault... he might be tempted to break the elevator controls. Just to keep unsavory types out. If brought back to where he had been kept, Clark wouldn’t be sad so much as wildly uncomfortable. Uncomfortable because he doesn’t remember what happened, uncomfortable because he swears he shouldn’t have survived, and uncomfortable because he feels there are other people who should have been lucky enough to survive in his place. That he didn’t deserve a second chance in a world that is, quite frankly, easier for him. If anyone went with him, it would be easy to see his feelings. Dazed, confused, and a bit bitter. 

brokenshoreman

He pulled off his worn leather glove, extending his hand. “Nathan Cyclone of Broken Shore. Is good to meet you, my friend.” The hunter still found himself wrapping his head around the world of the Commonwealth. So much more vibrant, so full of life. Broken Land stood as  a husk of a once proud city, with little life between settlements.

Takahashi placed the noodles down in front of Nathan, speaking a language he’d never heard before. The man simply nodded, taking a bite from the hot soup. His eyes lit up with delight.

“I will be taking your advice. I have friend in town I must visit, and some goods I must acquire, but I will not be ruffling feathers.” He slurped down another bite of his ramen.

“Tell me friend, is all food this good in this city?”

“Broken Shore, huh? Where’s that at?” Dallas inquired, wondering if there was a settlement over there he could do business in sometime. 

Visiting a friend and getting supplies, was he? A much kinder reason than Dallas’ own, which oddly relieved the trader. He felt... glad... that Nathan seemed not to have come to Diamond City hunting for a lost loved one or fleeing a tragic event. His new dinner companion seemed content with his meal to top it off, the joyful look on his face causing Dallas’ to crack a smile.

Shaking Nathan’s hand, he took a moment to think about his question. He had been in Diamond City several times but never really stuck around. The last time he’d been there, trying to ask questions, no one had been around to help him. He’d heard talk about a nosy reporter and an old synth detective who might be able to help but had yet to bump into either of them. They had been gone his first time in and after asking everyone he saw if they had seen or heard anything that could help him... well, the residents of Diamond City were no longer very welcoming. They would buy his goods, stare at him curiously, and judge him from a distance... not talk to him. Aside from a few, that was.