Just another way to survive

“So, like I said, let’s say I believed you on all of this. What the hell does that make me then? I know I’m from 2009 and was just in Savannah, so how the fuck have I ended up in D.C. circa two-thousand-two hundred-and-fucking-eighty here with you? Whoever the hell you are.”

  --"I have never met anyone from the South. Only people who've been down there.  And if you know the South, and really are from Georgia as you claim to be, then it explains your obvious lack of sanity.  From what I've heard of the... local fauna down there, that's not on my list of places to see."  She paused, letting that sink in before rolling her eyes.  "Gee, think I like being yelled at by someone who has a severe problem with keeping track of time?  Especially when that someone is someone I don't know?  Nor care to know?"  The hell was with this guy?

"Civil Emergency and Defense Agency, bullshitting government organization meant to keep shit together but fail horribly at it because they lie out of their asses like all government bastards do. I said 2009 because that’s what year it’s supposed to be, yeah I get the days feel long as hell in an apocalypse but they’re still days, not years or months. The hell is a PIP-boy— … Lemme see that.” He reached out for her arm that held the huge clunky looking watch, which he guessed was what she was talking about. Sure enough, a quick look confirmed it said 2280, just great. “Okay… maybe I’ll try and believe that bit, but it’s a long shot. I meant, Sherlock, that the gear itself looks damn old, maybe not the condition but the make of it for sure. I still got no clue what you mean by that, all I know is Infected and Special Infected, and none are ‘sane’.”

  --"Alright, let me just breeze through your misguided statements.  One: obviously, if you consider yourself to have been in two-thousand-fucking-nine then there wouldn't have been texts on the Blue Flu since it appeared in the '50s, like I said.  Two: CEDA.  Sounds like Enclave.  You sure you're not giving them the wrong name?  Three: well no shit the gear looks old, it was designed in the '70s, near the end of the war and the world.  If you want newer armor, get leather armor; that shit's patched together from skin.  Have fun with it.  Four: you must be on some incredibly strong chems to think there are 'Infected' around here, or even 'Special Infected.'  They don't sound like anything I know of, and you're still not making a lick of fucking sense.  Do you need to sober up or something?"  Lillith snorted, shifting the way she stood.  "Excuse me while I slip into the dialect of the Wastelanders 'round here, but you definitely ain't sober, and my reasoning is 'cause you ain't making sense whatsoever.  Kindly jump in the Potomac, would ya?"  Maybe the Mirelurks will get him.  ...Hopefully.

“Former United States of America? I think CEDA would’ve mentioned the deconstruction of a country and destruction of the world in one of their transmissions, a little 'Hey, shit's fucked worse than we thought' before taking one to the head over the radio for all the kiddies to hear.  Wait— Okay now I know you’re fucking crazy; The country is only around two hundred and thirty years old right now give or take, because last I checked it was 2009.” It felt like he was helping a kid who had a few too many spiked Monsters with their history homework. It was getting annoying, but thankfully he’s learned to tolerate annoying. “Scavenging I believe, military I believe, whatever the hell a Raider is— fine, but that looks like some oooold issue gear, what, you scavenge a museum for it? Killing and taking riot gear from a zombie would’ve been way more worth it and time saving, trust me.”

  --"Now you sound even more insane.  The fuck's a CEDA?  And what did you do to make yourself believe it was two-thousand-fucking-nine?  That number's more random than fucking Talon Company.  I get it if you had said something within the 2070s, because there are plenty of schizos who think the war never happened, but 2009?  Really?  Haven't you even looked at a calendar?  Preferably one of the computerized ones?  Because you look at one in a ruin, and it'll say October 2077.  You look at one like my PIP-Boy, and it'll say December 2280."  She let that last statement hang for a few moments, hoping it'd sink in and have him realize just what was going on.  No, it wasn't 2009.  It was 2280, you fucking asshat.  "Yeah, funny that.  I ripped this off of the back of some guy I killed, pried this gun from some dead Talon Company Merc's cold, dead hands...bought this...And nope, nothing came from a museum.  Because you're stupid to go into a museum, since they're usually infested with Super Mutants and Ghouls - and I mean both the feral and sane kinds.  Why the fuck would you scavenge in a museum, when you can go after towns?  Seriously, you're fucking stupid."

"Wastelander? The hell is that? And try a couple months, sweetie, I was up here before the infection started then stupidly left for the hell hole that is the south. I haven’t seen a ‘mutant’ since I got here, so hell if I fucking know. Wait. Nuclear attack? You telling me we got hit by a fucking nuke? Oh goddamit—” He let out a groan, sliding a hand down his face in disbelief. “I’ve seen plenty of gingers in my time, believe me, and I couldn’t give less of a fuck about some weird ass uneven tan, I meant the clothes and weapons.”

  --"Wastelander.  Someone who lives or travels through the wastelands that make up the former United States of America.  And yes, we were fucking nuked.  Like the rest of the god damn world.  And no, you couldn't have been here 'a few months ago' and have it still intact.  Unless, of course, two hundred years is your idea of 'a few months.'"  He really was mental.  This wasn't right, why didn't he know?  He must be mentally unsound.  Jesus Christ, who let him even hold a weapon!?  "And it's just stuff I found scavenging.  You know, old military stuff so I won't die because of the Raiders?  Because that's the worst fucking way to go."

"D.C.?" Nick questioned, wondering just how he had gotten that far off track, because last he knew they were heading for Orleans. The rest of what the girl said caught his attention, as did her attire and… just about everything around them. “I guess you could count me as one of the latter then, but I don’t think scavenging a store counts as stealing in a zombie apocalypse. Mind telling me what’s going on, because this ain’t the D.C. I remember and you don’t look like your average survivor.”

  --"Wait, hang on.  Let me get this straight.  You're a scavenger, yet you don't know that it's wastelander and not survivor?  And what, did D.C. change severely in the last five years or something?  Are the super mutants worse around here or something...?  Because I'm pretty sure the rubble caused from a nuclear attack can't change all that fucking much..."  She had to pause at his last comment, though.  "What, I don't look normal to you?  Is it the sunburns, or the fucking hair?  Pretty sure it's the sunburns."

  --"That's funny, because I was just about to ask the same thing myself," Lillith shot, glancing over the guy in front of her quickly to assess if he was dangerous or not.  ...Well, he was armed, but it didn't look like anything special.  "I mean really, the only suits you'd get up here in D.C. are the crazies who still think it's the 70s, or the even crazier manics who think they can just take whatever the hell they like.  Which are you?"

"Don’t worry. That’s not the only time nor will it be the last time I’ve heard that term referred to me before. No worries."

"It’s more creative than most insults I’ve heard from others. Hearing the same old tiresome bullshit of ‘bitch’ and ‘whore’ gets tired from time to time and thus made me prone to appreciate something more imaginative."

"I would hardly call it imaginative since I compared you to one of the Eldritch gods.  Nyarlathotep?  Ever heard of him?"