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@synthvictoriam
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Is anyone still around on the rp side of things?
As timid or, more accurately, uncertain as the Miss-Nanny-turned-synth could be, she was surprisingly forward as she approached Danse.
“I ‘ave a question for you,” She began, looking up at the Brotherhood of Steel paladin. “You know Monsieur Nate has asked me to accompany the two of you as well, oui? And I ‘eard you two are going to visit a Brotherhood controlled settlement. I need to know: are you going to sell me out as a synth or non?”
@synthvictoriam
“Perhaps, but any doubt for yourself is surely self-inflicted.” Any attempts to remain innocent in appearance as to to having any part of her frustrations were likely to fail. But would he be at fault? Not in his own eyes.
As timid or, more accurately, uncertain as the Miss-Nanny-turned-synth could be, she was surprisingly forward as she approached Danse.
“I ‘ave a question for you,” She began, looking up at the Brotherhood of Steel paladin. “You know Monsieur Nate has asked me to accompany the two of you as well, oui? And I ‘eard you two are going to visit a Brotherhood controlled settlement. I need to know: are you going to sell me out as a synth or non?”
@synthvictoriam
“I’m sure Nate would find quarrel with me should I so much as even whisper your origin to my other comrades.” He was just a tad taken aback by how bold the synth doctor that he looked down upon had chosen to be this evening. Some nerve was certainly involved. “If anyone was to sell you out it would be your own doing, considering your naivety.”
Wheeze
I lied Im still not back wowowow

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Wheeze
o-rusted-heart:
Nick was quiet as he stared up at the former Paladin, then down to his hands. He understood why Danse didn’t take the seat– he was a man of action, while Nick Valentine did his best thinking sitting and calm.
The question wasn’t unexpected, but it still took some time to mull over. Honesty or optimism. “…It’s hard. It’s real hard.”
“But some days are harder than others. Some days it’s about making your own memories instead of living off another’s. …And some days it’s okay if you just don’t want to get up.”
“...Most days it seems impossible to get up. Lately it feels more that it’s every day I struggle.” Not to mention the nightmares that plagued him more often than he wished to admit. Many of them involving either his past; the history embedded in him originating from his human counterpart, or the people within Sanctuary that he was coming around to see as family; being destroyed. And Cutler’s demise.
Danse pursed his lips, brows furrowed together so tightly they nearly become one. A tear escaped the eye opposite his companion, as he still faced the horizon, and he quickly lifted his smoking hand to wipe it away, hiding the movement as just placing the cigarette between his lips again. He was never the feeling type. Preferred to keep emotion to himself, having seen many examples of what happened when left unchecked. To top it all off, what robot felt such things? Even Nick, who looked far less passable than he, appeared to share a similar mental, emotional capacity. He angled his face toward the detective once more, only just enough to keep the fresh tear stain to himself. “..Valentine, it would seem that you’re right. We do have a lot in common, despite our... differences.” Danse struggled to keep his voice level. Images of both what he could only assume were his late human memories and his own recent nightmares flashed in the back of his mind.
synthmama:
“–Figure of speech, big guy.” He’s a hard read, she’ll give him that much. She’s inspecting the damage done to the armor with folded arms. The pincer of an assaultron had broken off in the shoulder joint of the armor during the last fight. Even with the armor, she can just barely register the dull ache of bruised bone and muscle. “There was a settlement nearby the thing. Better to fix up some busted armor than have to bury innocent people. What do you recommend I need to fix this?”
“..I gathered as much. Had to play along.” Thickheaded as he was, sarcasm was something he was... at least learning to work around. Between the Vault Survivor and his own Scribe Haylen, he had to learn quick.. though it has still taken him years to figure out Haylen and pick up those hints. “Ah, a noble cause, though no less reckless...” He paused to look the armor over thoughtfully, shifting within his own. “You can get away with some scrap from fallen Vertibirds I suppose, the metal from those are a bit stronger than what yours is constructed of. But if there’s frame damage you may need to find another set of Armor to pull scrap from.”
Unfortunate, how he shared so many features and weaknesses with the latest gen 3 synths that he pursued across the Capitol Wasteland. It was how he blended in at his best.. but how he failed at his worst. This attack would have been such a minor hiccup if it weren’t for the pain he felt on each impact. The sting of every laceration.
The injection of a stimpak.
Danse kept what little distance he could between them, his chest heaving with every breath as he studied the stranger. He could see she was repulsed, but.. she also didn’t flee nor attack. And Danse couldn’t be sure if he should be concerned.. was she also a synth or was she a synth sympathizing human?
“This is precisely.. where I should be.” he coughed and spit blood to the side, lifting a hand to wipe the remaining droplets from his mouth. “My quarry is somewhere in this region.”
“… Can I get you a ladder so you can get off my back?”
“Being on your back would be impractical, given the Power Armor. But no, I refuse to back down from my stance; you should not have acted so recklessly with the armor you had. How are you to hunt a Deathclaw now?”

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Danse seemed to have a bad habit of walking in on folk that always thought they were alone. When really they rarely are, the way the Paladin patrolled the settlement. Most things he interrupted immediately, shooing them on to their tasks they had at hand - but this, was a scene he truly found both amusing and.. intriguing.
“No more than a moment.” He assured her - though it may have been a little longer. In reality, he’d heard the music accompanying the smell of something cooking (that wasn’t Preston’s Radroach steaks) and was naturally curious. “No no Sturges didn’t send me. I was.. making my rounds, heard the music.”
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The need to write - is strong.
Jamaica plain was a disaster. Curie had spent much too long looking for a treasure that only supposedly existed. She'd been bound and determined to find it, both to help preserve it before raiders could get their hands on it, and to study it. It was a prewar treasure, something that helped show what was important to people at that moment in time. But now? Two weeks into this seemingly fruitless endeavor, even Curie and her consistent positive attitude had taken a mental and emotional beating. She was ready to throw in the towel, stop skirting around the town's edges to avoid the ghouls and raiders that stalked the area's buildings, and move onto something more scientific in nature.
She'd given this her best shot, hadn't she? At what point did this become a sunk cost fallacy? The synth gathered her supplies, with a good portion of them gone, used up in the weeks she'd spent here, it was just another sign to leave and recoup rations and even ammo.
The scientist slung her pack over her shoulders, heading out of the home she'd been taking shelter in, freezing in the doorway at the sound of fighting. Perhaps...she could wait it out, there was no sense in her running headlong to her death when it was likely some raiders running into a pack of ferals. The synth shut the door, remaining in the building. The fighting lasted much longer than she'd expected, whatever they had been shooting at had put up one hell of a fight.
The synth waited a few minutes before heading out, hurrying along the shadows and sticking close to walls to avoid being seen. It was only when she came across a few blood splatters--obviously recent from the way they hadn't even coagulated yet--that her pace slowed. The woman looked around, careful to stay quiet up until she spotted someone--a man, and he definitely looked nothing like a raider.
Throwing caution to the wind the synth hurried over to him. "Oh my," Curie breathed, practically throwing off her pack to retrieve her medical supplies. "Are you still with me, Monsieur?" She questioned, voice soft as she looked over the damage.
@synthvictoriam
His eyes darted between both of hers, brows furrowing with disgruntled confusion as he processed what was happening. Danse knew exactly what she was speaking of, but didn’t really see how it applied to him. He was conscious, and as he had stated - fully functional, to a point. For a split second his vision hazed not unlike one of the Institute computer screens when they bugged out and he put his face in a hand, shaking his head. Dark hair once slicked back now draped around his face, drenched with blood like the rest of him.
He did respond with an angry shout at the stimpak, shifting away from the stranger to the best of his ability. Okay, something was broken, and he wasn’t just slipping in the blood and mud. Inconveniently, he was effectively incapacitated. “I am unit M7-97, deployed in the Capitol Wasteland to reclaim unit F4-32.”
Continued from here with @synthvictoriam
“That’s exactly how that works.” he threw aside the dead ghoul he’d finished off, glancing around for any more before turning to the bite one had landed on his arm. “Guns work a little better on ghouls than brute force. You’re not going to do much.”
"So is the unnecessary bravado a paladin thing or a guy thing because I need to know how to tackle this nonsense exactly." Veronica would have rolled her eyes if the situation hadn't been so serious; for now, biting sarcasm would have to do.
"Yeah, your guns worked super well, that's why you need a patch job." Veronica grimaced at the bite, "Lucky for you, Big Guy, I have some Radaway on hand. I'm no doc, but I can do that much."
She glanced around as well, she'd need to make this quick in case any ferals were still around and decided they wanted to play too. For the moment it looked clear, so the ex-scribe slung her pack off of her shoulders and dug around for the Radaway, and a bit of gauze. A mediocre patch job was better than nothing.
"You're just saying my weapon of choice is useless because you're jealous you can't knock a ghoul's head off and send it flying a whole fourty feet like I can."
“Hmn. I may know someone.” someone he preferred to avoid, but was still a valuable resource in a medical setting. He hadn’t exactly been fond of Nathan’s decision to assist the doctor he knew, at least in the beginning. But she tended to make more sense to the entirety of Sanctuary than any book they brought home to try and preserve and understand knowledge on the same level as the Brotherhood. “And I suppose.. you’re welcome to shoot your shot at Sanctuary, get you started.”
Her next question made him pause, and he looked over her with clear confusion and disdain. How did she not know what a synth was? Wasn’t she Brotherhood too? “Synths are.. they appear human, at least some do, and were created by the Institute to infiltrate and destroy civilization in the Wasteland.”
@synthvictoriam.
He’d seen the former paladin around Sanctuary, but it was clear avoidance on either side. Still, Nick couldn’t help his curiosity, or his friendly streak. Next time Danse passed by where he sat on a lawn table, Nick pushed the other chair out with his foot.
“You need a breather, Danse? Maybe you got a minute.”
He opened his mouth to add something, but thought better of it and averting his eyes, settling for gazing forlornly at the horizon. Maybe he was being a stick in the mud about their differences.. because Nick’s story did sound an awful lot like his own. Only thing left was Nick could differentiate between his name/identity-sake, at least to a point, which memories are past and not his own... and which are present.
Danse’s was a little more seamless, at least as far as he could remember. It was infuriating how little he could be sure was his own. And how much actually belonged to the flesh and bone, late Danse that preceded him. He shook his head with a heavy sigh, glancing back up at Nick. “How do you do it? Go day to day, knowing what you are. And finding so much you think was your own mind... was actually another’s?”

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@synthvictoriam
Goodneighbor afternoons were a lul in customers for Kay, the few people who wake up early have already stopped in and the evening crowd for dinner and deserts not coming in till much later in the day he usually spent this time baking or reading the paper. It’s because of this that he looks up in surprise when he hears the soft jingle of the bell indicating that a customer had entered. He emerges from the back room to see a man he’d never seen before looking sort of lost.
“Hello, can I help you sir?” He chimed up, voice laced with curiosity. He enjoyed meeting new people.
He hadn’t exactly expected the building to be so brightly occupied... or filled with sweeter scents than he was accustomed to amidst the Wasteland. Danse had simply needed off of the street, a reprieve from the outside hustle and bustle of a primarily low town from his usual perspective. He started, eyes darting up and locking on the stranger behind the counter.
He hadn’t expected someone to be here. “Depends on the level of help you’re capable of offering. If it involves removal from the Wasteland, at the very least.” The Sole Vault survivor spared his life... but he really didn’t feel that he needed it.
i was trying to write threads last night, passed out, and now i have chips, dip and alcohol tonight so we’ll see what happens.