“ c'mon dogmeat! — there might be survivors. ” and if there is, she's got to find them (that's your whole deal, isn't it? fucking goody two-shoes. even after all these years, even a deathclaw can't change their colour.) so her worn boots bang against the metal flooring, gun awkwardly held with one arm, the other directing dogmeat to sniff some bodies— but nothing comes of it. they're all dead. (and so you scavenge. you have your morals but you're not stupid. survival is a must.)
and then... she hears the alarm of a vault door open. her pale brows scrunch together, looking to the nearest map. (interconnecting vaults... how curious, you think.) plastered all brightly, that sickening yellow— so fucking familiar, all bright and cheery bullshit. and then she steps closer, watching the locks open and—
a moment of darkness. then the light bleeds through. the next vault and she stares wide-eyed, dog to one side with a gun in her arms.
there's a girl. there's a whole collection of clean cut vault dressed motherfucker's... and a girl in a wedding dress. (and she's looking right at you.) “ ... if i would have known i was getting married, i'd have dressed better. ”
