Diamond City Blues

[Big Chief]

[Diamond City Radio]​

"The great green jewel," Big Chief murmured as he moved for cover from the rain. The gate of Diamond City was raised, but it wouldn't be for long. Once night settled in the security team would lock the city down for the night and withdraw their patrols.

While the monster green color scheme of the walls were an odd sight to behold, Big Chief didn't have time to dally and appreciate the scene. The lumbering giant took his brahmin by the leash and led her in to shelter, she couldn't go into the city but she could stay in the gatehouse.

Once inside he gave the security officer at the desk a polite nod. He unloaded his fur coat from his shoulders and swept her down with a quick swipe of his hand. He withdrew his hat and gave her a quick shine with some spit and elbow grease.

His clothes were about as clean as they could get in the Commonwealth. "Chief... you know you can't keep your brahmin in the city right? The old mayor banned your girl..." the nervous security officer chirped from behind his desk.

Ira Hayes gave Sally, his brahmin, a quick appraisal. She was loaded with dynamite, mines, grenades and just about anything that could explode. After all, that was his trade. He sold 'boomers.'

"The old mayors ousted and Sally needs to stay indoors. It's my job to sell my goods, it's your job to make sure she doesn't explode," Hayes retorted. He pulled his cloak and hat back on and moved for the steps. Not a second later and the gate began to close.

The rain was coming down in buckets tonight. The ground was muddied and Hayes was forced to keep to the tin-roofing footpath that winded its way through Diamond City. The Dugout wasn't far now.

He was here for two new caravan guards, both had died during a hold up by raiders in Libertalia. While Libertalia was immense for a raider stronghold, they weren't smart. Once they realized Sally was primed to explode and take down every living soul in a five kilometer radius if a stray bullet caught her they decided against shooting Hayes and Sally. Unfortunately by the time they realized that the guards were already gunned down.

The Indian Ira Hayes pushed his way into the Dugout, the door was snapped at the hinges but gaffer tape was still keeping her in place. While he loved a good drink, he always kept a bottle or two on him. He didn't like the steep prices of bars. With a quick movement his hand was suddenly occupied by a whiskey bottle he had stashed in his coat.

 

[Wesslie Khel]

"So what you're tellin' me is, Lockjaw is gonna rig the election."

The man settled across the table gave a quick, feverish nod of his head, as though imparting some great wisdom. Sitting opposite the waif was a stocky man with rust colored hair and a tangled beard, tired eyes heavy with the passage of years looking on stoically through the smoke of half a San Francisco Sunlight.

He'd found a box in the upper stands, faded and old, but they still smoked so what did he care. Adjusting the set of his leather jacket across his chest, he shrugged. "Nothin' I didn't already know." He growls, pulling the cigar out of his lips to down a gulp of clear from the jar his hand was wrapped around.

A hand covered in what appeared to be a black tactical glove. His entire left arm appeared to be covered in matte black combat armor, while the right was only covered on the flank of his upper arm. Olive pants were tucked neatly into what appeared to be old military boots, and the hunting rifle - scoped and suppressed - was set near a six shooter on his hip.

"Oh cmon, it's gotta be worth somethin'."

Shooting the junkie a glare from across the booth, the aforementioned waif scurried away lest Wess decide he didn't like him anymore. He wasn't known as a violent man, but he was known as a grumpy one. It was often easy to confuse the two. Especially with that NCR Ranger helmet and breather set on the table within easy reach.

It appeared to be a trophy, just like the black Brotherhood of Steel combat armor strapped to the middle of his chest. Faded, chipped, and worn down by time, it nonetheless looked like it could stop a few bullets or a laser. His appearance was haphazard, cobbled together from what he could find.

Just like anyone else in the Wasteland.

 

[Big Chief]

With many notable residents of Diamond City gone or dead, the Dugout was without an owner and a barkeep - and so the people volunteered. Those who did shifts kept the turn-over profits they made that shift, while the rest was used for buying more products from caravans selling booze, or scavs trying to sell old bottles they found in the ruins of Boston.

"Big Chief," tonight's bartender called. Ira didn't recognize him, but that wasn't unusual. He had traveled hundreds of miles, met hundreds of people. After awhile of being a travelling caravan you began to forget faces. They all blurred together. Those Ira recalled were the nice ones, and the raiders. Everyone else he didn't care to remember. A quick wave of Ira's bottle and the bartender gave up on trying to persuade him to a drink.

Ira's keen eyes darted through the room. There was about five people at the Dugout this night, a big night by any standard. When a junkie shoved his way past the Big Chief, his eyes followed from where he had fled. NCR ranger helmet, he recognized it instantly. As a slave of Caesars Legion, Ira had several close encounters with men of their ilk.

But this wasn't a ranger. The NCR hadn't traveled this far out, and a man that can gun down a ranger was a man he would want for his caravan. More-over he also adorned a Brotherhood combat chestplate. He looked the mercenary type, the dangerous type. Ira Hayes made his way for the table, introducing himself as he took it upon himself to sit down. "Ira Hayes, demolition expert, caravaner, people call me Big Chief."

[member="Wesslie Khel"]

 

[Wesslie Khel]

The haze of smoke hung about his weather-beaten features, tired eyes of brilliant emerald hefting as the Native American came his direction. He didn't seem to stir when the 'Big Chief' sat down, but his right arm did default to lounging on the backrest of the chair, carefully positioned to allow him to pull his sidearm at a moment's notice.

A cautious move, and one born of necessity.

"Wess, don't you start nothing." Said the Bartender, though it sounded more like a measured jest than an actual order. Wess was a tired man, and he didn't pick fights.

But the Commonwealth had taught him that fights find you, and you should always be ready to win them. Hence his actions. Broad shoulders straining against the leather jacket he wore, he sighed at the figure across from him. "I know who ya are." He says in an exhausted manner, as though he'd spoken to far too many people today for his liking.

His voice was the distant rumble of thunder out on the Glowing Sea, weighed down by the gravel of a habitual drinker of clear - the moonshine one could sometimes find around the place. "You got the brahmin that could take down the Mass Fusion building if it gets nicked.

What do you want?"

Everyone was out for something in this place, may as well cut to the point. Wess, for his part, never came across his mean. Surly, perhaps, but more often than not... gruff. He didn't mince words, and expected others to give him the same courtesy. It's why he hadn't rebuffed the man sitting down across from him.

[member="Big Chief"]

 

[Big Chief]

The barkeep inadvertently introduced the man across from Ira, Wess. Whether it was a jest or an order, Ira felt comfortable. Barfights weren't unheard of, and while Ira wasn't a hotshot with his fists, he knew security was only around the corner. He was a trader, and Diamond City liked to keep their traders happy. The bottle of whiskey helped to calm his nerves.

He took a swig of the caramel liquor, burning his throat as he did so. He dipped his head along to the mans words as Wess informed him he was aware of who Big Chief was. His eyes gave an appraising look, "You look like you could do with a few extra frags, maybe a boom-thrower if you got the caps - but I'm not here to sell you my wares, unless I have something you need."

The boom-thrower was an invention of Hayes, well known among raider factions. It was a sports javelin with a landmine attached by duct-tape. It wasn't the more sophisticated and reliable tech he had to sell, but they worked.. sometimes. Other times the raider was blown up before he had a chance to throw the javelin.

Wess was quick to the point, he wanted to know what Big Chief wanted out of him, and with little other opportunities in the bar, Wess was the only choice to ask about being a guard. "My two guards died at Libertalia. Bartering got hot, they got shot. I need a new guard, someone to watch me sleep who won't run away with my goods. I can provide canned water, dog food and some cooked meat if we find dogs or radroaches. I do have a few cans of spaghetti, not that I would trust eating it after two-hundred years. Other than that, I can give you a percentage of my earnings, but you provide your own guns, ammunition and whatever-else. Interested?"

[member="Wesslie Khel"]

 

[Wesslie Khel]

If Wess was his only choice, he was about to find out he was out of options. The man snuffed out the Sunlight and rolled his shoulders before his emerald hues slipped down to stare at the table while the left side of his mouth quirked up at some mental amusement. "Unless you're looking to be escorted out of the Commonwealth, I ain't your man."

And that was true.

He escorted people - he was no caravan guard. "So nah, can't much say I'm interested. Best of luck in your search, though." Hefting the jug of clear, he took a swish and let it slip down his throat with a vague sigh of satisfaction. "All I'm good for right now is conversation, I'm afraid." A hand came up, scratching beneath that matte-black chestplate with the sword and gears stenciled on the front.

His hands came up, brushing themselves together as his eyes briefly drifted close and he settled into the warmth of the drink. He wasn't drunk, but it was clear he'd had a bit before [member="Big Chief"] had rolled up. "As for your wares, I don't have much use for explosives. Draw too much attention."