Who cares about the clouds when we’ere together?

Well, disappointingly there will be no new hat for me. What I did win was a big hole in my balance-sheet. I did manage to hit it big a few times, but whatever caps weren’t lost on roulette and blackjack were instead squandered on booze. On the bright side, it has been one HELL of a week.

It’s not a big problem to be low on caps, as my contracts around Freeside are still keeping me in food and water, but a man needs spending money.

“I got me a terrible thirst. Man cannot survive on alcopops alone”

“I got me a terrible thirst. Man cannot survive on alcopops alone”

I consider doing another job off of Ms McLafferty’s list of Crimson Caravan jobs… there is a request for corporate espionage (which just seems far too dangerous for me to meddle with) or a negotiation with Sharon Cassidy for the purchase of her company, Cassidy Caravans. I’m friends with Cass, but she’s all the way down south, and I’d really prefer a little something a little more local… or something that feels a little less betray-y.

“In a way, isn’t it MORE courageous to stand up for your convictions? Even if your only real conviction is cowardice?”

“In a way, isn’t it MORE courageous to stand up for your convictions? Even if your only real conviction is cowardice?”

With no obvious work on the horizon, I spend the next few days drinking my way through my stockpile of spirits while I sit about and feel sorry for myself.
With Lily dead, Veronica gone and his only companion a floating beach-ball, Joe has a fair bit to be pensive about. Sure, I have acquaintances at the Atomic Wrangler, but it’s just not the same.

I try to read through the various books and manuals Veronica and I gathered while prospecting, but more often than not I’m tempted into drinking or gambling instead. Far from the wild times of the previous week, my gambling is limited to small side bets and chump change.

When I run out of spirits and get down to nothing but beer, I know it’s time to stop wistfully mooning about and make some changes.

“I... I’m not that desperate… … … Yet.”

“I… I’m not that desperate… … … Yet.”

My mind drifts back to the Happy Trails Caravan ad that’s been playing on the radio fairly insistently. They specifically stated that they were looking for prospectors, couriers and traders to join them. And I’ve had experience as a prospector, a courier and a trader… sometimes I was even competent.

Of course, the plan was to set up my own store… but that’s clearly not happening. And as long as I’m doing odd jobs, I may as well look into this. It’s got to be safer traveling with a big group, right?
And it’ll be nice to explore outside of this sandy wasteland.

I spend a day or two gathering details.
It seems I’ll fit the bill nicely, and they have actually been looking for someone with a Pip-boy that can chart the paths north. The downside is that Ed-e seems to freak them out, so he’ll have to hang about here until I come back. Also, there is a weight limit on how many provisions we can pack, and I’m way over it.

With the limit on provisions, I pay one last visit to the Follower’s Safe House.
I may have magical pockets, the insides of which are able to bend time and relative dimensions in space, thereby allowing me to carry an amazingly disproportionate amount of gear; however the owner of Happy Trails is very concerned about weight, not just mass. And it turns out that while my pockets can store an almost infinite amount of gear, my pants seem to take on the combined weight of all the items stored within said labyrinth pockets.
The only solution is to stash my gear away here.

“Home is where you stash your loot.”

“Home is where you stash your loot.”

I have to be merciless on myself. I limit myself to three guns, ammo, a few doctor’s packs and then as much food and water as I can pack in. Once I’ve put all the rest of my stuff in storage I’m ready to rock and/or roll.

I bid goodbye to Ed-e and away I go!

“Howdy, friend. Heard my little broadcast, did you?"

“Howdy, friend. Heard my little broadcast, did you?”
“Yeah, what could go wrong?”

Yeah… What’s the worst that could happen?

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One Response to “Who cares about the clouds when we’ere together?”

  1. I see the little TARDIS reference you slipped in there~

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