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simplegenius042 · 9 months ago

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Fallout 2 OC - Finidy Mona (The Chosen One)

More information under the cut:

Here's my Chosen One of Fallout 2, Finidy Mona, the 22-year-old granddaughter of Elrand Brandt, and the next Elder in line to lead the Arroyo tribe after her mother. After the recent passing of her grandfather, several failed harvests and rampant sickness take hold of the tribe, which leads Elder Mona to send out her daughter Finidy to retrieve the Garden of Eden Creation Kit (GECK) to save the village, and Finidy takes this as an opportunity to prove herself to her village and mother, despite having failed the Temple of Trials (to her credit she got halfway through it). With a deadline hovering over her, Finidy goes off into the Southern California Wasteland to retrieve the GECK and save her village in her grandfather's Vault 13 jumpsuit, his flask and a spear. If only New Reno crime bosses, gangs, fascist regimes and all sorts of monsters weren't in her way. But hey, at least she gets some help along the way.

Finidy is a quite the beautiful and healthy intersex woman at a height of 5 feet and 11 inches, with overgrown wild hair tied in a low bun, with enough energy that outdoes all the other villagers. She had inherited her grandfather's hazel eyes, with exceptional strength and dexterity towards the Wasteland's environment. Her wardrobe changes from her grandfather's jumpsuit to jackets and leather armour to fancy clothes given to her by the crime families and finally Enclave power armor while infiltrating the oil rig. She's pretty decent at keeping her hygiene up even in the Wasteland.

As Elder Mona's daughter, and the next in line to inherit the title of "Chieftess", she was taught everything she needed to be taught to do the title right and exceed her own mother. Her ability to communicate and mediate in conflicts is impressively thorough, and is the most combat, stealth and survival efficient of Arroyo, and her cooking is to die for. Finidy is also extremely creative, both in methodical plans and improvisation, and had gotten what her grandfather failed to receive; The Rizz (TM). Alert but not paranoid, Finidy is quite comfortable walking about without worry that an animal will attack her, and her luck wasn't as terrible as her grandfather's. Persuasive and literate, Finidy has a natural charm that just lures people in. However, future chieftess she may be, she is inexperienced with technology and the likes of children (though the latter isn't as bad as how Elrand viewed them).

Finidy's intellect, while not as advanced as her late grandfather, is still pretty impressive. Her spirituality is as high as her passion to help the village under any means necessary, and her humor can chink the armor of the most serious man (well... except one, though his status as "man" is debatable). Her anxiety only comes up during unexpected and/or high stress situations, which can waver her confidence, especially in regards to the deadline and retrieval of the GECK. When it's all over, while she's exhausted and saddened of what she's lost, she is still able to find the silver lining. Patience though... could be improved.

She's a lot more polite than her grandfather was, though she can't refuse a bite in her words when speaking to some... unpleasant individuals. Though naive and inexperienced in such a hostile world, Finidy is brave, while she would prefer a peaceful solution, she will not hesitate to use violence if she thinks its necessary or she believes the person deserves it. Finidy is impulsive, and often times agreeable. Though she starts overbearingly idealistic, Finidy manages to wring it back, but keeps her hope. Finidy manages to spend more caps that she really should keep for something else. Though having living in an isolated village for majority of her life, Finidy loves the outdoors and excels at talking with people. She's young, impulsive, the daughter of the chieftess and also related to the man who drove the Master to despair after pointing out super mutants can't clap cheeks... of course she's a bit wild. Finidy is ambitious in proving her mother and village proud, and is stubborn in achieving this goal, the crime families and Enclave be damned! Surprisingly, Finidy can get jealous easily, and is quite possessive over her lover/s.

Finidy is charismatic and empathetic, qualities she needed to learn as a future leader (though the only authority she will ever truly bow down to is that of her mother's), though she has quite a temper. Generous when she needs to be, and responsible enough to keep tabs on her wealth so she doesn't lose everything (despite being a big spender). Though, unlike her grandfather, she has a high libido, and gets around often. She's cute and flirty, but often times obedient (in a non-sexy way, though useless full disclosure, she is a bottom) to the whims of others, especially if they have something over her (though she gets back at them) and due to her village's isolation, is more gullible than her grandfather (though she slowly loses this gullibility like her grandfather... though it takes longer for her to get there until she reaches the Bishops).

Finidy kind of believes in higher powers? Like most of it is mixed in with the belief her grandfather is looking out for her, and some others she gains on her journey. A very big believer in fate and destiny, as well as magic. However, while she does believe there are people who are driven by maliciousness and greed, and not everyone is as noble and generous as they appear to be, she does try to believe there is an explanation for their evil deeds, but never excuses them (especially the likes of President Richardson and Frank Horrigan, as well as John Bishop). Finidy is under the belief her grandfather's spirit has blessed her with luck, though whether she believes luck and karma exist is entirely for convenience.

Finidy's top priorities are the survival of her family and home, and while on her journey, ensuring her companions and lover/s safety. She does her best to take care of her health, to reveal the truth and take into account other's opinions. While she is mindful of praise (a desire she used to want for but is replaced by the weight of responsibility and duty she knows she has to commit to), dispensing justice, and ensuring some wealth, they aren't top priority but if given the opportunity she tries. Power and fame are hardly what she wants and is a little annoyed she gets some of it anyway.

Her SPECIAL Stats include:

Strength (7), Perception (7), Endurance (4), Charisma (8), Intelligence (7), Agility (10), and Luck (6).

Tag Skills include:

Melee, Lockpick and Speech.

And lastly main Perks:

Magnetic Personality, Awareness, and Toughness.

Template below:

#fallout 2 #fallout #fallout oc #the chosen one #oc: finidy mona #series: a radioactive calamity of love bombs & gore #fc: jessica alba #fo2 the elder #oc: elrand brandt #dick richardson #frank horrigan #the enclave #john bishop #arroyo #new reno

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sassenashsworld · 2 years ago

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The living dead part 3/3

Hm... just to say if you don't realize a this point, I didn't intend to make a happy ending If you have a sensible soul, don't read the last part, it's not joy I don't have accomplish what I was seeking for, but then it's the end Did I have to spoil the beans to let you understand the death is ahead?

The woman’s throat laughter irritates the young at the most. With his hands still busy in the well exposed crotch in front of him, he gets angry and sends her a scathing slap. She reacts with an outraged scream, sending his beer to his face.

She leaves the room yelling at him with all the worst names her imagination can find. And a cowgirl from New Reno knows a lot of these common names.

But Shaun doesn’t care. He’s not in the mood. He is also not in the mood to bear the disapproving tsk of the old man who gives him an ironic look.

“Shut up, moron.” “I didn’t say anything, kid. And they say Myron. It’s the little girl Wright you just sent to pasture. I knew you had a certain wish to die, but I didn’t think you wanted to end it tonight.” “No Wright worthy of the name would dare touch the star shooter of the Van Graffs. They know they’ve done their time.” “If you keep doing this, you’ll do it ad patres pretty fast.” “So what?” “Nothing” the old man mumbles in his beer. “I just think it’s a shame.”

Shaun call the bartender to get a new beer. The man at the bar rushes to grant his request, especially because the young-who-doesn’t-age is known to have the trigger too easy, and too precise.

The young-who-doesn’t-age has become a kind of dark legend in the corner, a corner that is not the most recommended place of all the wastelands. He takes bullets without suffering and makes them back with formidable efficiency. Everyone fears him, without exception.

The first year, forcing his reputation with violence, he was often the victim of attacks. But his ability to come back again and again to point his way quickly went round. No one dares no more, in reality, to oppose him.

The Van Graffs, the rising power of New Reno, quickly understood he had to be counted as an ally. He easily tipped the scales to remove the last vestiges of power from other families. Now, almost every gambling joint and casino belongs to the Van Graffs. And everyone responds to the young-who-doesn’t-age if the Van Graffs have something to complain about.

The Wrights are still trying, sometimes, to stand up. The ones who are still breathing. Most have ended up at the end of the most treacherous rifle of the wastelands.

He would also be the loneliest and most isolated. If it wasn’t for that funny bird of Myron.

“I’ve known worse character than you. He always called me Moron. Just note he’s dead and I’m breathing.” “If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll fix this.” “And deprive the world of my fantastic new recipes? And deprive you of my fantastic new recipes?”

Shaun growls in his glass. No, he won’t shoot Myron. Never. Somewhere, the skinny old man reminds him of another skinny old man he knew. A skinny old man with his face half torn off, showing circuits and wires, a steel frame. A skinny old man not so skinny and not so old, but whose voice somewhere threw the same gall with the same sarcasm.

Myron is not Nick. Myron is the complete opposite of Nick. Myron is vicious, cowardly, profiteer, calculator. But he’s smart. That’s all Shaun needs; a conversation with someone who doesn’t have all the cells burned by drugs. A somewhat hoarse and ironic voice that sometimes makes him smile.

But not tonight.

Tonight, is the anniversary of Deacon’s death.

Tonight, is the anniversary of the end of his life that was promise to become a dream.

Tonight, is also the anniversary of his escape.

Ten years since he left Sanctuary. Ten long years without news of his own. Without seeking any either. Ten long years when he had turned his back on his mother, his friends, his city, his corner of the country, to expatriate in the worst spot he could find on his way.

In New Reno, no one had only heard of the Commonwealth, so there was no chance of hearing about the Sole Survivor or her companions. There’s no way anyone’s gonna end up reporting about him, no matter how extraordinary his reputation is.

He was sometimes afraid at first. The news travels so well between the Capital Wasteland and the Commonwealth. Could there be any chance this news could get into the Nevada? No. Nothing. Radio silence.

Shaun had been quiet for ten years.

Meaning, anything but quiet.

Like the mourning of his mother who had not been able to finish in three years, he could not put an end to the mourning of his mother even after ten years. He could not mourn his community, his lost life.

Deacon had been killed only five years after the destruction of the Institute, but those five years had been so beautiful, so hopeful, it was such a paradise for Shaun. The only time in his life he really lived.

After that, he existed.

Since then, he barely survived.

Tonight, is the tenth anniversary of his exile. He would like to find a drug strong enough, a powerful enough alcohol, to make him forget everything.

But even Myron’s science had its limits.

The cursed synthetic component in Shaun’s brain didn’t offer him the opportunity to truly savor the second state that drugs and alcohol should provide.

At Sanctuary, the slightly more deranged state of his senses had sufficed, but at New Reno, on the night of his balls-up birthday, he would love to blow his brains out and become as empty as the shells he sometimes helped the bouncer get out of the bar.

No chance.

He drops a deep sigh and Myron raises his eyes again. He is astonished. Of course, his companion is not a merry man, but he actually just never expresses anything. It’s the first time since they met that he heard him sigh. The thing yet banal for anyone is quite remarkable from his sidekick.

“You really want to die.”

Shaun frowns, placing the chin on the table.

Does he want to die?

Maybe.

At this point, why not?

What did his escape get him?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

He’s not at Sanctuary anymore, but he’s nothing either. A gun, a strange man, something we look at from a distance, who consumes alcohol, drugs and women but who does not really connect with anyone.

Except Myron. Myron the Moron. The man stupid enough to bond with the young-who-doesn’t-age. But is that a bond? When we do not talk about the past, the future, hope, dreams, joy and sorrow, can we say there is a bond?

Myron and Shaun meet at the bar in the evening. Myron shows Shaun his new products when he has them. They drink. They comment on what’s going on in the city. They split up for the night.

Shaun goes back to his apartment, alone. He lies down in his bed, alone. He rolls in a ball like the child he is at the bottom, alone. He cries himself to sleep, alone.

Can we really talk about a bond of appreciating a man just because he decimates others with a biting humor with a voice that vaguely recalls that of another person who was dear to Shaun’s heart?

No.

Myron is nothing to him and will never be anything. He’s just a voice at the bar. Like the bartender’s. Like the singer’s. A role in his life. Like old Van Graffs. But he feels nothing for him.

He could go back on the road the next day and leave without any regrets.

No regrets, not even the shadow of what seized him and never left since he left Sanctuary.

Sanctuary.

Shaun feels his lip shaking, his eyes blurring. Shit, of anything he could do tonight in this bar, crying is the worst.

Myron seems to be saying the same thing to himself, quickly grasping the bag that Shaun left on the ground next to him and posing it loudly on the table, hiding the face of the one whom he considers his friend from the other people in the room.

The last thing he wants is for the young to show weakness.

All the wolves in the area would make quarters.

“Get yourself together, kid. I don’t know what you have tonight, but you’re really going to give your enemies the motivation to find your breakup point.”

The bar door opens and closes. The chatter of the regulars is silent for a moment. They can hear the radio behind the bar. Some chairs slide.

A newcomer.

It’s always the same thing when a new guy comes around.

It’s almost like an event.

Of course, there are tourists in New Reno, but even the newest of all travelers learns in the first place to avoid this place among the worst famished.

So a newcomer is the most amazing event ever.

“Barman, a whiskey.”

Shaun’s gaze slowly follows the same direction as the others. He details the newcomer’s outfit, the gun hung on his back, the cap on his head.

How is that possible?

How is that possible, and how is it possible on the very evening of the tenth anniversary of his exil?

He takes a deep breath and slowly stretches his hand to his waist, grasping the handle of the .44 that waits quietly in his holster.

“Don’t do that, kid. We don’t know this guy. He may have a capsule reserve somewhere. It would be a shame to waste a potential customer.” “Trust me, Moron, if this one has capsules, he won’t give them to anyone.”

He tried to talk as low as possible, but a guy like that, he’s got a hell of a hearing. It allows him to hear his prey from a good distance and shoot them from the end of his cannon.

Because Shaun recognized Mighty. Anyone who has crossed MacCready’s path in the last fifteen years knows Mighty. The most stable and effective riffle in the Commonwealth.

And the sniper turns slowly, frowning, lips tight. If Shaun recognized his gun, the man recognized the voice that just spoke.

“Shaun. Finally.” “Nobody’s called me that for a good decade.”

The man nods slowly. The bartender places the glass of whisky on the counter and he takes it, releasing the few capsules the rotgut costs. He then moves slowly towards the table where Myron and Shaun are seated.

“Shaun?” old man is asking. “Is that your name?” “No. It’s the name of a kid who lived in his mother’s lap. He died, that kid.”

MacCready pulls a chair and sits slowly.

The look through it is too familiar for him.

He saw a so cold glare at one time. At a very old time. The cold glance of a relentless predator who had done everything to break every bond that bound him to something.

When Nora came back from Nuka-World, before Nick injected her with Amari’s serum, she had the same cold, relentless glance.

“We looked everywhere for you. We never gave up. I promised your mother if I didn’t find your body, I wouldn’t come back.” “Too bad for Duncan.”

A thin smile illuminates his opposite.

“Somewhere, no. I picked it up through the Capital. We’ve been on the road together ever since. He’s the best partner I’ve ever had. He makes his father proud.” “Then it’s even more unfortunate.”

The other two men around the table hear at the same time the gun is off. MacCready rushes to the ground and the bullet hits him in the thigh rather than in the abdomen. He manages to slip between two tables and grabs Mighty in motion.

“NO SHAUN!” “You never should have looked for me. You never should have found me. Now I can’t let you live. You’re going to reveal where I am. You’re gonna throw my mom’s dogs at me. I can’t let you.”

To his astonishment, Myron rushes into the line of fire. Shaun holds his finger on the trigger, a perplexed eyebrow rising in questioning.

“Don’t do that, kid. That would be stupid. This guy, what did he do to you? He found you for your mother? What, is she a terrible harpy somewhere miles from here? Send her a message instead. In terms of a message, I think you just found a good one. But kill it for no reason. That would be a shame.” “Is that all you have in your mouth tonight?”

He tries to squeeze his arm but Myron holds on. Despite his old age, he’s still in good shape and intends to prove it. Shaun grumble with annoyance.

"Get out, or your corpse will join his."

Myron raises his arms in the air, but he doesn’t move an inch.

“Don’t do that. Believe me, it would be a mistake. If after so many years the guy’s still on the road looking for you, they’ll be as determined to find out who shot him. I told you; I know the style of the house. I know the son of the house.”

Shaun stares at him for a long time, hesitating to make his decision. All the time it takes MacCready to get up hard, Mighty pointing at him.

“I can disable you without killing you, Shaun. You know that. Is that really what you want?”

An emotion emerges in Shaun’s brain he had not known it for years. Fear. Fear creeps in knowing that MacCready probably isn’t bluffing. He probably has Shaun’s deactivation code. He can use it at any time. He must shut it down first.

With a sharp gesture, he knocked down the handle of his .44 on Myron’s temple, sending the old man to the ground before he reacts and again points his gun at the sniper’s face. But the man is no longer there. Shaun looks left and right, but he doesn’t see MacCready.

Until a blade slips under his throat and a voice whispers in his ear.

“Let’s talk, kid. Okay?”

Rage is now taking over the synth. But not stupidity. He was never stupid. Or maybe, but not in that sense.

“You’re sneaky,” the younger says. “It’s funny you’re saying that.”

Shaun lets himself fall heavily on his chair, growling with anger while banging. The sniper doesn’t just have a good gun and his agility on his side, he has a code that could wipe out Shaun before he can pull a trigger. All he has left is to obey.

Like in Sanctuary.

And this time, thinking of his hometown, it is not pain that crosses it.

“Your mother shook herself” the other started by pulling a chair. “She finally woke up when each of her companions left the city, one after the other, in your footsteps.” “And so. All it takes is for one of them to die so she can start acting like a zombie again and I’ll be locked up again in the city walls. Too little for me. I got my life here and I’m not coming back.” “She is dead.”

Shaun was not expecting this. Of all what Robert Joseph MacCready could have said, this news is the only one that could destabilize the young. And it succeeds. Before he can hold him back, he feels a sob choking his throat and tears in his eyes. And immediately afterwards, shame. The man takes advantage of his moment of stupor to inject himself a stimpack in the leg.

“You’re lying” try Shaun in a pathetic attempt. “She died on the road. She died looking for you.” “You lie” he insists, threatening. “I wasn’t seeking for you to bring you back, I was seeking for you to tell you. She died eviscerated by a deathclaw barely a hundred kilometers west of Sanctuary. Curie could do nothing. I promised her on her last breath to find you and tell you. Her last words were for you. To tell you she loved you.” “She didn’t love me enough to wake up before!”

Myron finally shakes but quickly recedes when the young rises from a good of rage.

“She didn’t love me enough to want to move on! She didn’t love me enough to look at me! To talk to me!”

Tears flow down his cheeks this time without he tries to hold them back. They are tears of rage, anger, resentment.

“She loved you enough to turn the Commonwealth upside down to find you. Twice. She loved you enough to leave everyone she loved, everything she knew, to find you. She loved you enough to have her thoughts turned entirely to you at the last moment of her life.”

Shaun again pointed his revolver at lightning speed at MacCready’s face. MacCready just looked at the barrel with a dull expression. The bar door opens again, and an anxious voice rises in the room.

“Dad? What’s going on?”

Shaun looks sideways towards the last one. A young man, about in his twenties, holds his hand on the door of the bar, staring with horror at his father, who finds himself pointed by a gun.

“That’s okay, Duncan. We found the one we were looking for. But he’s a little emotional, as you can see.” “Duncan?” “Shaun?”

The young man walks into the room, worried. Despite the anxiety that twists his features, Shaun finds him exactly like his father. He lowers his gun again. He’s become a lot of things over time, a lot of bad things, but cold-bloodedly killing an innocent, an innocent man that he valued as a family member in his old life, under the eyes of his son, is too much, even for the son of a bitch he’s become.

MacCready picks up his whiskey glass and empties it with a draft. Then he gets up.

“I’ve accomplished my mission. Don’t worry, no one will come after you. You can lead the life you want.”

He gets ready to follow his son, then, as if something had just hit him, he holds his hand to his jacket pocket and pulls out an object.

“I was going to forget. I’m sorry about that but getting shot got it out of my head.”

He puts a holotape on the table, then he finally turns heels for good.

“Farewell Shaun. I hope to see you at Sanctuary again one day, but I confess by now I can’t count on it. Your old friends are greeting you.”

The synthetic watches the man walk away with his son. The two silhouettes disappear at night when the bar door closes on them. And he stands there with his mouth ajar, his eyes wet, humiliated.

Humiliated and shaken up.

Myron grabs the holotape and puts it in his hand. He slowly looks down on it and the sudden urge to crush it into crumbs takes it.

Smash it to pieces like everything else in its existence.

But he’s already tried that.

It didn’t work out.

Slowly, he sits down at his table. Slowly, life returns in the bar. The same life which was crumbling just before the newcomer came in. The same dull, joyless life of a bunch of junkies in a rotten city.

Shaun raises his wrist and inserts the holotape into the Pip-Boy. Immediately, his mother’s voice echoes in the room.

“Hello Shaun, or maybe good night. I gave Preston, Nick, MacCready, Cait, Danse and Piper a copy of this recording. I sincerely hope that one day, one of them will be able to send it to you. [a sigh then a silence] Listen Shaun, I failed you. I took you out of your life at the Institute where you could have ignored my whole life. I took you away from a future without pain and suffering where you could have fulfilled yourself. I ripped you out of that perfect environment to drag you into the dust of the Commonwealth, and then I abandoned you. [a light, contained sob] I resent myself. I resent myself terribly. But I understood. I will never make the same mistake again. I’ll never give up again. Whether I find you or not, I will never fall back into this pathetic comedy which is the last memory you have of me. I’m going to do everything I can to get my life together, to make it meaningful again. I’m sorry, Shaun. I really hope we see each other again. I sincerely hope I can take you back with me, to Sanctuary, that we can live happily ever after, that we can take back the Minutemen together. Pardon Shaun. I love you so much. [she bursts into loud sobs]”

The recording ends on a declic of the player. The cassette is ejected, and Shaun grabs it between his trembling fingers, seeming horrified.

Myron contemplates him silently, sipping the bottom of his bottle slowly.

«What did I do» the synth whispers softly. "Pardon?" asked the old man. “What have I done?” “For what I see, you killed your mother.”

Shaun slowly raises his horrified gaze to the one who has kept him company every night for years. But even if the words are harsh, he knows the other is right. He knows killing him for his insolence will do nothing. He knows there is nothing left that can never change the pathetism of his existence.

He rises slowly, as if he were moving in a sticky and stifling substance. He gets up slowly and leaves the bar without collecting his bag or paying his bill. He gets up and crosses the city to the desert. He walks like an automaton, but he cannot find the will to accelerate the pace. Nor to stop.

He walks hoping maybe to catch up with MacCready, but the other one already has a good lead and it’s not stuck like it that Shaun can catch up with him.

Then he realizes that’s not what he wants.

He understands.

A few meters away from the famous sign welcoming visitors to New Reno, he falls on his knees in the desert. Like an automaton, he raises the gun he holds in his hand, stares at the barrel.

He understands now.

He understands what paralyzed his mother.

He understands the anguishing feeling of emptiness that engulfs everything he thinks he is, everything he thinks he can do.

He now understands how life can completely lose the least of its senses when its existence is disrupted, destroyed, again and again, every time we think we have succeeded in rebuilding something.

He understands now.

He also understands now it’s too late. He also understands he will not be able to have the courage of his mother to just keep breathing with such a feeling that empties him from within.

The bang that echoes that evening in the gloomy atmosphere of New Reno raises no eyebrows, does not surprise anyone. A bullet that gets shot in New Reno is a sound as common as the rattling of drinks, the tinkling of Nuka-Cola capsules, the noise of casino machines.

The bang that rings that night in the murky atmosphere of New Reno will not change anyone’s life, or so little.

The detonation that resonates that evening in the treacherous atmosphere of New Reno is only the signature ending an act. The drama will continue. There will simply be one less actor.

#synth shaun #myron the moron!!#myron fallout 2 #myron #new reno #fallout 4 #robert maccready #robert joseph maccready #fo4 maccready #fallout maccready #maccready #rj maccready #duncan maccready #nora fallout 4 #nora is no more silver #fo4 companions #shaun fallout 4 #sassenash writing

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