#but then I figured that Vault 4 made more sense and with the terminal with informations about a bunch of Vaults already planned

[gabriellerudessa]

Compass (Norm Maclean x OC) - Part XIX

Marigold’s cheeky grin shrunk, eyes blinking at him, slowly becoming the deer in the headlights look. The sliver of sunlight falling across her face let him see how the golden-brown in her cheeks intensified compared to the rest of her face.

Flustered. And flushed. He was pretty sure that was a first.

“Oh.”

AO3 | Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII | Part XVIII | Part XX | Part XXI (Smut) | Part XXII | Part XXIII | Part XXIV | Part XXV | Part XXVI (Smut) | Part XXVII | Part XXVIII | Part XXIX | Part XXX | Part XXXI | Part XXXII | Part XXXIII | Part XXXIV (Smut) | Part XXXV | Part XXXVI (END)

PLAYLIST ON YOUTUBE

Words: 3.972

Warnings: None

XIX

Marigold twirled in the space amidst the high corn stalks, laughing, the red skirt swishing and the long braid whipping around her, her movements fast and full of certainty, even while out of sync with the song and all the other Vault-Dwellers around her.

He smiled, and she captured his look. A cheeky grin, a wink, a kiss blow out towards him, and she kept going.

Happiness looked good on her.

---------

As he came to, Norm felt warm, relaxed, comfortable, and while there was weight around his middle, it didn’t felt stifling.

A constant puff of hot hair against the skin of his neck, where the Vault-Suit didn’t reach, and he shivered, a little more awake. Sighing, his head lolled towards the weight and pressure he felt against his side, arm tightening a bit, eyes slowly opening.

Without the rad-storm covering the sky, slivers of sunlight managed to get in through the gaps in the wood and metal. It was enough for Norm to see Marigold, a line of sun cutting across her cheekbone and crooked nose, not bothering her: she still breathed deeply, body relaxed against his, lips smiling. She also hadn’t braided her hair again, and it tangled above her shoulder.

He swallowed, fingers sliding between the strands without his permission. Marigold looked blissfully happy at that moment, and the thought from his dream came back like a punch to the guts: happiness looked good on her.

With the proximity and quietness, his eyes acted without prompting from him.

The crooked nose and its accompanying cut across it. The only one he knew its origin, a result of sex for survival. An ugly story, and it made something thorny squeeze his chest. Norm forced himself to deviate his eyes.

Which animal had made the claw marks on one of her cheeks? He had never asked. And the burn on the other cheek, going down until almost her neck… The line cutting lower lip and chin… The missing tooth… Fighting? Accident? He hoped none resulting from an equally ugly story.

His eyes lowered to her arm above his body and blanket, still exposed; the rasping shot on her upper arm was almost totally healed, no scar in sight. How many other wounds she had gone through that hadn’t left permanent marks?

Constantly dressing her own wounds, maybe returning home bloodied, with more scars, more wounds, more hurt by what she had needed to do to return another day… And still hadn’t hesitated in putting herself in between him and danger any time it had appeared. He bet she did the same with her family.

Human. Only human. Still left her home to hunt, even at the risk of being surrounded and needing to do something she hated so she could return, at the risk of dying, at so many risks…

Sighing, he turned his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she snuggled closer, pulling him tighter without waking up, and it made his heart flutter and accelerate at the utter trust she showed in that moment, as if they had known each other all their lives.

He still needed to find Lucy, tell her everything…

But at that exact moment, the only thing in his mind was that the thought of him and Marigold having to follow their separate paths hurt. Not like before, because he didn’t want to travel alone, didn’t know if he would survive in the surface.

But because he feared for Marigold travelling alone, a bounty on her head, no one to help her with wounds or in seeing shelter or to share watch shifts during the night when there was no door to lock.

Would she even be alive if he ever managed to return to the ranch and use the whistles?

God. It was the same fear from when he noticed that Lucy could be dead in the Wasteland and he wouldn’t know because of how vast it all was.

The uncertainty tightened his chest, his heart skipping for a moment, and he kissed her forehead again, a little harder than he intended.

Damn it.

He was falling in love, wasn’t he?

---------

Marigold awoke with a hard pressure against her forehead: a kiss. She smiled and sighed, the smell of sand and leather prickling her nose, and opened her eyes.

Norm looked at her, slivers of sunlight hitting one of his eyes just right, the brown honeyed and soft, hair deliciously mussed from sleep.  She had half a mind to muss it even more before anything else.

“Good morning.” She leaned forward, pecking his lips, and he sighed and leaned into it.

“… Morning.” He answered belatedly, still staring at her, and she grinned.

“What? Seeing something pretty, Norm-boy?” she teased, and being tightly pressed against him, she felt how his heartbeat speed up at the question.

His mouth opened a fraction, closed, then opened again.

---------

“… More like beautiful.”

He left at that, the words soft and genuine, unable to find any other way to answer her teasing beyond confessing – which he had no idea how she would receive and really, would be cruel to have done if – when – they ended up having to go their separate paths.

Marigold’s cheeky grin shrunk, eyes blinking at him, slowly becoming the deer in the headlights look. The sliver of sunlight falling across her face let him see how the golden-brown in her cheeks intensified compared to the rest of her face.

Flustered. And flushed. He was pretty sure that was a first.

“Oh.”

She breathed, and for one endless moment there was silence and the fear that he had fucked it all up.

Then the soft, pretty smile started to appear, the subtle flush in her cheeks still present. She caught his opposite hand, kissing his knuckles gently. Warmth spread through his chest, his heart fluttering, and Norm found himself smiling.

“Thank you, my dearest.” ‘My dearest’ instead of Norm-boy; it made the warmth intensify.

If calling her “beautiful” got that general reaction every time, then Norm promised himself to do so as much as possible.

They watched each other, and it felt eternal, but it was probably just some seconds.

Then she sighed and pecked his lips again.

“While I would love to relax the day away with you, Norm-boy, we better get going.” With that, she started to unfurl from his side.

Norm’s arm flexed instinctively around her neck for a moment, to try and keep her, but he forced himself to let her go.

---------

He thought she was beautiful.

That was what was mostly going through her head as they got ready to leave – thank God her pants, panties and gloves had dried –, making sure they weren’t forgetting anything, and turning off all the lights.

Her heartbeat picked up every time she remembered it, how softly his voice had been, the look in his eyes – God, his eyes… Marigold felt as if she was fifteen again, starting to discover crushes and kisses and sex and everything related.

The only glaring difference was that no one, not even Hugh, had ever called her beautiful before. At least not to her face.

Being lusted for, desired, was easy, she was used to it. Ever since her breasts and hips started appearing there was always someone looking and leering and making innuendos. It had only gotten worse after she put on the muscles, and really she had no trouble with it. Marigold knew that, especially for Wasteland standards, she had a well fed body that was bound to attract attention.

But… Admired, appreciated, for herself? That was a first. Even before the scars and broken nose, people had usually only looked at her body, their words accordingly with it.

Did Norm know what his words had done?

Fuck, she had gone into this all expecting to be the one sweeping him off his feet, but it was clear he had some cards up his sleeves, even if he didn’t notice or knew he was using them.

“I think we got everything.” Norm’s voice interrupted her musings.

Marigold shook her head, finished verifying her canteens, and closed her backpack. A last pull made sure the shotgun strapped with the blanket was secure.

“Yep, we did.”

She looked at him, throwing her backpack over her shoulders and back. The coat fell to his knees, sidebag against his hip, bag over a shoulder, and despite the combed hair, the Pip-Boy, and the fact that he had managed to clean all vestiges of her lipstick, he looked more like a Wastelander than a Vaultie. The fact that he wasn’t as clean shaven as when she had met him, moustache above his lips and beard covering his chin, just helped the Wastelander look.

Hunting rifle strap over a shoulder, they approached the metal door, and she threw a last look around as he unlocked it.

She would miss that place and the moments it had made possible.

---------

It was weird to be again in the open after the last two nights in the store-turned-home.

The sun had been up for a few hours already, and everywhere he looked there seemed to be more sand, piling up against walls and ruble, some not boarded glass windows broken. The wind wasn’t as noisy and fast as the previous days, instead it flew around them more like a warm breeze, not as refreshing.

They made sure to lock the metal door, the place marked on his Pip-Boy, before they started walking towards the coordinates for Vault 4.

It was slow going, but constant, Marigold’s hand not leaving the top of his back, and soon they left the ruined stores, desert and its sparse plants all around them and distant ruins.

“I ended up forgetting to ask. Do you want to learn to shoot with the shotgun?” Marigold asked after some time, looking down at him – lipstick reapplied, but after last night what it brought in him was more… Simmering instead of overwhelming.

Norm thought for a moment, tapping a finger against the strap of the bag. If –when – they ended up going their separate ways, he needed to know how to keep himself alive.

And if for some miracle they didn’t get separated, he would like to know another way to help keep both of them safe if the need appeared.

“I think… It would be good to learn the basics? I’ve never shot anything before, after all.”

“Then we will do a crash course at it when we stop for lunch.”

---------

They stopped behind some rocks as the sun was high; it didn’t offer much protection, not from the sun nor anything else, but it offered something for them to lean against as they ate strips of dried radstag.

“All right, Norm-boy, how much do you know about guns in general?” Marigold asked after she finished, pulling the shotgun and some ammo from her bag-belt, but not loading it yet.

Norm winced, swallowing the meat before answering.

“Uhm… I may recognize some of them at a glance, but that’s it. Never was that interested in them, and there was no big reason to in the Vault.”

Marigold just nodded, not seeming to judge his lack of knowledge or interest, and started pointing the parts of the gun – barrel, trigger, hand stock, safety… –, her explanation direct to the point.

“We were actually lucky that this is a single-shot shotgun.” She finished, holding the shotgun in a firing position, stock against her face, and Norm frowned.

“That’s why he only managed to get one shot.” Marigold nodded at him, lowering the gun and extending it towards him.

 “Get a feel for the weight first. He was also unlucky that I was faster in aiming and he had to content himself with firing one handed and from the hip.”

Norm caught the shotgun cautiously, testing its weight, keeping the barrel pointed towards the desert.

“Why was he unlucky?”

“He didn’t aim properly. Also, this shotgun uses some heavy ammo, which means a violent kickback.”

“You mean how much the gun goes back when shot.”

“Yeah. Doing as he did means fucking up the wrist.”

“Noted. So how do I hold it?”

“You’re a righty, so righty hand behind the trigger, here-” she tapped the place, and he followed her instruction “and left on the hand stock, here. Pull it up, butt against your right shoulder. The tighter against your shoulder, the better. Let your face lean into the stock, until you can look above the barrel and along the iron sights with your right eye. Keep both eyes open.”

Norm did exactly as she instructed, the weathered wood rough against his cheek, the metal of the hand stock heating under his hand.

“That’s the basics of how you hold it. Firing position. Don’t forget. Any weapon that’s not a small handgun like a revolver or a pistol, you always hold like this, Norm-boy.”

“You said something about heavy ammo…”

“Yeah, but you’re smaller and unfamiliar with guns. It’s really better to not take any chances so you won’t fuck up your wrist and shoulder, even if the ammo is lighter. All righty, let’s get up and do some practice shots.”

Marigold got up and advanced some steps and Norm followed, stopping beside her.

“Firing position.” He raised the shotgun, butt against his shoulder, looking along the barrel, and felt Marigold eyes on him. “Feet shoulder apart when standing.” He corrected, and Marigold circled him, nodding in his peripherals. “Good. Click off the safety.”

Norm took one moment to remember its exact location, then did it. Marigold made him click it on and off a bunch of times, each time easier than the last, even as his arms started to tire from the weight, until he didn’t need to stop and remember where it was.

“Good. Now to load it. It will heavily depend on the gun, but this shotgun is a break action.”

That term he remembered Lucy mentioning.

“It… Hinges open so you can reload the gun.”

“Exactly.” She grinned, showing him how to open and close it, a loud snap as she did it. “Try it. Hold it in firing position after closing.”

Norm nodded, doing exactly as taught, feeling the shockwave of the barrel and butt snapping close along his arm, and held it in the firing position. Marigold made him repeat the movement until he lost count of it.

“Good. Now, we don’t have enough ammo for this one for a good round of practice, but I think it’s enough for you to get a feel of how shooting actually is.”

She passed him a bullet, and Norm followed her instructions to load it, holding the shotgun in firing position after, safety on.

“If a person goes at you, you aim at the chest and stomach, it’s easier to hit. Anything beyond this needs a lot of training to get right. Got it?” Norm nodded; that made sense. “All righty. To get the basics… See that bush over there?” Marigold pointed, some fifteen to twenty feet ahead, dry and small.

“I do.”

“Aim there. Keep it firm against your shoulder. Keep your eyes open.” She touched his hands and elbows, slightly correcting. “You must pull the trigger, not squeeze. Have the bush on your sights?”

“Yes.”

“All righty. Shoot on my command.” She squatted beside him, eyes serious and focused. “Fire.”

Norm pulled the trigger.

---------

Marigold made him shoot three more times before they started walking again.

Each shot had made the butt kick hard, and he was thankful for her insistence at holding it firm against his shoulder; it was clear that anything less and he would’ve gotten hurt.

He also would need to practice more to improve his aim, since all shots had gone wide from the bush – especially the last one, when his arms started to strain under the gun’s weight. However, she had said that he had kept his eyes open, which was half the path.

“So what did you think of the shotgun?”

“Good for one, two shots, more than this and I’ll have trouble keeping it up.” His shoulder was still slightly sore from the kickback, his brain still remembering the weight of the weapon the longer he held it.

Marigold frowned.

“Fuck. I thought it would be fine. As shotguns go, this one is not that heavy…”

“Marigold, your muscles have muscles. Your ‘fine’ is probably my ‘with difficulty’.” He gave a sarcastic grin, bumping her with his elbow, and she shook her head, grinning back.

“Fuck. Yeah, you’re right.” Her hand was back at the top of his back, pressing softly. “We’ll try and trade it for some small and reliable handgun you can use in a pinch, if we manage to stumble into a trader.”

“Knife, bag, blanket, now a gun… You’re spoiling me.” He teased, and she grinned, extra trouble, eyebrow raised.

“What can I say, Norm-boy, I want to see you survive and thrive up here.”

She leaned down and kissed his temple. It brought warmth in him, made him smile, all right, but it wasn’t enough. He turned, grabbed at her braid and pulled, getting on his toes to meet her halfway in a brief, soft kiss. Marigold smiled against him, hand cupping the back of his head.

She hummed and sighed as he withdrew, and Norm cleaned his throat, trying to ignore how he felt his neck and cheeks heat up.

“For… For teaching me the basics of how to shoot.” He managed to say – maybe he was starting to get how flirting work –, and she grinned cheekily.

“Well, thank you.” She licked her lower lip, and he swallowed. “Is this backwards compatible? ‘Cause I can think of a bunch of situations where a kiss was perfect payment and reward.” Marigold teased, her hand still in the back of his head, and he chuckled, fingers flexing in her braid.

“Do you want it to be backwards compatible?”

“Absolutely, Norm-boy. The more excuses to kiss you, the better. You?” she bit her lip, heat in her eyes, and he swallowed.

“… Then we’re in agreement… Beautiful.” He tested, and a smile appeared in her face, that overall flustered facial expression he was starting to easily recognize taking over.

She pulled him, kissing him hard, a small groan against his lips. Before he could properly return the kiss, she was nipping his lower lip in parting and straightening, breathing fast.

“This one for how you used the situation to make a deal with Ma June and get the information you needed.”

“That’s… It has been some time.” That’s how long she had been thinking about kissing him? Sure, he had gotten her heated look, but it was still sobering to know with certainty.

She grinned and shrugged, hand lowering to the top of his back, and he let go of her braid.

“What can I say, confidence looks good on you. Now we better go.”

---------

It was the middle of the afternoon when they reached the Vault 4’s entrance, concrete steps leading up to it. There had been a brief moment of panic, when the first thing they had noticed were the tall buildings behind it, but Marigold’s binoculars confirmed that the entrance was before the denser ruins – thank God. After the feral ghouls, Nip-Nip and James, Norm really wanted to avoid those.

“All righty… Now what?”

“There should be a control console around here. I can connect my Pip-Boy to it and use it to try and open the door.”

“On it, Norm-boy.”

Marigold stepped away, searching around, and Norm went on the opposite direction.

“I think I found it!” She called from the other side of the concrete stairs, and Norm strode towards her.

She was holding a tall metal panel open, mounted on the concrete, the control console inside. There were some small points of rust, but it seemed in general intact, with lights shining in it indicating the door was locked.

There was also, unlike his own Vault, a small, circular sound box alongside a microphone, which meant they could talk with people inside. Maybe he wouldn’t need to open the blast doors and enter.

“That’s it. Thanks, Beautiful.” He watched from his peripherals as he carefully pulled his Pip-Boy’s cable and connected it to the control console.

Marigold froze, free hand scratching at her nape, eyes to the side, a small smile in her face. Flustered all over again, with just that pet name, her reaction enough to make his heartbeat flutter inside his chest.

Yeah, he was finally understanding why she liked flirting and teasing so much. Now he just needed to get better at how to do it.

“… You’re welcome, Norm-boy.”

It took some minutes, but eventually his Pip-Boy signaled the connection was complete, but before he could attempt to press the open button, a sound of static came from the sound box, then low voices on the other side, someone saying “I don’t know, all the scrapping teams are here”.

“Who’s out there?” someone finally said, the voice feminine.

Norm cleaned his throat and leaned towards the microphone.

“Norman Maclean and Marigold Bear. Who am I talking to?”

“Birdie. What do you want, Norman?”

“I’m from Vault 33. I’m trying to find my sister. Since this is a Vault I’m wondering if she stopped here.”

There was a muffled sound that he judged was someone covering their own microphone. Voices on the other side echoed, but he couldn’t understand what they said.

“Norman and Marigold, right? There’s a building north-west from where you are. Hawthorne Medical Laboratories. It has our safe entrance. You want to finish this talk, you come in through there.” Total silence, not even static, and he disconnected his Pip-Boy.

“That’s the other entrance talked about in the terminal, righty?” Marigold asked as he stepped away from the console, shutting the metal door.

“Yes. The file said that it’s some type of downward tunnel.”

They circled the stairs and blast doors, seeing the mentioned building, not that far from their position.

“Do you want to take this risk, Norm-boy? The notes were pretty old… A lot of things can change in five years. There’s no way to know if that Birdie woman is a Vaultie or whatever.”

He sighed and crossed his arms, eyebrows frowning. Marigold was right, of course – see Vault 32 and everything that had happened, for example. And if they got stuck inside Vault 4, it wasn’t only Lucy he wouldn’t find, it was Marigold’s family that would lose her.

Damn it. He wanted her close, he was falling in love with her after all, no doubts about any of it, but he definitely didn’t want her to assume such a risk because of him, when there were so many more people that depended on her. It wasn’t like travelling the surface to her sister’s house, it was something that could effectively end like a one-way-trip. Ask it of her didn’t sit right with him.

And if something worse than “get stuck” happened… He wanted her alive, for God’s sake.

“… I’m going in, Marigold, but you don’t need to. That’s my risk to take.” He relented, looking up at her, and she frowned right back, hand at her waist, the other tightening on the strap of her hunting rifle.

“Think again, Norm-boy. You’re going in, I’m going together, we ain’t getting separated until we at least reach Catarina’s.”

“If things go south down there-”

“-We will deal with it all together.” Her words had a final sound to them.

He sighed, stared at her, then smiled ruefully, shaking his head.

“All right, then let’s go.” He started walking, and Marigold easily matched his pace, hand at the top of his back.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Out of curiosity, what are your favorite companions out of all of the Fallout games, and why?

Fallout

The Original Dogmeat (After looking into it, it feels like this ornery dog had a lot more personality than the available human companions, enough so that he made a comeback in FO2.)

Fallout 2

Goris (A sentient and intelligent albino deathclaw scholar that wears a robe to hide his appearence from trigger happy assholes. What's not to like? Goris is an interesting character and I hope there will be another deathclaw companion in a future game!)

K-9 the Cyberdog (Cyberdogs are cool. Talking Cyberdogs with good moral compasses? Even better! Super pissed the NCR ended up destroying him to gather Intel on the Enclave. That's something I'd expect from the BoS instead, and it's left a bitter taste in my mouth. Rest in peace you poor pup.)

Fallout 3

Butch Deloria (He was an asshole and a bully during his and the Lone Wanderer's childhood, but you can't deny he isn't loyal to a fault. He's still a bit of an asshole with an unobtainable greaser teen dream, but honestly he's not that bad considering he was neglected as a child thanks to his mother's alcoholism. If you scratch his back he'll definitly scratch yours, even if he pretends he's not a goody-two-shoes like you. Plus he can give you a haircut, who wouldn't want a personal barber out in the Wastes?)

Charon (His situation is an uncomfortable moral conundrum since he's basically a brainwashed slave by anything but name. Oxhorn put it best in his video on Charon's situation, and I agree that the only good thing you can do for him is buying his contract and doing good out in the Capital Wasteland with him as your companion, as a form of atonement for any past shady/cruel actions his former employers have had him perform.)

Fawkes (A super mutant who may or may not have been a man named Shelton Delacroix, Fawkes is unfortunate in the sense that he was alienated by his fellow vault-tec security officers for having a conscience, and then alienated by his super mutant kin for being uniquely intelligent and kind. To add to these tragedies, Shelton was apparently married so Fawkes has a wife he can't recall who is either dead or a mindless super mutant herself.)

Dogmeat the Second (A loyal heterochromatic cattle dog who would fight to the death if just to avenge his fallen master. Dogmeat is a scruffy scavenger and definitly man's best friend. You have to wonder if he might be a descendant of the Original Dogmeat with just how strong his personality comes off. Some dogs in the wasteland are definitely smarter than others.)

Fallout: New Vegas

Arcade Ganoon (A gay mess of a doctor with social anxiety and a lot of personal demons related to his origins. Arcade is an intelligent and interesting character in the sense that he has a deep-seated desire to help everyone, but knows the consequences of one's ideals outgrowing the needs of others. He's grateful to the Enclave Remnants's loyalty to him and his mother, after his father passed away, and he definitly considers them his family. That in itself is an issue because the Enclave's sins will follow and haunt him for the rest of his life, even if he was just born into that life and not one of the people commiting atrocities.)

Craig Boone (His story is the typical wasteland hardened ex-soldier. He committed atrocities that left him mentally scarred and suffering from PTSD, lost his wife who was the only good thing in his life, his need to avenge her has left him dangling between cold-blooded killer and decent human being, and on top of that he's a bit of a cynical asshole. Still a pretty cool companion to have around, and honestly it feels nice to have him around doing some good for the Mojave wasteland instead of stewing in his depression and self-hatred. His sniping skills could help a lot of people with the Courier's encouragement.)

Lily Bowen (She's a super mutant elite spy soldier. She's also a sweet old granny with schizophrenia and a murderous imaginary friend. Lily is another tragic character who's story pulls at your heartstrings, and the three choices regarding her meds are another moral conundrum. Again I'd recommend Oxhorn's video on her story, since I wholly agree with his assessment on what choice is actually the best for her.)

Rex the Cyberdog (His background before he joined the Kings is shrouded in mystery, with the Legion's faded mark painted on his armour platting. Rex is a loyal pup with a hate for rats, hats and people who wear hats. His greatest ire is probably reserved for rats with hats. His recruitment story arc is also pretty interesting and it definitely affects his personality and endings. If you have Old World Blues and construct Roxie the Cyberdog he even becomes a father of a litter of "Boston terrifiers"!)

ED-E (Honestly it's my love for robots that make this little damaged travel companion so appealing. His mission is interesting, and the cashe of Enclave Intel he holds can be benefitial, but most of his endings point to ED-E continuing his journey eventually so there's a sadness with letting this little guy go if you get attached.)

Fallout 4

Preston Garvey (All Preston has ever wanted to do was help make the Commonwealth a better place for people to live in. He's a selfless man who joined a militia at age 17 to do some good, and it honestly breaks my heart that the Minutemen collapsed as hard as it did. Preston had to watch as the ideals of the Minutemen were crushed underfoot by a bunch of selfish assholes, along with an entire settlement of innocent people. He did everything in his power to keep the only four survivors safe and alive, and he's clearly traumatized, depressed and suicidally throwing himself at danger because he'd rather die fighting the good fight than caring for his own safety. He puts everyone else above himself and it infuriates me that people are so hellbent in painting him off as a bland character or a pest. Oxhorn puts it best in his profile of Preston.)

X8-88 (The Institute's top of the line Courser, the closest the Commonwealth will ever get to the Terminator, and livable despite his cynical remarks and persistence that he's incapable of emotions or attachment. It saddens me that X6 is only obtainable if you follow the Institute. It also pains me that if you do manage to befriend him and destroy the Institute, you're destroying this loyal synth's only home. You're basically stripping away everything he knows and believes in, inherently doing what the Institute has done to the Sole Survivor: Taking their life away from them. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth...)

Nick Valentine (Moral conundrums are painful. Ethical conundrums are just as bad. Nick didn't deserve anything that happened to him, and it's obvious he struggles with his identity and purpose but chooses to follow in the Original Nick's footsteps to do some good, rather than hide away and mope. He's a good person overall, even if he's a bit of a smartass sometimes. He's the perfect robodad for anyone in need of a fatherly figure in the Commonwealth.)

John Hancock (This man has a lot of emotional baggage and has made a LOT of bad choices, but if there's anyone you can trust to be loyal and helpful out in the wastes, it's definitly Hancock! His crude humour and liberal use of drugs and knives to deal with his problems can be a bit off-putting, but Hancock will defend you no matter what. Heck, he would even defend Danse from the BoS and the guy's a racist dickbag to him from the very moment they meet. That says a lot about his character.)

Codsworth (He waited for the Sole Survivor to return. For 200 fucking years. Please be kind to him, he's probably one of the nicest companions and also one of the most lovable too! He is the friend you'd wish you had if you ever found yourself in the same situation as the Sole Survivor. Cherish Codsworth, he's all you have left, and he'll protect you to the best of his ability.)

Dogmeat the Third (A brilliant genius dog that is very likely a synth. Dogmeat, like Codsworth, is a lovable guy and should definitely be cherished. I'd recommend getting the "Everyone's Best Friend" Mod so that you can have him travel with you and another companion. It's almost like FO2!)

Deacon (He's intelligent. He's sneaky. He's a pathological liar with good intentions. Deacon is mysterious and charming, and definitly a little fucked in the head. I'd like to meet his plastic surgeon if they can make him flawlessly look like a woman and a ghoul, no questions asked. Oxhorn has a pretty interesting video that explores Deacon's character and intentions, if you're interested!)

Paladin Danse (I'll admit I wasn't all that impressed with Danse when I got my first impression of him. He's rude, he's impatient, he's condescending, and worst of all he is an asshole to anyone just a bit different from him. Still, the plot-twist left space for this racist Buzz Lightyear knockoff to go through some personal growth. The years of militaristic indoctrination will probably take a while to be resolved, but Danse IS redeemable if given time. He's not inherently evil, just in dire need of a tolerance lesson.)

[maythefanfictionbewithyou]

When the Brightest Star Fades

Supernova Pt. 2 

Summary:  Order 66 happens, but Anakin doesn’t turn. He now has to figure out how to escape without losing everything.

Anakin stared out the Tantive 4‘s viewport, Artoo beside him. The Senator and Yoda had gone to meet Obi-Wan, and even though he knew he needed to be part of the conversation, he couldn’t find it in himself to move. Instead, he stared out at the stars, the only constant in a crazy galaxy. They were always there to brighten up the endless void of space.

A familiar voice floated in from the hall, and Artoo beeped at him to get up. He made his way to the door, and it slid open before he got to it, Obi-Wan standing in the doorway, looking tired and disheveled. “Anakin! I am so glad you are safe,” Obi-Wan exclaimed when he saw Anakin.

“You as well Master,” Anakin said returning the sentiment.

“We were just coming to retrieve you, we need to discuss our next steps,” Senator Organa told him from behind Obi-Wan, always straight to business.

“Do we know if any other Jedi have survived?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Heard from no one but we,” Yoda answered.

“I saw thousands of troops attack the Jedi temple. That’s why we went looking for Master Yoda,” Bail said nodding at Anakin when he said we.

“Have we had contact from the Jedi Temple?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Received encoded retreat message, we have,” Yoda answered.

“It requests all Jedi to return to the temple. It says the war is over,” Anakin said bitterly, folding his arms in front of his chest.

“Well, we must go back. They‘ll kill anybody who falls for the trap,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Suggest dismantling the decoded signal do you?” Yoda asked.

“Yes master, there is too much at stake,” Obi-Wan answered.

“We will leave first thing in the morning then. We all need some rest,” Bail said.

“In the morning then,” Obi-Wan responded. 

X

Once morning came, the four men got in the small shuttle attached to the Tantive and made their journey back to Coruscant. While rest had been the plan, none of them looked any better than they had the night before, and Anakin knew for a fact that he had gotten no sleep, and doubted anyone else had either.

“We are receiving a message from the Chancellor‘s Office, sir," The pilot of the shuttle said as they entered Coruscant‘s atmosphere.

“Let it through," Bail answered.

The pilot hit a few buttons and Mas Amedda‘s face appeared on the small screen in front of Bail, “Senator Organa, the Supreme Chancellor requests your presence at a special session of Congress.”

“I will be there,” Bail acknowledged.

“He’ll be expecting you,” he said, and the transmission shut off.

“Could be a trap," Bail offered the group.

“I don‘t think so. The Chancellor won‘t be able to control the thousands of star systems without keeping the Senate intact," Obi-Wan answered.

“If a special session of Congress there is, easier for us to enter the Jedi Temple it will be,” Yoda said.

X

The three Jedi made quick work of the clones guarding the Temple. There had been plenty, and they had to hope that the session of Congress would stall the reinforcements long enough for them to get everything done. They made their way up the stairs to the Temple, and Anakin could feel the darkness coming off the Temple in waves, and when they stepped through the door they were assaulted by the remnants of the day before. The darkness hit them like a wall, the smell of the death was papable, and bodies thrown everywhere, haphazardly. All light snuffed out. PAINFEARANGER. Anakin closed his eyes and willed the darkness away, but the light couldn‘t get through. He pressed on.

Obi-Wan bent down to investigate one of the bodies, but Anakin couldn’t focus on anything but the darkness inside him.  How close had Palpatine been too convincing him that he was on the wrong side? How close had he been to the destroyer instead of the savior? Not that he was doing a great job of the latter. “Not even the younglings survived,” Obi-Wan said solemnly, bring Anakin back to reality. “Who could have done this?” Obi-Wan asked. “Clones,” Anakin answered solemnly. He was thankful that Fives had warned them about the control chips, he could barely handle the thought of the clones being forced to commit these atrocities, but the thought of them wanting to do it hurt much more. “We can‘t deal with that right now though. We need to get working before reinforcements arrive.” Obi-Wan gave a stiff nod before starting to work on the recall code, while Anakin plunged himself back into the force, looking for survivors. He swore he could feel the tiniest speckle of light in the darkness. “Someone here, there is,” Yoda said thoughtfully. “I feel it too. We should go look for them,” Anakin agreed. The pair made their way through the temple. It wasn’t a particularly long walk, but making the trip through the darkness, and the horrors next to Master Yoda was more awkward than it should have been. He was thankful that Master Yoda survived, the remaining Jedi would need him, but Anakin wasn’t ready to face his own sins yet. “Pleased that you survived, I am,” Yoda told him, the sincerity surprising Anakin. “I am glad you survived as well, Master Yoda,” Anakin told him, stepping over body after body just to get through the hall. He noticed that they were getting closer and closer to the Vaults as they kept walking. Whoever it was must have been hiding in there. When they finally made it to the vaults, Yoda started to tap away on one of the computer terminals. Anakin tried to feel for who was out there, but he couldn’t get much of a reading, and before he could sense anything, Yoda was placing his palm on the screen, and the door slid open, revealing Shaak-Ti. She was standing in a defensive pose, lightsaber ready, while four younglings sat curled up in the corner. “Master Yoda? Skywalker?” she asked surprised, letting her pose fall. She transformed from a total badass ready to take on the world, to a scared and disheveled victim. “Come on, we need to get you out of here, all of you,” Anakin said motioning for her to follow them. The four younglings all looked up at her for guidance, she gave them a quick nod and she and younglings joined Anakin and Yoda on their way back to Obi-Wan.

“I have recalibrated the code, warning all Jedi to stay away,” Obi-Wan informed them once they returned.

“For the clones to discover the recalibration, a long time it will take," Yoda responded.

“If ever," Anakin said. “We need to get going though, reinforcements could arrive at any time, and now we have four children with us,” he motioned to the four children, the older two were standing tall, trying to be brave, while the youngest two clung to Shaak-Ti‘s robes.

The group made their way out of the Temple, no clones in sight. They rounded the corner making their way toward their transport. Anakin pulled Obi-Wan aside, letting everybody go ahead. Obi-Wan gave him a questioning look, but Anakin started talking before giving him the chance to argue, “I need you and the other to go ahead. I need to go back for Padme,” he said. 

“Anakin, no,” Obi-Wan protested. “We need to stick together. Plus, Padme is better off not being seen with any of us."

“Leaving her here is not an option,” Anakin growled. Obi-Wan studied Anakin for a moment, Anakin knew realistically that Obi-Wan probably had an idea about his relationship with Padme, but he still wasn’t thrilled about the idea of having to be upfront with him about it. 

“Anakin, the survival of the Jedi has to be our priority. I know Padme is important to you, but she will be fine on Coruscant, nobody has any reason to harm her.”

“Padme is my priority, and there are plenty of reasons for people to want to harm her," Anakin said darkly.

“Anakin, you can’t go running to her apartment half-cocked. We need to regroup and think through a plan, and make sure we keep her as safe as possible," Obi-Wan told him.

“I don‘t know…” Anakin said, unsure. Actually making a plan was not his usual way of doing things, but maybe he needed to actually think this through instead of running in there lightsaber blazing.

“Come on, we will discuss it once we get to safety," Obi-Wan said, not letting him respond and turning towards the transport, allowing Anakin to either follow him or leave. Anakin followed.

Part 1 Part 3

[jarienn972]

The Right Place - Chapter 14

Finally back with an update on The Right Place! I had more challenges getting this chapter to come out the way I wanted but after changing a few things, it is done. This new chapter opens back in Storybrooke with Regina and Henry and gives an answer to a question that came up much earlier in the story - was Ursula really involved in Killian's rescue or did he hallucinate it?   It also becomes apparent that our poor pirate is getting a little cabin fever.

From the beginning on Tumblr: Prologue/1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13

Also on FF.net and AO3

Wednesday Evening, Storybrooke, Maine

Deep beneath the town's cemetery, Regina admitted to herself that she'd lost track of time. Down here amidst the flickering of candlelight, the setting sun wasn't visible to alert her to evening's onset, not that she was going to be deterred by nightfall. She knew that damned shell was here somewhere; she'd tossed it down here herself when Ursula left town years ago with her father, Poseidon. She didn't figure she'd ever have reason to use it again. Of course, things had also gotten a little mixed up when her evil half had been utilizing the vault as well and while her intent had been to reorganize and return everything to its proper place, she hadn't really had the time. After defeating the Evil Queen and sending her off to another realm, the Black Fairy had descended upon them almost immediately.

Never a dull moment around here, that was certain.

"Any luck, Mom?" Henry asked as he reached the bottom step of the stone staircase.

"Not yet, but there are still a couple of chests I haven't gotten to yet."

"Well, I've finished all of today's homework and my make-up work. Can I help you out?" he offered.

"I would appreciate it. I didn't think it would be possible to lose a giant conch shell down here, but the Evil Queen moved some things around and I haven't found time to put everything back in order."

"Where should I start?" Henry wondered, glancing around the vault until his mother pointed him in the direction of two dusty steamer trunks stacked against the earthen wall to the left of the stairs.

"I haven't been through those two yet," she informed him. "Why don't you start with those while I go through this last one over here?"

"Sure. It shouldn't be too hard to tell if a large seashell is inside…"

"You'd be surprised…" Regina muttered under her breath, not wanting Henry to hear.

"Mom sent me a text a little while ago," Henry began as he flipped open the latch on the top trunk, brushing away the cobwebs as he raised the lid. "She said Killian might be released from the hospital on Friday."

"That's good news," Regina replied half-heartedly. "Just be careful around those. Most of that dust is older than you."

"If that's true, then the shell probably wouldn't be in here, would it?" he queried, holding back a sneeze at the cloud of dust particles he'd stirred up just lifting the lid.

"True," was her blunt answer as she realized that she hadn't put the shell into a trunk that she hadn't opened in decades. "Forget about those and come over here. I could use your help with something…"

"Sure," Henry responded, lowering the lid slowly to prevent another dust cloud and replacing the latch before he met his mother on the opposite side of her vault. "What do you need me to do?"

"Help me move this table," she instructed. "I'd almost forgotten about this…" The placed her hands atop a heavy walnut table that was draped with a regal purple and gold cloth and with Henry's help, they moved the table aside to reveal a two foot by three foot woven woolen rug that matched the colors in the tablecloth. "I stashed a few items down here after we learned that my evil half wasn't actually dead, things I didn't want her to get her hands on and since I was convinced she wouldn't harm you, I sealed it with a lock only you could open."

"Me?"

"Who better?" she countered as she rolled away the rug, revealing what appeared to be a metal trap door. "I don't think she ever found this, but either way, only your touch can release the seal, Henry."

"Okay... What do I need to do?"

"Just press your right hand down onto the metal plate and it should pop open."

"Okay…" he repeated as he lowered his palm onto the metal and pushed down. A few sparks flew into the air as the seal released and then the door snapped back against his hand before sliding aside. "Cool!"

"Cool indeed," Regina grinned as she reached inside the trap door and retrieved the conch shell from her secret cache. "I guess I put it in here so that Queenie couldn't contact the Sea Witch, not that she really seemed concerned with aligning herself to anyone besides Zelena, Hyde and Gold."

"So how to we summon Ursula with it?" Henry asked while Regina began extinguishing candles with a flick of her wrist.

"It works pretty much like a trumpet and once we sound the horn, the Sea Witch should appear," she replied, giving her son a gentle push toward the stairs. "Let's get back above ground and I'll show you."

She followed Henry up the stairs and out of the mausoleum, traversing the cemetery grounds to the park before stopping to summon Ursula. Raising the shell to her lips, she blew through it, releasing a sound that wouldn't exactly be described as melodious, but it wasn't as though she were using the shell for its musical qualities. She just needed it to garner the attentions of the Sea Witch herself.

"Regina? Can't say I was expecting you to the be the one summoning me at this hour," Ursula stated as she appeared behind the pair in her fully human form.

"Hello, Ursula," Regina greeted her former ally. "Can't say that summoning you was ever in my plans either but I'm doing it on behalf of a friend…"

"Really?" Ursula questioned Regina's intentions. "A friend asked you to contact me? Whatever for?"

"Well, why don't you tell me – did you really rescue Captain Hook from drowning off the coast of Portland a couple of days ago?" Regina asked directly.

"This is about Hook?" the Sea Witch chuckled. "You summoned me to ask about Captain Hook? Do I even want to know what tall tales he's been telling or how drunk he was?"

"The only tall tale he's telling is that you plucked him out of the water and tossed him onto a beach – and that was of course once he was finally able to tell us…" Regina clarified her prior question with the story that had been relayed to her.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ursula demanded. "Yes – I rescued the pirate. Found him nearly-drowned, bobbing in the open ocean so I picked him up and deposited his soggy, probably drunken ass on the nearest beach. I figured once he got dried out and sobered up, he'd walk himself over to the ferry terminal to call his lovely wife…"

"I'm sure if this had been normal circumstances and he had been just a little tipsy, he'd have done just that, but it seems your little fishy senses were off. You didn't happen to notice that he's been stabbed?" Regina just threw it out there, not really caring if she offended Ursula.

"Stabbed?" Ursula's demeanor changed almost instantly. "What do you mean he was stabbed? I found him in the water and assumed he'd fallen overboard or something."

"Unfortunately, the situation was a lot more serious. He was rescued later when a couple of fishermen found him on that beach, but he lay unconscious in a hospital bed for two days because Portland authorities couldn't identify him or figure out how he got onto the beach and no one here knew where he was."

"What a mess she created…" Ursula sighed, her cryptic comment confusing both Regina and Henry. "Is there somewhere we can talk that's a little warmer perhaps? I prefer not to have detailed conversations in dark, dreary cemeteries."

"How about we move to my office?" Regina suggested. Ursula and Henry both nodded in agreement, happy to move this little reunion indoors as the evening chill set in. With a flick of her wrist, she whisked them all to the relative warmth of her office, shrugging off her coat and tossing it atop her desk upon arrival. "How's this?"

"Much better," Ursula replied with a grin, flopping dramatically into one of the two padded arm chairs placed in front of Regina's desk.

"Now that you've made yourself comfortable, how about we discuss what you said before I brought us all here. You said something about a mess someone created?" Regina questioned.

"I probably shouldn't have opened my big mouth back there in the graveyard," Ursula replied disgustedly.

"A little late for that," Regina reminded the Sea Witch. "So, why don't you tell us who you were talking about and what the hell it has to do with Hook?"

"The 'who' would be my niece, Tempest," Ursula stated. "Ever since Father allowed her to start testing her powers, she's been out of control."

"Didn't know you had a niece." Regina wondered how many other little demi-gods might be running around out there.

"The family history is a bit muddled, but suffice it to say she's my sister's kid – born with the ability to control the winds. She loves to toy with ships out on the open seas, blowing up rogue storms and endangering a whole lot of human lives. My father doesn't seem bothered by her actions, but then you know his opinion on humans, considering he once used my voice to lure unsuspecting sailors to their deaths. It really didn't come as a surprise."

"Okay, so your niece likes to make it really windy and endanger ships," Regina said snidely. "Can we skip to the part that involves Hook?"

"I wasn't aware that Tempest had ventured into the Land Without Magic until recently," Ursula began. "I'd just rescued a young mermaid who'd managed to get herself ensnared in a fishing net when I spotted a cloaked vessel, the Jolly Roger, anchored off an island south of here. I went aboard in search of her Captain but all I found on deck was a frayed rope, a damaged sail and in the Captain's quarters, a shiny steel hook. It didn't take much to put two and two together and figure that Tempest was involved so I went looking for him."

"You said the ship was already anchored so what made you think your niece was involved?"

"The damaged sail was a pretty good indication," Ursula responded. "I figured he anchored near the closest harbor and took the rowboat to shore. Maybe the dinghy got upended before he reached land or he got blown further offshore than he expected and he ended up in the water. Either way, a tracking spell led me to the pirate and I pulled him out of the water. Simple as that."

"Except for that bleeding out complication," Regina reminded her. "Well, at least now it makes more sense how he managed to sail so far south that quickly."

"So, where's the pirate now?" the Sea Witch asked.

"He's still hospitalized in Portland," Regina explained. "By the sound of it, he'll be there at least a few more days since Emma can't exactly magically heal his injuries outside of Storybrooke. She's also working with the local authorities trying to find and capture the men who attacked him."

"Sounds like our dear Captain had quite the eventful day," Ursula mused as she stood, her expression almost apologetic when faced with the revelation of what she'd overlooked. She'd hardly consider Captain Hook to be a friend, but they'd mended their terse past so she didn't count him among her enemies any longer either. She'd no obligation to search for the pirate or to rescue him before he drowned, but she'd felt it was the right thing to do. Damned heroes had gotten under her skin too but how had she not noticed he was bleeding? He couldn't have been in the water long though or he would have had predators all over him. "Is there anything I can do?"

"You may want to talk to Emma about that," Regina suggested. "She probably isn't going anywhere for a few more days."

"Is there a way to magically repair the Jolly Roger so we can bring her back to Storybrooke?" Henry jumped into the conversation with his question after listening silently for long enough. "Killian won't be able to finish the sail repair easily with his injuries and even if Mom brings him back home first to heal him, they'd still have to find a way back out to the ship without being noticed. And how long does a cloaking spell work anyway? What if someone discovers the ship?"

"Slow down, young man," Ursula replied. "I believe I can be of assistance there, but I'd like to speak to your mother, the sheriff, first. Can you relay a message to her that I'll meet her tomorrow in Portland at the harbor front park? I'll be there at sunset."

"I'll let her know right now," Henry stated, digging his cell phone from his interior jacket pocket. "She'll be happy to meet with you."

"For some reason, I doubt that," Ursula replied with a sigh. If this feeling of regret was what heroes had to go through all the time, she'd much rather be a villain.

Thursday morning, Portland Medical Center

The first thing Emma recalled hearing that morning was an ear-piercing screech followed by a muttering of curse words. Raising her head from the pillow, she brushed a curtain of unruly blonde locks away from her face so she could get a better view of what was occurring just a few feet away from her. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she could make out her husband standing next to the bed, fully clothed save for his socks and boots, although she could see that one of those black leather boots was clutched in his hand. The other half of the pair had apparently fallen onto the floor, ending up beneath the nightstand and as she put the pieces together, she realized that the screeching sound that awakened her had come from his attempt to move said stand to retrieve his footwear himself. His pursuit of stealth had failed miserably and now he knew he had his wife staring at him wondering what the hell he was doing.

"Killian?" she asked, still groggy with sleep as she tried to figure out why her husband would have put on jeans and why he was standing before her with his boot gripped in his hand. "What's going on? And why are you dressed?"

"Apologies, Love. I didn't mean to wake you," he replied with a sheepish grin, well aware that as soon as she was completely awake and alert, his actions would be abundantly clear. He lowered himself back down atop the bed with a defeated sigh, placing the boot beside him, next to his navy blue woolen socks. Emma shifted on the cot, pushing herself upright as she shrugged off the drowsiness, a frown scrunching her features.

"I can tell you weren't planning to wake me," she began as she figured out what he was up to. "Just where were you planning on going?"

"You and the two local officers, you're intending to locate and possibly question the Toliver brothers who accosted me and I intend to go with you."

Now she was definitely awake.

"Killian, you haven't been given the okay to be discharged yet. We were told maybe tomorrow…"

"I have spent more than enough time sequestered in this little room. I'm perfectly fine. A little sore perhaps, but well enough to accompany you today and then preferably return home by tomorrow if we're able to apprehend Mr. Donleavy and his accomplices."

"So, you just decided to wake up, get dressed and assume that I'd agree to all of this when I woke up?"

"Perhaps," he responded with a shrug. "I would have already completed the task of getting myself dressed had I not dropped my boot while reaching for my socks. I didn't expect that this metal cabinet to make such a horrendous noise when I tried to move it aside."

"That's what you get for trying to be sneaky," she scolded him, scowling as she stood up, took two steps over to the nightstand and dropped to a knee next to the cabinet. "We could have discussed this together."

"Ah, yes," he rebutted. "Just as we're 'discussing' it now. Clearly, you disagree with my decision, but it is still my decision and I wish to leave this place today so I can assist in the apprehension of my attackers. If our positions were reversed, you'd be asking for the same courtesy."

Emma remained silent as she reached beneath the nightstand and grasped his boot, using the cabinet to help balance as she pushed herself back to her feet. She handed the boot to her slightly irritated husband who tossed the pair to the foot of the bed in disgust. He shifted his weight back against the pillows once again, angry that his wife wouldn't listen to his argument. This was clearly where he was expected to stay for at least another day so he might as well try to get comfortable. Emma's demeanor softened as she recognized the dejected cast to his gaze.

"You really want out of there that badly?" she asked as she plunked her backside onto the bed next to him, her eyes locked on the floor as she wasn't yet ready to meet his.

"Aye," was his only response.

"Okay," she relented, lifting her gaze to the ceiling while shaking her head in disbelief that she was agreeing to this. "We'll tell the doctor that we've made arrangements with Whale to take over your treatment back home where we have family and friends to help us out. I'm sure Whale will agree to go along with it with the right persuasion. And you can go with me today on one condition – you stay in the car. No matter whose car we use, you stay put. I can't concentrate on the investigation if I have to keep an eye on you too."

"I can take care of myself," he assured her.

"Oh, I can see that. It's how you ended up here in the first place, but I'm not questioning why you did the things you did. You were doing exactly what any hero would do. So, you stay in the car. No arguments. Until I can get you across the town line and healed, I don't want you over-exerting yourself. Your lungs are still compromised from nearly drowning and you do have a hole through your chest."

"Agreed," he responded without hesitation.

"Alright then, let me get dressed and we'll go track down a nurse to explain your decision. They're probably not going to be too happy with it…"

"Likely not," Killian replied with a smirk.

"Almost certainly not," Emma sighed, now noticing the blinking light on her cell phone resting atop the same nightstand that had started all of this. She lifted the phone to see what messages she'd received. "There's a text here from Regina," she explained. "Came in some time last night. Wonder why I didn't see it… Anyway, she was able to summon Ursula and the Sea Witch wants to meet with me – well, us I guess, at the harbor park at sunset. I guess she's going to help us get the Jolly Roger back to Storybrooke."

"I'd prefer to sail her back myself, but I'll gladly accept her assistance at this time."

"Sounds like a good idea. Now, I'm going to take a quick shower and try to figure out how to convince hospital staff that you're making the right decision…"

[fallout4holmes]

Publick Occurrences #4

On the Road with the General

By Piper Wright

A new group has become a constant presence in the city these days. The sight of a militia hat in the Market has become as ever present as smell of Takahashi’s noodles. The Minutemen are back from their fall from grace, and this time they’re going to get it right. At least, that’s the hope. But while the world should be grateful to them for taking down the Institute, what’s it like inside their ranks? What do we really know about how the Minutemen operate with the average citizen of the Commonwealth? Fortunately, this reporter has in inside source right at the top. What’s the point of being friends with the General himself if you can’t ask a few questions?

Mr. Holmes, as we know him in Diamond City, freely admits to being reluctant when he first took charge as General of the Minutemen. He has since then come to, if not embrace the position itself, value the importance it holds. When Radio Freedom calls, he always answers… and it’s been calling quite a bit over the past week. I offered to tag along the last time I spotted him headed out of the park, in his full assortment of armor, bowler hat on his head. I asked him why he never wears the Minutemen uniform. He said, “I wear it when the task at hand calls for a General’s full regalia. Traveling by foot to a distant settlement with raider trouble is not one of those occasions.”

The settlement in question was Greentop Nursery, a small greenhouse settlement to the northeast. The settlers there said the raiders were coming from the direction of Dunwich Borers, the remains of a pre-War mining operation to the east. East we went.

The first thing the Minutemen’s General did was head to the nearest terminal and disable the turrets. A raider spotted us; he didn’t live long after, but long enough to alert a few of his friends. Holmes is stealthy, handy with a pistol, and knows how to swing a sword. He’s also got a mean throwing arm, as the raiders on the receiving end of a frag grenade found out. Once the surface was clear, he headed down.

“This is a fully functioning mining operation, which means there are likely raiders on every level. I hope you’re not claustrophobic, Miss Wright.”

“Don’t worry about me, Blue.” What can I say, Vault Dwellers wear blue. He requested I firmly remind my readers that I am the only person in the entire Commonwealth, if not entire world, that can call him that without offending him. You’ve been warned.

Our descent through the mine played out much the same way as up top; sneak, fight, repeat. Holmes checked every terminal as we went, out of curiosity at first, but becoming more alarmed by what he found. Dunwich management hadn’t cared one bit about the safety of their workers, requests for such simple measures as railings routinely ignored. As we headed further down into the mine, the raider population dropped, but the feral population rose. How many workers were trapped in the mine the day the bombs fell? Almost worse than the ferals was the vibration of the ground as we went deeper. Holmes assumed there must be drilling happening somewhere. I was not convinced. I didn’t know what was causing the shaking, but some gut feeling told me it sure as hell wasn’t a drill.

Holmes hadn’t stopped checking every terminal we came to the whole way. As we reached the bottom of the pit, we found the leader of the raiders, a woman decked out in iron armor and sporting some wicked burns. Once she was dead, Holmes once again checked the nearby terminal. I asked him if he’d learned anything interesting he wanted to share.

He glanced up, sort of like he’d forgotten I was there. “In addition to Management caring not a whit for the well-being of their employees, they were also lying to them. Something was going on down on Station 4, though there’s no clear indication what it was…” The ground shook. He continued, unperturbed, “The cargo shipments from this place stopped, due to the interference of the ferals and what is only referenced as ‘things down in the mine.’ The leader we have just dispatched went down deeper into the mine herself when the crew she sent to clear out the ferals below didn’t come back. She returned, and… “I’m safe in the light.””

“What?”

“That’s all. The last entry says ‘I’m safe in the light,’ thirty two times.”

The ground shook, strong enough this time I had to adjust my footing. “Blue. There isn’t any drilling going on down here.”

He frowned, and slowly nodded. “I fear that you’re right. Come on. Station 4 holds the answers.”

The shaking was near constant now as we reached Station 4. Holmes again went straight to the terminal. The Project Manager of Station 4 was in on whatever Management was doing. They even hired a fake crew. Then they lured the other Project Managers down to Station 4, for… something. Whatever the plan was, it couldn’t have been pleasant. What were they doing down here? What were they trying to find? I spotted a water-filled pit -

Suddenly everything was hazy, the chamber filled with warm yellow light, figures of people walking along the path in front of us, headed for some sort of temple… and then ferals were attacking us in the blinding white fluorescence of the work lights.

One of them got a good swipe in at my leg that brought me down to one knee. Holmes was right there, decapitating it with his sword. I returned the favor by shooting the feral behind him in the head. Once they were all down, he used a stimpak on my leg and helped me to my feet. I asked if he’d had some sort of vision just then, my heart pounding.

He nodded once. “Some sort of hallucination. Perhaps something in the air down here.”

“If it was people headed toward a temple by firelight, then we had the same hallucination and what are the chances? Blue, why aren’t you more freaked out about this place?”

“There must be a logical explanation, Piper. We simply haven’t found it, yet.” He walked to the edge of the water.

I wasn’t buying it. He could say whatever he wanted about logic and reason, and he probably believed all of it, but he was also spooked. He just hid it a hell of a lot better than I could.

Then he tossed his hat to the ground and took a RadX.

“Blue? Don’t do what I think you’re going to do. Blue, wait!”

He dove into the water with a splash. I stood there on the edge, waiting, the ground shaking around me, the bright lights washing out whatever color might have existed, making the chamber feel even more unnatural. No wonder the raiders didn’t want to come down here. ‘I’m safe in the light,’ she’d said…

Holmes gasped for air as he swam up, pulling himself out of the water as the ground shook like an earthquake.

“What the hell were you thinking!?” I demanded, relieved and furious.

“A face… a pupiless eye, staring up from the abyss…”

My blood ran cold. “Stop it, Blue. That isn’t funny.” But he was way too pale for this to be a joke. I helped him to his feet, “Blue, snap out of it!”

He took a clear breath, and retrieved his hat. “Of course. My apologies,” he said, sounding more like himself, “I’m not sure what came over me. Let’s get out of here.”

“Blue. What are you holding.”

He glanced down at the long, twisted knife of black metal in his hand. “Oh. A sacrificial blade of some sort. It was on the altar.”

“The what!”

The earthquake intensified. “This is not the time, Piper. Back to the surface.”

The shaking lessened as we got further away from Station 4, the air somehow lighter and the light warmer, despite still being underground. Once we were back up top, Holmes finally explained, “I thought the answers would be below the water, and I was right. There was a statue, some sort of ancient deity no doubt, that the Management were secretly excavating, though I’m not certain to what ultimate purpose.”

“So the pupiless eye in the abyss was just a statue.”

“Naturally.”

I didn’t quite believe him, but I didn’t want to dwell on it anymore. “You’re keeping the knife?”

“Why not? Surely you don’t believe some ancient subterranean deity could come looking for it?” He looked it over, considering. “It is a bit of an eldritch blade, isn’t it?”

“It’s eerie, Blue.”

“It’s a weapon, Miss Wright, no more, no less. Now, I’ve a bit of business to see to before headed back to Diamond City; I want to make a personal appearance at the Slog now that the trade routes have been cleared of mutants, check on the progress of the new settlement in Outpost Zimonja, and then I need to report in at Sanctuary. Are you joining me, or has this bit of subterranean terror unnerved you enough to retreat?”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily,” I scoffed, “but I’m writing all about this when we get home.”

Greentop Nursery was thankful, and more than willing to give up beds for our use while Holmes’s clothes dried out overnight. Holmes wouldn’t hear of it, and so we built an extra bed… which he insisted I use, while he made do with an old sleeping bag on the ground.

Neither of us slept well. I saw a face in the dark, black water closing in around me as voices chanted in a strange language I couldn’t begin to replicate. I don’t plan on going down into any more mines anytime soon. But, the sun rose the next day, and the world seemed a little brighter, a little better.

Nothing in the days following compared to what happened in Dunwich Borers. The Slog is growing tarberries in peace, the settlement in Zimonja has a pair of newly constructed turrets to help discourage raiders, and I got to see the Minutemen training grounds in Sanctuary.

There’s been a bit of disagreement within the ranks concerning training, particularly between Colonel Preston Garvey and his new Lieutenant Colonel. I spoke with Sanctuary’s resident engineer, who goes by Sturges, and a scientist, Curie, to get a better sense of how the new leaders are working with each other.

“Preston thought [the Lt.Col.] was too hard on people who already had enough hardship. Everyone in the Commonwealth already knows how to shoot, or else they’d be dead.  Even pulled rank. Been with Preston since Quincy, and I don’t think I’d ever seen him that angry. Thought [Lt. Col] was going to punch him, but he backed down. He apologized! Said he wasn’t trying to usurp Preston’s authority and he knows he’s only tolerated cuz he’s a friend of the General, and I’ll be damned if Preston wasn’t flabbergasted. Said he hadn’t thought [Lt. Col.] was trying to usurp anything, just that he was being an argumentative son of a bitch. [Lt. Col.] might have smiled. He said the training may seem harsh, but it’s necessary. Basically told Preston to give it a chance and see if he didn’t see huge improvement, only with a lot more words, and Preston agreed.”

I asked if the result was a success. Sturges smiled. “Don’t know I’d call it a huge improvement, yet, but whatever the Lieutenant Colonel’s doing is sure as hell working.”

I don’t know much about military training, but it looked like everything was running smoothly. Most of the recruits I talked to had nothing but positive words for their Lt. Col. - he’s hard, but respected. As for Col. Garvey, he’s practically a legend in his own right. He was there when the Institute fell. Ask him anything about it though, and he’ll tell you all the reasons you should be thanking the General, or the Minutemen as a whole, or even the Commonwealth itself, instead of him.

It’s a strange bunch of people the General has at his back, but all of them want to help people, some way or another. It’s about time someone in the Commonwealth cared about not just someone else, but everyone else. Anyone. Man, woman, or child, human, ghoul, or synth. Even a few Institute scientists that escaped have been taken in by Minutemen settlements.

They’re not perfect. All three top men in command will be the first to tell you they’re still just people. The Minutemen can’t be everywhere at once, but they’re trying. Mistakes will be made, because everyone makes them, but they will own up to their mistakes and be held accountable when they happen. The knowledge of how the Minutemen failed is all too palpable in the Colonel’s memory, in particular. He’s doing everything he can to ensure that doesn’t happen again. Even if it doesn’t work, even if it all falls apart again… isn’t it good that someone tried to make the Commonwealth a better place? Maybe trying is all any of us can do, and maybe of everyone did it together, it would be enough to keep away the things that lurk in the dark.

[sorrelchestnut]

EVERYBODY’S PICKIN’ UP ON THAT FELINE BEAT, PART 34

I was poking at this today with the intention of maybe getting another scene or two done and belatedly realized that I’d actually written more and, apparently, forgotten about it.  Whoops?

Part 1.  Part 2.  Part 3.  Part 4.  Part 5.  Part 6.  Part 7.  Part 8.  Part 9.  Part 10.  Part 11. Part 12.  Part 13.  Part 14.  Part 15.  Part 16.  Part 17.  Part 18.  Part 19. Part 20.  Part 21.  Part 22. Part 23. Part 24. Part 25. Part 26.  Part 27. Part 28. Part 29. Part 30. Part 31. Part 32. Part 33.

Title: everybody’s picking up on that feline beat Author: Sorrel Fandom: Fallout 4 Rating: Mature Warnings: None Relationships: Deacon/Female Sole Survivor Series: Part 3 of everybody wants to be a cat

     After all that prep, Deacon’s prepared for a lot of things.  For coursers to spot their hiding spot, for the ghouls not to chase Cait and the other runner, for the ghouls to catch the runners, for the coursers to stay put instead of moving out to deal with the ghouls, for there to be a boatload of extra security inside, for the coursers to come back before they’re done…  Deacon’s a worst-case-scenario kinda guy, and something this ballsy is bound to leave a lot of holes.  Whisper’s plan is solid, but Deacon’s got contingencies on contingencies, a whole laundry list of if-then statements to make sure that whatever else might go wrong, at least he and Whisper will make it out with their skins intact.

  He wasn’t prepared for everything to go according to plan.

  “This is spooky,” he murmurs, shifting the chemist’s weight more squarely over his shoulders.  The chemist makes a faintly protesting noise, then falls silent again, as Hancock’s ‘State House Special’ works its magic.  “This feels way too easy.  Don’t you think that was too easy?”

  “Shut your pie hole,” Whisper hisses back.  She leans around the corner, glances down at her Pip-boy for life signs readings, and then jerks her chin, indicating that he should move forward.  “Are you trying to jinx us?”

  “Aww, Whisper, don’t tell me you’re superstitious?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re not.”

  He feels her presence behind him as much as hears it; she’s moving with her usual quiet grace, though it’s probably wasted by the way he’s blundering forward.  Deacon prides himself on keeping in shape about as well as the next forty-mumble guy with an active lifestyle, but hauling a dead weight around the Commonwealth streets is taking its toll.  The chemist was semi-conscious enough to stumble out with them, if not enough to figure out why he was being hauled out at all due speed by complete strangers, but eventually their knockout shot worked just a little too well.  Deacon gave up and started carrying him almost two blocks back.

  “We’re almost there,” Whisper says, trying to sound encouraging and mostly just sounding frustrated.  She’s not any happier about their slow pace than he is, but she needs her hands free to shoot in case someone catches up with them, so it’s not like she can do anything to help.  “Just another block.”

  “Sure thing, partner.”  Maybe he should have brought a cart.

  The blocky outline of the Plaza is a welcome sight, and Deacon picks up speed, gaze fixed the small square of lamplight spilling out of the front door.  Twenty more feet and then he can-

  The sound a magazine racking into place breaks through his exhausted trance.  “That’s close enough,” comes Hancock’s raspy voice.  “I don’t give a fuck what scam you’re running, you can just turn your happy asses back around and go back the way you came.”

  “Hancock, you dipshit, it’s us,” Whisper says, pushing past him until the light falls over her painted face.  “See?”

  Hancock squints at them, then lowers his shotgun, his mouth falling open in surprise.  “Liv?  ‘zat you?”

  “Questions later, move,” she says, with that very special Obedience or Death tone that Desdemona only wishes she could mimic, and Hancock complies almost instinctively, falling back and leaving the doorway blessedly clear.  Deacon staggers through and spills his burden gratefully to the floor inside, leaning over and bracing himself on his thighs to pant.

  “Fuck me, that guy could stand to lose a few pounds.”

  Hancock ignores him, peering uncomfortably close to his face until Deacon almost topples trying to lean over.  Undeterred, he only circles around to give Whisper the same treatment, only backing up when she bats irritatedly at his face.

  “Shit,” Hancock breathes.  “Damned if those scars don’t look real as hell.  How’d you pull this off?  Honest to god, I thought you were a raider, almost fuckin’ shot you til you said something.”

  Deacon recovers his breath enough enough to straighten, holding his hand out to Whisper.  Not looking over, she pulls a sack of caps out of her pocket and slaps it into his palm, scowling.

  “Told you,” he says.  “I’m just that good.”

  Her bitter look says she’s going to make him pay for that bit of smugness later.  “You just lost me ten caps,” she grumbles at Hancock.  “Aren’t ghouls supposed to have great night vision?”

  “Not with all that shit all over your face,” Hancock grumbles right back.  “What were you doing bettin’ on me in the first place?”

  Whisper shrugs and leans down to grab the chemist’s arm.  “Gotta make our fun somehow.  C’mon, help me get this guy upstairs.  He’s not going to be unconscious forever.”

~*~

  The stairs seem a lot less daunting with ghoul’s strength on their side, and Deacon happily falls back and lets Hancock and Whisper handle the transit while he detours into the side room to get the extra equipment.  When he catches up to them in their makeshift interrogation room, Hancock’s holding the guy upright while Whisper arranges him properly on the chair, glancing interrogatively over her shoulder at Deacon when she hears his footsteps in the doorway.

  He tosses her the cuffs, and she snaps them into place, followed by the wide leather straps at the shins and torso that will actually hold the guy into place.  At her nod, Hancock takes hold of his shoulders and tugs him hard from side to side, testing.  The chair doesn’t so much as twitch, the bolts securing it to the floor holding fast.

  “Don’t think he’s goin’ anywhere,” Hancock grunts, after a moment, and lets go.  The chemist sags in his bonds, and Hancock steps back, brushing his hands together to dust them off.  “You sure you don’t want me to stick around?  What if those coursers track you down?”

  “Then here is the last place you should be,” Deacon says, gently but firmly, before Whisper can answer.  "Right now, we’ve got no reason to think they’re moving on Goodneighbor just yet, but that could change if the Institute figures out you were part of this little operation.”

  Hancock glances at Whisper, who nods.  “You’ve got a responsibility to your people first,” she says.  “You already went above and beyond on this, okay?  We couldn’t have done it without you.”

  Not exactly true; they’ve hit harder targets, though usually with a bit more time to prepare.  Still, Deacon’s never made a habit of getting in Whisper’s way when she’s working her magic, and the soft, pleased look on Hancock’s face says it’s working just fine.

  “Yeah, well, can’t say it wasn’t fun,” Hancock says, only a little gruffly.  “It was one hell of a last time, Liv.”

  Whisper’s face softens.  “Guess it was,” she says, and exchanges a quick look with Deacon, strangely hesitant.  He nods toward the door, and she smiles, straightening out of her crouch and threading her arm through Hancock’s elbow.  “C’mon.  I’ll walk you out.”

  Deacon doesn't let himself listen in to the fading blur of their voices as they retreat down the hall; he's had enough of eavesdropping for one day, thanks, and this time, at least, he's pretty sure Whisper would expect him to listen in.  He's already seen the most interesting parts of her and Hancock, and besides—it's not the things she wants him to hear that he needs to figure out.  It's all the rest.

  Getting the cuffs wired up takes all of his attention, anyway.  Whatever the fuck Hancock put in the knockout juice worked a treat, but the guy's gotta come around at some point, and it'd sort of defeat the purpose if they didn't have everything up and running first.  Deacon's not what you'd call a mechanical genius, but he's used them before, even back with Tinker's earliest iterations, which had a nasty habit of shocking the shit out of you if you let touched the wrong ends.  Carrington's tweaks have made them considerably more user-friendly (and idiot-proof, as the good doctor complained more than once, after some of the more… spectacular of the early failures) but usually Deacon's wiring the damn things to, y'know, an actual terminal.  Not a Pip-Boy.  Which is not meant to be wired to anything but a friggin' vault door.  Not the most compatible input ever.

  He's almost done when the first groans of returning conscious sound from the chair behind him.  He eyes the unfinished connection, curses under his breath, and shoves the last cable into the converter with more speed than caution.  Slaps the power button, and prays.

  There's an ominous pause, and then the Pip-Boy screen flashes a familiar cheerful startup sequence.  Deacon lets out a slow breath that turns into a choked laugh as a moment later, a tiny green caveman chases a tiny green astronaut across the screen.

  So the Doc's got a sense of humor after all, Deacon thinks.  And here I thought he'd had it surgically removed sometime back in the seventies.

  "Unnh."  The moan comes from the chair behind him.  "Whuh- where am I?"

  Showtime, Deacon thinks, and rolls to his feet.

  "Hey-hey, you're awake."  They hadn't really run their play in advance—when do they ever?—but the jittery spill of words comes to his tongue as easy as breathing.  Whisper’s better at quiet intimidation, when it comes to that.  Deacon’s at his best when you give him a chance to ramble.  "He-ey-ey, little man, how you feelin'?  That night-night juice hit you pretty hard, yeah?"

  "The- wha?"

  “The night-night juice, little man, the rockout knockout.  Y’know, the good stuff.”  He circles the chair, too fast for the chemist to catch a look at his face, and goes to the other corner of the room.  It forces the chemist to twist around if he wants to keep an eye on him, which he does, letting him feel his bonds for the first time.  When Deacon comes back with a chair of his own, his eyes are wide with the hazy beginnings of panic.

  “What- what’s going on?”

  Deacon slaps the chair down in front of him and straddles it backwards, heels bouncing with an overflow of energy that translates into the tapping of his fingers, the slight twitch in his cheeks and the fast, too-frequent blink.  Jet jitters, which is something no pampered Institute scientist should recognize.  But this guy, Deacon can see it in his eyes.  This guy recognizes it just fine.

  And it’s not just the jitters that the chemist is seeing, but Deacon’s face, clearly in his line of sight for the first time.  The lazy smears of grease paint, the reddened eyes, the needle-marked cheeks: all the things that mark him a raider, and maybe it wouldn’t take a waster to recognize him as a danger, but only a waster would react with such visceral fear.  Only a waster would know, as this guy clearly knows, just how truly and deeply screwed he actually is.  Institute agents are more arrogant than that; they’d look around at the blood-spattered walls, the meat hooks with their grisly prizes dangling from the ceilings, and they’d look at Deacon’s jet-addled face and think, they’re only savages, I can manage this.  It’s the Institute way.  They can’t quite seem to help themselves.

  But it seems like they’re not actually dealing with an Institute agent, or at least not a homegrown one.  No, this boy’s a local.  Which means that a) Whisper owes him another ten caps, and b) they’ve got an in.

  “See, it goes down like-”  Deacon mimes a diving bird with his hands, and the chemist’s eyes follow it helplessly before snapping back to his face.  “Little birdie says, new player in town, right?  And Boss is all like, naw, man, no way, nobody’d push in on our turf, right-right?  Only birdie says yeah, new player, sellin’ big.  And Boss, Boss is tops, yeah, Boss don’t take that from nobody, and Boss figures, better find out who, yeah?  Have a little talk.  Maybe the new guy don’t know how business is run, right-right?  Nice thing to do, explaining.  Good neighbors.”

  Deacon pauses expectantly, grinning at his own joke, and the chemist nods back, a little frantic, trying to hide it.  Deacon rewards him with a bigger grin, the better to show the blackened teeth and greying gums.  It’d taken him twenty minutes just to do the mouth, earlier; it’d be a shame not to show it off.

  “So when outside guards went chasing ghouls, Boss-”  This time his gesture is more like a darting fish, all smooth and graceful.  “Only nobody figured on chrome dome types, yeah?  So Boss got to thinking, maybe we need to talk about something else, yeah?  Maybe we talk about why chrome domes are in our town.  Not good neighbours.”  Deacon sits back in his chair and spread his hands in a shrug.  “So.  Here you are.”

  The chemist swallows hard.  “Y-yeah.  Here I am.”

  Deacon gives him an empty smile.  “So.  We gonna talk?  You gonna tell us what we need?”

  The chemist shifts, not like he’s testing his bonds, exactly, more like he’s reminding himself they’re there.  “I’ll, uh.  I’ll certainly try.”

  “Well now, friend, that’s mighty appreciated.”  Whisper’s lazy drawl comes from the doorway, and the chemist flinches at her soundless approach, his eyes rolling wildly in her direction.  The way his chair is angled, he can’t really see more than her basic outline, but Whisper obligingly closes in, lounging hipshot against counter a few feet to Deacon’s left and giving the chemist a clear view of her face.  From the way he goes pale, it’s not the most reassuring sight.

  Deacon two, civvies zero.  Am I good, or am I good?

  Deacon lets real happiness leak into his grin when he twists around to look up at her, knowing that it just looks macabre from underneath all the grease paint.  "Hey-hey, boss lady."  He lets his eyes trawl up and down her frame, obvious enough even the chemist will notice, and has to suppress a very timing-inappropriate giggle when he notices that her lazily-slicked up raider's mohawk is starting to list sideways a little.  She doesn't have a lot of extra hair to hold, but the grease they had on hand isn't doing so hot in the late September heat.  "This is Boss," he explains needlessly to the chemist, with the cheerful, earnest tones of a child.  "Boss is tops."

  "Well, I try."  Whisper has to shift to be able to fold her arms over her chest—the only coat she managed to scrounge up quite in her size had some fairly substantial armor pieces pre-attached, as it were, and he knows it's fucking up her sense of balance—but she manages to make the gesture look graceful, purposeful.  All of the spiky bits sticking off of her probably don't hurt, either.  "What's our new friend here think, huh?  Does he think I'm the tops?"

  The chemist looks, for a moment, so completely out to sea that Deacon almost starts laughing and ruins the entire thing.  "Uhm-"

  "She's just joshin' ya, man," Deacon tells him.  "Boss is like that.  Boss likes her jokes."

  Whisper smiles thinly at the chemist, when his nervous glance darts to her.  "I'm a funny gal," Whisper says, her voice as flat and cold as death itself.  The chemist's breath starts coming in faster.  "You can ask anyone."

  Deacon watches the wavering green line on Whisper's Pip-boy stutter and blink before settling into something like steady, and smiles inwardly to himself.  They've taken him all the way from unconscious to near full-blown panic, which means that they've got their baseline.  Now the real fun can start.

  He lets one hand drop to his knee and starts drumming his fingers.  "Ask him, Boss," Deacon says.  "Ask him about the tin men."

  "Yeah, that is a good question."  Whisper cocks her head.  "We thought you all were just some kinda small-time joint, trying to muscle in on our territory.  Your product was good, so we figured we'd take you if we could, make you cook for us instead.  Only your men weren't Gunners, or mercs, or good old-fashioned bully boys like my man, here."  (Deacon grins obligingly.)  "You were there with a bunch of synths, and that makes you Institute."

  "No!" the chemist blurts.  "No, I'd never-  They came to me.  I didn't have any choice."

  "They do that," Whisper nods.  There's sympathy on her pretty face, under the heavy black of the grease paint.  It almost looks grotesque.  "Almost left you there—not lookin' to tangle with no tin men—but we need a good cook.  Last one liked his own product too much."

  The chemist straightens slightly in his bonds, his chin going up a little.  "Yeah?" he says, and Deacon can see it, then- the tiniest shadow of calculation.  Not Institute arrogance, if he had to guess, but something not far off.  Something that says, I'm smarter than they are, and they need me, like they've given him some kind of opening and now the situation's his to manage.  "You're in luck, then.  I'm the best damned chemist in the Commonwealth."

  And that's how they got you, Deacon thinks, only a little sadly.  He can't blame the man for it.  Everyone's got their soft spots, their buttons to push and levers to pull, if you know where to look.  He's seen dozens of men just like this guy fall because they're just smart enough to be useful without enough savvy to know when they're outmatched, and the Institute takes them, and uses them, and then throws them away, and they never figure out where the hell they went wrong.

  "Only one problem, though."  Whisper picks idly at one thumbnail.  "How do I know this isn't some trick?  You hear it all the time, people workin' with the Institute.  I let you out of that chair, maybe you just bide your time, call the chrome domes down on us while we're sleepin'."

  "No!  No, I wouldn't.  I never want to see those things again.  I'd do anything."

  Honest, Deacon thinks.  Probably a little more honest than the guy really meant to be, judging by the way he reels himself back as soon as the words are out of his mouth.  He flattens his palm against his thigh, letting his gaze slide ways towards Whisper.  Bring it home, partner.

  "Anything, huh?"  She uncrosses her arms, leans forward with her palms braced on her knees.  "Gotta admit, I like the sound of that."

  "Yeah?" the chemist says, shaky underneath his best attempt at bravado, and for the first time, Deacon realizes that he's younger than they thought.  Not much older than Deacon was when he fell in with the Railroad, probably.  "I mean- yeah.  Of course you do.  I'm the best you're going to get."

  "That's as may be, kid," and Deacon knows Whisper saw the same thing he did, from the way her voice gets a little rougher.  Fighting the surge of sympathy.  "But I gotta know for sure that this was a rescue job, not a, whaddaya call 'em, Trogan things."

  "Trojan Horse?"

  "Yeah, sure," and she shrugs away the correction.  "I need to be sure, you get me?  I take care of my people."

  The chemist tries out a smile.  "Good thing, if I'm going to be one of them."

  "Which means," Whisper continues, as if he hadn't spoken, "that you're gonna tell me how you got stuck with those chrome domes.  Every damn thing, and if I think you're leaving anything out-"  She leaves the threat unfinished, and the chemist goes pale again, some of his cockiness leaking away.

  "I won't," he promises, and then he swallows hard and looks back to her.  "What do you want to know?"

[officialsailorscarlet]

There was a Shooting at the Local Grocery Store [Part 4]

We have just settled into a motel for the night, we are safe at the moment. Scarlet is asleep next to me as I write this. We had a long day, I want to start by thanking you guys for your concern. I will get to explaining what has happened since the last update.

When we got to the airport we quickly decided we needed to go somewhere that we didn't know anyone as I mentioned last time. I purchased two tickets for the soonest flight to the destination that we chose, which I will keep secret for obvious reasons.

We thankfully didn’t have a long wait until boarding, there was a relatively empty flight leaving within the hour and seeing as how we didn’t have much of anything on us it was a quick trip through security. I wrote the last update while we waited to board the plane.

“That’s us.” Scarlet nudged my shoulder. “Nosleep can wait a little longer.”

“It just feels better to tell people who believe us, maybe someone will know something about this.”

Scarlet put her hands on my cheeks and leaned in. “Hey, we will figure this out. I am terrified and just as anxious to be safe. Together, remember?” She smiled and then leaned in to deliver a soft kiss.

“Together.” I smiled weakly. I was exhausted and ready for some sense of calm.

We boarded the plane and took our seats near the middle, Scarlet sat at the window seat and I sat in the middle chair. I felt myself dozing a bit, I hadn’t slept in I couldn’t remember how long and I was giving in easily.

My eyelids seemed to guide me and before I could help it I gave in to the weight. I settled in as the flight attendant finished her safety demonstration.

“I feel like this is all my fault” Scarlet whispered.

I slipped away then and was only woken by the turbulence as we landed.

I groggily raised my head and was met with the pain of falling asleep with your neck in an odd position. With a groan I raised a hand to massage my sore neck.

“Morning sleepy head.” Scarlet forced a smile, her eyes were dark and she looked exhausted. It was then that I realized she never got to sleep because of the police station incident.

“Did you sleep at all?” I asked.

“No, I figured we would maintain the one at a time sleeping pattern until we were safe and you looked so happy.” She yawned.

“Let’s get you somewhere comfortable.” I kissed her forehead and relaxed a bit as the plane made its way to the terminal.

“Scarlet?”

“Connor?” She looked at me with a mix of concern and anticipation.

“As I was falling asleep I heard you say something, that you thought this was all your fault. What did you mean by that?” I was nervous for the answer.

“You caught that huh? It’s a bit of a long story.” She rubbed her eyes. “ Can I tell you over some Lunch? I am almost more hungry than I am tired.”

“Deal.” My mind was immediately clouded with the possibility of what she meant. I feared that I may have waited too long to question her but I was so caught up in helping that I hadn’t considered the possibility that she hadn’t told me everything.

Now I am across the country running from god knows what with her and she may have some information that would have changed my mind.

“Hey, relax Connor. Together, remember?” She took my hand and I began to smooth my expression.

Maybe I was over thinking it. It had been a fairly traumatic 24 hours and the lack of basic necessity was starting to fuck with me.

“Let’s get you something to eat.” I smiled and led her out of the terminal.

We grabbed a cab and asked the driver about the layout of town and where a nice place for some food and a motel might be. He took us downtown and dropped us off in front of a little cafe.

“Thanks man.” I placed some cash in his hand and climbed out of the car.

“This looks nice” Scarlet seemed to perk up.

“Shall we?” I extended an arm to her and she linked her arm around mine.

The cafe was set up more like a coffee shop, vaulted ceilings and wooden tables. There was a counter to walk up to or you could sit and be served. It had just begun to rain outside and the street facing wall was all glass so we had a clear view of the street corner.

We settled into a booth against the wall and were almost instantly greeted by a waitress, purple hair and a nose ring and the largest smile I had seen in days.

I looked at Scarlet. “I’ll have a cheeseburger please!” She beamed.

She must have been hungry to look that elated, either that or she really loved cheeseburgers which only made me more attracted to her.

“I’ll have the same.” I handed the menu on the table back to the waitress.

I took a drink of water and then looked across the table expectantly.

“I guess I have to start awhile back for all of this to make sense.” She laughed nervously.

The tension immediately left her as she began to explain.

“It has always been my mom and me. Dad died when I was little, at least that’s what my mom told me. She never took me to a grave, she never explained how, he had just died and she never wanted to talk about it.”

She looked down at the table then. “It wasn’t that I was unhappy, I just felt like I was missing something. I imagine the same as every little girl without a dad does. In some attempt to make sure I came out okay my mother had enrolled me in private school, private christian school. I liked it fine enough and everyone was nice to me but not my mom. They all treated her like she had done something wrong and she always got dirty looks.” Scarlet sighed and took a deep breath.

“Very abruptly my mother pulled me out of the private school and put me into a public school.”

“I remember that, you came in the middle of the school year.” I interjected.

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “My mother had told me that it was because of money but she worked the same two jobs before and after that. I didn’t push it because she seemed embarrassed when I asked and I never wanted my mother to feel like she wasn’t doing enough. So I just let it go..” She trailed off.

“What does that have to do with where we are now?” my voice a mixture of hesitation and confusion.

“I’m getting there, be patient.” She smirked.

“One night in high school I was at the library downtown and I ran into an old friend from my private school. After some small talk, I told her that I still had no idea why I had to leave there as my mom never explained it to me. She laughed at me and told me that she overheard her mother talking about how my mom had been a witch and that she didn’t belong there.”

The rain picked up and started pattering on the glass.

“I had thought originally that her mom had meant bitch, that my mom was a bitch and maybe she was bullied or pressured into taking me out of the private school.” Her expression seemed to get angry then.

“I knew she had been working two jobs a long time and I had always heard her talk about the office she worked in during the day and the hospital she worked in overnight but never any names of places. I never really much cared where she worked, just that she was taken care of and that the time we had together was great.” She shook her head.

“The thing is, my friend from private school had not been mistaken when she said witch. My mother had indeed been involved in something. One night I mistakenly came across a book in her room full of what I can only imagine was spells. I had been looking for money she left me for a field trip and stumbled upon it.” She put her head in her hands.

“And then I did something really stupid.” She looked at me through her hands.

“I lit the candles around the book and I opened it up, I didn’t much understand it but in some fit of complete thoughtlessness I started to chant the words on the page. I danced around and put my hands in the air and thought of my father and after several minutes of absolutely nothing happening I blew out the candle and closed the book and hurried out of my mother's room. I instantly felt like someone was watching me and wanted to get out of there.”

“I stayed away from my mother's room after that. That summer I got the job at the grocery store and was home a lot less to feel the atmosphere change there. My mother seemed different as well but I chalked it up to not spending so much time together anymore.” She started rubbing her temples and we were interrupted by sweet cheeseburgers.

“Can I get you two anything else?” The waitress beamed.

“No, thank you.” I nodded.

Scarlet started eating before the waitress had even walked away. Through bites of her cheeseburger she looked at me “Connor, I think that book might have had real spells and I am wondering if I brought my father back.” I have never seen someone look so horrified with a burger in their hands.

“Do you remember at all what it said? Anything that might give us a clue what to look for?”

“I don’t, it was awhile ago and I have done my best to forget it.” She looked defeated.

We finished our food in mostly silence after that. I had a million things running through my head but at least this gave us some semblance of an idea where to start.

I paid the bill and we began to make our way out of the cafe, bracing ourselves for the rain. The motel our cab driver recommended was just down the street and we had decided to just walk before the rain started.

I thanked the waitress and we stepped out into the rain. We moved quickly down the street until we reached a little inn a couple blocks down.

Once we got settled into the room I started to write and Scarlet passed out. She did mention that her grandmother might be able to help us but she hadn’t spoken to her in such a long time she wasn’t sure how to get ahold of her.

We decided to figure it out tomorrow, I just wanted to update you guys on what we are working off of now. I guess I will try to keep myself up with some shitty motel televi…

Hold on. The hotel room phone is ringing.

“Hello?”

“Scarlet! COME HOME BABY!”

[blogemilyparker]

Aside from eligibility and seller metrics, pricing is an integral component of the Amazon algorithm for determining who gets the much-coveted buy box on an Amazon listing. And as we all know, 80% to 90% of all purchases in Amazon occur in the buy box, so having a sound pricing strategy in place to maintain a consistently good buy box ownership percentage is an absolute necessity for your FBA business to thrive and succeed.

The Importance of Implementing a Strategic and Highly Reactive Pricing Strategy

Selling on Amazon can be quite competitive, and in order to keep up with thousands of other FBA sellers, you have to be able to monitor the constantly changing competitor prices in the Amazon marketplace and react accordingly. Simply put, implementing a highly reactive pricing strategy based on competitor price changes allows you to consistently win the buy box and sell your products at profitable margins. This is vital to ensuring the profitability and sustainability of your FBA business.

Automated, Intelligent Repricing > Manual Repricing

Impractical, tedious, work-intensive and time-consuming. These are the best words that describe the process of manual repricing as you will need to check your listings as well your competitors’ to get the repricing of your products done. Can you imagine how difficult checking numerous buy boxes, doing manual calculations and inputting results for all of your listings is? Moreover, this process is prone to human error and may lead to your products to selling way below profitable margins.

The good news is that now, FBA sellers have access to intelligent repricing software solutions that automate the process of adjusting your prices according to the pricing activity of your competitors and marketplace trends.

Some sellers are hesitant to use repricing software for the fear of having their prices get pushed down too low triggering a price war with other sellers. Let me assure you that this never happens as the software allows you to set minimum and maximum prices for your products, and your prices never get lowered beyond your minimum price. If used wisely, repricing software actually enables you to compete according to your desired terms and specifications and help you win a profitable sale.

The Benefits of Using Repricing Software

Using an intelligent, automated repricing carries a lot of benefits:

1. It helps you save time – it frees you up from manually repricing your listings, so the time saved can be reinvested in the development and reinforcement of other aspects of your FBA business. 2. It increases your bottom line – an effective repricing solution prompts you to raise your prices when it detects competitor stock outs, seller metrics advantages you have over other sellers and other circumstances you can exploit for more profit. 3. It enables better management of costs – repricing solutions enable you to set a minimum sale price for your product which in turn allows you to factor in all of the costs incurred in selling the item. That way, you will never sell an item at a loss. 4. It allows you to select who you compete with – repricing solutions allow you to utilize its built in competition settings which allows you to avoid other sellers that wish to engage you in a race to the bottom, have lowly seller metrics or sell merchant-fulfilled. 5. It allows you to win the buy box more often. 6. It minimizes the probability of human error. 7. It helps you plan for the future – repricing software enables you to collate and analyze valuable data that you can utilize to bring your business to the next level of success. The data you can extrapolate from the software can fill in system gaps, identify and exploit profit opportunities and establish business systems to expand your business.

Why I Chose Appeagle over Other Repricers

Last year, I had a significant learning experience about investing in automating solutions for my FBA business.

I decided to invest in a significantly cheaper automated repricing solution. Admittedly, I did so mainly because of the low cost of the subscription fee, and I failed to do my due diligence in making the decision. A couple of months went by, and I noticed that my sales figures were not only stagnating, but also getting alarmingly smaller and smaller.

I was horrified – after conducting a thorough investigation, I discovered that my products were being kept out of the buy box for significant periods of time because the repricer was only adjusting my prices only on an hourly basis! In a highly-competitive selling arena such as Amazon where prices change every second, this repricer simply wasn’t going to cut the mustard.

After careful research and scrutiny, I finally made the switch to Appeagle after terminating my subscription with my previous service. Immediately, I saw my sales figures recover, and I felt how beneficial it was to have an automated repricing solution that adjusted your prices in real time. Appeagle was also an intelligent repricing solution in the truest sense, as the strategy and critical insight it utilizes and implements are FBA-oriented, and takes these into consideration when raising or lowering my prices. This allowed me to increase my sales velocity, and almost triple my profits.

Appeagle was truly the missing piece to my FBA puzzle, I absolutely give it full credit for not only turning my business around but also for the success it is enjoying today.

You Don’t Have to Take My Word For It

For a limited time, Appeagle is offering a huge 30% discount for 3 months to anyone who becomes a paying Appeagle subscriber before the end of 2017. And not only that, taking advantage of this absolute steal of an Appeagle deal entitles you to exclusive deals with services offered by these leading service providers:

World First Tax Jar Refunds Manager Jungle Manager 71 Lbs Shipping Refunds Skubana SKU Vault Seller Labs Ecom Dash

To get your 30% off Appeagle and this exclusive bundle of deals from their partners, use the promo code AEHOLIDAYGIFT2017 and your discount will be applied after you complete your 14-day free trial and enter your credit card information. The promo codes from their featured partners will be recieved once you become a paying customer before the end of 2017.

So hurry up, subscribe, and take advantage of this absolutely awesome holiday deal from Appeagle! If you wish to know more about how Appeagle can help take your business to the next level, follow this link: http://appeagle.com

If you wish to learn more about the various facets, intricacies and complexities of Amazon FBA and make your business more profitable, subscribe to our email list!

The post Price Smart! The Open and Shut Case of Using Repricing Software appeared first on FBA Library.

from FBA Library http://ift.tt/2gV2MpD

[fbalibrary]

Price Smart! The Open and Shut Case of Using Repricing Software

Aside from eligibility and seller metrics, pricing is an integral component of the Amazon algorithm for determining who gets the much-coveted buy box on an Amazon listing. And as we all know, 80% to 90% of all purchases in Amazon occur in the buy box, so having a sound pricing strategy in place to maintain a consistently good buy box ownership percentage is an absolute necessity for your FBA business to thrive and succeed.

The Importance of Implementing a Strategic and Highly Reactive Pricing Strategy

Selling on Amazon can be quite competitive, and in order to keep up with thousands of other FBA sellers, you have to be able to monitor the constantly changing competitor prices in the Amazon marketplace and react accordingly. Simply put, implementing a highly reactive pricing strategy based on competitor price changes allows you to consistently win the buy box and sell your products at profitable margins. This is vital to ensuring the profitability and sustainability of your FBA business.

Automated, Intelligent Repricing > Manual Repricing

Impractical, tedious, work-intensive and time-consuming. These are the best words that describe the process of manual repricing as you will need to check your listings as well your competitors’ to get the repricing of your products done. Can you imagine how difficult checking numerous buy boxes, doing manual calculations and inputting results for all of your listings is? Moreover, this process is prone to human error and may lead to your products to selling way below profitable margins.

The good news is that now, FBA sellers have access to intelligent repricing software solutions that automate the process of adjusting your prices according to the pricing activity of your competitors and marketplace trends.

Some sellers are hesitant to use repricing software for the fear of having their prices get pushed down too low triggering a price war with other sellers. Let me assure you that this never happens as the software allows you to set minimum and maximum prices for your products, and your prices never get lowered beyond your minimum price. If used wisely, repricing software actually enables you to compete according to your desired terms and specifications and help you win a profitable sale.

The Benefits of Using Repricing Software

Using an intelligent, automated repricing carries a lot of benefits:

1. It helps you save time – it frees you up from manually repricing your listings, so the time saved can be reinvested in the development and reinforcement of other aspects of your FBA business. 2. It increases your bottom line – an effective repricing solution prompts you to raise your prices when it detects competitor stock outs, seller metrics advantages you have over other sellers and other circumstances you can exploit for more profit. 3. It enables better management of costs – repricing solutions enable you to set a minimum sale price for your product which in turn allows you to factor in all of the costs incurred in selling the item. That way, you will never sell an item at a loss. 4. It allows you to select who you compete with – repricing solutions allow you to utilize its built in competition settings which allows you to avoid other sellers that wish to engage you in a race to the bottom, have lowly seller metrics or sell merchant-fulfilled. 5. It allows you to win the buy box more often. 6. It minimizes the probability of human error. 7. It helps you plan for the future – repricing software enables you to collate and analyze valuable data that you can utilize to bring your business to the next level of success. The data you can extrapolate from the software can fill in system gaps, identify and exploit profit opportunities and establish business systems to expand your business.

Why I Chose Appeagle over Other Repricers

Last year, I had a significant learning experience about investing in automating solutions for my FBA business.

I decided to invest in a significantly cheaper automated repricing solution. Admittedly, I did so mainly because of the low cost of the subscription fee, and I failed to do my due diligence in making the decision. A couple of months went by, and I noticed that my sales figures were not only stagnating, but also getting alarmingly smaller and smaller.

I was horrified – after conducting a thorough investigation, I discovered that my products were being kept out of the buy box for significant periods of time because the repricer was only adjusting my prices only on an hourly basis! In a highly-competitive selling arena such as Amazon where prices change every second, this repricer simply wasn’t going to cut the mustard.

After careful research and scrutiny, I finally made the switch to Appeagle after terminating my subscription with my previous service. Immediately, I saw my sales figures recover, and I felt how beneficial it was to have an automated repricing solution that adjusted your prices in real time. Appeagle was also an intelligent repricing solution in the truest sense, as the strategy and critical insight it utilizes and implements are FBA-oriented, and takes these into consideration when raising or lowering my prices. This allowed me to increase my sales velocity, and almost triple my profits.

Appeagle was truly the missing piece to my FBA puzzle, I absolutely give it full credit for not only turning my business around but also for the success it is enjoying today.

You Don’t Have to Take My Word For It

For a limited time, Appeagle is offering a huge 30% discount for 3 months to anyone who becomes a paying Appeagle subscriber before the end of 2017. And not only that, taking advantage of this absolute steal of an Appeagle deal entitles you to exclusive deals with services offered by these leading service providers:

World First Tax Jar Refunds Manager Jungle Manager 71 Lbs Shipping Refunds Skubana SKU Vault Seller Labs Ecom Dash

To get your 30% off Appeagle and this exclusive bundle of deals from their partners, use the promo code AEHOLIDAYGIFT2017 and your discount will be applied after you complete your 14-day free trial and enter your credit card information. The promo codes from their featured partners will be recieved once you become a paying customer before the end of 2017.

So hurry up, subscribe, and take advantage of this absolutely awesome holiday deal from Appeagle! If you wish to know more about how Appeagle can help take your business to the next level, follow this link: http://appeagle.com

If you wish to learn more about the various facets, intricacies and complexities of Amazon FBA and make your business more profitable, subscribe to our email list!

The post Price Smart! The Open and Shut Case of Using Repricing Software appeared first on FBA Library.

from FBA Library http://ift.tt/2gV2MpD

[donnanrivera]

Aside from eligibility and seller metrics, pricing is an integral component of the Amazon algorithm for determining who gets the much-coveted buy box on an Amazon listing. And as we all know, 80% to 90% of all purchases in Amazon occur in the buy box, so having a sound pricing strategy in place to maintain a consistently good buy box ownership percentage is an absolute necessity for your FBA business to thrive and succeed.

The Importance of Implementing a Strategic and Highly Reactive Pricing Strategy

Selling on Amazon can be quite competitive, and in order to keep up with thousands of other FBA sellers, you have to be able to monitor the constantly changing competitor prices in the Amazon marketplace and react accordingly. Simply put, implementing a highly reactive pricing strategy based on competitor price changes allows you to consistently win the buy box and sell your products at profitable margins. This is vital to ensuring the profitability and sustainability of your FBA business.

Automated, Intelligent Repricing > Manual Repricing

Impractical, tedious, work-intensive and time-consuming. These are the best words that describe the process of manual repricing as you will need to check your listings as well your competitors’ to get the repricing of your products done. Can you imagine how difficult checking numerous buy boxes, doing manual calculations and inputting results for all of your listings is? Moreover, this process is prone to human error and may lead to your products to selling way below profitable margins.

The good news is that now, FBA sellers have access to intelligent repricing software solutions that automate the process of adjusting your prices according to the pricing activity of your competitors and marketplace trends.

Some sellers are hesitant to use repricing software for the fear of having their prices get pushed down too low triggering a price war with other sellers. Let me assure you that this never happens as the software allows you to set minimum and maximum prices for your products, and your prices never get lowered beyond your minimum price. If used wisely, repricing software actually enables you to compete according to your desired terms and specifications and help you win a profitable sale.

The Benefits of Using Repricing Software

Using an intelligent, automated repricing carries a lot of benefits:

1. It helps you save time – it frees you up from manually repricing your listings, so the time saved can be reinvested in the development and reinforcement of other aspects of your FBA business. 2. It increases your bottom line – an effective repricing solution prompts you to raise your prices when it detects competitor stock outs, seller metrics advantages you have over other sellers and other circumstances you can exploit for more profit. 3. It enables better management of costs – repricing solutions enable you to set a minimum sale price for your product which in turn allows you to factor in all of the costs incurred in selling the item. That way, you will never sell an item at a loss. 4. It allows you to select who you compete with – repricing solutions allow you to utilize its built in competition settings which allows you to avoid other sellers that wish to engage you in a race to the bottom, have lowly seller metrics or sell merchant-fulfilled. 5. It allows you to win the buy box more often. 6. It minimizes the probability of human error. 7. It helps you plan for the future – repricing software enables you to collate and analyze valuable data that you can utilize to bring your business to the next level of success. The data you can extrapolate from the software can fill in system gaps, identify and exploit profit opportunities and establish business systems to expand your business.

Why I Chose Appeagle over Other Repricers

Last year, I had a significant learning experience about investing in automating solutions for my FBA business.

I decided to invest in a significantly cheaper automated repricing solution. Admittedly, I did so mainly because of the low cost of the subscription fee, and I failed to do my due diligence in making the decision. A couple of months went by, and I noticed that my sales figures were not only stagnating, but also getting alarmingly smaller and smaller.

I was horrified – after conducting a thorough investigation, I discovered that my products were being kept out of the buy box for significant periods of time because the repricer was only adjusting my prices only on an hourly basis! In a highly-competitive selling arena such as Amazon where prices change every second, this repricer simply wasn’t going to cut the mustard.

After careful research and scrutiny, I finally made the switch to Appeagle after terminating my subscription with my previous service. Immediately, I saw my sales figures recover, and I felt how beneficial it was to have an automated repricing solution that adjusted your prices in real time. Appeagle was also an intelligent repricing solution in the truest sense, as the strategy and critical insight it utilizes and implements are FBA-oriented, and takes these into consideration when raising or lowering my prices. This allowed me to increase my sales velocity, and almost triple my profits.

Appeagle was truly the missing piece to my FBA puzzle, I absolutely give it full credit for not only turning my business around but also for the success it is enjoying today.

You Don’t Have to Take My Word For It

For a limited time, Appeagle is offering a huge 30% discount for 3 months to anyone who becomes a paying Appeagle subscriber before the end of 2017. And not only that, taking advantage of this absolute steal of an Appeagle deal entitles you to exclusive deals with services offered by these leading service providers:

World First Tax Jar Refunds Manager Jungle Manager 71 Lbs Shipping Refunds Skubana SKU Vault Seller Labs Ecom Dash

To get your 30% off Appeagle and this exclusive bundle of deals from their partners, use the promo code AEHOLIDAYGIFT2017 and your discount will be applied after you complete your 14-day free trial and enter your credit card information. The promo codes from their featured partners will be recieved once you become a paying customer before the end of 2017.

So hurry up, subscribe, and take advantage of this absolutely awesome holiday deal from Appeagle! If you wish to know more about how Appeagle can help take your business to the next level, follow this link: http://appeagle.com

If you wish to learn more about the various facets, intricacies and complexities of Amazon FBA and make your business more profitable, subscribe to our email list!

The post Price Smart! The Open and Shut Case of Using Repricing Software appeared first on FBA Library.

from FBA Library http://ift.tt/2gV2MpD