wastelandpizzas

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Sausage, Mushrooms, and Onions

Question Time

What’s your favorite pizza? Mine is pepperoni pizza and pineapple pizza

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Randoms of my most recent build, The Concord Speakeasy! 

In order… 

- Sneak peek of the main hall 

- Mess hall 

- Sneak peek of the chem lab in the basement 

- Sneak peek of Erick’s room 

- Sneak peek of Nate’s room 

Some background: 

The Concord Speakeasy, restored to fairly decent conditions, is a place in which alcohol and chems are stored in an impressive quantity, and they can be mixed and consumed without being judged.

It often is closed and looks totally abandoned from the outside, but the people who occupy it more often are either Nate or Erick who just want to consume the booze away from everyone else’s eyes or maybe just want to be alone or mess around with the closest friends. The place has all amenities, including a small kitchen, a bathroom, a power armor repair station and a storage for food, alcohol and chems… there’s even a third room that can host two people. 

The Speakeasy is literally a place dedicated to vices such as drugs and alcohol, and the number of bottles and chems scattered around the place is a great hint at that. 

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Not only is Sturges aware he’s a synth, he’s also a member of the Railroad. He was the one that tipped Deacon off to the Sole Survivor’s emergence from Vault 111 and their subsequent actions. He also chose to retain his memories of The Institute, which is how he was able to build the signal interceptor from Virgil’s crude plans using scavenged equipment.

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After Danse is kicked out of the BOS, he feels so discarded and worthless that he swallows his pride and asks Nick for help. Nick is very gentle in telling him that that lost, purposeless feeling never really goes away- but being surrounded by people who love and value him makes it smaller. Once Danse sees that he and Nick aren’t all that different, the hostility between them disappears.

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If any kids ever ask to try on Preston’s hat he’ll always say yes.

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When it comes to the Brotherhood, Danse is a history nerd. He will read any files on it that he can get a hand on and were he to be tested he’d get top marks. He finds it all fascinating to learn how the Brotherhood he serves came to be as it is.

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Truth!

Deacon collects printouts of pre-war memes. He takes great pride in that collection and has used such memes in conversations, even if he is usually the only one who will get it.

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There should be a cooking show where Gordon Ramsey and Guy Fieri review the same restaurant a day apart and neither is aware of the others involvement.

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WIP stuff

I'm working on a couple second parts to the first bits that I have posted, First on the Docket is "Brotherhood Asunder: Pt 2" then the second part of "Walls." If you want to see​ anything in particular in writing just ask Ill do my best!

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My muse i back and I'm ecstatic

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Walls: pt. 1

As we continue the journey through the personal take of SS Shaun Park Sr. And his attempt to find his son, We find the General of the Minutemen at headquarters in Fort Independence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright, Perkins, Garvey, on three!”

“One… Two… Three!!!” With one last shove we finished getting the last piece of the new, albeit temporary, north wall into place. It had been a grueling days work- though we had been restless from two days worth of waiting. The timbers from the thickets near Sanctuary had just arrived before dawn after a couple days worth of logging and cutting before Preston and I had even thought to head down to the Castle. The caravaneers had a hell of a time trying to manage the three Brahmin it took to haul enough lumber to do anything with. Being that the Commonwealth was, well, for lack of a better description, the Commonwealth, I was shocked to hear that Raiders, Gunners, and even Super Mutants stayed away from the caravan. It wasn’t everyday that a twelve man caravan went tromping through the Commonwealth, and much less frequent that it had a significant guard and still made it to its destination unscathed. One Brahmin master, two hands, and nine Minutemen, two of which were two of the same party from our raid on the Corvega plant earlier last month after another small group of raiders tried to hole themselves up in the old factory.

Preston had been on watch since three that morning looking for signs of our supply caravan on the south road and his face, since lunch, showed it. When they finally arrived, we had them use what cement we had salvaged from the breaking up the rubble over the entrance to the Castle’s tunnels to lay a foundation for the barracks and while the cement dried we started laying whole blocks along the edge of the wall and began to mortar them around the foundation. We had worked on putting up the wall frames for a couple hours after the cement hardened, and we were ready for a break. The two other weary Minuteman plopped down onto the ruined stone blocks off inside the fort, and after a quick look over the day’s work I joined them.

“Well, you really did mean that the walls needed work, didn’t you, General.” Preston took a long draught from his canteen before getting his words out.

“I did say that, didn’t I,” I followed Preston’s example and sat down to take a long breather. We finally had a wall set up on our northeast portion of the old star fort, the most vulnerable face to the greenskins over at the old Gwinnett pub. If I played the caravaneers right The Castle would have a new stone, or at least cement, wall to provide as a more permanent repair than the improvised barracks that our third builder, Captain Vern Perkins, brought to that rank after taking the killing shot of the Mirelurk Queen that had decided our headquarters looked as good a place as any to settle down, had planned to set up. We had plans to clear the rubble from the Northeast Bastion’s tunnel entry and try to cut a tunnel and new quarters when we had everything finished up, but that was arguably another year or two away. It took quite a bit of sweet talking, and frankly caps out the ass, but that nerve Mirna had finally agreed to set aside any cement or salvaged stone that her junkers and suppliers brought in to the city, 2500 caps upfront and 150 for each of the days she shipped more than 50 pounds our way. Cement, bricks and stone in Diamond City came at a premium given the state of the Fens after 211 years of direpair.

To make a long story short. the Minutemen were on the way to recovery. It had been nearly a year and a half since Quincy and since I had left the Vault. To say the least, we had what had once been the Northern suburbs of Boston aiding, enlisting, and paying into the Minutemen. It was something; we had a crew of 12 Regulars running active patrols around Sanctuary and the trading post and market at Starlight Drive-In which was only possible because 4 of those patrol men had cleared the Mole-rats living there once we had established Sanctuary as the main hub of the Minutemen north of Cambridge and Boston-proper, not to mention mounting support in the Fens. Hell we even had some a few Minutemen vets sent our way from somebody called Hancock over in Scollay Square. Though I hear it’s called Goodneighbor now, when I listen to the boys talk about it.​

I must have been daydreaming at that point, because Preston’s hand clapping on my shoulder brought me back to.

“General, do think we’re done for today?”

“I’m not sure, Preston,” I started. Noticing Vern had made his way back to the radio tower for a minute, I called at him,

“Perkins, what’s going on?”

“Not sure, sir, radio just went haywire there for a second” Preston helped me up and I started heading​ over to the tower myself to see what was going on when one of the guards posted on the southwest bastion hollered at us three.

“General, Colonel Garvey, you’re going to want to see this!” I must have caught a second wind because I bolted straight up the rubble of the western wall to join the soldier who immediately just pointed out over at the parking lot and handed me his binoculars.

I saw what looked like a shimmer of bright blue for a second and did a double take when I saw what emerged. Something that looked like a tan-ish grey skinned, plastic man in what appeared to be combat armor of some kind. I had never seen anything quite like it before, and boy was I curious.

“Can you tell me what I’m looking at, soldier?” after Preston got a look he said something that reminded me of a conversation I had with a certain reporter.

“I haven’t seen one so heavily armored before, but the color gives it right away. General, that’s an Institute synth. That caravan was damn lucky they left a couple hours ago.”

I had heard a great deal about the Institute from Miss Piper, and if stories were to be believed, the Institute was the shadow over the Commonwealth that everyone feared. And with good reason, I had taken the opportunity to have someone scout out University Point and they reported crops still in the field, shops relatively untouched, but no people, no bodies, and no trace other than their material goods that people had even been there. He had found an old holotape at one of the terminals on the fringe of the ghost town and gave it to me upon his return. I hadn’t looked at it just yet but I figured -after seeing a genuine Institute construct- that it was as good a time as any to give the files a once over.

Once we were sure the lone synth wasn’t gunning for us, I jogged down the rubble slope back to my backpack sitting over by one of our building workbenches on the northeastern wall. It took a minute of digging to find the tape labeled U.Point. but when I did and popped it in I was enthralled.

It was a personal diary, it looked to have went back up to two years or so before I left the vault, roughly 2285. I sifted through the years worth of writing and a saw, close to the end a someone mention a mercenary, and that piqued my curiosity at first. I was intrigued on who this man the journal referenced was at first, then I realized I recognized the description, the newest face to haunt my sleep. A nearly bald man with a noticeable scar across the left side of his face wearing a leather jacket with short cut sleeves and an improvised piece of shoulder armor. Supposedly he came around for a few days asking about any significant technology that the town knew about. And by the looks of the writing he came back with friends, the well armed kind. That child thieving bastard sold those bastards to the Institute. I unclipped my Pip-Boy and threw it into my backpack.

I must have been perusing the journal longer than I thought I had, because the sun was now setting in between the skyscrapers of downtown. I didn’t want to go to bed thinking about the massacre. I still had plenty of those dreams from the 2060s and the war with China and needed something to distract myself, so I relieved our night watchman once I had grabbed a bite to eat after the night fell. After a quick route across the walls and some of the scaffolding, I sat down next to the broken down artillery-piece on the northwest bastion. I looked over at the parking lot where the synth had shown up. Seeing a light flicker around a couple times, I wondered if I could make an easy target of the metal man, but after a closer look it was some dogs that got ahold of the synth and his gun. I couldn’t vent my rage against my son’s kidnapper and I wasn’t about to do something rash like rushing out into a pack of feral dogs.

I just wanted to seethe out every little bit of anger I had pent up at that bastard and get on with putting a bullet in his brain, after he led me to my son.

But for all the rage in the world, it wouldn’t bring Nora back. If I just had her with me, I’d not be this damned mess. Together we would have found Junior. With her keeping me focused I wouldn’t get caught by every bleeding heart farmer who was dealing with raider issues or the honest to God threats of this post-apocalyptic, radioactive, barely recovering wasteland. Though thinking it through, it was better that she didn’t see this, see me like this.

“Hey, General, I noticed you were still up” Preston seemingly popped out of nowhere with a couple beers

“Holy shit, Preston, don’t sneak up on me like that.” it was the second time he had caught me unawares that day, Im damn glad we hadn’t gone out to find some raiders or patrol the Fens and Hangman’s Alley. As off as I was then I was no good even for watch.

“You looked a little distracted after you read that holotape from U. Point. There something you gotta say?” I’d say this about Preston, he’s a good squad commander, and he’s got a way of telling when a man needs a beer.

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Brotherhood Asunder pt. 1

Here we are for another peek into the life of Shaun Park Sr. We find him and six others this fateful February night in the Bunker Hill marketplace. But peace this night is in short supply, in more ways than one.

Warning: the following contains coarse language and descriptions that may not be suitable for younger readers. Reader’s discretion is advised.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I looked around the corner of the monument as I cleared the way for our group, the south entrance was our easiest way out of the Hill. We had made it out of the kill box under the market. More than what could have been said for those that the senseless fighting between the Institute and the rest of the Commonwealth had claimed. I immediately heard the distinctive hiss of power armor hydraulics. We didn’t have time, if those knights discovered us those four fugitive Synths would be dead within seconds. Pressed up against the wall, I hurriedly gestured for them to come into the obelisk. “Mother-fucker, Deacon, Preston, ideas?” I hissed. “Two options, boss, guns blazing, which at the moment, looks like it would go in favor of the Tech junkies, or we pop a couple stealth boys and take care of business.” Deacon was the first off with a couple ideas. If we could force them to scuttle their personal tanks then we’d have a hell of a better chance in getting out. I saw Preston wrestling his radio out of its clip on his bandolier. “Any Minutemen in the area, this is Colonel Garvey, we need sharpshooters up here now, we’ve got Brotherhood up our ass. Send to south end, Bunker Hill.” “Uh, Excuse me, Mr. Settlement-needs-our-help, what the hell?! Do you want those Ironclad bastards up our ass?” Preston wasn’t exactly subtle about radioing the Castle for reinforcements. So, Deacon had a point. “Both of you, can it!” I hissed at both of them. Something was buzzing around the skies of Boston, and it wasn’t a swarm of bloodbugs. My worst fears were confirmed, just after they quieted down. It was the immutable drone of a vertibird, and although the Gunners had a few- it was most likely Brotherhood this far north. If more troops were landing, that boded ill for us. “Son of a bitch, we’re never getting out of here. Sorry Deeks, stealth is no longer an option.” I unclipped the two spare Laser Muskets I had on my bag and tossed them to two of the Synths. I got out the .44 pistol Kellogg had used. Fitting that it would kill those trying to rob the Commonwealth of its independence, the Knights and the Gen 2 hunters. There was a reason Maxson had held back when I suggested a joint operation to build the molecular relay; He knew where I stood on the subject of the creations of the Institute. He couldn’t stomach the fact that these synths deserved every right that the people of the Commonwealth held, the right to a fair shot at life regardless of the hypocrisy of their creation. The Codex, something Maxson loved to quote, deemed that robots created 220 years ago weren’t abominations, but Maxson could deem that organic, programmable robots modeled after human beings were. Funny how a gun made to serve the Institute would kill a knight or two if it had to, to win the freedom of these synths “You Guys need to be able to pull your weight, here!” They scrambled after the five fusion cells I rolled to each of them. I took a pack of .44 rounds and tossed them at the last one of the synths. B3-13 picked it up, pocketed the box, and readied the gun. “We’re at the point where you can’t run anymore, we’ve got to fight our way out of here, or you will be killed. That’s the long and short of it. Once were done we head to Goodneighbour and lay low for a few days.” B3-13 ran back to the market and put on the dead synth’s armor. She hesitated while picking up the full helmet then tossed it aside. “Well then, let’s do it.” She stood defiantly and sprinted back in to the monument. Deacon pulled me aside up the stairs. When we were up a ways he began to almost hiss at me. “Des is not going to be happy about this, boss. We’re not supposed to use the packages.” “Deek, if I had any choice I wouldn’t. But if they want to help us fight our way out, then I won’t tell them they can’t. I’m taking charge of these packages and getting them to Mercer. Des and Harrington’s rules be damned, I’m not– “You two, in the monument. Come out with your hands up.” I looked out over the collapsed corner and saw two Armored Paladin’s with their automatic laser rifles rifles trained right on me. We were compromised. I pulled Deacon behind me and gestured for Preston and the synths to stay quiet. The Paladins walked up to the corner of the scaffolding around the base of the monument. Their rifles were still raised at both myself and Deacon. It was time for some serious ass kissing to keep me and those synths alive. A familiar face emerged from the helmet as the higher ranked Paladin removed it. “High Paladin Marcus, thank God it’s you, sir, the marketplace is secure, the synths that were harbored by the Railroad agents were already dead.” I was relieved at the dying drone of the vertibird leaving the sky’s over Bunker Hill, most likely headed back to the Prydwen. “Knight Park we unaware of your intervention here in the compound, did you discover the fate of Paladin Stefan’s assault team?” “When I entered the basement of the marketplace, I discovered several Railroad heavies and Institute Coursers fighting, the Paladin and his team were dead at the Coursers’ feet.” That much was true. I handed the four holotags over to the Paladin Commander at his right. Deacon had until then remained quiet. When I saw him I silently thanked god that he had grabbed one of the initiate’s uniforms. “And where was this initiate from?” “I was a local, mister paladin, sir, that was persuaded by this Knight to support your ranks, even if just in the field. I’m from the farm at County Crossing south of the old National Guard base.” Deacon must have had that story waiting for some time. When Marcus glanced at me, I simply nodded in agreement. The man had a talent that I lacked, story crafting. He could weave a yarn two miles long with the straightest face and think nothing of it. The bold faced lies that he spun most times, however, usually got us out of some sketchy situations; and most times when crossing the paths of some raiders who decided to try to ambush a trio of otherwise unassuming wastelanders. Luckily, our Paladins took just enough time to consider this field initiate’s story for two Minutemen Rangers to catch my eye, I had to stall for just a minute more. I racked my brain for anything that could keep the Paladins where they were. With their T-60 Power Armor and 9:2 odds they might have been able to outgun us and moreover with myself and Deacon at the front, the firefight would end quickly, and not in our favor. Deacon caught sight of the sharpshooters as well and began for me. He began to speak to how I gunned down the Synths from the Institute and the Railroad agents and proceeded to paint their blood across the underneath of the old Museum with him hanging behind to toss me an occasional clip when I ran dry. Paladin Marcus was about to move around the obelisk when a sharpshooter’s laser sight crossed my chest. Marcus turned, helmet off, to face the one of the snipers, who promptly put a bullet through his skull. He fell backward both a massive thud as the other sniper’s gift rang out and struck the other Paladin’s chest and blew a hole through even the power armor frame itself. He grasped at the wound as if to try to stop the inevitable he fell to his knees. As Preston and the synths came out from the market his grin marked the success of the distraction and subsequent attack. They were dirty tactics, but when we were outmatched in that fashion, I was happy for any result that saved as many lives as possible. I fished the two Paladins’ tags, laid their guns in a respectful position across their chests and draped their tags over them. Usually we’d strip the corpses, not today. Too many had died today. Regardless of their allegiance, too many lives, whether synth, human, or ghoul had been lost. A part of me truly wished it had been some nameless scribes or initiates who had taken the bullets. No matter who, their faces would haunt me. Though, not knowing them would have been better. Laser fire interrupted my homage to these fallen Paladins. Three knights had come to the escape door on the east end of Bunker hill and saw the synths and opened fire. B3-13 fell as Preston turned and ended one poor Brotherhood soldier with a shot from his laser musket. I scrambled over the power armor as I pulled out my laser pistol and finished one of the others, while Deacon filled the last one with 308 rounds from his pipe revolver. After ensuring the outside was at least momentarily clear of Brotherhood soldiers, I hurried to the fallen synth and looked in her eyes to find them glazed over. I looked around the group. The terror that had befell those three upon seeing their friend gunned down had faded, but the mourning of their fallen friend took most of their emotional strength to bear. No more. No more innocents dead. Not if I could do a damn thing about it. I plugged my Pip-boy into the transceiver I had stuffed into a pocket in my backpack. I spoke into the mic to our two Ranger friends who were doubtlessly still listening in. “Boys, get back to County Crossing and radio Castle base. On order of General Park ready artillery at Nordhagen Beach, Taffington Outpost, County Crossing, and The Castle for imminent fire upon the Brotherhood Airship: Prydwen, I want a full salvo ready to down that ship by week’s end.“ One had the care to radio back. “Confirmed, General. Pass on our condolences to those three friends of yours.” “Preston, I’m trusting you and Deacon know the way to Goodneighbor. Get these three to Amari, we’re rushing things ahead of schedule, but I need words with Maxson, preferably before we send his precious airship to the ground.”

I waked back to B3-13’s body and retrieved the .44 revolver. I had more than words for him. That much was clear

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Say what you will about bethesda, but they made so many people find a man whos face resembles dried fruit attractive and if that’s not an achievement then I don’t know what is.

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Preston found a perfectly preserved jar of Nutella once. It didn’t last long.

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When you start playing a game with a purpose, 3 hours later still haven’t done that said purpose:

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Music in Fallout

Music in Fallout is a big part of the games, everyone has a favorite radio station, a favorite song, a memory they associate with the songs. But the 50s tunes are more than just background noise.

Fallout’s music is reflective of the game it appears in in many ways. For example, Fallout New Vegas is set in the American West, so the radio stations play mainly country. Not only is this appropriate for the theme, but it also fits the idea of what Pre-War Americans living in the Nevada area would have listened to. Fallout 3 & 4’s music is very jazz heavy, which also fits the idea of what a Pre War American in New England may have liked.

In Fallout: New Vegas, the country music has heavy themes of love, money, or moving on to something new. The songs all represent these themes in different ways, some songs are about falling in love (Mad About the Boy), leaving a trail of lovers behind you (Jingle, Jangle, Jingle), or missing a lover you had long ago (Johnny Guitar). It’s important that even though there are common themes within the radio songs, they are all very different. The themes of love, money, or moving on are also representative of what many people in the Mojave Wasteland want.

In Fallout 3 and 4, the music has mostly songs of either love, death, or radiation. Even the some of the songs about love have radiation incorporated (Crawl Out Through the Fallout & Rocket 69). The radio playing in the post nuclear apocalypse are almost all about the thing that demised the world. I believe it boils down to something simple that I’ve seen discussed many times.

The East Coast can’t move on from the nuclear war. Even 200 years after the war, people in the Capital Wasteland and Commonwealth are living in dilapidated shacks and have ghouls living in their basement. The ‘successful’ towns are glorified shantytowns of thrown together metal, nestled inside pre war locations (Megaton, Rivet City, Diamond City). The music represents the people of Fallout 3 and 4; they can’t move on.

Fallout: New Vegas, on the other hand, has little to no music relating to death or radiation. The people in New Vegas have towns all over the map, have electricity and the NCR was working on building a railroad all the way around the Mojave. They have simply moved on from the war that happened over 200 years ago.

New Vegas has messages of letting go (Dead Money) and the theme of ‘Old World Blues’, meaning people are clinging onto the pre war past instead of moving on and rebuilding society. The people of the Mojave Wasteland have moved on and rose up, while the people of the East have Old World Blues

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We still have some here!

Someone pls bring back fo4companionsreactions ;__; I miss them ;__;

I think I use to follow them on my older account, I miss all of the companion react blogs that went quiet ;~;