Mags
08-13-10, 01:39 AM
So... I goofed the title. Supposed to be "From Frozen Steeps to Fields of Green: Part I" and this is Mags' Solo into the world of Althanas. Stay tuned!
December 25, 2315
So I’ve been thinking, since today was supposed to be the birth of Jesus, it’d be nice if he could make things a bit fucking warmer, the wild men a bit less violent, and maybe sprout flowers on the muties. At least that way they’d smell pretty while biting our bleeding heads off.
Captain Kielly stopped by and told me we’re heading out soon. I don’t know when I’ll have another chance to record a data pad entry since we’re pushing pretty far in this time. Not entire sure why, but I’ve got a bad feeling about this. The place we’re going is supposed to be some old ass military bunker or weapons lab or some shit. Either way, I’ll be happy if the muties haven’t holed themselves up good yet inside.
That reminds me, wonder if I can find spare parts for the new incendiary rounds I want to make. Tried to do so with the ammo press I already have, but I guess I have to change out some parts to make it right. Ones I made did little more than just “pop.”
Mom and dad stopped by too to wish me luck. I should have listened to them and just signed up for agrology and been a hydro-farmer like them. Then again… I don’t think I’d have liked to grow wet cardboard for the rest of my life. Sure, it’s important to have food… but man… I wish we’d get some decent grub now and then.
And why the fuck do we call food, “grub,” anyways? Those fucking things are toxic and ten feet long with lambent green eyes. I guess they didn’t used to be that way, but fuck, they still look nasty. Christ, radiation sucks.
“Yo Mags, you finished with that pad yet or what? Caps just gave the signal.”
“Yeah yeah, gimmie five.”
“Fuck, it’s your funeral man.”
I just hope my guts wrong this time. I think I’ll just blame it on last night’s dinner. Man, that was some bad chili paste that we scavved.
Matthew McLorey
December 25, 2315
So I’ve been thinking, since today was supposed to be the birth of Jesus, it’d be nice if he could make things a bit fucking warmer, the wild men a bit less violent, and maybe sprout flowers on the muties. At least that way they’d smell pretty while biting our bleeding heads off.
Captain Kielly stopped by and told me we’re heading out soon. I don’t know when I’ll have another chance to record a data pad entry since we’re pushing pretty far in this time. Not entire sure why, but I’ve got a bad feeling about this. The place we’re going is supposed to be some old ass military bunker or weapons lab or some shit. Either way, I’ll be happy if the muties haven’t holed themselves up good yet inside.
That reminds me, wonder if I can find spare parts for the new incendiary rounds I want to make. Tried to do so with the ammo press I already have, but I guess I have to change out some parts to make it right. Ones I made did little more than just “pop.”
Mom and dad stopped by too to wish me luck. I should have listened to them and just signed up for agrology and been a hydro-farmer like them. Then again… I don’t think I’d have liked to grow wet cardboard for the rest of my life. Sure, it’s important to have food… but man… I wish we’d get some decent grub now and then.
And why the fuck do we call food, “grub,” anyways? Those fucking things are toxic and ten feet long with lambent green eyes. I guess they didn’t used to be that way, but fuck, they still look nasty. Christ, radiation sucks.
“Yo Mags, you finished with that pad yet or what? Caps just gave the signal.”
“Yeah yeah, gimmie five.”
“Fuck, it’s your funeral man.”
I just hope my guts wrong this time. I think I’ll just blame it on last night’s dinner. Man, that was some bad chili paste that we scavved.
Matthew McLorey