awwww lol what about any patrols that were out at the time?

They went to Burger King, dying of food poisoning :laugh:

Seriously though, I dont know if I'd write them in. My story will largely revolve around the revitalization of Vegas, and the BoS had their reactor blow up, so I'm sure at this point they are dead, so any BoS outside would likely go to another BoS chapter or integrate into other communities like the Enclave Remnants did.

ok but great story!

Wonderful Write Mate. :hubbahubba:



Good, As to be expected.

I think you guys should diffuse your attention to more than just one fanfic. Im not just talking about reading, but also commenting and telling them to keep going because you love it so much. Practice Sheet, the creator of the thread Answers, is now getting ready to give up because no one reads his stuff while everyone is posting on this throughout the day. If I hadn't already been through it back when I first joined the forums, I would have stopped writing my stuff too. I see this pattern with a lot of the seasoned writers, usually one in every 10-15 fanfics get all the praise while the rest is thinly spread to the rest. All I'm saying is give everyone some morale.

Also, if I finished New Vegas, I'd be reading this too...but I want nothing to do with anything involving Mr. House.

I don't side with the Legion, but I still read Legion Fan Fics, thats a rather closed minded approach.

Funnily enough, I came to his thread before I saw this post, but his fan fiction has potential. One thing that helps to keep a fanbase to your story is not just good story, but try to interact with repliers, which I do, and as does he, and he has alot of promise in my opinion.

this makes me want to side with Mr. House on my next playthrough

This.

Now, now. I think Ant was merely saying that he hasn't played New Vegas yet so he wants nothing to do with House as it might spoil his experience, not because he doesn't like Mr. House. Which isn't really that narrow minded. I personally love Mr. House which is why I can't bring myself to read your story. It would ruin my experience. Of course I love stories so I can't bring myself to not read it either. After my head exploded, I found one error. Quite a common one. Involving dialogue.

"What do you want," he asked.

Notice the comma. Not a question mark. Where you showing who is speaking, use a comma.

That is all.

You seem to have a relatively large fan base for these forums so you won't here much from me. I prefer to spread my love to those you get few to no comments. But that doesn't mean I'm going to shun your story and I'll point out errors I see if no one else does.

Heh, I just kind of got offended by his 'but I want nothing to do with anything Mr. House', which does sound like he's saying 'I wont read it because it's Mr. House and I dont like it.'

And yeah, I'm a native English speaker, but to be honest, I've never grasped the rules of writing 'dialogue' in stories, so many rules and technical rules that I rely on Word to fix my punctuation errors. While I'm glad for the elsson you gave, honestly, I'm not likely to remember it in the next chapter :laugh:

'Fanbase' may be the wrong word, it's more like 'eyeroll' as I'm known as the House fan boy :laugh:

Or it could be "Read on brah."

Like in my case, I can't stop reading this..

Its like i'm addicted to a drug. A DRUUUUUUUG

Not that no one would care, but I first thought of setting this in June, then figured that it would be better that the store be set just after the planes take off so that it wont feel like we may miss important events in those few months between February and June. I actually set this about 15 minutes after the last chapter. xD
---------------------------

Chapter 6: Neon Lights, Planes in Flight.

February 15th, 2282
8:30 P.M.

Justin sat on his little chair in the Cocktail Lounge, drinking a glass of wine with his Brahmin Wellington, which he would purchase from the Ultra-Luxe and take home. He reminisced about his friends he met, the things he accomplished. He was grateful for his luck and being alive. He thought about his fortune and happiness over his decisions, since he had brought Mr. House into power, he had been true to his word and had not tried to become a soulless dictator. He ran things coldly, efficiently, but all in all, people were accepting of Houses slow but sure changes. Justin being the more affectionate of the two, he managed to convince House to offer relief to the surrounding areas of The Strip. Thankfully, a lot of it was easy, as Justin, being very good friends with the Followers of the Apocalypse, he contracted them with caps and medicine to expand into old buildings and turn them into hospitals. Thanks to strict anti-violence laws, violence and murders were dropping fast. Most of the injuries now were more or less the results of carelessness. The next thing Justin was grateful to know was that there was little drug confiscation, meaning the anti-drug polices enforced were working, though harsh, he was proud that drug dealers and their drugs were being forced out of Vegas, some left, others, refusing to budge thinking it a power play bluff, were jailed, those who fought or shot back were executed. The new laws being enforced in Vegas were seen as ‘claustrophobic’ to the people who had not seen any rule of law in their life, but others were appreciating this, as very slowly, people were finding jobs, a lot of them working for Justin to build a one foot thick and twenty foot high brick wall around Outer Vegas, reinforced with steel plating between each layer of brick, with very sharp barbwire on the top to deter climbers. So far, Vegas was very slowly chugging along, like a crashed ship slowly being drained of water and her engines slowly starting to chug after years of rusting and being unused. All in all, Justin was proud he made the right choices.

8:50 P.M.

After having enjoyed his meal, he dressed in his best, a silk Pre-War tuxedo with a white vest and bowtie. He slowly walked The Strip with his silver handled dress cane. Handing out a few ‘Lucky 38’ chips. These chips were Justin’s suggestion to Mr. House. ‘200 on The House’ they would read. He only handed out 10 a week, they encouraged people to gamble. Justin suggested it to Mr. House saying “It not only promotes returning to The Strip, Mr. House, it also promotes them to use that chip at any of the three casinos, and when those 200 run out, they will unthinkingly want to win it back, meaning they use their caps and the chips come right back to us, Promotion, Presentation, Profit. Three very effective P’s when put together.” Mr. House, so continued to praise Justin for his bright plans, calling them ‘brighter than the lights of Vegas at night’.

As he handed a chip to a young, and clearly newly married, couple, he kindly smiled and said “Welcome to New Vegas, have this on us” and carried on to hear behind him the expected shouts of excitement as the couple ran off to a casino. He also watched some of the familiar faces of various drunken Boomers and Freesiders enjoying their vacation on The Strip. He sat down on a bench outside of the Ultra Luxe and started trying to work out what the possible system was that was draining the power out of the fission battery energy source. But it was no use; he worked with machines in the past, but never any aeronautical machinery. So he gave up and decided instead to run some income calculations, but was interrupted by the sound of shouting, an incoherent shouting at that. “HEIA MEESTA B-B-BOSSMANNNNN, I-I-I LUSH DIS PLAES. ISSSHH VURY FANCSY”
Said a drunken Freesider. Justin, despising drunkards, hid it and politely said with a raised eyebrow. “Yes, I can plainly see that my friend. Where have you been?” The man drunkenly said “ URVYWUR!” Then he plopped down next to Justin “C….Cerpt dat damn ulcra luss. Dey say dash dey don like drunk peple in da casino. But uh, I’m uh, I’m nosh drunk” The man said, patting Justin’s tuxedo jacket. Though stiff about it at first, he couldn’t help but laugh genuinely “ Of course you’re not, they just didn’t want someone as great as you to interrupt their quiet boring casino.” The man looked him swerving “ESHATLY!” Then the man stumbled off to Gomorrah, falling twice on the way. With that, he went back to his room to enjoy a quiet night of television and playing with Rex

12:00 P.M.

Business carried on as usual at McCarran, but Justin was not going to head that way today, today he wanted to check on the Freeside renovation. Mr. House had the area outside the North Strip Gate turned into a strip of fancy hotels, but letting the Atomic Wrangler stay independent. However, through personal intervention, Justin had convinced Mr. House to turn the old Kings hangout into a hotel but leaving the sign and the portrait of The King inside continue to hang in the lobby. Though most want to hide their pains, Justin wanted to leave these intact as a sign that ‘sometimes doing good means bad will happen as well’. Today was his first day leaving The Strip, not including his using the Monorail to go to McCarran, since he defeated The Legion and forced the NCR into a treaty of surrender at Hoover Dam. He was on his way to the Old Mormon Fort to personally examine how Julie and the Followers were doing, to check on the gate building in Freeside. He watched as children were playing in the street, a Securitron rolling on by, policing the street. As he got ready to enter the fort, he heard another Securitron shouting in a cold robotic and policeman toned voice “Freeze! Possession and or sale of forbidden narcotics is punishable by jail time, execution, or permanent exile from New Vegas. Please, come peacefully, acts of violence will not be tolerated.” Despite the Securitrons warning, the dealer whipped out a pistol and shouted “Back off ya blue tin can or I’ll fire through dat face a yours wit dis hea’ .44.” Right as the man put his finger on the trigger to aim and fire, a sound of 9mm gunfire burst from the Securitron. “Threat of violence indicated, refusal of peaceful solution, punishable by execution.” The robot quickly placed the body in a dumpster, and continued patrol. Justin shook his head, wishing the man had chosen a peaceful option. Still a little saddened at the violence that occurred minutes ago, he carried on to the Fort, where he would check on the medical situation there.

Julie was in the new hospital up in North Vegas for the day, instead he spoke to a Follower she had left in charge. To his glad findings, medical supplies were well stocked, especially the fixer and med-x due to the decline in crime and drugs. Most of the Followers job now was rehabilitating alcoholics and drug addicts. Vegas was by no means perfect, nor would it be for a decade or so. But at least in the short term, Vegas was turning into a safe and rebuilding city. With a firm rule of law, crime was deterred. Slowly but surely, Vegas was on the rise.

4:30 P.M.

The orange glow of the afternoon sun was the only thing that continuously penetrated the penthouse of the Lucky 38. It was here that Justin was sitting at a small table before Mr. House, giving a detailed report of things. “Mr. House, I’ve found that Vegas, not just The Strip, but the parts outside of it are as well. I saw a Securitron eliminate a drug dealer who refused to cooperate, an indication of crime still being a problem, but, then again, crime is never ending. Oh, and the new barricade is coming along nicely, so is the extension of the Southern Strip to the gate of McCarran, if we can truly get those planes functioning at full capacity, we could open up full air travel with the NCR soon. Oh and by the way, I got a message via courier from McCarran that we managed to decrease energy use from 0.31 % down to 0.17%, a large decrease. Is there anything you’d like to add to my report sir?” Mr. House spoke up, his well educated drawl voice echoing the room. “Yes, actually I would.” Mr. House paused and spoke again, “With how much you’ve started and continue to do for me, I’d say you’re more than an efficient protégé, a bit soft and overly altruistic, but your alms seem to profit the city even more, and so long as it makes the lights of Vegas glisten even more at night, I can’t say I’m complaining. Your work with the old airplanes at McCarran Airport have pushed humanities progress up a lot further than had we not decided to work on those planes. There is no way I can properly incentivize you without it feeling as though I am ungrateful, which is far from the case. Beyond that, I want you to remember The Strip is our main business asset for now, so do keep an eye on the homestead would you kindly? Now, that’s all I had to add, so if you’ve nothing else to add, then I presume this meeting is over. “Yes, sir, I’ll be on my floor should you require anything.” Justin got up from the table and went to the elevator pushed the button for the doors, the sigil of the Lucky 38 breaking so he could enter. When the doors dinged and opened, he was greeted with a loud bark and thump as Rex jumped onto him. Justin laughed happily, “Come on boy, get down.” He opened up the fridge and grabbed a Brahmin steak and a Nuka Cola, and cooked it over stove, then cut it into pieces for Rex and sat on the couch in the living room, turned on an ‘Adventures of Captain Cosmos Holotape, opened the Nuka Cola and relaxed the night away, falling asleep on the couch with Rex at the foot of the couch, his favorite bone under his paw.

Nice addition. :thumbsup:

Also..

"I luvsh shis plazch!" was pretty funny lol.

Lol, thanks. I'm not a drinker, but I tried my best to get an extremely drunken slurr written out to add some comical humor :laugh:

Well, Try and speak (In Real life, If you did'nt know.) and say "I love your ship" with an accent. Thats pretty much how people sound drunk.

This is very good.... Keep em coming..

-Speaks it with an American accent even though I am American- Nope, sounds American to me :spotted owl:

@2 caps- I DIDNT ASK FOR- Oh, you're name IS 2 caps, well, carry on then. :laugh:

Lo, American is no accent, Only British, Australlian, Philipino, and basically every other place in the world, Mainly because americans usually think they have no accent.

Kudos, Col.

You know quite well that I despise Mr. House almost as much as I do the Legion.
That being said, I find your story very interesting and well written. I quite like the directions you've taken after Hoover Dam.

I'm glad to say that you've hooked another reader.

Oh, if you ever decide to throw in some espionage, don't forget the NCR spy.
:wink_smile:

Seriously, though ... great job, man.

FFFF. DONT GIVE ME IDEAS. It just throws more ideas in my head. :laugh:

Semper's questions made me consider the idea of mentioning what happened to the remaining BoS out on patrol. xD

I agree, I've posted 4 entries and only gotten two or threes replies from readers, Boradam and Col. Included. I'm not even the most confident writer and that fact that I have do many reads but little posts isn't all that reassuring.

Col. I quite enjoy your fic, you've got that buisiness style if writing that make it seem like you are there describing his schedule entirely. Very good.

DO IT:)

Damn it Semper. I normally don't cater to fans, but you raise a good point about what happened to the Patrols. It'd be a bit of a plothole if I DIDNT say what happened. :cryvaultboy:


This here is part one of 'The Summertime Concerto'
---------------------------------------------------

Chapter 7: The Summer Concerto

June 1st, 2282 12:00 P.M.

Patting his forehead with a small handkerchief, he walked back to the Lucky 38 from McCarran, which was much easier now that The Strip was extended to McCarran Airport. The summer heat was particularly intense, he was grateful to live in a giant Pre-War hotel and casino with fully functioning air conditioning. As he entered the Lucky 38, he made a note to himself to go to the Ultra Luxe and have a glass of wine and some Brahmin Wellington for dinner. In the meantime, he had various papers to fill out. Much to his disdain, being the public face of Mr. House meant having to deal with every little note, contract, or treaty aimed to Mr. House, and the NCR, still very sore about their forced exit out of Vegas, continued to send very nasty letters, some with threats of Embargo unless Vegas chose to merge with the NCR, empty threats easily read through by anyone with a brain though. True to Mr. House’s predictions, Aaron Kimball was forced out of office, so shamed he kept out of any spotlight, and General Lee Oliver, publicly disgraced in the eyes of the Republic, was found with his issue pistol, one fired shot, and a suicide note in Shady Sands. Now the Republic was in the middle of elections, he had heard the candidate’s names, but he never cared much for the NCR personally, so he paid no mind to their politics. Through it all, customers were pouring into Vegas for lights, six, booze, gambling, and lately, Air Conditioning. NCR citizens were no exception to the ‘customer’ crowd either. As he finished writing a politely written and formal reply to a rude letter sent by a Senator from some place called ‘Modoc’, he realized something, he was being sent for a month down to Primm. He was uncomfortable with going back out into the Mojave. In the past, he’d have no qualms doing so, heck; he’d even saved it from Convicts. But after destroying the Brotherhood of Steels base in the Pre-War installation at Hidden Valley, he was nervous about retaliation from remaining Brotherhood members.

Some of the patrols who had been fortunate to have been out of the bunker during its destruction wanted vengeance; others had integrated into the local societies hiding their past affiliations. It was the bitter Brotherhood remnants he was nervous about. He opened the container he had at the foot of his bed, inside were two ‘valuable’ sets in there. Benny’s suit and gun, taken as trophies, and a carefully maintained suit of Reinforced Combat Armor Mark II and his old pipboy 3000. He undressed and placed his high end ‘Lucky 38 Suit’ on a male mannequin. Walking over to a wardrobe cabinet, he pulled out a somewhat worn suit, black dress shirt and a white suit with grey pinstripes, and packed it in a duffle bag along with 6,000 caps. Finally, he turned his attention to his armor, carefully placing each piece on one at a time. As he observed his image in the dress mirror, the smell of gun powder and hot sand wafted in his nose as his memories of combat in the armor came to mind. After making sure it was all in place, he went to a hidden wall safe in his room behind the Lucky 38 sigil on his wall by his desk, he lifted the picture and pulled out his ‘faithful friends’, weapons that he kept as he traveled the Mojave. A combat knife he stuck in the boot of his armor, a silenced 10mm pistol, a modified hunting shotgun, and a silenced sniper rifle. Finally, he grabbed his old hood and a pair of brown tint shades as well as clamping the old Pipboy on his arm. He was ready to go. He heaved a sigh and looked staring at the gates of The Strip, “Well, looks like we meet again old nemesis.” Leaving Vegas for a month would be hard, but what Mr. House asked, Justin obeyed.

June 3rd, 2282 6:00 P.M.

In about a day’s time, he reached Goodsprings, the only trouble on his way there were a few geckos, a bloatfly, and a few Fiend survivors. As he wandered up the dirt road to the small town, a few residents looked up from their farm work, looking at the heavily armored man heading into town. Justin pulled off his sunglasses and hood, nodding politely to the elderly woman at the crops; she quickly went from a weary look to a pleasant look on her face. He walked tiredly to Doc Mitchells house on the hill. When he approached the front door, he knocked softly. The heard the door being unlocked and saw the kindly, old face of Doc Mitchell from behind the door. “Yes? Is there something I can do for you stranger?” Justin frowned, “Oh, Doc, don’t you remember me? I’m Justin, you and Victor saved me from death a several months back.” The old Doc smiled and said in his calm quiet voice. “Of course, I remember now. Sorry Justin, the ol’ memories getting a little fuzzy these days. What can I do for you? You ain’t hurt are you?” Justin laughed for a second “Heh, nothing like that. I’m on my way to Primm, but it’s getting rather late, so I came into town to sleep off the night, while I was here, I figured I might come and visit the kind man who saved me and see how he’s doing.” Doc Mitchell opened the door and offered him entrance, Justin politely declined saying he wanted to go do one thing and then head off to sleep. After giving Doc Mitchell 1,000 caps as a return favor, though not even 1,000,000 caps would truly equal out to what Doc Mitchell had done. He climbed the big hill to the water tower behind Goodsprings, as he reached the top he saw exactly what he was looking for, his old grave. He sat down beside the hole and noticed a cigarette butt by it and picked it up.

9:00 P.M.

His mind flashed back to that fatal night, lying on the ground, awaiting his death. He rubbed his forehead as it started to feel the tingle of his memory. He snapped back to reality, staring at the butt and remembering that voice of Benny’s pleading for his life. He suddenly heard whispers, not physical, but present, the voices of the dead, it was for this reason he avoided graveyards, it seemed the dead despised his having survived deaths cold hand. Uncomfortable with what was going on; he hiked down the hill and slept behind the Prospector Saloon, using his duffel bag as a pillow and an old discarded sheet as a blanket. He set his pipboy to go off at 5:30 A.M.

Gosh, That was a bit depressing..

Great writing, Also how many of these chapters are you planning to do? (The Summertime Concerto.)

you sir Rock