Snippet #2420325

Nipton was just one of THOSE places, you know? The places that hadn't ever really been anything special until they just up and became a living embodiment of Hell clawing its way onto the surface. It stank, it smoked, the crows circled, and - when she'd first scurried into its shadows - the sights of Legion Justice had been enough to turn even her carrion-hardened stomach. She'd resolved anew to avoid the ever-living HELL out of the Legion and their particular notions. As messages go, the skeleton of Nipton against the Mojave sky was pretty goddamn effective.

Patrols had continued to use the place to doll out particularly greusome examples of their authority, and Tam occasionally passed by close enough to see if there was anything useful still hanging from the dead. More than once, in a rare show of Mojave mercy, she'd spent a bullet on the poor bastards still twisting on the crosses. Plenty of ways to die out in the wastes, but she wasnt at all fond of that one.

And then these crazy bastards she was following pass through. With the light low, and their dirty shadow hiding behind a collapsing general store, they even go inside the Town Hall and dont come out.

"They're making CAMP here?!" The thought is so ludicrous that she questions it out loud, looking over her shoulder as if to share that bemusement with someone. There's no one there, of course, but that doesnt stop her from focusing on empty air to share the moment.

'"Congratulations, boys, you've just been upgraded from loopy to batshit crazy."

Shaking her head in disbelief, Tam circles the building. It was comming apart at the seems, by this point, but maybe they figured it would keep the coyotes off.

'Rather the 'yotes than a Legion patrol, but hey. Maybe where you're from you like to make it easy.'

Tam finds a broken window on the first floor, and slinks over the sill and into the building head-first. As soon as her boot shifts her weight onto the dry-rotting floorboards, she feels more than hears the low, short noise that eeks out. The voices in the distance stop for a moment, before there's a shuffling movement and the sound of a door closing.

Tam doesnt move - doesnt breathe - for several very long moments. Nothing comes looking, and there arent any noises that would indicate an agressive search. She stays still even longer. Had she been made, or would they dismiss it as an old building about ready to fall in on itself?

Sliding to a hall corner, she can hear the voices again, muffled. Behind a door. Which one? That one. With the bathroom icon. ... Well, who was she to judge? Love was where you found it, I guess. Good for them.

Suppressing a snicker, Tam withdraws back into the depths of the building. Better she didnt take anything just yet and really betray her presence. Picking her way across a section of floor that looked ready to give even under -her- stick-twig weight, Tam finds a good spot in the darkness underneath a tilted filing cabinet.

Yep. Much better she didnt take anything. Leave them guessing until tonight. Unconsiously, her hand drifts up to her mouth to pop in a newly-found pinyon nut to munch on while she waits.

==== And now for something completely different ====

Not really. I lied. So sue me.

It's hours and hours before Tam really moves again. Curled up in her dark corner, she only occasionally extends a leg or arm to keep the blood flowing. When it's good and cold, when the night was in its deadest hours and even the coyotes were ducking the wind that hissed and rattled outside, when even Tam was tempted to call the whole thing off and just go to sleep. That's when she stirs.

Torso first; to hear and see while she rolled her shoulders and checked her pistol. Then her legs; rocked back and forth until she was sure they'd move without popping in protest.

Mincing across the boards - aware now of their noise and shifting her weight to prevent a creek - Tam takes almost a half hour to get across the building to Connor and John's camp. A thin, tattered little ghost, Tam grins stupidly at their supposedly sleeping forms. Seeing it - if John or Connor managed to actually stay awake - they might think the thief was fully aware of their game and just chose to keep playing it.

Her free hand - the right was occupied by a hefty-looking pistol - flicks out. In a flash, the cram is off the plate and in her mouth. Without pausing, she plucks up a magazine intended for one of their weapons. Doesnt even look at it, it just disappears silently into her coat. No picking around tonight; she was going for the big haul. Anything they'd left out gets pawed over and probably picked up. Even random things, like a plate or fork. Even an empty Dandy Boy wrapper.

Still quiet as a bad dream, Tam's breezed into the center of the camp, now, and her sticky fingers reach out towards John's own precious Baby....