The Vault Dweller:
Along the ruins of the aged market strip, one was afforded visage into what remained of the old world, those visions of grandeur that had survived the more tumultuous elements of an uncertain existence. And with it came those stark and weathered structures still standing, offering muted glimpses into a more seated and illustrious past that had since devolved into the maelstrom of decay predominant in the present day. Those buildings that stood row by row against a cracked and shattered earth of asphalt and concrete had stood stoic and silent for ages, monoliths of the past that still stood tall as glaring reminders of what could have been, and what should have remained.
Against a canopy of bricks there stood a loner, joined by none other than his own shadow and the gnarled misshapen framework of metal that served as a display case of sorts, since rusted and weathered from the elements. Eyes veiled beyond those mirrored lenses in a reflective sheen, his head was cast to one side as he'd lean back, shoulders squared flat against the hard stone surface behind. With his arms crossed against his chest, one boot planted flat against the wall behind him, chin lifted ever so slightly in staring rightward in a look of pensive reflection. With the passage of a fell breeze from the west, what dull and muted posters lay exposed to the open air wavered in the wind, joined readily by the frayed and weathered cape adorning the loner, and that of his own dark hair
It could be said that the man was fair, if rather plain looking, with nothing entirely special in base look and appearance. While his eyes were veiled in the reflective sheen of his shades, his hair grew long and trickled down from atop his head, cast in the color of night. It served him well to veil his sensitive skin from the harsh rays of the sun, peachy-keen shade of flesh otherwise unmarred by the elements thus far. While he stood tall, his build fell closer to a thin and modest form of figure, seemingly thickened only by what choice attire clung to his form. For in this right he stood apart from his fellow man, appearing to be something far more unique and prominent than those of his peers that ventured through from the badlands afar. A one-piece suit that covered the entirety of his form in the color of the afternoon sky, the fabric had since faded from age and exposure to the midday sun, day in and day out. What made it stand out even more were the strips of yellow sewn into the fabric of blue, “101” stitched into the right most lapel collar. And it had since been altered in a far personal way, which only served to enhance the captivating look that was readily conveyed to any onlooker.
What contrivances of belted leather had lain fastened across his form beheld the construct of a harness that had been cobbled together in the color of black. And from such a rig there hung a myriad of pouches and satchels from which the wearer was provided easy access in his walk through life. Along his shoulder there rested a metal plate atop plastic, that which served as a pauldron, hanging there like that of a mantle. And what few adornments of leather plating were tightly fastened to his shoulder and wrist, hands sheathed in fingerless gloves of tanned hide, much like the heavy riders boots that encased his feet. Wrapped haphazardly about his neck and chest hung the frayed and weathered remains of what appeared to be a cloak, that which had since ripped asunder and billowed into the wind at a passing breeze. Most striking of all was the greenish neon glow that emanated bright from the wrist-mounted device bolted to one arm, an advanced technological interface of some kind. From his rightmost hip was strapped a leather sheath, the likes of which housed a rare-functioning firearm. Twin-barreled in the mahogany furniture of wood bound to metal, the sawn-off shotgun seemed to be his choice sidearm for most encounters, loaded and ready for action..just like himself.
While he bore the look reminiscent to that of a hero, it was hard to discern whether or not he was as one would expect. What could be said was that he was certainly a loner at heart, whether by choice or by circumstance. No one remembered ever seeing him in these parts before, and he had purportedly ventured through the wasteland alone. What company he shared was few and far in between, with those beheld in higher regard rarely seen with him for any longer than a short length of time. Choice friends and confidants were unknown, and it was difficult to place just what he seemed to be doing at any point in time. With that air of mystery about him, people weren't entirely certain whether to pry him in passing fancy to learn of his standing, or to avoid him altogether. He followed through life of his own accord without the undue influences another might exert on him, and did as he felt conviction to do, when he wanted to do it.
While he had leaned against the wall for what seemed like an hours time, it was in the passing of a fell wind that he was gone, having vanished in the drift of dust and the radioactive haze. One moment he'd been there, and the next he was gone. None could be certain where he had gone, for the wasteland was a wild and wooly place filled with all sorts of places to get lost in, whether in rustic exploration or in a bloody mess. So too had he ventured out and left no one to follow in his footsteps, for he moved on by his own volition and of his own accord. So too would the wanderer be left to wander, now, and forever.
Commentary:
How I feel, when I'm in cosplay. To those that know me or have come to know me through casual contact at any convention, this is more or less how I dress when donning my Armored Vault Suit and cosplaying as the Lone Wanderer from Fallout 3. Highlights include but are not limited to aspects of all the primary Fallout games of the franchise, from 1 to New Vegas.
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11 years, 8 months ago
31 Dec 2014 22:36 CET
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