[b][i]A Well-Deserved Break[/i][/b] [b]Dojoville, 10:51 AM, Tatakai[/b] [i]The gunship screamed across the sky, both rotors turned forwards and down, giving the tiltrotor the appearance of a regular plane. Painted across its fuselage was the terrifying visage of the snaggletooth. The aircraft bore no insignia, but looked clearly heavily armed. A rotary cannon sat mounted in a swivel along with a gatling laser, and a machine gun could be seen on each side door, mounted on a pintle swing. From the aircraft came the loud blaring of some old Metallica song, and to anyone who recognized the Vertibird, it was the telltale sign of the arrival of a rather notorious individual. The gunship roared over the gates at low-altitude and moved to land in the streets of Dojoville, taking its rather usual spot beside a set of homes. It’s landing gear extended amidst the rotorwash of dust and snow as the aircraft gently set down and powered down. It was clearly the work of an experienced pilot. Once the gunship powered down, the individual exited from the side door, pushing the machine gun out of his way and dropping down with a mechanical thump. Alex Wilson stood in a full suit of X-01 MKVI Advanced Tesla Power Armor. His M2A1 sat atop his right shoulder, the skull of an alpha deathclaw atop his left. A large knife was situated in a leg holster on the inside of his left leg, and two large revolvers sat at his hips. Two belts of .50 BMG ammo crossed his chest, and on his back, beneath his Old World Flag cloak, an M240B, an IMI Galil, and a machete. On the rear of his waist, a sawback Bowie, and an M1911 in a shoulder holster. The helmet he wore was still spattered with blood, and the insignia of the Cobalt Phoenix graced his chest-plate. He had garnered some new trophies in his time, a ragged NCR flag that he was using as bandana, covering the lower half of his helmet. Another flag, a Civil War Confederate battle flag was wrapped around his upper left bicep. Approaching the house that was one down from his Vertibird, he knocked on the door, awaiting a response. He got one a few moments later, the door being opened by Miles.[/i] “Long time no see, kid. Actually, I’m surprised you’re alive given you’re with her.” [i]Wilson said with a laugh.[/i] “I assume you’re here because you and Jackson’s dad took care of the whole N*zi problem?” [i]Miles asked, smirk on his face.[/i] “Yeah. President’s dead, his little Himmler butt-buddy’s dead, and Wolfie’s dead... not Jackson, the other one.” [i]Wilson explained, having to clarify, not wanting Miles to think Jackson had been killed. Miles backed out of the doorway to let the armored juggernaut in, and Wilson promptly entered, wiping his armored boots on the doormat. Once inside, Miles closed the door and Wilson disengaged his armor, stepping out of it. Still an imposing figure, it was a little bit easier to get around indoors with just ranger gear. Tara had heard him come in, and came running down the stairs, looking as if she’d been trying to get cleaned up for the day, hair in a messy ponytail and her night clothes still on. A happy and relieved grin sat on her lips, and she rushed to hug Wilson, burying her face in his chest. He was rather surprised by the force of her hug, and as usual made fun of it.[/i] “Jesus, hug me any harder and you’ll break my f*ckin’ ribs, kid...” [i]He returned the hug, and held her close for a moment, thankful that she’d made it out of this mess unharmed. [/i] “It’s over?” [i]She asked, her voice muffled as she still was holding onto Wilson.[/i] “Yeah. F*ckin’ done. Gonna get things back to normal... at least for them, anyways. I figured I probably should check on y’all before Diana chews my ass out. God, I don’t need that bore-fest.” [i]Wilson remarked, rolling his eyes.[/i] [i]Miles chuckled from where he was, watching the two. It blew his mind how nice and sweet she became around Wilson. It wasn’t like Wilson was an exceptionally good parent by any standards, but perhaps he had been there for her in some dark times, and she’d returned his loyalty.[/i] “Yo anyone want food? I’m f*ckin’ dying for something that ain’t military rations or pop tarts...” [i]Wilson said, only half-jokingly.[/i] “Saves me from cooking breakfast.” [i]Tara remarked with a smile, finally breaking her hug with Wilson.[/i] “Saves me from having to eat her cooking.” [i]Miles remarked, to which Tara shot him the bird. Wilson grinned. The conflict amused him.[/i] “We get food in ten. Go get cleaned up ya f*ckin’ animals.” [i]He instructed, actually happy to see them instead of Jackson and Rose. Tara and Miles hadn’t yet gotten to the point in life where everything was worrying about this or that, and Wilson liked that a whole lot better. He wasn’t a worrying man. Having about a billion guns and knives helped that. Walking over to the couch, he sat down and waited for the two hellions to go get ready to go. He really wanted a burger.... and beer. Lots of beer. The ten minutes passed and both Miles and Tara were ready, and so the group set out again, after Wilson rearmed himself and got back into his armor. Walking down the streets towards the restaurants, the group probably looked rather amusing. Wilson stood tall and menacingly in his power armor, whereas Miles, being the shortest one, looked like the average teenager in a hoodie, jeans, and Vans, his armor folded up and on his back beneath the jacket. Tara wore her same black field jacket, jeans, and snakeskin boots that she usually wore, a scarf around her neck, her hair still in a ponytail. Her hands were stuffed in her pockets and she looked miserable in the cold.[/i] [spoiler]Open[/spoiler]