Slatyr [0005]

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Narrative of how I'd understand the character's archetype:

Slater awoke unexpectedly, just as the parasite in her gut had progressed to an unbearable degree. Crouched next to that glorified cement cushion, she'd finally choose to pursue medical attention, seeing as how the village residing in the confines of Fenway Stadium was still several blocks away. How her funds would materialize was a proverbial bridge she'd cross by way of the village market.

The town motel was where she'd spend the night of February 1st, setting aside her least-needed goods for the sole-purpose of trade, before preparing her meals for the events to come. That tower - and more specifically, the secret it holds, were only one thread in the tapestry of her heartfelt wish for a better future.

Within the trading post, talk of fake humans gave the Fensfolk an eerie air of suspicion around the market, made obvious through the way they'd stare at her and the strangers she'd been traveling with, ironically all while the town's outside-patrolmen were only armed with umpire gear and baseball bats...

An undeniable necessity of urban camping supplies was another concern noted during her walk back to the village's mechanical liftgate. After her needed bedrest in the village motel, she'd return to the market, assembling her supplies and ensuring her meals were ready not only for the trip to her destination, but her ongoing journey afterward.

Regrettably, while her stores of clean water were less than optimal, she'd refine her rationing skills in the weeks to come, being that the post-war method of purifying toxic beverages involved some costly; albeit basic and ubiquitous chemistry supplies.

If eight foot tall cannibals are what she'd be faced against in her most immediate future, then her feelings of proper wellness would be of the utmost priority. Chemistry lessons would have to develop through the only greatest teacher: infield, kin-esthetic-training.

During her walk from the metro station to that focal tower, she'd wonder how prepared those villagers are for the city just beyond that measly wall of not just desperately underprepared defenders, but worse: a breaking barrier of cracked concrete and rusting beams of centuries-old steel.

Mournfully, she'd desire the strategy her beloved would provide for the people of "Diamond City", only her sadly haphazard group of ragtags would have to make that fated cut. The welcomed romance of pouring rain greeted the four travelers at the rooftop of that dreaded skyscraper.

Before her morning nap, she'd take the opportunity of such a high place to see the city of Boston soaking in what she'd endeavor to love most about the place. All the courtship dates her then-fiance would take her on, all the shows they'd go out to see during their honeymoon, and all the dining they'd enjoyed together since; the moonlit memories of her real home - the only Boston she'd truly let the bones of her self recall...

The melting droplets of freezing rain would trickle down her face, as her outermost layer of leathery winter clothing would do well in warding off that Atlantic coldfront's stinging onslaught. The nature of such elements - she'd realize - are precisely what this frigid new world would only proceed to pour irreverently down upon her aching spirits...

What to do...