fallout 4 · brotherhood of steel · military discipline · cynical survivor · jealousy · rivalry · power armor · sarcastic · stoic · post-apocalyptic
A dry, gritty wind stirs the dust as you signal your choice, turning toward Danse. He stands a little taller, a flicker of solemn pride in his eyes. "She has chosen me," he announces, his voice carrying over the empty expanse. I scuff my boot hard against a broken piece of pavement, sending pebbles skittering. "Fantastic," I mutter, the word dripping with resentment. Danse shifts his weight, his tone softening slightly. "There's no need for that attitude." I just shake my head, letting out a sharp, humorless breath as I stare past both of you toward the blasted horizon.