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“250 caps. Up front.”
Robert Joseph Maccready crossed his arms, watching for the reaction of the blue-suited man in front of him. The calming drawl of Magnolia's singing steadily pouring into the back room of the Third Rail- the warm, dimly-lighted, stagnant bar that Maccready was reluctant to leave. He had just been harassed by Winlock and Barnes, and now some sap in a vault-suit was trying to hire him. His eyes wandered over to the doorway where the knuckleheads had strutted out moments before. When would they be back? They knew where he was, and it wasn't like he could turn down taking any more jobs. Duncan needed all he could get.
“Any lower? I've not got much..”
Lazily, Maccready drew his gaze back to the apparent vault-dweller, whose features were darkened by the feeble lights, and blurred by the thrumming headache Maccready always got when haggling.
“250. I'm not some charity, alright?” Yellowed teeth were quickly withdrawn as Maccready covered his sneer. “Look, pay up or get out. You're scaring paying customers away. Folk don't like to see vault-dwellers running about, nothing good's ever came from someone in a blue suit.”
The vault dweller shifted his stance, causing the light he was blocking to blind Maccready's dark-accustomed eyes. He tilted his head to block out the light, and get a better look at the man in front of him, quickly scanning his features.
His hair was brown-- graying, Maccready noted. Couldn't be older than 30, though. Laugh lines skirted grey, innocent eyes set in a sunburned face with scraggly attempt at a beard. Maccready brought a hand to his own goatee- he needed to shave, but he kind of liked it. He'd never met a mercenary that didn't have a beard, and that's what he was he guessed. A mercenary. A hired gun.
A tool.
“A drink?”
Maccready shook the thought from his head, glancing back up at the vault-dweller, he squinted.
“A what?”
Blue-boy shrugged, looking around the room.
“I'll buy you a drink if you'll help me.”
His voice wasn't notable. He sounded like he was from the Commonwealth, maybe from Vault 81? It'd definitely explain the 'fish out of water' look. He doubted this guy had been out of his little cave before. Probably spent his whole life wandering the same halls.
Then again, Maccready thought, so did I.
He made a decision.
“200 caps-- and a drink.”
The man bit his lip.
“100 caps and two drinks?”
For the first time that day, Maccready smirked. He rose out of his seat, smoothing down his jacket.
“100 caps, two drinks, and a name.” he responded, already reaching for his rifle that lay by the side of the sofa. He put it there when the chuckle brothers came in, hoping they'd think he was easy pickings. He reached into his jacket to assure himself the knife was still there. Just in case. Maccready wasn't one to take chances- not any more.
“Joe,” It was only now that Maccready realised the height difference between him and the willowy man, at least half a head taller than him. “And you?”
“Maccready. Pleasure to do business with you. Now, about that drink?”
Joe nodded eagerly, turning to exit into the main room of the bar. Maccready frowned at the three golden letters emblazoned on the back of his suit.
“111?” Maccready queried, stepping past the junkie infested couches that littered the room.
“Vault number.” supplied Joe helpfully. Maccready had guessed that and was hoping for elaboration.
Magnolia had finished her act and Maccready couldn't help but notice that everyone was watching the striking blue suit as Joe ambled to the bar. He pulled his cap down, not enjoying the attention he was getting. Joe seemed not to notice. A crowd of human and inky ghoul eyes alike trained at his back.. The Handy-Man at the bar whirred to face them and Maccready couldn't help but notice his reflection staring back at him in the glass of Charlie's eyes. He really needed to shave that...
“A nuka cola and...what do you want, Maccready?”
Maccready's gaze snapped back to Joe.
“Ah, er. A wh--” He remembered the promise he made to Duncan- to be a better person. He supposed that involved alcohol, too... “--a cola, too. Thanks...” he mumbled.
He couldn't deny that he was looking forward to a stiff drink, not that he didn't enjoy a sweet cola every now and again.
“To new partners” grinned Joe, raising his drink to Maccready's.
They met with a clink and Maccready took a swig.
“To new partners.” he grimaced. For Duncan, more like.
They stayed the night at the Rexford, Joe was kind enough to rent a room for them both. He probably knew his shiny new mercenary wouldn't last very long if it had to sleep on a sofa in the Third Rail. Once there, Joe wandered to the drawers, inconspicuously knocking a candle into his waiting bag . Maccready raised an eyebrow, the man didn't look like thief.
“So, boss, what's my job? We heading somewhere far?”
He stood awkwardly as Joe began to pillage the drawers for anything left from the last lodgers, before turning to face Maccready, tapping the centre of the map on his Pip-Boy
“Diamond City. You heard of it?”
Definitely a vault-dweller, scoffed Maccready. He'd only been here a few months and he'd already heard about Diamond City from half the ghouls loitering Goodneighbour. Run by some hotshot McDonohugh who hated ghouls apparently.
“I've heard of it, yeah. You haven't? It's a pretty big settlement around here.”
Joe shook his head,
“Not from around here. Uh-- a vault.”
“I guessed.”
There was an awkward silence, the sound of a closing door and Fred Allen crowing his chems was heard below, followed by a gravelly laugh. Maccready kept focused on Joe.
“You want me to ferry you to Diamond City? It's a dangerous path...and one merc isn't enough to take out any Super Mutants we run into, you know that right?”
He'd ran into them before, only managed to take out a few on the way to Goodneighbour. Their skulls were too thick to take down in one shot. He had been trying to reach Diamond City, but navigation wasn't Maccready's strong point. That was Lucy's job when they travelled together. His chest twanged. Well, she's not here any more, is she?
“I know, you're not the only one coming with me.”
Maccready made to stand up, “Hey! You never said anything about a third party, I'm not travelling with another stranger--”
The door creaked open behind him and Maccready turned to confront the newcomer. His scowl was met by a grinning ghoul in a dapper hat.
“Maccready! After all I did for you, I'm still a stranger, huh?”
“Hancock?” muttered Maccready. More surprised than angry. How the heck did this clueless vault-dweller get into cahoots with the mayor of Goodneighbour?
“Um, you two already know each other?” asked Joe, his tall, awkward frame hunched between the two shorter, scrawnier men.
Hancock replied first, clapping a leathered hand around Maccready's shoulder.
“Yeah, we know each other. Let Maccready stay in the statehouse a few nights until he could get on his feet here. We're pals.”
Maccready nodded uneasily. He had nothing against Hancock, he was a great guy. And it wasn't even that he disliked ghouls. His past experience with them was irrelevant, they were feral, Hancock isn't. He just couldn't help but look into the deep, murky eyes and shrug off the feeling that they were exactly what Lucy was looking into moments before--
“You're shaking, pal. You alright?” Maccready unfocused on the Stygian eyes and took in the face. He looked concerned.
“Yeah, fine. Just tired. Long day and all.” He shook his head, shrugging off Hancock's hand. “So you're our other traveller? How'd you meet Joe?”
“I helped him with some..erm...errands.” answered Joe, reminding Maccready that him and the ghoul weren't alone in the room.
“Errands. Right. Hope you washed your hands after. No errand of Hancock's that he couldn't do himself didn't involve some dirty work.”
Hancock guffawed, clapping Maccready on the back, sending him lurching forward.
“Says you! By the way, I saw those two fuckers wander out of the Third Rail earlier. They bothering you again?”
Maccready scowled, cheeks reddening. He didn't need Joe thinking that he couldn't handle himself.
“Nothing I couldn't deal with. Now, when are we heading off?”
Hancock sat with them for a while as Joe filled them in on the details. He was looking for 'someone', being evasive as to who it was, any queries met with his awkward mumbling and a quick change of subject. Maccready doubted he'd tell any more, and subsequently let it drop.
As the light filtering through the shattered windows died, Hancock left for the statehouse, assuring them he'd meet the two at the gates around sunrise. Maccready and Joe waved him off, and began to prepare to sleep.
“Which bed you taking?” asked Maccready, focused on unbuttoning his jacket.
“Whichever.” came the response, Maccready grunted, already growing used to Joe's tendency to reply with non-committal responses.
Maccready was loathe to take off his jacket, used to sleeping in it to stay warm. Joe insisted it would be uncomfortable and Maccready grudgingly agreed. He had his vest and underwear, at least. Still, he wasn't too confident of his own body, as he struggled out of his multiple shirts, revealing his scrawny form beneath.
Climbing into the nearest bed, and hearing Joe do the same, he rolled over to face the vault-dweller on the other side of the room. He was staring at him. A second of realisation and Joe coughed and rolled to his back, facing the ceiling. Awkwardly, Maccready turned back to face the wall.
“Night.” he mumbled, pulling the grimy sheets tight around him.
Joe murmured a response, Maccready was pretty sure he heard a 'night' in there.
Well, thought Maccready, before he succumbed to the darkness slowly enveloping the rotting room, it's always good to get out.