(Author's Note: This is just a character personality exercise with a cheesy plot from a plot generator thrown in. If you find the personalities not in keeping with the actual Fallout 1 game, please point it out, since that is the whole point of this particular piece.)
"Who's the cleanest dog in the desert," the Vault Dweller rhetorically asks in her best cooing baby voice, scratching behind Dogmeat's ears, as he wags his tail. "You are, yes you are!"
"Ugh," comes the unwarranted commentary of Katja from across the campfire. "You and that flea bag."
The dog barks happily at his master as she gets up and heads in the direction of the small river not too far away. He trots off behind the young lady, dripping a trail of cool water behind himself.
"Don't hurt yourself out there," Tycho warns, taking a seat near the fire after making a round of the perimeter.
"Thanks Tycho," she happily calls back, disappearing into the green scrubby bushes.
The young lady with the loud, green Mohawk cracks open a beer and takes a drink, keeping her gaze fixed on the Desert Ranger sitting across from her. She leans back, resting her head on the trunk of a scraggly tree as she relaxes for the night. "You're sweet on her, aren't you, Ranger?"
The six foot tall man sitting near the campfire sighs, as he reheats his iguana-on-a-stick over the roaring flames. "What're you rambin' on about now, Katja?"
"Oh nothing." She shrugs in a nonchalant manner. "Just the way your eyes are always glued to her ass when she walks in front of you."
Tycho scoffs, avoiding eye contact. "I'm watchin' her back is all," he points out, taking an angry bite of his dinner.
"And her front, and her thighs, and her shapely—"
His sharp raised tone cuts her off abruptly. "I get it!" He swallows the half chewed morsel in his mouth, trying to calm down. "She's a lotta woman."
Ian chuckles behind a mouthful, as he chews.
The Desert Ranger narrows his eyes at the bodyguard. "And what the hell's so funny?"
He shrugs in his usual uncaring manner. "I'm here for the money, what about you?"
Tycho gives the man a groan of frustration. "You too? Shit Ian, I thought you were better than this." He waves at the green Mohawk to the man's immediate left.
"If you ask her, she'll probably say yes." Katja takes a long swig of her beer. "I know I would."
"Everyone knows you would," he insults with a mouth full of food.
"Forbidden fruit." Ian can't help but crack a smile at this.
He swallows his next bite just as fast. "The hell does that mean anyway?"
The bodyguard finishes off his last bite, tossing the kebab stick into the fire. "An old merchants trick. Tell them they can't have it, or can't afford it, and they want it more."
Tycho dismisses his claim with a broad wave of his hand. "Forbidden my ass. You don't just ask a classy lady for sex, you gotta be polite about it."
The woman with the Mohawk snickers. "So she's a classy lady now, not 'the kid from the vault'?"
"Go t' hell, Katja." The Ranger goes back to eat his food in angry silence.
There's a high-pitched scream from the riverside.
Tycho jumps into action, running toward the screams, shotgun at the ready.
Ian goes to follow, but the thief grabs him by the forearm, dragging him back down. "Don't go you idiot, it's a set up."
He sits back down, gun still in hand. "Thought that's why you were picking a fight with him. I wasn't sure you were going to take the bet seriously at first."
"Just remember pretty boy, if those two don't end up with each other by the end of the night, I win." Already sure of her bet, she toasts herself, finishing off her drink.
"Don't count on it."