"Well, I'll be. You're alive."
In the little far-away town of Goodsprings, more or less a flyover country, rarely anything happen. Probably the most that ever did go on was the drunk and disorderly, and half the time that was of just one person in the town. The tumbleweeds tumbled - folks never understand why they did that - it was less hot but still very damp, with a 24-hour saloon that still cast a neon sign over the dry landscape and a few houses here and there. In one particular house - a set up hospital - there was a woman, lying on Doc Mitchell's own bed.
She started to get up, light dancing in her vision, but soon a fierce pain attacked her torso, wrapping around her whole body like a vise. Damn!
"Whoa there, easy. You've been out cold a couple of days now." Doc Mitchell said, holding out a hand to stop her from rising. When the woman finally got her bearings, her panic was no longer there. He appeared to be a man of about fifty, with salt-and-pepper hair and wrinkles coating his forehead.
The woman sat back. "Why don't ya just relax a second... get your bearings."
The woman barely even remembered what she was laying in - she was horribly woozy. Nonetheless, she laid back and looked for a wordless minute. She realized she was in a drab hospital - it had no attempt to even look appealing, with nothing but a wooden machine in the back, various medical equipment and bags scattered here and there, and behind the doctor a large bed with a wheel the size of an Anceau cart.
"Let's see what the damage is," Doc Mitchell sat back in his seat. "How about your name? Can ya tell me yer name?"
"Eleanor."
"Hmm... it's not what I'd of picked for you, but if that's yer name then that's yer name." Mitchell joked. "I'm Doc Mitchell. Welcome to Goodsprings."
Eleanor nodded. "This is where I am? Thought I was just in a drab house in a wasteland."
The doctor laughed, a hearty laugh; Eleanor already liked the guy. Nevermind that he saved her life. "Ah hope you don't mind, but I had to go rootin' around in your noggin to pull all the bits of lead out. I take pride in my needlework."
Eleanor gulped. She'd been shot... or worse. What the fuck had happened to her? "But you'd better tell me if I let anything out of place." He knelt down and found a round mirror, which Eleanor took with a mute compliance. She expected a shaven head, with large stitches and a red outline where it stood. In fact, there was not. All Eleanor saw now was herself. A young woman, not a shade under twenty-five, with cocoa colored hair and a pointed nose - the stitch, right above her forehead, wasn't even noticeable. She sighed in relief.
"I think everything's fine. You know, things that matter."
Doc Mitchell chuckled. "Alrighty, no sense keeping you in bed anymore. Let's get you up and on yer feet." Mitchell extended his arms to help Eleanor up, to which she complied. The minute she got up, light swam into her vision and her head was afloat in agony. Whatever had happened to her, it wasn't good at all. "Whoa..."
"Not bad. Here, follow me to the livin' room. Need ta take some tests, see if your gears are spinnin'." Mitchell explained, leading her through a narrow doorway. The room looked the same, the only thing different a brightly colored green couch: probably the only colorful thing Eleanor had seen. Hesitantly, she took a seat, swearing mentally as her ass clenched in pain, and then Doc Mitchell took a seat across from her.
He then presented her a metal, shelf-looking device; Eleanor knew, by looking at it, it was a projector. "Okay. I'm gonna say a word. Say the first thing that comes to mind."
"Dog."
"Kick."
"House."
"Burglarize."
"Night."
"Dream."
"Bandit."
"Swiss cheese."
"Mother."
"Human Shield."
Mitchell held back a wince at that last part, which Eleanor didn't see. "Alrighty. Now, I have a few statements. When I say them, tell me how much they sound like somethin' you'd say. Either agree, no opinion, or disagree. Somethin' like that."
Eleanor was starting to get worried. She knew these were standard medical questions, but she knew that she should be interrogating him. Where was she, other than the obvious answer Goodsprings? What happened to her? Where was the rest of her stuff? A click sounded, and the projector turned on, showing a lapse of images. Doc Mitchell cleared his throat and began.
"First: Conflict just ain't in my nature."
"..Agree."
"I ain't given to relying on others for support."
"No opinion."
"I'm always fixin' to be the center of attention."
"Agree."
"I'm slow to embrace new ideas."
"Strongly disagree."
"I charge in to deal with my problems head-on."
"Strongly agree."
Doc Mitchell nodded, then he switched out a photo cartridge and put in another. This time, the images popped up as odd drawings, none of which had any shape or size. "Have a look at this one: tell me what you see."
Eleanor studied it with disinterest. "An angry two-headed ant."
His eyebrows barely moved. "This one."
"I'm too embarrased to say it."
Mitchell chuckled. "Aaand this one?"
"A bearded man."
The projector soon switched off, and the old film was taken out. "Well, that's all she wrote. Let's get you on yer merry way." If he was a little worried, he didn't show it. He probably got crazier patients, Eleanor hoped. She eagerly got up, and then she was handed her heavy backpack. Instinctively, she searched through the sack: everything was there. In a separate bedroom, she switched out of her nightshirt into a Vault 13 suit: it was an old thing, relatively clean but pretty dusty. It would have to do. She checked her ammunition - very low - and her water supply, then began to head out.
"Thanks for taking care of me." Eleanor said.
"Think nothin' of it. If you ever need anythin', come back here."
"How was I brought here? What happened to me?"
Mitchell's face darkened, and Eleanor feared the answer. "You weren't tortured or nothin', if that's what you mean. You were shot in the head by a group of Legionnaires." Caesar's Legion, of course. "However, some girl dragged you in, carrying you like you were virtually nothing. She brought your pack back and everything."
Eleanor made a note of that. Somebody carried her here? "Who is this person who did that?"
"I don't know. She never said her name, but she was polite to a fault. I think she's still in town, if you want to take a look."
Eleanor simply nodded, wondering she took anything from her backpack. "Okay, thank you Doctor." She suddenly remembered she had almost no caps - she'd have to see Mitchell again later about the money question, but she had bigger fish to fry. She stepped out the door into the blistering Mojave sun.
Mitchell wasn't kidding. The town wasn't really anything - tumbleweeds blew everywhere, with only a couple houses, a closed-down gas station with soap still smearing the windows, and the only real attraction being a two-story building of shingles and timber. That looked important. Very important. She wasn't giving up here without confronting this woman - a part of her wanted to bow on her knees, though an aching part of her body told her something had been stolen. That it was a ruse. Eleanor found the bar door and stepped in.
It looked as appealing as Doc Mitchell's house, with substantial lighting and nothing really appearing. It was a bar - a saloon, what an old Western hoot - with a stock of bottles on numerous, weathered shelves. Only a few people were actually in the bar - the barkeeper was a woman probably older than Eleanor, with her hair tied back and donning a long dress: she wasn't behind the bar, though. Standing in front of her was a black man in a trench coat, who seemed to have a scowl on his face and talking in a whisper. Don't trust him. Eleanor heard a dog. There was but one woman there who was actually sitting at the bar, drinking out of a cup as if the fight between the barkeeper and the evil guy wasn't going on.
This was what Eleanor wanted. She stood next to the woman. "Hello?"
At the noise, the woman turned towards Eleanor. And when she did, Eleanor was glad she did. This woman was really beautiful. Eleanor's skin was a darker caucasian, but this woman's skin was all white. Pale, porcelain white that lit up the room. She was only wearing a black t-shirt and long jeans, though Eleanor could tell there was some armor underneath the shirt near the belly. Her blue eyes accented the face, her honeyed red hair spilled on the table, and her white teeth completely shone. Half the people Eleanor knew didn't even have teeth close to dark white. Damn.
"Oh. You." the redhead said, though perked up and extended a hand. "Name's Sonya."
"Sonya?"
"That's my name, don't wear it out." She shook Eleanor's hand even though she hadn't offered it. "What brings you here? Gonna drown your sorrows? Get a worse headache in the morning that you already do?"
Eleanor plunked down on the seat next to her, cupping her hands together. "Okay, Sonya. Hi..." she cleared her throat. Just be frank with her. "Are you the one who carried me in the town?"
Her face not betraying anything, she swallowed her drink - which smelled very much like Sarsaparilla - and shook her head. "Not a clue. I just... you know... assumed you were shot here."
Eleanor sighed, then turned her attention to the barkeeper and the man in the jacket. The pretty boy - which she meant in a mocking way - was now clenching a revolver. Okay, now her senses were heightened.
"I'm DONE being nice." The man said in a low voice, almost a growl. Eleanor sat back, almost in fear. "If you don't hand Ringo over soon, I'm gonna get my friends and we're burning this town to the ground. You GOT IT?"
Suddenly, Sonya jumped up. Eleanor almost stopped her, but with a quick hand, she made a quick movement and suddenly caught the revolver in the man's hand. Before he could make a move, she had instantly gotten him in a headlock - only then did Eleanor notice just how strong she was. The butt of the gun was clenched by her side, an unthreatening movement, but that was deliberately so.
"We'll keep that in mind." Sonya said, almost irritatingly cheerful.
"If you aren't here to buy somethin', get out." the barkeeper said, clearly trying to keep her cool. Eleanor herself remained without. The dog Eleanor saw earlier was barking now.
"Grrr! Fine. Let me go." the man said quickly. Sonya obeyed. The man straightened his jacket and his shoulders, then stormed out of the bar with a slam on the door.
Eventually Eleanor learned just who this bastard was. She talked to the brunette barkeeper about it - Trudy was her name - and learned that his name was Joe Cobb. He had been a part of a chain gang near a former NCR prison. Already Eleanor felt bad for the guy - the NCR just took whatever they wanted. Keeping her mouth shut, he had organized a rebellion against the soldiers: except that this time, it was quantity over quality that won out. The soldiers were slaughtered or executed publicly, and they soon began to build a new life around it. They called themselves Powder Gangers, due to the powder-loaded pistols they used. You didn't want to get on their bad side.
"They've been lookin' for a runaway who calls himself Ringo, though." Trudy continued, who was wiping her glass. By the time Joe had left, the moon had already stood a hand over Goodsprings. Sonya hadn't moved from her spot. "I guess with all the talk of the possible revolution, they want to get in on it as much as they can. A chance at the NCR."
"Are you gonna give them to 'em?" Sonya interjected, answering the question Eleanor had.
"No, we're not backstabbers. I personally don't care if they come in and take him, or if he comes crawling back to them. But they're threatening to kill us all if we don't give that coward to them."
"Then do it." Eleanor said, feeling annoyed. Trudy just looked coolly at Eleanor.
"That's the thing - I know they're not gonna stop just by getting Ringo back. They'll be doing the only thing they're good at: murdering and slaughtering and taking the easy way out. They'll come to raid us and I'm sick of it."
Suddenly, Sonya's face seemed to light up like moonlit milk. She looked ready to tackle something all of a sudden. She bounced up, peeled off some caps from her pocket, left them on the counter and ran out of the bar. Well, that was... strange. Curiouser and curiouser. Sure, Sonya may not of been the person she was looking for, but that was just odd of her to blast right out of there. Bidding Trudy goodbye, she walked out of the saloon herself.
Eleanor almost thought Sonya half-crazy when she saw her run into the abandoned gas station she had found earlier. Almost all of it was rusting away, but it still seemed sturdy. If there were still cars around, maybe Eleanor could wire something and get the station in working order. There was one small hole in the wall, but that was all Eleanor needed. It was a bad habit, but it got her to know things she shouldn't. Taking a cover behind a rock, she peeked through the hole.
The interior was a wreck, every last shelf tipped over and filled with debris. But she did see Sonya... and something else. This had to of been Ringo. This man wasn't bad looking, with a strong chin and a neat haircut. His coveralls looked caked with dust and sand, and he and Sonya seemed to be talking up a storm.
"...And think of it like this! We don't have to feed you over to the Powder Gangers! We could just riot against them!"
Ringo seemed to be lost in thought about this. "Well, I heard they're afraid I'm gonna shoot 'em through the windows. Personally, doesn't sound like too bad of an idea.
"Well I'm not gonna through you to the dogs." Sonya offered.
"Yeah, that's assuming the rest of the town agrees with ya. I have no chance against the gang on my own, or even if I come back."
"That's what I'm saying! We should fight them!" Sonya exclaimed. All at once, Sonya understand. He wasn't just hanging here for a visit - Ringo was on the lam. A hideaway. He had probably done something very bad, and Sonya wanted to defend this man's honor. Probably forming a militia out of Goodsprings in the end... it didn't sound like a bad idea.
Ringo seemed to stroke his chin - if he had a beard, it would of been completely fitting. Sonya then ran out of the house after Eleanor heard a few unintelligible words from Ringo. Practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, she skidded back down to the saloon. Hm.
Her predicition wasn't wrong. It rarely ever was.
She had found Sonya and a girl named Sunny Smiles - nearly as good looking as her, kitty likes - who also seemed to be talking up a storm with her, making plans, organizing things. Eleanor caught little bits here and there:
"-He and his friends will come after the town eventually. That's inevitable."
"...convince Trudy."
"-there's a shipment of armor we could borrow."
Eleanor could only sit back as Sonya acted as her brilliantly helpful self. Now that she knew what she was looking at, it made more and more logical sense to her. At first, it just seemed impulsive, but she completely understood the idea. They had to act now while it was their due and duty... Sonya seemed better than them. Of course she was.
Over the next few days, there wasn't one useless labourer in the town. Eleanor did nothing much more but hand out ammunition. Sonya had wheeled in good timber, some medicine, and everything the beleaugered townsfolk here needed to get their rebellion in working order. Eleanor hadn't ever imagined that two nights after waking up, she'd find herself armed with a hunting rifle, overlooking flat hills. She had trouble just getting in ammunition - thankfully, the town's grocer, Chet, helped her sort out the hollow points and special ammunition. Everyone had five cartridges, which was nearly all of the town's supply, but Sonya said she knew where to find some more. They'd hung up a flag, dragged out overturned tables and crates and timber to make cover with. Everyone had armor - which ached Eleanor's breasts - and a gun.
Eleanor more or less just felt like a fetch-and-catch dog, but that was all she could really do in her condition. It hurt every once in a while, a throbbing pain that took her whole person to not whip out a stimpak and heal herself. Medicine was scarce in this city, so it was fortune that slapped the town's backs when Doc Mitchell gave most of his supplies. He said that nobody ever came into the old clinic anyways, though Eleanor still felt a little guilty when she wheeled it out.
She had lingered around the bar on the third night, the night of the revolution, for about an hour. She had asked all the townsfolk, everyone she could find, but nobody knew who had brought her in. Had he or she ran off with stuff of hers? Was that person dead? Eleanor would of given any caps she had - which she didn't - to find that person.
A half hour before the fight began, Sunny and Sonya had taken Eleanor out back for training on how to shoot. They had set up things to shoot when all the junk that could be used for cover was taken, and cleared up fragments for Eleanor. Her gun was more or less a relic, but it still shot fiercely. The power in her hands was insane. She was sloppy, though got more creative in how she did it. They both pushed her on the entire time like an annoying lieutenant.
"Crouch down!"
"Don't put so much weight on your forearm."
"Put it on your shoulder!"
"You'll shoot yer eye out if you hold it like that."
At night, Goodsprings had been turned into a fortress. The town held about twenty people, and they were all willing to fight. Ten of them had been established outside, using crates and paving stones and barrels for a custom barricade. A cart had been overturned. Another five were stationed in the windows of the Goodsprings Saloon: two in the upper story of Chet's store. The last of them held themselves in the attic of the Saloon.
So they waited.
It didn't take long. A horde of Powder Gangers had rose up from the hill when the stars were bright and the night was full - about forty. These twenty people were dealing with a force twice their size. Every one of the Powder Gangers who had better weapons than them, better armor, but they weren't as prepared as the Goodsprings folk were. That, and they had the night for advantage. The Gangers couldn't see the new militia of Trudy - for Sonya no longer looked to leading them - until the actual fight would begin. Eleanor herself had positioned herself under a little barricade of barrels and crates, and was only armed with a Varmint Rifle. Trudy's previous advice to her was 'don't die.'
"Don't fire yet." Trudy whispered. The Gangers were pretty far away, more than the range of their weapons could fire. "They don't know that we know they're here. Economize the bullets - I had to melt my forks for these rounds."
The Powder Gangers soon marched. It was clear they knew a fight was going to happen - obviously, note the big gang - but they wouldn't expect the fierce resistance. Eleanor was sure they'd win. All of the settlers had spoke with the report of their weapons, the leveled click of the bolts on the guns.
"Goodsprings! I'm calling you out!" Joe Cobb instantly screamed. Eleanor raised her gun.
"Give 'em hell!" A flash of fire erupted the quiet city.
It was terrible for a minute. The city probably hadn't seen gunfire smoke in a while, and half of the Settlers' arms all shook. Thankfully, the first assault was successful - a few of the Gangers were badly hurt, rocks were knocked over, dust was blown in their face, and they were all disoriented and misthrown.
"KILL THEM!" Joe Cobb instantly screamed. Soon, bullets spit from both directions.
Staying next to Sunny - which Eleanor now considered the safest place in the whole war - Eleanor continued the fire herself. Feeling the gun jump in her arms, she used the crates around her for good cover. A handful of the settlers had already been wounded, but not enough to sweep them off their feet. One settler had pitched out a Ganger with a pistol. The men and women in the bar had used the windows to their advantage, and the two stationed in Chet's store had four more guns in case anyone needed it - which they could toss in case an insurgent ran out of ammunition.
The Powder Gangers were just as fierce. In a matter of minutes, three Settlers outside had fallen. Another settler had been shot right in the mouth, and had fallen out of the window, landing on another settler with a death rattle.
One Ganger had shot the rifle out of Eleanor's hands. The force blew her back, though now she remained without cover. A vigorous hand had seized her by the chest, however, and had hid her expertly behind a rock: Sonya. Sunny Smiles and Trudy were now leading the attack, each of them untouched by the balls. Sunny had caved in the skull of a Ganger with a golf club, when he had the dumb idea of actually charging them head-on.
The flag had been knocked over, and the cart was riddled with rounds. Still the fighting continued. The wounded had been put into the bar, which now served as a safe haven and a hospital. Sonya was a will o' the wisp - the bullets refused her. She capped off multiple shots with deadly accuracy, and crouched when necessary.
One thing totally changed the whole game, though. It had been a matter of ten minutes, but the leader, Joe, who was uninjured, had a different idea. Eleanor saw it before she heard it - the arc of it, how she was to slow to move before it blew. A frag grenade. The concussive spray erupted the scene, and soon Eleanor was blown back by its force. It was awful: it had wounded some Settlers who remained standing - Eleanor could clearly see Trudy's foot crippled by the blow, flowing with some blood. Still, they continued the fire, but the Gangers now had the upper hand.
A Settler had an arrow fired into the crook of their neck, and bled to death alive. Sonya had tried to raise two barrels, but a settler in front of her had been shot eight times in a row, and fell on Sonya; that knocked the barrels out of her arms. Sunny instantly waved her arms to the bar: the two positioned in Chet's house remained there, but there was barely anybody outside.
Eleanor couldn't move - she wasn't paralyzed, she could feel her fingers and move them, but she had difficulty getting up. A Settler had tried to lift her, but was shot right in front of her. Eleanor felt she had been shot, the sting of it. It sucked. However, she felt herself lifted up by something much stronger than her, and suddenly she was inside the sudden oasis of the Saloon. She rolled her head just to see Sonya drop her on the floor - how many times would she have to thank this woman for saving her life? - and watch Sunny and a handful of Settlers barricade the door.
Suddenly, Eleanor heard the dog, Cheyenne, barking out of an open window. Almost all of the windows had been barricaded with bookcases, but a single window was open. The Gangers' fierce progress had been stopped. A low growl rose up from the girl's throat, her teeth bared. Before Eleanor even had time to know what was about to happen, all twenty-four of the Gangers still standing raised their guns.
"Kill the dog!"
A flash shook the bar, and twenty-four bullets riddled the dog at once. One whine, it was over. Sunny howled herself, and soon barricaded that window. Sunny didn't even have to process the pain before Sonya jumped onto the bar table.
"Move the wounded to the upper stories of the bar and position two to the windows that aren't fully barricaded! If they storm the house, hit them with whatever you've got left!"
Her order was passed out in just a second - the wounded who hadn't died were carried up, and five people had established themselves at the covered windows, all of them holding back the Gangers. Suddenly, a loud crumbling sound shook the bar again: it was the sound of crushing wood. Just when Eleanor had shut her eyes, thinking the bar had been stormed when she had just gotten on her feet, she realized it wasn't. It was Chet's store.
She looked out the window, and realized the Gangers had focused their attention on the three or four in Chet's storehouse. They had fired on it hard enough for the whole foundation to collapse, and it went down in pillowing clouds of dust. The insurgent on the left window was flung out, still alive, screaming the whole way down: he broke his neck. The other one was been killed by falling wood. The third on the tiled roof had slipped and fallen right into one of the bar windows, and landed on broken glass.
The only one alive was an old man - Eleanor didn't even know his name. An old black man, with wrinkles older than a sun-dried raisin and hair grayer than anyone she'd ever seen. They raised their guns and had caved the man's skull in with a loose piece of wood. It was over in an instant. The violence of it was astonishing, more so than earlier.
"If they're going to take over the bar, we need to figure out a way to keep them out!" Sunny announced, stuffing her pockets with cartridges. They had barricaded it enough to at least buy them a minute or two.
"In twenty-five seconds, it won't matter!" Trudy said, cradling her injured foot a little. "Have 3 of 'em shoot from the windows."
"Hey... Sonya." Eleanor weakly said, who had put space between herself and the rebels.
Everyone turned to the redhead. She was making raspberries to the Gangers. What the hell? Making various child-like noises, putting her fingers to her ears, was that child dumb? Bullets were flying at her, but she had cover with the bookcase. Eleanor had no idea what she was doing, and numerous Settlers were yelling at her. However, before she had time to shake some sense into Sonya, the latter girl had grabbed her gun, aimed at the roof, and fired.
Suddenly, Eleanor heard the tumble of buckling metal and falling debris: suddenly she realized what happened. Sonya had made the Gangers come hither to the bar, and had secretly placed some concealed debris up on the roof. When she fired at it, it dropped to the gorund and killed several Gangers. Their twenty were now of twelve.
All in the bar applauded. However, that was stopped when the bar door suddenly flung open. It was a bloodied Joe Cobb, who looked out of focus but holding his revolver at his side.
It was Trudy who made the first jump at him: she had grabbed a bottle of beer and broke it over his head - her gun had long since ran out of bullets - and hit him so hard he just melted. More Gangers tried to jump in through the window, but soon Eleanor had gotten up and beat them over the head with the stock of her gun - one she had speared right in the throat and shot. Soon, the Gangers had indeed stormed the bar, but the Goodsprings Folk had put enough space between them and the former convicts that there was enough to fire long-range and close-range fighting.
It was a whirlwind. Sunny and a handful of other Settlers had gotten the idea that Trudy had: they all grabbed wine bottles and flung them at their heads, which hacked their faces with wounds before they fired on them. The Gangers still had guns, but the Settlers had more. Sonya helped support Eleanor with a strong arm, and fired with a free hand. One moustached Ganger had gotten into a fistfight with Sunny, but who had soon grabbed him by the head and slammed his head into a table hard enough to chip a tooth. More and more shots were fired, and several Gangers fell. A Settler had broken the edge of a bottle right into a Ganger's open wound; an old man had flung a young Ganger out of a window and then beat him with the barrel of his Varmint Rifle. The debris the Goodsprings folk had used for cover were now used as weapons. Sonya had broke a barrel in an avalanche of splintering wood over a leader. Two Settlers killed a Ganger by charging him with an overturned table. One more shot and it was over.
Bodies and bullets littered the floor. Goodsprings had won and was redeemed.
However, there was now one man alive on his feet: Joe Cobb. He stood up, wincing, and just looked at the Goodsprings Settlers, with the look of a man who knew he would die. His face was impassive - the anger on his face was obvious.
"How about we shoot him on the spot?" a voice rang out from the throng of townsfolk. This was Ringo. Eleanor and Sonya shared a look, then nodded.
"Agreed. Let him die in a disrespectful manner." another middle-aged man announced. He had no weapon left.
The one who would give out the order was Ringo: he, in fact, used the last bullet in his pistol for this special occasions. All Cobb would do was snicker. "I'd figure you'd turn piddly shit one day." All guns raised at Cobb.
"Fire."
Soon, without one bullet missing, Cobb was struck and lay down on a bar stool, as if he was simply sitting there. Goodsprings applauded. Sonya had hugged Eleanor, in a fierceness that both embarrased and surprised Eleanor. Sunny still seemed hurt by the execution of her dog, Cheyenne, but roared louder than all. Eleanor, all business, made her way through the folk to Trudy, who was counting on her fingers.
"How many are left alive?"
Trudy thought a moment. "Including Doc Mitchell?"
"Out of twenty, we still have a fresh eleven."
"Make that thirteen."
All turned their heads to two alive heads in the doorway - Chet, the storeowner, and another man in an armored suit. How had they survived the collapse of that building? Sunny said that exactly. Chet had actually escaped through the back and had made his way into the bar from the back entrance: however, it was barricaded, so he went back out and hid himself and the man between some columns and emerged when it was through.
"Coward." Sonya joked, punching Chet in the arm playfully."
"Hey, you stole my guns!" Chet said defensively. "Bah, from the looks of it, I'm surprised to see a lot of you aren't even wounded." He touched Eleanor's shoulder. "Hey, if you ever drop by, in a reserve drawer in my house I have 300 caps. Those are yours."
Eleanor raised her eyebrows. Fortune smiled on her thrice now. She simply nodded thanks. For now, all was fine.
