Rated mature for lot's of cursing, and vices.
Disclaimer: I do not own Fallout 3, and make no money off of this.
I apologize in advance for any misspelled words or grammar mistakes.
When I met Drinky I didn't know what to think. She was born from the mistakes, and ferocity of men long forgotten. You could see it in her brown eyes that something lived inside that was supernatural.
The atmosphere of the Muddy Rudder seemed to fit best. With the lingering cigarette smoke, and smell of alcohol surrounding her. Not one to be easily intimidated I approached unfazed sitting down on the weathered bar stool next to her slumped form.
Drinky cast a glance my way, but never met my eyes.
"You're Drinky, right?" I started. "I'm Stan."
She turned my way giving me a once-over, and scratched at her light brown hair. Her mouth was moist, her eyes bloodshot, and her speech slurred.
"It's nice to.. meet you. Are you.. What do you want?"
"I heard you were a mercenary. I need your help." I put bluntly.
"Who told you that?"
"A little birdie told me."
Drinky flashed a toothy shit eating grin. "What do you want with me, one-oh-one?"
How people still knew I was that 'crazy kid' from the Vault still surprised me. It had been four years since leaving that place, and until now I wanted to forget everything to do with it.
"I need your help finding my father." I reasoned.
"Then go find him." She stated curtly with a sneer.
"I'm willing to pay you three thousand caps for your assistance."
She was quiet for a moment then abruptly stood up. "Fine. Come to my house tonight." She instructed as she fastened a loose button on her dingy white dress shirt. "I'll show you on that metal thing."
She sloppily punched in the mark on my pip-boy before stumbling up the steps, and out the door. I tapped the counter for a drink. It was going to be a long night.
Her house was out in the middle of nowhere. After following a small dirt path up a hill, and high into some rock formations I found it. It was a wimpy little wooden house that looked out over the plains of the Wasteland. A light was on inside, but was smothered by thick white curtains.
I knocked three times. No one answered. Again I knocked, and knocked but still with no answer.
I shrugged, and ever so slowly opened the wooden door. My heart pounded inside my chest as I got the first good look of where Drinky lived.
It was filled with empty Vodka, and Whiskey bottles that sat on every available surface. A worn out couch sat in front of a broken television set. The kitchen had a dirty refrigerator along with a wooden dining table where an overhang lamp shined.
To the right there was a bookshelf with most of the books missing, and in their place sat ammunition and gun parts.
"Hello?" I called out.
A door burst open in the kitchen, and the echoing sound of a shotgun racking a bullet into the chamber hit my ears instantly sending shivers down my spine.
"Drinky!" I yelled. "What the fuck? It's me Stan!" I threw up my hands in defense looking away just in case she had an itchy trigger finger.
She stopped in front of me. In a softer tone she apologized. "Oh. Sorry, I thought you were someone else."
Relaxing I straightened up, and got a good look of her. She was wearing a white tank top with men's underwear and a pink robe that hung open. A pump-action shotgun rested in her veiny hands. Her hair looked more askew than the first time we met that afternoon. A lit cigarette rested between rosy lips.
"Who could it have possibly been to make you come out here like that?" I asked still shaken up.
"What?" She seemed to snap out of whatever trance she was in. "Oh. No one."
Drinky shut the front door, and motioned for me to follow her downstairs. Which was the door she had previously burst out of. We went down rickety steps lit by a bare light bulb, and into a clean basement.
It had a bed pushed against the wall. A cabinet with clothes falling out of it, and a table with various gun parts. Like upstairs there were alcohol bottles laying around.
But, that's not what put the stupid look of amazement on my face.
There was a sliding glass door that opened up onto a deck. The moon was huge over the wilderness that was the Wasteland, and it lit up the bedroom with a serene blue hue. She opened the sliding glass to the deck not waiting for me to follow.
Bedsheets on a clothesline flapped, and danced in the faint wind. There was a bench along with a couple chairs to sit on. Drinky took her place in a lawn chair. Looking out over the rocky ridge you could see little houses dotting the land. Black blotches that marred the surface. And, an endless horizon. It was spectacular.
I put my rifle down beside the bench, and sat comfortably next to her in the other chair. I watched as she put out her cigarette, and lit another in it's place. She was obviously stressed the hell out about something. Whether it was about my offer or not I didn't know.
"Have you decided yet?" I asked.
"Yeah."
Her wolf-like facial features were relaxed, and soft in the moon's light. Scratching her arm roughly she gave a long sigh.
"I'll do it." Drinky strongly confirmed.
"Thanks." Came my stupid response.
Even if I was paying her it was still a daunting task to search for an unknown man in this vast of place. Even if he was still in the Wasteland somewhere.
I took a cigarette from the pack laying on the table that separated us, and lit it. Taking a long drag, and letting it out along with all the anxiety that was pent up inside me.
Drinky took a swig of Vodka from a bottle she had seemingly pulled out of nowhere. The shotgun resting in her lap.
She had a smaller body frame, but she still made me uneasy at times. I feel bad for whoever she's mad at. And, there probably were a lot of people on her shit list.
I had always been your average looking guy. With buzzed brown hair, and a baby face that held blue eyes. It matched my average happy go lucky personality. With average grades, and average friends. Growing up in the Vault I had plenty of girlfriends, but nothing serious. Just your typical teenage bullshit that came with growing up. Nothing in the vault was serious. It was a giant hamster cage with steal walls that separated us from the real world outside.
She, on the other hand, wasn't your average looking person in general. She had a wide mouth with ruby red lips that she insistently licked when talking. Large brown eyes with flecks of blue hidden in them. Her nose was slightly flat with a pointy tip. Light freckles speckled her nose, and cheeks. A mass of tan hair that curled, and twisted just above her shoulders. A soft but authroitive jawline framed her face.
Rubbing at the stubble on my chin I let go of thoughts about my teenage years, and our differences along with another drag of my cigarette.
Drinky had been really quiet. For some reason or another I was expecting her to talk to me about something. Anything. Anything at all to drown out the thoughts of what happened to my father. The questions that now flooded into my mind. Was he still alive? Where is he? Why did he leave?
These thoughts were picking at me with a rusty needle.
"How did you find this place?" I asked with genuine curiosity.
"It was my grandfather's. I think he built it."
"It's beautiful out here."
Drinky threw the bottle she was drinking from over the ridge into the ravine below. Where I assumed it landed with other glass bottles from previous nights.
When she didn't say anything else I asked another question.
"How old are you?"
"I'm seventeen."
"You're joking." I laughed. "You don't look like it."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-three."
Again she stopped talking altogether looking out at the Wasteland with disinterest.
"Listen." She began after what seemed like forever. "I don't know anything about you, or your father. So, if it turns out he's bit the dust I still get my payment."
"As long as you bring this to an end you will get paid." The thought of James dead flashed in my mind. Then the image of Drinky leaving me midway through the search for him almost crippled my thinking process. "We need to end it."
"I like that. That 'we' thing."
"Are you being sarcastic?" I asked.
"I've never done a job with someone. I would always do them alone. Just go and get whatever the person hiring me wanted. Kill whoever I was hired to kill. You're the first to want me - of all people - to accompany you."
She flicked her cigarette, and again lit another in it's place.
"Isn't this something you should be doing alone?" She added.
"What do you mean?"
"This whole soul searching journey you're on. Don't people usually do that thing alone?"
"I don't think I can. It would help if I had someone tag along with me, you know?"
She nodded. "Well, I'm honored to be a part of it. Drink?" She handed me a bottle of Vodka she had once again pulled from thin air.
I took it from her taking an immediate gulp. "Where do you keep getting these?" I asked laughing at the thought of this strange woman following me through out the Wastes looking for a ghost.
She shrugged. "Are you sleeping here tonight?"
"Is it okay?"
"Do you want to?" She perused.
"I don't feel like climbing back down this mountain."
Drinky looked back out at the view. "You can sleep on the couch."
"Should we start tomorrow?" I asked.
"Yeah. Tomorrow's a Monday. It's good to start on Mondays. Fresh start, and all."
She couldn't help sounding like an addict who was just starting her twelve steps. That brought up another issue I had been thinking about since I got here.
"Drink?"
"What?" She lazily responded.
"I couldn't help but notice the amount of Buffout in your room."
Her nervous habit of scratching an arm could be heard.
"I'm sorry I didn't mean to-"
"Everybody has their addiction." She confessed clearly unaffected by my assumptions. "I just happen to have two."
"Three." I corrected motioning towards her cigarette.
"Do they count?"
"I think anything you're addicted to is a vice."
"Alright." She rubbed her hands pulling together our flawless plan. "Monday we start looking for your father."
"Tomorrow."
"Exactly."
A loud crashing could be heard from upstairs which prompted my new companion to grab her shotgun and jump from the chair.
"Grab your gun." She instructed before throwing open the sliding glass, and running up the stairs with me in tow.
Raiders were in her home. One woman, and two men. Drinky had her gun aimed at the woman in the middle.
"What took you so long?" Drinky sneered at them.
I aimed my gun at the one on the left. Ready to kill at a moment's notice.
"You're late on your payment, Drinky." The man pointed out. "We're here to collect."
"I told you I will get it to you in a few weeks."
"You said that last week." One of them reminded.
"I told you I would get it to you soon enough." She shot back. Her brow furrowed in a grimace. "Now leave."
"We can't do that, dear. You see-" And before the woman could finish she had hit the floor with a thud.
I took my cue to fire at the one on the left. The last one threw his gun down throwing up his hands in arrest.
I could sense that Drinky was going to kill him, but my morals got in the way of her plans.
"Wait." I said putting my hand on her shoulder. "Let him go."
"What?"
"Come on."
Drinky sighed, and lowered her weapon. "Fine. Get the hell out of here." She told him.
He thanked me, and backed out to the door. His face still in a pleading look.
I turned around to go back downstairs, but immediately jumped at the sound of an unexpected gun shot. Turning around I saw it was Drinky who fired, and the raider she had fired at.
I didn't know what to say. "Don't be stupid, Stan." She said kicking the lifeless body. "Last time I let one go he came back with more."
She put her weapon down on the couch. "Here. Help me with these."
We dragged all three bodies from the house.
"Ready?" I asked as we swung the body. "One.. two.. three." We let go together, and the raider was thrown over the ridge to rot beneath.
We did so with all three.
"I'll see you tomorrow." She said. "Goodnight." Drinky sauntered back into the house. I stayed behind to take in the late night moon ridden with festering thoughts.
I cracked my eyes open. Somehow last night I had made my way to the couch, and fallen asleep. I pulled myself up rubbing my eyes. I heard shuffling from the kitchen. It was Drinky. She sat at the dining table still in her robe putting together an assault rifle.
A book lay splayed out a few feet in front of her. She looked at me for a second then looked back to her gun. She was angry about something.
Slowly I walked up behind her. "What is this?" I asked leaning over to grab the book. But, she quickly snatched it away.
"I looked up the word vice this morning."
"And?"
"It says here it's a frailty: moral weakness."
"That's what an addiction is, Drinky."
She furrowed her brow, and turned to the front of the book. Flipping through the pages a couple times she put her finger on the word addiction.
"Being abnormally tolerant to and dependent on something that is psychologically or physically habit-forming. Especially alcohol or narcotic drugs." She read aloud giving me a look.
I sat down in one of the chairs lighting a cigarette from the pack next to her.
"The word vice is completely subjective, Stan." She dead-panned.
"Not unless it's a renowned fact that drugs and alcohol fuck your shit up."
She gave me a menacing look turning back to the book, and flipping through it. Again she read aloud a definition.
"Subjective." She began. "Taking place within the mind and modified by individual bias; 'a subjective judgment.'"
She shot me another look.
"Most people think addiction is a bad thing." I told her.
"Maybe to you, but the fact that you said I was morally weak, and frail pisses me off."
"I didn't mean it that way."
"Whatever." She waved her hand which told me to drop it. And, I did with pleasure. There was no need for fighting if we were going on some lost cause quest to find probably dead person.
She put the weapon together with ease. And, laid it out in front of me.
"Here." She said. "It's yours."
It was in perfect condition. Smooth clean metal polished to perfection.
"I'm going to get dressed. Do you need clothes?"
I shook my head. I planned on wearing the armored Vault suit Moira had given me so long ago. She shrugged, and went into the basement.
I took the dictionary in my hands, and looked up the word delusional.
After a while I began to become bored. How long was it going to take her to get dressed? Looking around I searched for something to keep my mind busy. Among the books of the shelf were some leather bound journals.
The smell of dust hit my nose as I cracked one open. In slanted cursive it detailed in first-person Drinky's travels of the Wastes. On the first page it talked of her time in Tenpenny Tower, and The Underworld. On the second page it described in detail how to kill a Deathclaw faster than normal. It even had an impressive drawing of one, and arrows pointing to it's weak spots.
"What are you doing?" I heard her ask. She quickly walked over, and took the journal from my hand. She was mad again. "I didn't say you could look through my things."
"What are these?" I ventured.
"I like to keep track of my contracts in them."
She put it back on the shelf.
"Go get ready downstairs. I'll wait for you." She said as she grabbed some ammunition off the shelf stuffing it into her messenger bag.
I went downstairs taking my vault suit with me, and slipped it on. It still fit. Even if it was a little tighter now. Back then I was scrawny with no muscle tone at all.
Now I had svelte muscle along my arms, and stomach. I would never tell anyone, but I was proud of myself for surviving this long. It turned me into a quicker thinker, a better killer.
I found myself looking through her things again. I was too curious about her to not snoop.
The bottles of Buffout on her bed were gone. In her dresser I found worn out suits, and a can of red spray paint. In the desk I found letters from unknown Wastelanders, but decided it best not to open them. If she found me looking through her personal letters she'd surely kick me out or just shoot me in the face. I went up the stairs by twos to see her standing in the kitchen waiting for me.
She wore a white tank top with a leather jacket that had a fur collar. Black suit pants clung to her hips. She looked a bit odd, but it added to her strangeness in a good way.
But, as Drinky would probably say.'The way someone looks is completely subjective.' Or something along those lines.
"Let's go." I said as she followed me out the front door.
I wasn't sure where to begin, but guessed it started in Megaton. The travel there was easy enough, but near the end of the day it began to heat up. Drinky had tied her jacket around her waist. But, she still complained about how hot it was.
"Hey!" She called. I thought she was following behind me, but now was a few yards behind pointing at something more interesting than walking.
I jogged up to her to see men in their underwear tied up, and gagged. Their yells were muffled, but barely audible above Drinky's laughing.
Maybe it was just being around her that made me more cynical, but I laughed too.
"Oh, shit." She wiped a tear from her eye.
I took a gag out of one's mouth much to Drinky's dismay.
"Please. Untie us. We're Brotherhood of Steel. Some raiders jumped us, and left us for dead." He heaved in a breath.
I took out my knife to cut their bindings, but Drinky put a hand to my chest.
"You mean.." She began. "A bunch of pissant raiders.. jumped you.. and, tied you up leaving you to die?"
The paladin shook his head yes telling us to hurry, and untie him.
This only made her guffaw more at them. "Sounds to me like you deserve to die out here."
"You Wasteland bitch!" He insulted, but still Drinky snickered at them. "Fucking untie us!"
"They're Paladins, Drinky." I reasoned twirling the knife in my hand.
"Please don't finish that with some sappy bullshit about how these little boyscouts actually do good in the world."
I had to agree with her. I didn't like the Brotherhood either. But, I liked them more than she did. Drinky had pure hatred in her eyes.
"I'm leaving." She said. "Do whatever you want."
I wasn't sure what to do. It would be easier to just leave them to their fate, and be on my way.
So, that's what I did.
Good old Megaton. It was still as pathetic looking as it was when I first laid eyes on it, but it was home.
"So, have you even tried looking for your dad?" She asked as we approached the gates.
"No."
"You haven't even asked about him?"
"No."
"Damn."
Moira was the first stop on our way to Moriarty's. I needed to stock up on ammo, and medical supplies first.
Her smile greeted me along with a warm hug.
"How are you?" She asked.
"I'm good. I'm good."
"And, who is this young lady? Don't tell me little old Stan got himself a girlfriend, huh?" She poked my chest with her elbow curiously eying Drinky.
I turned around to see that my companion had a scowl on her face. She desperately wanted to tell the chipper Moira to go fuck herself, but held it in between gritted teeth.
"Uhm. No. Listen, Moira. I need medical supplies."
"Well, why didn't you say so, silly?" She went behind the counter pulling out an old first-aid box. I rummaged through it for the appropriate supplies to treat bullet wounds.
Moira watched me a little too closely for comfort. Maybe it was the company I was keeping. I had to remind myself that Drinky would come in handy eventually.
"So, who is she?" Moira asked in a low whisper.
"A mercenary I hired to help me find my father." I answered.
Moira was the only one I told my little secret about my James to. And, she kept it under wraps. Only asking about it a couple times during the four years of our friendship.
After paying for my items, and arguing with Drink about vices I left the building.
Moriarty's wasn't any different than the Muddy Rudder. A bar's a bar no matter where you are.
"Where's Moriarty?" I asked Gob. He gave me a sad look before pointing to the back of the bar.
"Good luck. He's in a bad mood." Gob commented before stopping to look at my face. "More than usual, I mean."
"Want me to come with you?" Drinky questioned putting a hand on my shoulder.
I nodded. Even though she was rude, and abrasive it was a comfort to know she had my back.
"What do you want?" The Irishman snapped as he typed away on his computer.
I could have sworn I heard Drinky mutter 'fucking prick' under her breath.
"Have you seen my father? Middle aged guy, black hair, he kind of looks like me."
"Listen I don't have time for-"
Then he realized something because his face relaxed. His scowl was gone. His eyes shining in memories.
"Oh, my God. It's you." He said standing up. "You're James' kid."
"You know where he is?"
"Yes, of course. But, nothing's free, kid."
The words struck a nerve with Drinky. The audible sound of her cigarette flicking to some dark corner could be heard. She exhaled the smoke as she pushed me to the side.
"Listen you money grubbing bastard he's waited four years to find his father, and you're just going to fuck him over like that?" She yelled.
"Oh, look who it is. What are you doing back here?" Moriarty's face went back to the annoyed expression he had before. "Didn't I tell you to get lost?"
Drinky threw her assault rifle to the ground, and before I knew it landed a punch square in his face. His nose erupted in a cluster of blood. Drinky went for another hit, but I stopped her. Moriarty held his nose cursing at the young woman.
This was getting too out of hand for me.
"Woah, woah. What was that?" I asked as she went for her pockets pulling out a cigarette then lighting it. "We have to go."
"No." She stated defiantly. "He's going to tell us where your mother went."
I smacked my forehead. "We're looking for my father, Drinky."
"Whatever!"
She turned around where Moriarty took his vengeance. His punch was much harder than Drinky's. It busted her lip all to shit.
The lit cigarette hit the floor. In metaphor it was like the starting pistol of a race.
"You son of a bitch!"
They scuffled to the floor throwing wild punches. I tried yanking the ever vigilant Drinky off of him, but ended up receiving a few kicks and punches myself.
"What's going on?" Gob walked in with a glass in his hand, but promptly dropped it at the sight of the two.
It shattered into a million pieces. "Get off him, Drink." He said attempting to tear the two apart as I had before.
Eventually it took the two of us to pull them apart.
"You better take her far away from here, kid." Gob warned as he held the bleeding Irishman back.
I drug the girl from the back room kicking and screaming the whole way. "Let go of me!"
"No. We have to haul ass. Haul ass way the fuck away from this place!"
A gunshot rang out inside the bar reverberating off the flimsy walls. Bystanders yelped in fear at the haunting omen.
It made Drinky stop squirming in my grasp.
"Shit, shit, shit." She muttered pushing past me, and crashing out the establishment's door.
"Wait!" I yelled catching up with her just outside the front gates. "Where are you going?"
We heaved, and gasped as we ran all the way to Springvale stopping at an intact ranch house. Drinky sat against the wall with her feet splayed out in front of her.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I questioned pulling her up by the scruff of her collar.
"What the fuck is wrong with YOU?" She countered shoving me away. "Why didn't you help me back there?"
"Because you're suppose to be helping me!"
"I thought this was a mutual agreement." She said in an aggressive tone wiping at the blood on her face with the back of a hand.
"I'm paying you."
She went quiet.
I sighed looking around the seemingly deserted neighborhood. "Look. I'm sorry for yelling. We should get out of here before Moriarty sends someone after our asses."
"Did you get my gun?"
"Yeah, here." I handed her the assault rifle she had thrown down back at the bar.
That's the thing with this girl. She never thinks ahead. If it hadn't been for me she would be at the mercy of that bastard.
"I think this house has a door around back." She said.
I tried the back door's handle, but it was locked tight. A frustrated look came over my face as I folded my arms. "Can you pick this?"
"Can you?" Drinky queried with a sly look.
Still I had an expecting look on my face. I bet seven thousand caps this woman could pick any lock on any door, and any safe at any time.
She strolled by me kneeling down next to the handle. Pulling out a bobby pin, and screw driver. Like I had thought, she had it open in only a few seconds.
"Your majesty." Drinky held out her hands towards the door like I was a king ready to greet his people.
She followed me shutting the door behind her.
"Hello?" I called out.
"Who the hell is it?" A woman's voice answered coming from the kitchen.
She was pretty to say the least. With bright yellow hair, and piercing blue eyes.
"I'm Stan. We need a place to stay. You see we were at Moriarty's, and long story short.. We fucked up."
"Figures. He's always mad at someone." She growled. "Holy shit. What happened to your friend?"
"You should see him." Drinky murmured.
"Nevermind her. We need a place to hide out."
"Any enemy of my enemy is a friend of mine, kid. I'm Silver." The woman went back to the kitchen leaving us to talk.
"We need to clean you up." I said turning to Drinky.
Her face a mesh of ruby blood, and rising bruises.
"I need a drink." Was her curt response.
The night turned into my hired mercenary getting completely wasted. It wasn't too much of a surprise really. It was almost expected of her with a name like Drinky.
We sat in the kitchen around the old metal dining table. A light shined brightly on our faces. We were playing cards. The current winner was Drinky. I followed second, and Silver last.
Silver had stayed quiet most of the night. Only asking about Moriarty, and what had happened back in the Vault..
"So," The older woman began. "How are you going to find out where your dad went?"
"You know that computer he has in the back?"
"Yeah."
"I was going to try that."
"Smart move. He's always putting shit down in that thing."
"Tonight."
"Tonight?"
"Yeah." Drinky added. "Tonight?"
"Tonight we break into the bar from the back, and hack into it. I'm betting that's where I can find out where my he is."
"Stan's the man with the plan." Drinky said jumbling all the words together.
"Are you going to be up to it?" I asked her.
"Listen.. I've been.. been drinking since I was.. in that.. the womb. I'll be okay."
It was late into the night before we actually got moving. Silver lent Drinky a handgun so she wouldn't have to lug around a bulky rifle.
Like snakes we slipped into the town unseen. Taking the back route to the dimly lit bar. Drinky fumbled with the lock for a minute. Due to her inebriated state it took her longer than before to open the door.
I quietly took a seat at the computer. Science always seemed to be my inherited talent so I felt right at home.
My companion was suppose to be the look out, but opted for gently looking through a cabinet stocked with alcohol.
I finished hacking the damn thing, and let out a sigh of relief. It had entries about almost all the town's people. There was even one on Drinky.
I couldn't help myself.
"This little brat practically grew up in my bar. When her mother was pregnant she sneaked a few drinks when she thought no one was looking. Her parent's left Megaton when their spawn hit about sixteen, taking the kid with them. I don't know what happened to them nor do I care, but Drinky's been coming in occasionally since then.
I banned her after I caught her trying to pick the lock to my drinking cabinet. Hopefully she eats a bullet out in the Wastes. Considering the mouth she has on her it's a good chance she will."
I didn't know if I should feel sorry for her or amazed that she was even alive at the moment. The torture I see in her brown eyes at times, and the alcoholism that plagues her makes me think she should have died.
Maybe she wouldn't have to drown all her troubles with all these mind numbing things.
Pushing the thoughts of her out of my mind I got myself back on track, and went to the entry labeled "James."
"Alright. Got it." I said rubbing my hands together. "Let's go."
Back at Silver's Drinky fell fast asleep in a chair. A bottle of Scotch resting in her hands.
"You okay?" Silver asked as we sat down at the table. "You can come back any time you want. I know what it's like to be alone."
"Yeah. It's just I have so many questions to ask him, you know? It's been so long I don't even know if he's still alive."
"Don't talk like that. From what you've told me about him he seems like one smart man." Silver tried to comfort, but it was in vain.
"Thanks." I said. "I'm going to crash on the couch."
"Night, Stan."
"Wake the fuck up!"
No.
"Shit, man, you have to wake up."
No.
"Goddamn it!"
A bottle smashed next to my head flinging shards glass on my face. I instantly shot up from my place on the couch to Drinky's bloodshot eyes.
"What the fuck!"
"Listen, man. We're in deep, like, deep shit. We're swimming in a sea of shit!"
"What are you talking about?" I stood up light-headed. "Where's Silver?"
"She's drowned in the sea of shit we created! Listen. Remember yesterday?" She said a little more calmly.
"Yeah."
"Well, Moriarty didn't forget. He sent fucking mercenaries after us!" Her voice turned more frantic, and borderline yelling. "Me, and Silver were outside. They found us, and they fucking killed her!"
"What the fuck? What happened?"
"I took the two out, but there's more coming."
"How do you know?"
"They always send more."
"Oh, shit. Oh, fuck." I paced back and forth between the kitchen, and the bedroom.
Drinky lit a cigarette heaving in it's smoke talking about how she needed a drink between each gasping drag. Soon enough she was pacing along with me both of our mind's racing a mile a minute.
Then I stopped.
"Wait." I whispered. "What the fuck are we doing here?"
Drinky ceased her walking, and incoherent mutters. Both of us realizing we needed to haul ass the fuck away from here. She jumped for her messenger bag, and we both bolted down the road towards Megaton.
"Where are we going?" She asked racing along with me.
"GNR."
"Why?"
"That's where my father went."
Sooner or later we slowed down, and before I knew it the two of us came to a bridge that led to the other side of D.C. The Super Mutant infested side. This bridge would lead to another chapter of a lost cause we both were chasing.
I was thinking in metaphors again.
"Why'd we stop?" Drinky asked.
I looked back at her disheveled state. Dried blood still held to her. Bruises lined her lower jaw, and a black eye planted itself firmly to her left eye.
"What happened to your face?" I jokingly investigated.
"Shut up. Let's hurry, and get to Free Dog." Drinky retorted.
"Three Dog." I corrected.
We began walking side by side across the spanning bridge.
"Man, I have two factions after my ass." Drinky said. "Slavers, and now these mercenary types."
"Don't forget all your unpaid bar tabs."
"Fuck Moriarty. Fuck Moriarty's goons. Fuck Slavers."
The amount of bridges she's burned says a lot about her morals. It also made her a shady character to be around. I couldn't help but think she would turn on me some time or another.
But, she was different.
It wasn't like she turned on people. She just wanted to do things her way. She was young, and ultimately relentless. No matter how hard I tried I still couldn't come to blame her though. Not with a face like that.
After a few tumbles with Super Mutants we came to the metro tunnels. Inside it was dark, cramped, and burdened with even more of those green freaks.
"Why are we even here? I'm claustrophobic." She whined clutching her assault rifle so hard her knuckles turned white.
"You've never been down here?" I asked.
"Only if I have to be."
Exiting the tunnels opened up a whole other world for the two of us. Crumpled buildings lined the streets. Rubble littered the broken pavement.
We fought with a couple Super Mutants before we ran into Sara Lyons.
Who, me and Drinky both, instantly took a disliking to.
"What are you doing here?" She questioned with an air of superiority.
"We're looking for GNR." I answered a little more aggressive than I intended for it to come out.
"You sure picked a hell of a time to visit. We're heading there now. You can follow, but keep the hell out of our way." Lyons ran off to fight along her fellow boyscouts.
"Why are all women like that out here?" Drinky asked. "They're all 'Look at me. I have a gun, and I can be tough. Hell outta our way!" She mimicked.
"Everyone out here has something to prove, Drink. Let's go."
Upon seeing GNR my face lit up. It gave me hope. Maybe this Three Dog could tell me what the hell happened to James.
"You've got to be kidding!"
"Holy shit!"
The ground shook beneath my feet. A roaring could be heard echoing between the buildings. The Super Mutant Behemoth crashed through a pile of cars like they were fucking building blocks.
"Grab the nuke, kid!"
I snatched a Fat Man off a dead Paladin's body. It was heavy, and bulky making aiming near impossible. It was pure luck I hit the thing as many times as I did.
Soon enough the large beast fell to the ground with a thundering clash.
My heart was thumping out of my chest. It was the end of the battle, but my trusty sidekick was nowhere to be found.
"Drink?" I called out for her putting down the mini nuke. "Drinky, where are you?"
A fluttering sensation rushed to my chest. If she was dead I wouldn't know what to think. But, as if on cue she appeared from behind some slabs of cement. Grinning like a fool she sauntered over.
"Hey." She greeted in her raspy voice, an unlit cigarette between her lips.
"What happened to your arm?" I pointed to the nasty looking gash embedded in her elbow.
"What?" She looked at it before rearing back in disgust. "Give me your pack. I'll clean it up. Go on, and see Four Dog."
"It's Three Dog, Drink." I handed her the bundle of medical supplies. "Here. Meet me inside when you're done."
"Right-o."
Three Dog wasn't what I expected. His voice was more annoying in person than it was on the radio. He told me my father came in four years ago, but of course he wasn't going to tell me where he had gone without wanting something in return.
"Listen, kid. I'd really like to help you, but there's a Good Fight we all must contribute to." He went on. "A while ago some super mutant decided it was funny to shoot at the big shiny thing that was my satellite dish. Since then no one's been able to hear GNR outside of D.C."
"And, you want me to fix it I assume."
"That's right, kid. You need to go the Museum of Technology in the Mall. Grab the dish off the Virgo, and replace the one atop the Washington do that, and I'll tell you all you want to know about your father."
"I figured as much."
Drinky came walking up the stairs. The smell of cigarette smoke following behind her. She did a botch job of bandaging her wound to which made a mental note of fixing later.
"So, you're Lee Dog." Drinky scrunched her nose. "You're much shorter than I imagined."
"I was thinking the same thing." I told her.
"Listen, you school girls can gossip all you want, but until that satellite dish is fixed you're going to be left in the dark."
The mercenary's eyes turned red.
"What did you say?" She snarled.
"Listen, Drink, let's just go do what he wants. It won't be that hard."
Drinky submitted for once in her life, and left with me. We sat on the steps of GNR for a break. A quick little break before leaving to do some whimsical task of setting up a radio antenna.
"That's a bunch of bullshit." Drinky ranted. "Why does everyone have to want something from someone?"
"You're such a hypocrite." I accused. "You wouldn't help me unless I paid you caps."
"I don't even remember that so it doesn't count."
I bummed a cigarette from her, and lit it. Leaning back on my elbows I admired the midday sun. I began to wonder what the sky looked like before the bombs fell. The people then were looking at the same sky I was staring at now.
To think about it gave me the creeps. Who know's where that sky has been?
"I don't think we can do this alone." She admitted.
"Sure we can."
"We need someone. I think I know who."
I let her continue. After all it wasn't such a bad idea.
"It's on the way to where we're going. His name's Charon. He's for hire in the Underworld."
"Oh, great. More caps for me to spend."
"It's better than two people trying to beat the odds, right?"
Looking back up at the blazing sky I decided that maybe this wasn't such a lost cause after all.