"I had come into the Last Plank to restock on supplies. Course this was some years ago, back when Mitch's father was behind the bar. As I procured my weekly allotment of whiskey, he mentioned some folks had been waiting here to have a word with me, and then he pointed me over towards a couple sitting at that table over there." He pointed towards a table currently occupied with rowdy fishermen dealing cards. Piper pretended to write that down, not expecting such a detail to be necessary for the story, "So, I go over and ask them what exactly it is they want. Apparently they were interested in visiting the Vim! factory southwest of here. After they found an old crate with about 4 good bottles of the soda in a gas station they tracked down its source. They were hoping to make more of it, had some notion about it being a better alternative to Nuka-Cola. I never cared for either myself." Longfellow stated his opinion while taking another drink of whiskey, "Seemed like a real nice young couple, but not a lick of wilderness experience between them. Spent their lives running a general store in some town in the Maple Wastes. Oh, what was it called?" Longfellow twiddled his finger around as he tried to recall the town's name. "Mount Pelier? Montplyers? Ah, not important." Piper responded by scratching out the names on her notebook. By this time, Mitch had begun politely eavesdropping on the interview as he wiped down the bar.
"Course I told them the Vim! factory had been full of super mutants for a number of years, but that didn't deter them." Longfellow continued his tale, "Then I told them it was enough to deter me." Another drink of whiskey left Longfellow with his glass empty a second time. He went to pour from the bottle only to find it empty.
"Mitch, I'm fresh out!" He waved the glass bottle up in the air as he raised his voice over the crowd. While they waited for the bartender, Longfellow continued his story, "Luckily for them, I was planning on doing some Angler hunting around that area. So I told them I'd take them up there, but it'd cost them 1,000 caps for me to tussle with Super Mutants." At this point Mitch had arrived at the table with a new bottle.
"When you told me that story you said you charged them 1,500 caps." Came his interjection as he sat the bottle down. Longfellow grunted in thought as he poured another round for himself,
"Hmm, I probably told you wrong. Why don't you bring another glass for our guest?" he avoided further discussion on the topic. Mitch rolled his eyes as he went back to grab a small glass for Piper from behind the bar. With another swig of drink, Longfellow turned to Piper, "Now where was I?"
"You were charging the couple 1,500 caps to be their guide." She got the old hunter back on track.
"It was only 1,000." He defended his claim, "So, there we were starting out into the fog." He got into the meat of his tale, "Those two stayed real close to me after that damned fog covered up the lights of the Harbor. Honestly, it was some of the best weather I'd been hunting in for some time. Downright peaceful evening, if it weren't for their constant chattering. Any wildlife in a 5 mile radius could heard us coming through the woods." Debby approached the table with the glass Longfellow requested as he rambled on, "Every little thing we passed they had to ask about, 'What's that plant? What just ran through the bushes?' Typical nosy Mainlanders." Piper was not amused at his jab. Debby broke up his story chain as she sat down the glass,
"Which tall tale is he telling this time?" Piper drug the cup over the wooden tabletop towards her and reached to pour a small amount of whiskey.
"Now, I don't tell no fish stories, Debby." Longfellow answered for her, but after Piper finished sipping her drink she provided her own,
"It's supposed to be about how he was hunted by Trappers, but so far he's just told me about soda pop." She goaded the old man.
"I'm building up to that. If you ain't got the backstory you aren't gonna get the full pitcure." The exchange between the three attracted the attention of a nearby table of local fishermen. They chuckled softly to themselves as they sipped cold beers. Longfellow had unwittingly picked up a small audience. Sitting down her drink, Piper took up her pen and paper again and made eye contact with Longfellow,
"I'm still interested. Please, continue." He topped off his own glass, waved Debby off, and returned to his story,
"I finally had to tell them they had to be quiet if they wanted to get into the soda factory, course didn't do much good. They kept asking questions, now they just whispered them to me. All things considered, we were still making decent time. The Harbor Grand Hotel was sighted in front of us and we had passed the mountain pass that led up to Acadia. Before we got too close to that hotel, I caught sight of an Angler bedding down in a nearby shallow pond. Now, Anglers are a tricky beast. Mostly hunt solo as they're ambush predators. That's why I recommend people avoid taking midnight swims in the ponds around here. When you do stir one up those suckers'll take a deep breath of fog and spit it at ya, and I've seen some real clever ones get a belly of fog as they bed down and let it seep out their gills while they sleep, making it harder to spot'em." Piper sat her notebook down during Longfellow's dissertation on Anglers to take another drink of whiskey. He was extremely knowledgeable in his trade, but this diversion wouldn't fit in the editorial. The table of fishermen tried to poorly hide sly smiles. Longfellow caught their shit-eating grins, huffed a sneer at them, and returned to his original tale, "I told that couple to put their heads in the dirt while I saddled Henrietta up on my shoulder."
"Henrietta?" Piper quizzically asked with an eyebrow raised towards her sleek, black hair. Longfellow made a small chuckle before answering,
"My rifle. Man who gave it to me gave it that name, and I respected him too much to change it." He took another drink, "Kneeled down and took aim towards the Angler's gills, right behind its head. That's the best place to shoot those damn things." Longfellow half mimicked holding an invisible rifle in his hands as he relived the shot, "He was just starting to puff out fog as I struck him. He rolled around and hissed a bit, but weren't long before he was lying dead. The couple had their hands over their ears trying to get the ringing out of their head. Told them to stay laying there as I went down to field dress the Angler carcass." He took a final draw of whiskey and was once again refilling his glass, "As I got down there and started working out its innards I hear something up the path. Footsteps. They belong to something upright and something big. Then I hear the voice of a super mutant. You know, that big, dumb voice they all have. Saying how he heard someone. I immediately hit the water and pull the Angler carcass over me as much as I can. My wool coat is soaked in swampy water & Angler entrails now. Look up at the couple. They were still laying down, but they'd poked their heads up to look at me. I'm waving my hand at them, telling them to get down when I see the big ugly emerge through the Fog cover. Luckily, they saw him too and ducked down. I could make out at least 3 of them from my position. Heard one of them stop and start sniffing the air. Judged him to be about right in front of my two customers. I was getting worried to say the least. He continued snorting the air and started down my way. He had caught a whiff of those damned Angler guts. I could see his green, slimy toes in the shallow pool in front of me. Suddenly, I felt something pressing down from above me. That mutant was jamming his rifle barrel into the carcass. He stood there for what felt like ages, contemplating I suppose, until he let out a snort and started to walk off to catch the other two mutants who had moved down further." It was at this point the table of fishermen finally chimed in,
"Ah, Longfellow." The barrel-chested fisher shouted, "Last month, you told that story and said the super mutants didn't even see the dead Angler, just walked right by you." The other fishermen waited with drunken fervor for the hunter's reply,
"Livesey, you drunk bastard. You're thinking of the time I had to climb that tree full of Gulpers to hide from those super mutants patrolling that old spa."
"I think you've got your stories mixed up. Sure you don't need me to tell this one for you." Livesey, the large fisherman, retorted through a glazed tone.
"If I ever need to tell a story 'bout how I found a treasure map in a radgull's gullet I'll come straight to you." The mention of this tale put a big smile on Livesey's face and filled his belly with laughter, laughter infectious enough to spread to the other drinkers at his table.
"Aye, that story actually happened. I got the…," the drunk man stuffed his hands in his waders, "got the…," he tried another set of pocket, "the map… right…" After a quick drink of whiskey, Longfellow stopped the bumbling man,
"Are you gonna keep interrupting me, or can I tell this reporter the story she came here for?" Livesey dropped his hands back to the table and clutched his beer bottle,
"Please, go on. Sure, she'll find this entertaining."
"I know we are!" came another voice from the table as they all hooted and hollered.