Mental-Dez was disapproving. Keep it simple, Deacon! All right, Dez—well, we'll just see what happens, eh?

MacCready glanced down distractedly and moved his chair back. "Uh, hound of what?"

"Old story. Awesome and spooky and with a hot detective. Not like Nick. Even better. Be nice to me and I'll tell it to you. Here, let me." Deacon leaned forward until he could see the color of MacCready's eyes. Clear blue. Unusual. He liked it. His own eyes were the boring kind of blue that looked grey most of the time, green part of the time, and occasionally hazel. It was useful for disguises but memorable it was not. He filled Mac's glass half full of gin and handed it to him. "But really, what am I saying, just give me, like, any encouragement at all and I'll tell it to you. "

"Uh, thanks?" MacCready took the glass, fingers brushing his, and Deacon held on just a beat too long, watching him. MacCready glanced at it and set it down, instead of sipping. Damn. "So much as I love creepy old world stories, I gotta say…Fallon's, huh? That place has been full of mutants forever. You're lucky you got out in one piece."

"Oh, I didn't. No. I left all sorts of pieces behind." Deacon saluted MacCready with the bottle and then took a swig. Licked his lips deliberately. MacCready's eyes dropped down and then away. Hah.

MacCready frowned slightly and looked over at him like he thought he might have injuries. Deacon grinned to himself and let him look. MacCready's gaze swept over him from head to toe. Deacon took the opportunity to return the assessment. Shorter than him, lean—some might say scrawny, but that's because they're missing the subtle bulk of muscle in his shoulders and biceps.

MacCready caught him looking and his lips quirked. "It doesn't look like anything's missing."

Deacon leaned back and let his hand trail down his chest. "Really? I'm flattered." Then he laughed and nudged MacCready's shoulder playfully. "I meant my stock, dude. Lost a bunch of guns, some ammo. Headed up here to resupply. And y'know. Do trader stuff. 'Cuz I'm a trader." Deacon said this on a whim. Dez had told him to act like a washed-out recruit. No way, Dez, he said to her mentally. Do I look like a Gunner recruit to you?

That's why you washed out, mental-Dez retorted.

"-didn't know any routes went by Fallon's." MacCready finished. He looked at Deacon curiously.

"Routes? No, no...I-I don't believe in routes. Because they're…predictable." Deacon had no idea where the southern trade routes went. Inspiration struck. "And there's too much competition. I'm like, independent. Just little ol' me against the Commonwealth."

"Okay." MacCready shook his head, smiling. "Funny. You'd think I'd remember a guy like you hanging around Gunner's Plaza." He picked up his glass and looked at it closely. "And I don't. Not at all. Did you put something in my drink?"

Deacon cursed inwardly. Aren't we Mr. Observant tonight, Gunner Mac? Mental-Dez rolled her eyes and sighed.

Time for double or nuthin'! He touched both hands to his chest and put on his best innocent face. "I am wounded, MacCready. Honestly. Sincerely. You think I'd do something like that?"

"I don't think I know you at all," MacCready retorted. His right hand dropped below the table. Um. Things were getting out of hand.

Deacon grabbed the glass and took a healthy gulp. "Fine, there. You see? Nothing in it." Ugh, everyone was so suspicious nowadays. Why couldn't a guy treat another guy with a drink? Did everyone have to assume that it was some sort of ploy? Besides, it wasn't like Daytripper would hurt him. Just…relax him a little.

MacCready's eyes narrowed, but his other hand came back up on the table. Whew. Okay, definitely always buy the flavorless kind. He'd been tempted, he'd thought that the mint sounded nice. Flavorless was the way to go.

He laid affected innocence on thick. "And you don't remember me? At all? Man, I gave you a great deal on all that ammo. Just because I thought you were cute." Deacon waggled his eyebrows at MacCready but got no reaction. No fair. Shameless butter up time.

"But I guess you get that a lot." Nothing. Again. This was starting to hurt his confidence. "I'm...uh..." Deacon paused. He hadn't actually bothered to think up an alias, and giving the name 'Deacon' might sound a little odd. "Um...y'know. D-Dave."

"Doesn't ring a bell." MacCready still looked suspicious, even after all that buttering and flirting. Either the guy was made of stone or Deacon needed to step it up a notch. Deacon stretched his legs out and coincidentally bumped MacCready's again.

Deacon put a hint of pathetic whine in his voice. "You know, Trader Dave?" No reaction. "Okay, well, some people call me Butcher Dave. I don't approve but nicknames are never what you want them to be, right? I mean, that's gotta be like, against the code of nicknames."

MacCready looked at him steadily. "Butcher Dave."

"Yeah."

"Interesting nickname for a trader."

"Hey. I slash prices, dude."