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Chapter 3: Crazy Wolfgang

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It was a beautiful day in the Capital Wasteland. The buzzards rode the updrafts lazily, the roads were relatively clear and the wind was cool though the sun beat down in its special, unrelenting way. Wolfgang felt invigorated. There would be many sales and he'd encounter vast amounts of unusual detritus. A man made his own fortune and his would be good today. He felt it as easily as he did the reigns in his hand. If only he had a radio he could listen to the sweet strains of Agatha's violin and make his bliss complete.

Agatha. His favorite subject besides the collection of fascinating garbage.

Delicious Agatha. Delicate Agatha. Dulcet siren of the scrub. His heart and body ached for her. His soul hungered. If only she would forget her bleak mourning and take his overtures as seriously as the ones her nimble fingers stroked from her glorious instrument. He would do nothing but worship his silvery angel of music and bring her the best prizes the wastes had to offer... Wolfgang sighed. He'd admitted it long ago, he was well in the woman's thrall and she only had to crook one of her elegant fingers to make him beg to do her bidding. Deny him though she might. His goddess was as cruel as she was beautiful.

"Wolfie, we got problems." The mercenary in his employ, Irene, had a banal way of intruding on his good mood with her version of reality. Though paranoid was fine if you were a mercenary, he supposed. It was what they were paid for besides the necessary evil of killing.

"What sort of problems might accost a humble purveyor of junk and the winsome companion in his lonely sojourn?" Wolfgang scoffed. "In short, what crap do I have that anyone could cart away in large enough supply to make killing me, or you, worth their trouble? The bullets would bring more in trade than my whole load."

Irene rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Look, dude, point your face that way and tell me that's not a brahmin closing in on us with one hump on its back and another hump walking along in front." She gestured.

Wolfgang followed the motion and quirked a brow. He required the use of his hand in shading his eyes to make out exactly what had caused Irene's great alarm. Indeed it did seem they had company on this dusty trek. There was no way to tell if they meant ill, but he didn't feel threatened by them. Perhaps another merchant had joined the merry brotherhood of commerce out of the Commons. His other hand rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. He only hoped they did not scavenge and re-tool the dubious leavings of the wasteland. If so, introductions could be rather messy and association impossible.

Still, first impressions were always the most important. He stepped out, arms wide, and gave his semi-official greeting.

"Hello, my friends!"

Just as the figure on the brahmin gave a stilted wave, Irene grabbed him out of nowhere and threw him to the ground. Unexpected and painful, his leather-clad elbows jarred against the pavement and his teeth snapped together almost on his tongue.

"It's a goddamn zombie! Shut your hole, get your motherfucking gun and hide behind the merchandise." She popped back up around his brahmin's flank, turning the beast, and held a bead on the two strangers. At it again, with paranoia in full display, she was grumbling about zombies and tricks. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it though that might have been due to the significant daze the mercenary had put him in. His mouth felt as if he'd tried to suck a baseball through a straw and followed that with crunching on a Nuka-Cola bottle. Instead of obeying Irene he got to his feet unsteadily.

"Wolfgang! What's going on? Is your policy to shoot valued customers now?"

The voice was familiar, though labored. He frowned, trying to place it, before sneaking a look over the necks of his brahmin. Silly Irene. There was nothing to be afraid of-- he would recognize the peculiar markings on this stranger no matter how swollen her features. It was the vault woman, of course. Despite her injuries and change of attire it could be no other. He came closer, a smile forming. As his eyes fell on the other figure he stopped. It was not the familiar Outcast seemingly wonderglued to her side. His helmet was missing and...

And... he was a ghoul?

The smile fled and he half-crouched between the brahmin's heads. It was more panic than any honest attempt at flight. His brahmin's eyes barely blinked. The animal was chewing cud with the kind of complacency that made Wolfgang feel it didn't care if he died. The vault woman's beast eyed him with unusual focus as though deciding if it should introduce him to a rather impressive length of black horns. This was not an ideal place to be caught. No indeed.

"Just give me the word, boss." Irene kept her rifle aimed between the ghoul's murky eyes. His wizened lips pulled back, displayed yellowed teeth in an expression that made the merchant's blood run cold. If a smile could be a threat, that was this expression. In all his dealings with the vault woman he'd never guessed her companion wasn't a renegade Outcast. He didn't... well... didn't act ghoul-like. Not like the ones that frequently accosted his caravan anyway. It was puzzling and more than a little disconcerting.

He was relieved when the monster's face became once again ambivalent.

"I wouldn't piss him off if I were you." The caution in the vault woman's voice was real.

Irene set her chin, obsidian eyes flashing. "Don't talk to me like you know me, bitch."

The ghoul responded with a low growl that shook Wolfgang's resolve like a bully after his bubblegum. It was infinitely worse than the smile. The choice might be deal or die, but since they hadn't attacked on sight the pair were probably not out to kill him. In fact, his dealings with them in the past had been nothing but delights-- they often had unusual curiosities and were more than willing to trade for more commonplace items like stimpaks. He stood. "Irene, your bravado is unnecessary. I do believe I know these people. There just hasn't been occasion for me to see the gentleman without his headgear and his unique countenance momentarily threw me into confusion."

"Gentleman?" Irene slowly lowered her weapon. "Wolfie, get some glasses. I don't see no gentleman."

Wolfgang rolled his eyes and instead he held out his hands again. "Isidore! Charon! Pardon my rudeness, but last we met you were in considerably better repair and did not yet possess this fine beast."

He pointed to their brahmin.

"We had some shit go down on a run for the Rangers." Isidore explained, gesturing to the obvious beating she'd taken. "Got sidetracked."

That's when the wall of stink hit him. At first he assumed it was the natural condition of Charon, being a ghoul, to smell of death and rot when released from his preserving armor. The unfortunate souls who often attacked the caravan certainly did not scent of perfume. However as he continued to judge the wind and the direction, he realized that the horror inducing stench was emanating from the vault woman. It was extremely difficult to maintain a straight face when all he wished to do was cover his nose and run.

"You going to Megaton?" Isidore asked. She drooped on her perch, prompting the ghoul to fix his attention on her.

"... actually we are headed that way." Wolfgang replied while his eyes watered. He tried not to be obvious about blinking the moisture from his lashes. If used for the purposes of torture, he was entirely certain he would tell the possessor of that mind-numbing odor anything they wished to know if only to make them depart with haste from his personal space and far away from his considerable cache of crap.

The big ghoul nodded, looking back to him when Isidore was too unsteady to reply. "Good. We will follow you." Charon's sepulchral voice, unfiltered for the first time since he encountered him, made the hair on the back of Wolfgang's neck stand up. It also brooked no argument.

Wolfgang kicked himself for being just a shade too crazy. Well, there went his profits. Between the pervasive stink wafting off the vault woman and her companion being a ghoul, he'd just lost every sale between here and Megaton. Woe is the plight of an honest tradesman. Not that he disliked them. No. Isidore was quite charming and he would not hesitate to share a cup of coffee with her, if circumstances permitted and she were bathed in Abraxo prior. Charon... well he was menacing before and now he frightened Wolfgang down to his very last cell. The ghoul had never given him a reason to distrust his good will and had been quite skilled at turning back Super Mutants when they first met outside Rivet City, but he was a ghoul nonetheless. They sometimes lost their minds and decided that humans were food. It was the reason Wolfgang could never bring himself to visit Underworld... or Meresti for that matter.

Ghouls... Vampires... Cannibals... they were all the same.

Alan of the Family was on the gate now at Arefu after dark. It was the primary reason Wolfgang always attempted to catch that stop during daylight hours. Alan was frightening in a way Charon was not. The monster was not on full display, easily seen and prepared for. He'd had almost a full hour's conversation with the man before he'd figured out who... what he was. The beast inside him flickered behind strange colorless eyes. His taint displayed itself in sharp, predatory movements and unusually pointy teeth. It was also in that oozing, slinking charisma he'd worked on Irene and the casual strength that was at least double a normal man's. Before Alan, he sensed every stray thought he had was on display and that the vampire approved of none of them. It made Wolfgang feel like a bug. There was no reason to court violence or ill-will. Alan, for all his interest in Irene, did not like him and so he did not intend to interact with the man again. Crazy Wolfgang was crazy, could be accused of being eccentric and perhaps more insane than was allowable, but he was not that crazy. Arefu was a daylight trip and Underworld, Meresti and the other dens of genetic accidents around the Wasteland were strictly no-go destinations.

There were some prejudices in place for a good reason and he could not be expected to do more. It was bad enough he had to deal with slavers.

"Wolfie, it's hot and I know I'm dark, but I burn too. Can we get moving?" Irene prompted.

Realizing he was gawking like a rube, he cleared his throat and approached Isidore. "Might you need anything before we begin? As you know I offer a wide variety of exotic junk unlike any you might find at stationary stores in towns and settlements far and wide within our Wasteland..."

Isidore licked her cracked lips. "Knee's pretty shot. I'd like to immobilize it. Got a brace?"

"Ahhh... Indeed. Crazy Wolfgang has them in several sizes." Wolfgang dug for a tape measure in his pockets. "If you'll tell me if the right or left is afflicted I can fit one with a minimum of fuss."

The vault woman reached for her right leg and nearly toppled from her seat. She would have had she not grabbed the improvised halter around her brahmin. Entirely made of leather belts Wolfgang noted. The studded ones looked torn from Raider garb.

"Charon?"

"Yes?" He looked toward Isidore as if her words were the only thing that concerned him on earth.

"Please help me get the plates loose."

"As you wish." And without complaint, or even noticing the odor, he walked to her side and helped her slide the ceramic plating out of the suit's right leg with care. Her hands shook and once or twice she had to grab Charon's shoulder to keep from tipping off the brahmin.

"If I puke on you, I'm apologizing in advance, Charon-- Wolfgang." Isidore cautioned them both.

Wolfgang winced but continued forward to the business of measuring. "I'm entirely sure it will wash off, Isidore, and meanwhile I will be free of any animal or man unable to withstand the disharmonious aura it grants." Charon did not move away, causing Wolfgang to stand elbow to armored stomach with the huge ghoul while he measured. It was unfortunate to admit but the helmet changed the entire way he perceived the situation. Originally he felt that the renegade Outcast was simply a devoted employee, an admirable man if not one given to conversation. Now it was hard to imagine Isidore as anything but a shrewd wrangler of monsters who kept this one on a short leash for a reason. She had talked animatedly with him in the past, but it was rare the brute answered with more than a grunt or a gesture. She interpreted these with more insight than a casual observer like himself. Perhaps it was just as well.

He looked up at her, tucking his tape away. "I have one in just the size you need. Would you like to trade for it or do you perhaps wish our transaction to be in caps?"

"I'm sitting on our equipment and I'm not getting up short of a shotgun enema or a rabid deathclaw, so it's caps. How much do you want?" Isidore asked.

Charon produced a bag from a pouch on his belt.

Wolfgang thought a moment, scrolling through his mental list of prices. "Ten should suffice quite well."

Isidore nodded and the ghoul counted the caps out, giving them to the eccentric merchant without so much as a word.

Applying the brace proved unpleasant, miasmic stink notwithstanding. The vault woman wept and fought spasms that threatened to redecorate him with whatever it was she ate last. The ghoul was breathing down his neck and becoming more tense with each passing minute. He didn't have to be rushed to feel rushed with that huge wall of monster at his side, glaring with eyes that looked like steel knives behind well-lit curtains. It made his hands sweat. He couldn't get the straps through the buckles without a good deal of thinking of Agatha's sweet face, smiling at him.

Agatha, my darling, why must you be so heartless?

"I can still shoot him, you know." His mercenary commented in a blithe and innocent way.

Wolfgang's hands froze. He thanked Saint Monica and anyone else who might be listening to his most secret thoughts that the vault woman was too distracted by pain to respond and Charon too absorbed by her suffering. He did not feel the not-so-lone wanderer would take well to having her companion threatened. He seemed supremely useful and dedicated. In the same situation Wolfgang himself would react badly to his mercenary being taunted in such a manner. "That is not helpful in any way or form, Irene."

Finishing the last binding he stepped back and wiped at the cold sweat on his brow. Isidore was leaning heavily on Charon and he gave considerable effort into to seating her again- as if neither merchant nor mercenary were there.

Irene laughed at her employer's discomfort. "But it's true."

He put his hands on his hips and gave her the hardest look he could muster. It was still not very convincing and even though he knew it, he marshaled his willpower anyway. "You know, you could be replaced by a Protectron, my dear."

His mercenary snorted. "You'd miss me."

Wolfgang sighed. Too true. Robots made for poor conversation and required more maintenance than he himself was capable of. Plus his requirements for mercenary companionship were strict and as peculiar as he had crafted himself to be. To replace her with interview would mean loss of revenue until such was completed and perhaps the evaporation of chances to visit his beautiful Agatha for want of protection against the beasts of the wasteland. "And now, our business concluded, let us be off towards the western horizon and Megaton." He smiled at Isidore and Charon in turn, then went to grasp the reigns of his brahmin and turn the beast around. "Or, to be simple: That way." He gestured.

The company was uncomfortable once they were underway, but Isidore was downwind so he no longer felt the urge to plug his nose with his fingers. Wolfgang was just unused to being quiet so long and he felt like he was going to explode. He needed to speak, even if it was to the brahmin or Irene or... or someone. God. Saint Monica. Anyone. It wasn't as if he hadn't tried other diversions but daydreaming about Agatha could only go so far without making his pants embarrassingly tight. Charon offered little in the way of distraction. It was awkward to talk to him not because of his silence but because he radiated an intense desire not to be talked to. He merely walked alongside Wolfgang and cast occasional glances back at Isidore, as any concerned employee should. By comparison Irene had taken a liking to the likable but odoriferous former vault dweller and was paying little attention to her job whilst engaging in conversation.

The scenery was quiet, dull and Wolfgang could not help but listen in.

"...Raiders don't know the meaning of the words 'fuck off'." Isidore replied. "Charon educated them. Ripped one limb from limb and beat the rest of the torso to death with the pieces." A chuckle followed that was entirely too merry for the scene she'd just related.

Irene cackled. "You're bent. You know that?"

"Yeah. It's come to my attention." There was a pause. "So what about you? Haven't seen you before. Mendoza kick the bucket?"

"Oh, the guy that... no... Dozer is back at Rivet City. Decided he'd rather be all safe and comfortable on his boat than out here with Crazy Wolfgang." Irene laughed. "Man, what a pussy. Ain't shit without his missiles, let me tell you."

"Ahh, yes. Shall I tell you the sad tale of my former compatriot, Mendoza? Projectile dysfunction in the face of great excitement." Wolfgang clucked. "Happens to the best of us now and then..."