" Okay everyone, make sure you take your meds," Donavan announced to the, rag-tag group, passing about a small plastic container of Rad-x, a forced smile on his face. "Many ghouls are fine people, but I'd rather not grow a brand new hand out my chest." Taking his own dose, Donavan nodded to the rest and swallowed the pills.

"Damn right about that," Jericho muttered, washing down his Rad-x with a mouthful of rotgut. The bitter flavor of the homemade brew masked the somehow fouler taste of the medication, though if said medication was the difference between a third hand or not Jericho would have taken two dozen pills booze-free.

Riley picked up her portion of Rad-x, given with the pleasant, trademark half smirk that Donavan used to try and deflect anyone from realizing he was a mechanic and not a medic. Off to the side, Sergeant RL-3 muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Bah, the weaknesses of organic life."

Taking several moments to allow the drug a run throughout her body, Riley breathed out once, and waved her three companions into a group huddle. "Alright," she told them in a purely professional tone, "You know why we're here." Donavan and Sarge nodded, while Jericho rolled his eyes lazily. "Chuck needs us, even if he's too damn stubborn and ass-headed to admit it. We're going into Underworld, we'll find Charon, and, with his help, track down our wandering friend." All of them were committed to the task Riley could see it in their eyes. Even Jericho, despite his outwardly bitter cynicism, felt something for the kid from 101.

The museum towered over the surrounding rubble, still giving off an air of magnificence despite its crumbling nature. Yet the exterior, though impressive, was a mere shell, a shield for the thriving community nestled within, Underworld, a sanctuary for the Wasteland's many ghouls who had nowhere else to turn and, in a strange twist of fate, provided that same protection for an injured mercenary. Riley brushed a lock of orange hair out of her eyes while an almost nostalgic feeling rushed over her. She'd first met Chuck in Underworld those many months ago, the young man's concerned features the first thing she saw after opening her eyes…

How things have changed since that day. Hell, I owe Doctor Barrows everything. Maybe a fat pile of caps, or the Rangers' service free of charge will begin to pay off my debt. I'd never have met Chuck if not for him…

Squaring her shoulders, Riley took the lead, clipping her combat helmet into its place on her armor, a deliberate appearance of vulnerability. The ghouls had learned distrust for a reason and even if they recognized certain members of the group, they'd still be a heavily armed party of humans moving towards Underworld, intentions unknown.

Standing outside the massive marble doors, laser rifle held in her hands, wearing a leather motorcycle jacket was a slight, red-headed ghoul who Riley instantly recognized. Willow, Underworld's unofficial sentry had said only a few words to the mercenary captain while she was leaving, and none upon her arrival, mostly due to Riley's then state of unconsciousness. Still, Willow clearly felt comfortable enough with the new arrivals to return the laser rifle to its place on her back. "Holy shit," the young, by ghoul standards, woman croaked in the rough tone of her kind, "You really are still standing. You're a far tougher tourist than I thought."

"I'm no tourist," Riley responded firmly, feeling offended at the casual dismissal of her rather capable weapon skills from Willow, someone the leader of the Rangers was confident she could take.

Jericho responded to her indignation with barking laughter, "Hell, it's true though! I'm a tourist! You're a tourist! Everyone coming to DC's Museum for a visit is a tourist! It's just the way things are." The bluster surprised Riley, who'd never heard Jericho jump to defense of anyone and that rebuttal seemed vaguely close to doing just that.

Willow seemed pleased with the bandit, "I see someone remembered," a yellow smile crossed her face, the obvious happiness Riley found herself unable to ignore. Turning her attention back towards the impromptu squad, Willow asked, "What are you doing back anyway? Where's the blue kid?"

Jericho shrugged his shoulders, moving to the front of the group and, to Riley's great surprise, dropping into a diplomatic role. "He's run off, didn't tell anyone where he went. Orange over here," he jabbed his thumb towards Riley, who was so pleased with the casual comradery between bandit and ghoul she didn't react to the nickname given with disgust, "has her pants in a knot missing his handsome ass and we can't have that can we?"

"He was handsome," Willow purred out in a near reverent tone, "For a smoothskin, that is," She looked down at Jericho as she said it, making it clear that Charles wasn't the only smoothskin the lady ghoul wouldn't mind bumping uglies with. For her part, Riley tried hard not to notice the expression.

"Seeing as the kid was always stopping off with scrap metal and caps, I was wondering if maybe he was hiding with you guys…" Jericho pressed; dropping several tidbits about Charles' casually preformed good deeds that Riley hadn't heard before.

As if to confirm the bandit's analysis, Sarge slid closer to Riley and muttered, "It's true. I was always carrying at least two bags full of scrap! He was always giving it away in Underworld. Absolutely disgusting behavior, disgusting! There's commies needing a good roasting and his constant philandering to these zombies kept getting in the way of that." Apparently, RL-3 wasn't too keen on Underworld; Jericho on the other hand…

"We've only got the two smoothskins living with us now," Willow admitted, plopping her chin into her hands in thought, "But neither of 'em are the kid and I'm guessing you already knew that."

"Hit the nail on the head darling," Jericho announced with that similar leering tone he gave Jenny Stahl. However, unlike Jenny, Willow seemed more than happy with the flirting, her wink towards the ex-raider accompanied by a sly smile.

"You're here to see Charon?" She half-guessed, clearly expecting the answer to be a positive. When Jericho nodded his affirmative, Willow pushed a corpse-like hand against one of the doors, pushing it open. "Alright, seems fine with me." The museum opened before them, interior darkness broken only by the blazing flames of the numerous torches. "Welcome back to Underworld, and please enjoy your stay," Willow announced stepping aside and gesturing for the group to enter.

Without complaint, Sarge floated through the door free of hesitation. With the same stoicism he handled everything else, Donavan followed in silence. Taking up the rear in case of sudden attack, Riley walked behind Jericho as he moved casually into the museum foyer. The ex-raider leaned over to Willow as he went by and Riley caught the ghoul purr in that husky voice, "And welcome back to you there, sexy." The bandit chuckled and tapped Willow on the arm, giving her a sly wink of his own. Riley'd seen enough of Jericho to recognize the man as a lecher, though he'd been smart enough to avoid making any pass at her. Apparently he was devoted enough to hitting on any woman that ghouls were included.

Changing her mind about placement for purely selfish reasons, Riley shoved past the old raider, moving into the entrance hall. The museum had been a place of high culture and art in the world before the bombs, but now it was a crumbling shell of its former glory. The tiled floor was cracked and battered, display cases long ago smashed and looted. Blank spots covered the walls were paintings once rested, while, despite the chaos of the 200 years since the bombs dropped, the tyrannosaurus rex skeleton remained upright and intact.

"The zombies keep it together," Sarge announced, noting Riley's intense gaze on the ancient fossil, "It's some kind of icon to them."

One small question answered, Riley moved towards Underworld proper, Jericho joining the group at last. The door into the museum wing converted to settlement was carved from granite and located within the mouth of the massive stone skull signifying visitors would be entering the, "Afterlife Beliefs and Ideals of Varying Cultures," wing, according to a tattered old museum banner still clinging to life.

While exiting Underworld on her own power for the first time, Riley had been struck by the wit of the corpse-like ghouls, choosing such a place to build their home. Truly, they had a dry, ironic sense of humor. Chuckling to herself, Riley waved her companions towards the stone skull, determined to get the next step of her mission underway.

It's funny, if Chuck asks, I can honestly say I went to hell for him! Though, if he really were there, I wouldn't even hesitate.

Jericho kept glancing around the foyer, with a slight smile that seemed to suggest he was trying to hide his genuine pleasure at the museum. "You gotta wonder what this place would've been like before," he mused, tossing the burnt out remains of his last cigarette into one of the blazing garbage bin fires lighting up the entrance area.

Donavan evidently agreed, nodding his helmeted head, "I'd do anything for one tour! Think of the technology! The art!" The techie paused before the dinosaur skeleton, gazing upward in wonder, "Even the scraps are really something."

"Chuck told me one time just how much he loves the pre-war world, real history nerd." Riley shook her head fondly, "Maybe that's partially why he was always coming back here." Rather than let herself be dragged down by that particular trailer of nostalgia, the mercenary focused on that image of Charles grinning happily going on for hours about some ancient thing he'd seen out in the Wasteland. Her resolve to see that face again hardened and she strode forward boldly, pushing the stone, skeletal maw aside. Her combat boots clicked against polished tile floor, echoing throughout the enclosed space. While the four were still clearly within the same building, the contrast between the two areas was remarkable.

It was still somewhat dark, but numerous gaslamps and a few contained can fires provided decent light within the wing. The floors and benches were clean and well maintained, the various paintings on the walls likewise not only intact but clearly cared for. The side doors had been closed off, with visitor information signs reworded to spell out the titles of the various stores and services now housed within, including, one Riley knew intimately. "The Chop Shop," Underworld's resident clinic, where she'd recovered from the Super Mutant attack.

Various ghouls were milling about, in differing styles of dress, ranging from tattered rags to one in partial combat armor. The arrival of the foursome seemed to cause a stir, but none of the ghouls approached, save one. The weathered, craggy fellow seemed old, even for his kind, projecting an aura of quiet, sensible leadership and respectability. He wore a dirty RobCo jumpsuit, stained with grease and oil, more patches than suit. Standing proud and tall, unashamed and unafraid, a dusty mop of light brown hair sitting atop a misshapen head, he approached fearlessly. Wiping his hands clean on a dirty rag, the ghoul greeted them, "Hey there Jericho. Come by yourself this time?" Before the bandit could respond, the mechanic turned his attention to the woman leading the band. "Well I'll be damned, Captain Riley?" He looked her up and down, "You're looking greatly improved from the last time I saw you. How's the Wasteland treating you these days?" After an awkward pause, the ghoul noted, "You don't know my name."

"I'm afraid I don't," Riley responded sheepishly, rubbing a hand through her messy orange hair. After another moment, with Jericho declining to fill in any details, the ghoul mechanic chuckled, "That's quite alright, seeing as they brought you in on a stretcher the first time we'd have met and I was tinkering around with the radiators the second I wouldn't expect you to know me. The name's Winthrop, handyman, jack-of-all-trades and unofficial greeter to our little community." He extended his hand for shake, which Riley took firmly.

"Any friend of Chuck's is a friend of mine," she told him honestly enough after the greeting ended, "He's mentioned you've done plenty to keep the community afloat."

"I do what I can," he admitted sheepishly, as if holding the piping in the ancient building together with scrap, duct tape and elbow grease wasn't extraordinary. "That kid's done plenty, more than enough for this old man to call him ghoul-friend." Winthrop smiled broadly, with a grandfatherly expression suggesting he was hoping to hear wedding bells in the future. "He's a good man, Captain Riley, you're lucky to have him."

"Oh, we're not…" She began to clarify, before the doors to The Chop Shop flew open and another ghoul came rushing out. This new arrival was tall and thin, sunken features gaunt even among ghoul kind. The stained scrubs of a wasteland doctor covered his skinless body, while the face smiled a broad smile Riley instantly recognized.

"Riley!" Doctor Barrows shouted happily, "You're here! And you're doing fine!" The doctor crossed the room in a handful of seconds, wrapping the smaller woman in a tight hug. Doing her best to handle the sudden, and unexpected, action, the woman returned it with the best of her abilities. "I'd heard a few updates on GNN, but I worried you may have been killed at Purity." He paused, "Or more recently, hunting our missing ghoul-friend."

"Thanks for your concern Barrows," Riley responded, breaking the hug off after several moments, "I am doing well, and I owe that to you." Barrows beamed with pride, genuinely pleased that the woman who'd once been under his care was still healthy and thriving.

"I hadn't worked on a human in quite some time," the doctor admitted, "It was a nice challenge."

"We're here looking for Charles, doc," Jericho butted in, the look on his face heavily implying he didn't want to hear any mushy friendship talk, "Someone had this dumbass idea that Charon might know where he's off and hidden himself."

The abruptness of the comment, nearly jolted Barrows backwards, but within a moment his calm demeanor returned and he responded. "Charon's probably the only being alive Charles trusts enough to give such a secret to," he admitted without a high degree of confidence. Winthrop took the opportunity to jump in.

"But he's not been talking," the handy-man said sadly, "He says his contract prevents him from violating his employer's trust, and that his employer wouldn't want that information spread about." Winthrop shook his head, "He simply sits in the Ninth Circle corner booth with that dog of Charles', waiting for something I couldn't guess."

This may be harder than I thought.

Squaring her shoulders, Riley continued talking before Jericho or Sarge decided to make the situation worse with a snide comment. "Regardless, I've come too far to give up now. Can we speak with him?" She directed the enquiry towards Barrows, who'd mentioned once during her recovery that he functioned as Underworld's de-facto mayor.

"Absolutely, don't let an old ghoul stand in your way!" Barrows stated emphatically, waving both hands, "Charles' disappearance has upset a great many in Underworld and if we can do anything to assist you, please, please ask."

Shaking the doctor's hand one last time after a respectful nod towards Winthrop, Riley moved towards the Ninth Circle, one of Underworld's two bars. Warm light drifted beneath the double doors, accompanied by the smooth voice of Dean Martin crackling across the radio. Opening the door with the same slow caution she did with every room, a survival habit she'd picked up in DC and never managed to lose, Riley moved into the bar.

A long, oaken counter took up the back corner, walls about adorned with shelves containing various alcohols and boxes of ammunition. A radio sat atop the bar next to a framed picture of a man in a stovepipe hat, the source of the music filling the room. Rickety tables and chairs took up the open spaces of the Ninth Circle wherever they would fit, with numerous ghouls sitting around those different tables. Several electric lightbulbs dangled from the ceiling, the source of power unknown but likely the result of Winthrop's hard work, illuminating the bar with a level of cheeriness the gaslamps couldn't deliver. Several framed pictures of various afterlife concepts, including several of Dante and Virgil, who Riley recognized from reading Charles' copy of The Divine Comedy, though it had taken two run-throughs to really understand it.

What intrigued her most of all was the woman standing behind the bar. Unlike the rest of the patrons Riley could see, the owner still had all her skin. Shoulder-length black hair ran down from a face with features suggesting East-Asian ancestry, soft-brown eyes looking inquisitively outward toward the new arrivals. A set of heavy combat armor seemed out of place on the slender woman, who carried no visible armaments.

Glancing up from behind the bar, the woman said simply, "You must be Riley, of Riley's Rangers fame." She had a near melodic voice while speaking in a calm, even tone.

"Yeah," Riley admitted, "And you?"

"Sydney," the woman stated, "Former treasure hunter, now retired. With the previous owner of the establishment passed away the locals gave me the place, mostly because no one else wanted it. Figured if I was going into the ammo business it wouldn't hurt to sell drinks on the side."

"How do you know my name?" Riley probed, moving cautiously closer to the oaken counter, "I've never met you."

"I know Charles," she said bluntly and that struck Riley by surprise since the Lone Wanderer had never mentioned the, admittedly pretty Sydney. Something stirred inside her she couldn't quite explain. Were she a petty woman Riley may have called it jealousy.

"How?" Jericho asked gruffly, "Because I sure as hell don't, and I've traveled plenty with the kid."

"About a month ago, give or take a couple of days," Sydney recalled, leaning her willowy arms against the countertop, "I was hired by this guy, Abraham Washington, out of Rivet City, to retrieve some old papers. He called it the Declaration of Independence or something like that, I barely remember…"

"I bet Charles would have loved that," Donavan whispered, leaning close to his boss. Riley was certainly in agreement She could see his eyes go wide at the sight of the physical piece of history, almost hear him babbling on adorably about its significance to such and such and what it meant to so and so. In that moment she almost smiled, but reality reared its ugly head again.

He would have told me something about finding the Declaration, there's no way he wouldn't have,

"He was with Charon, his ghoul bodyguard and some cattle dog he'd named Dogmeat. Apparently Abraham sent them as backup." She paused, glancing to the far corner, where a massive ghoul occupied the table, a cattle dog sitting at his feet. Riley had seen Charon a few times before and was always struck by the sheer size of him, the shotgun he carried proved bigger than either of her arms, and the metal shoulder pads he'd attached to his leather armor was easily large enough to serve her as a shield. He sat immobile, yellowed eyes facing the nearest wall, corpse-like features unmoving, practically a statue.

"After we dropped off the Declaration," Sydney continued, drawing Riley's attention back, "He said something about 'needing to find himself,' I did too I suppose. Nearly being made a Super Mutant's mid-afternoon snack does that to a person." She gave a soft chuckle, rapping her knuckles against the solid wood beneath her. "So I quit treasure-hunting, and came to Underworld. It's quieter here, more cozy besides, and ghouls hit on me less." That last line was delivered with a self-deprecating smirk that removed much of the arrogance of the boast itself.

Sarge murmured something behind Riley's shoulder that sounded the very opposite of kind and appropriate, disagreeing vehemently with Sydney's analysis, but the mercenary ignored him.

"Charon is over there right?" Riley asked pointing her thumb towards the massive ghoul in leather armor with the dog as if he could be anyone else. He maintained the same expression he always wore, no matter the situation.

"Yup, hasn't moved much." Sydney explained, nodding towards Dogmeat, "He's a little restless though, but Charon's taken good care of him." A far-off look changed her expression, slight smile at the pleasant memory, "I swear, I actually saw him smile one time while feeding Dogmeat, which he vehemently denied. Though he never actually responded to the accusation I'd seen him scratching the dog under the chin." Sydney shook her head, "He's a big softy on the inside, really grumpy expressions not withstanding."

Nodding her head towards Sydney by way of thanks, Riley and her companions approached Charon, walking across the Ninth Circle towards the massive ghoul. They hadn't gotten halfway across the floor when Dogmeat noticed them. The dog barked happily at the sight of Riley, leaping to his feet and bouncing across the floor with tongue hanging loosely. Riley dropped to one knee, allowing the dog to get his front paws on her shoulders, licking her face joyfully with accompanying cheerful barks.

Rubbing the dog's back, the mercenary responded, "Hey boy! How are you? Looking good you big strong man!" Jericho made a gagging noise, but Riley ignored him continuing to pet the dog with unbridled enthusiasm. It had been awhile since she'd seen Dogmeat and maybe, if she were honest, she missed him more than Chuck.

It is a good quality to have, owning a dog.

Standing tall again, with Dogmeat happily follow at her heels, Riley directed her attention towards the massive ghoul. "Charon."

"Captain Riley," he responded with similar neutrality. Riley stood in silence facing him, the stillness only broken by the radio and slight humming from Sarge's servos. At last turning his attention towards the orange-haired mercenary, Charon asked simply, "You are looking for Charles." He knew, of course he did, why else would the mercenary trek across the Capital Wasteland to make a visit she'd never made before?

"Yes." There was no point in denial, or attempting subterfuge. Charon, for his seemingly-simple nature, was a rather shrewd man, with plenty of cunning hidden behind sunken yellow eyes. "We believe he might be in trouble…" Riley added after a moment, though Charon hadn't ever said one word about it, it was clear that he respected and liked Charles, perhaps even considering him friend, and like any good friend, would want to help.

"He might be." Charon stated in his carefully steady voice, keeping the unblinking gaze fixed on the much smaller woman. Dogmeat cocked his head to the side, looking up at the ghoul with puppy-sad eyes. Glancing down towards the dog for a split-second, an expression of sorrow crossed Charon's fleshless face, but then it was gone, replaced with the still stoicism typical of him.

"So help us find him!" Donavan stated emphatically, moving towards the bodyguard, "I know you were with him when he disappeared and I know he's your friend. So tell us everything you know…"

"I'm scared for him…" Riley admitted, voice so quiet she barely heard it.

"I want to," Charon stated, the stoicism starting, ever so subtly, to crack. He shook his head, eyes glancing towards the floor, "But the contract is absolute. I can not ignore a direct order from whoever holds it." He looked back towards Riley, expression a swirling mass of conflicting emotion, "I was directly ordered, by the holder of my contract, that I wasn't to reveal, under any circumstances to anyone, anything that might help track down my missing employer, namely Charles, the holder of my contract."

"He's in really rough shape isn't he?" Donavan asked quietly, a physical sensation of pain in the air at the thought.

Charon nodded grimly, "I was there when James died." Riley winced at the stillness of the ghoul's tone, clearly intending to hide some very real grief Charon himself felt at James' death, not to mention watching a close friend experience something so horrific. "It was like the boss himself died along with his father…The kid was screaming, beating his hands bloody against the glass. I had to get him out…"

"How?" Jericho sneered looking down his nose at the ghoul, "How'd you get him out?"
"I carried him." The way Charon stated those three words made it clear he was entirely serious. The ghoul shook his head, "After we got Doctor Li, the Project's only surviving scientist, to the Citadel, the boss ran a mission for some loon with the new bartender." Charon pointed towards Sydney, who happily waved by way of response. "He wanted to blow off steam, clear his head, but that wasn't helping, he was still broken. Even so, he tried to carry on…" Charon paused, as if afraid of what came next, "Then we picked up the radio signal…"

"Yes?" Riley asked, trying to figure out what exactly had pushed the kid from 101 over the edge, driving the Wasteland's messiah to flee from everyone he called friend. She knew James' death hit him hard, but there was clearly more, something about that signal…

"I'm sworn to secrecy, on the contract," he stated with far less uncertainty than he had previously, "That was a personal matter and I will not be betraying my direct orders. Ask him yourself."

"We can't," Jericho growled irritatedly, "Because we don't know where he is, because you won't tell us."
Charon's expression was blank, but something about that particular blow stung. Riley stood motionless, entirely unsure of how to proceed. She knew Charon held the information she wanted, but getting it was another matter entirely…

"There is a clause…" The ghoul bodyguard admitted after a period of several silent minutes, with a slight upbeat in his tone suggesting he very much hoped Riley would latch onto this particular lead.

She didn't hesitate to do so. "Yes? Tell me more about this clause…"

The ghoul launched immediately into what seemed a well rehearsed rendition of a small sub-clause of his lengthy contract. Considering how much of his existence was tied around that sheet of paper Riley wasn't surprised how much of it he'd memorized. "Under sub-section C of clause 23, in exceptional circumstances where the life of the contract-holder might be in danger and he or she is unable to articulate instructions on behalf of that danger, a member of their family can supersede previous instructions of the contract-holder as long as those new instructions are only with the direct intention of saving the life of the contract-holder." There was a weighty pause, as if the ghoul was waiting for something to be stated.

"I am a member of Charles' family," Riley stated determinedly, "And I'm proud to say so."

"In what way?" Jericho leered, leaning towards the woman as she said it, position of eyebrows implying something far beyond even the clear lechery in his voice. Riley ignored him.

"Perhaps not by blood," Charon answered in his gravelly voice, "But Charles has made it very clear that you are family. I accept your request to replace previous standing instructions for the sake of Charles' safety."

Reaching into the shoulder-mounted ammunition pouch, Charon retrieved a small holo-tape. Handing it gently to Riley, the ghoul explained, "The boss recorded everything on this tape after speaking with the ship captain. Load it into a terminal and you'll know how to follow him to some far off island called Point Lookout."

For reasons she couldn't possibly fathom at the name Point Lookout a chill ran down her spine. That name invoked images of danger, loneliness and myth.

Oh Chuck, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?

"Ship captain?" Jericho said with an acidic tone, "How the hell are we going to get there?"

"Water's bad for my circuits," RL-3 grumbled, buzzing his saw agitatedly. Riley knew the Mr. Gutsy's thrusters kept him out of the water but felt it impolite to suggest that fact.

"Winthrop's got a terminal," Sydney shouted from the other side of the Ninth Circle, "I'm sure he'd be happy to let you use it, seeing as it's for a good cause."

"Eavesdropping?" Donavan asked the woman laconically, raising a solitary eyebrow to showcase exactly how he felt about the subject.

"For a good cause, absolutely," the retired adventurer admitted happily. "Charlie seems like a good guy and I don't like the idea of him dying alone…or whatever."

"Are you going to help then?" Jericho growled, fishing around in his pockets for loose cigarettes, "Or are you sitting back on your ass and letting us run around to find this piss-far island?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Sydney admitted, "But here," she bent low beneath the bar and withdrew a box of mixed ammunition. "Take whatever you need, with my blessing." Jericho mumbled a rude response under his breath but Riley ignored it.

"I'll take it, gratefully," Slipping the holo-tape into one of the weapon pouches on her belt, the mercenary captain stood and approached the bar. Glancing into the box of loose ammunition and clips, Riley helped herself to a few 5.56 magazines, somewhat mitigating the rounds spent on the Super Mutants.

"Ah-ha!" An older, male, voice announced from the bar's entrance, a voice that somehow Riley knew, "Barrows was right! Captain Riley is here and she's hunting the missing Lone Wanderer!"

Riley nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden announcement, turning sharply on her boot-heel while her hand shot upward towards the Infiltrator. Yet her eyes fell upon a leathery old man, who seemed the farthest possible thing from threatening. He was tall for an older gentleman, thin frame implying a wire spryness rather than frailty, with wrinkled, weathered features that held a ruddy, charming complex. A full, rich white beard and mustache covered the lower half of the face, with bushy white eyebrows and a full head of similarly shaded hair the top. Soft green eyes twinkled mischievously, as if their owner hadn't matured despite advanced years. A battered, pre-war fedora rested atop his head, a dark blue, and well pressed, sweater vest sat over a light blue cotton shirt, above khaki pants. A Bushmaster M4A1 assault rifle rested on that back, seemingly at odds with the friendly, neighborly appearance of the old man.

The recollection of the voice finally clicked in Riley's mind and she said happily, "Daring Dashwood! Is that really you?"

The adventurer bowed, "Daring of GNR fame in the flesh my dear woman! Absolutely lovely to see you," tipping his fedora towards her happily, the old man continued, "I was so excited to hear from Doctor Barrows about the news of your arrival as I could only assume you had one purpose."

"Which was?"

"To find the Lone Wanderer, of course," before Riley could express her confusion at how the old man was aware of the situation Dashwood explained, "I listen to Three Dog as well, my dear Captain and I am well aware of Charles' disappearance. I assumed your arrival could only be intended for the purpose of speaking with his ghoul companion." Nodding his weathered head towards Charon, Dashwood explained, "He's not the talkative sort, you know."

"So, what exactly is your interest in all this?" Riley probed, still unsure of Daring's intentions, "What do you want?"

"I want to come along, of course."

"What?"

"Are you going deaf?" Daring chuckled loudly, voice deep and low, "That's supposed to be my job!" The adventure rubbed a weathered hand across a wrinkled forehead. "And before you ask, yes, my health is excellent, Barrows himself has seen to it, repeatedly."

"So, you want to come along and help us find Charles?" Riley asked, still entirely unsure what Dashing's agenda was with his sudden appearance in Underworld, "We're traveling somewhere called Point Lookout, an island off of DC, it's not going to be a cake walk."

"My heart is fine," he stated with an exasperated tone suggesting he heard this more often than he'd like. "I owe Charles a debt, simple as that. Herbert Daring Dashwood pays his debts!" He crossed his arms and stared Riley dead in the face, "Besides, it looks like you are needing all the help you can get on this mission." He tapped the butt of his assault rifle lovingly, "My eyes are as sharp as ever and my trigger finger itchier than its ever been." He offered her his hand, "So how about it? You have room for one more old gun ready for another adventure?"


AN: Before anyone asks, yes, I know the book you receive in Fallout 3 is actually titled "Paradise Lost," however, the description of the book as you receive it actually matches the plot of Dante's Divine Comedy, plus, I prefer the Divine Comedy so the change was made. Secondly, Dashwood as a character was, too me, hugely intriguing and entirely under-used throughout FO3, with a pointless potential death that makes no sense given his status as an "honorary ghoul." Expect big things from the dashing old adventurer.

Finally, I picked up plenty of new favs, followers and even new commenters! Thank you all so very much for your support, it means everything to me. Charles is back next chapter...Stay tuned.