Holding the new, red dress in her hands, the Wanderer was preparing to leave her room for the Federalist Lounge. She stood in front of a floor to ceiling mirror in the suite's walk-in closet and held the dress up to herself. It was hard to picture herself wearing it. She'd separated all her new clothes into individual piles on the floor and with controlled grace sank down and sat cross legged in front of them.
Dogmeat was lying down at in the hallway snoozing. The dog was acclimating much easier to the easy life than she was. Despite her desire to throw herself into her new existence at Tenpenny Tower, old habits died hard. People were threats and there were only two ways to deal with threats in her mind. Eliminate them or avoid them. As much as she was tempted to just hide out in her room, order room service, and only leave when Burke came to her with an assignment, living like that was no life.
It would be significantly better than what her life had been, but she didn't want to turn into some recluse. She wanted a full, luxurious life. Luxury had been achieved. Now she just had to fill it and that meant going out.
With an exasperated sigh she threw herself onto her back. Why was she so nervous? It was a bar where people went to drink and socialize. Nothing more. She wasn't trying to track some lowlife down, or slum around for information. Just have a nightcap and maybe some pleasant conversation. Was that so hard?
The simple answer was yes. Once upon a time in a Vault, she could socialize and meet people and enjoy herself, but after the Vault things changed. Trust, socialization, and people in general just brought her pain and misery. If she didn't have one hand on her gun at all times then she had made a grave mistake that someone was going to take advantage of. So leaving her room for a fun night out was harder than fighting a deathclaw for her.
Fighting was straight forward. You killed it before it killed you. Didn't matter what 'it' was. The rules of normal social interaction were long forgotten to her.
Damn, why was she such a coward? Put the dress on and go downstairs!
Not even her own mental cajoling was doing it. Her eyes flicked over to the duffel bag of drugs hiding in the shadowed corner. Maybe... No.
No, she was stronger than that. She took the drugs to shut the Voices up. It wasn't like she needed them to function normally. That would make her no worse than some raider junky. But still... just a little Jet to steady her nerves perhaps...
NO!
The Wanderer threw her hands over her eyes in exasperation. Addiction and its struggles were nothing new to her. As soon as she was forced out of the Vault, a vial of Jet had pretty much been shoved in her hands. Over time she'd convinced herself that the drugs were helping her. Hell, she felt invincible when she took Psycho, time slowed to a crawl on Jet, and Buffout had practically allowed her to fight a Super Mutant one on one. But that time had passed.
She'd kicked the habit with a little help. More help than she cared to admit, but she'd never admit that to Butch. The Tunnel Snake had goaded her until she agreed to fist fight him clean. He'd kicked her ass. After that she'd made the effort and quit. Then Point Lookout happened.
In the marshes of that maniac filled hell, she'd relapsed in order to save her life. Then afterward when she'd discovered the lasting damages from Tobar's surgery, she'd discovered that the only way to quiet the brand new whispers in her head were with chems. However, recently the Voices had been getting louder and louder, and the chems had been lasting for shorter and shorter.
Maybe Doctor Banfield had some method or treatment to help her. However, getting treatment meant admitting that something was seriously wrong. The Wanderer had trouble with that. The only person she'd found she could trust was herself. Going to a doctor meant that her own mind wasn't a safe haven any more, and she just didn't think she could take that. So despite the signs being against her, self-medication would have to do for now.
With a groan, the Wanderer sat up again and mustered her courage. She grabbed a pair of the new underwear Anthony had sold her and walked into the bathroom with it and the dress. She stepped over Dogmeat and quickly undressed. She pulled the strapless bra on (the dress only had one shoulder strap) and stepped into the dress. She slipped her left arm through the singular hole and pulled the hem down smooth. The dress cut diagonally down across her left thigh and finished at her right knee. As much as she loathed admitting it, Anthony was right about her legs.
She blew air irritatedly out of her pursed lips to keep her hair out of face. While she liked the new hairstyle (especially since she could gel it up for whenever she left Tenpenny Tower), she was unused to having hair by her face. It kept falling over whichever side of her face she had it pulled to. With a feigned, impartial shrug she turned away from the mirror. She walked back into the closet and grabbed her sandals. Awkwardly hopping from one foot to the other she navigated her toes through the loops.
With one more nervous smoothing of the dress and a longing look at the duffel, the Wanderer turned and walked out into the main room, stepping over Dogmeat from his prime positioning in the way. The dog lifted his head as she passed.
"No, you stay. I'm just having a drink. How hard could that be, right?"
The dog's head thwacked back onto the floor.
The Wanderer put her hand on her hips and gave him a sarcastic, "Thanks for the support."
Grabbing some caps, the Wanderer moved for the door. Dogmeat started to get up, but the Wanderer held her hand up.
"Seriously, you can stay here on this one." The dog sank back down, but looked skeptical. "I'll be fine," she reassured him.
With a parting wave and smile, she left the dog in the suite. This time her walk to the elevator was calm and reserved, but with each step she forced her own feigned confidence into her stride. By the time she rounded the corner to the elevator, her step was controlled with just the right amount of swagger. The guard stationed there barely managed to pick his jaw up and fumble to hit the button for her. As the doors opened, the Wanderer peered through her hair and gave him a predatory smile as she passed.
The guard swallowed nervously as the elevator closed on the woman in the red dress.
The Federalist Lounge sat across from New Urban Apparel. Even though it was barely five in the evening the bar was already hopping. The Wanderer supposed it came from the residents not actually having to do anything, so happy hour could begin whenever they wished. As she passed New Urban Apparel, Anthony flashed her a quick smile and thumbs up at her 'fabulous' look. She kept her pleasure at his approval buttoned up tight. No sense in getting a big head. The man probably just wanted more of her business. Shoving those suspicious thoughts aside, she entered the Lounge.
Completely unlike the Cafe Beau Monde, all eyes turned on her when she walked in, but it wasn't because she looked like a savage like she'd expected. No, this time it was because the Wanderer commanded their attention in a way akin to how people listened to her when she had a combat shotgun in her hands, but now she had the red dress.
Squashing her nerves with an iron resolve, the Wanderer crossed the room to the bar without meeting anyone's gaze while actually surreptitiously evaluating all the patrons. The Wellingtons were present, as was the elderly couple from breakfast. An old man sat at the bar regaling Gustavo with old stories. Next to them was a man so far into his cups he didn't appear to be surfacing any time soon. With a wicked smile she saw Susan Lancaster silently seething at all the attention the 'little girl' was receiving. The Wanderer took no small vindictive pleasure in that.
She sat down at the bar to the left of the old man, keeping her hair between the two of them. Anthony's design was growing on her more and more as she used her hair to form an artificial barrier between her and the other patrons. The robotic bartender trundled up to her, its lights flashing in greeting.
"A very special welcome to you, madam!"
The Wanderer regarded his tinny welcome with disinterest. In her experience talking to computers was a waste of time. They couldn't keep a decent conversation anyway. And if they could then there was something far more sinister behind their intelligence. Something sinister like Dr. Stanislaus Braun, the maniac that had captured her and forced her to enact his twisted fantasies in Vault 112. So no, she wouldn't be talking to the robot any more than necessary.
"Rum and Nuka." She tossed some caps down on the counter.
The Protectron swiped them and busied itself preparing her drink.
"Rum and Nuka, eh? Now there's a drink most people in this tower would consider themselves above ordering."
It was the old man. She turned her head enough to meet his gaze by peering through her hair, but still kept herself mostly closed off.
"Oh, really? And why is that?"
"Because, my dear, they think it's the drink of the people. Which I suppose it is, but there's nothing wrong with that. Not a damn thing. Hell, I'll admit to drinking more than one of them during my travels, but retirement has refined my tastes a bit." He gestured with his glass of whiskey. "Ah, to hell with it. Shakes, I'll have one of what she's having."
"At once, sir!" The robot quickly fixed the drinks and set them down in front of the two bar goers.
"To the people," the old man toasted.
The Wanderer clinked her glass against his, but didn't return the toast. Gustavo was shifting uncomfortably on the old man's other side. She guessed that he was nervous that someone was even talking to her.
"Well, I think I'm going to turn in for the evening."
Oh?
The old man turned back to his forgotten audience. "Really? Well, have a good night, Gustavo. I always enjoy our little chats. Can't find a listener worth a damn here."
Gustavo gave a stiff nod of his head. "Always a pleasure to listen."
The Wanderer smirked. His body language said it wasn't. Apparently, he was just trying to escape the old man, not avert some imagined oncoming disaster brought on by Burke's newest recruit.
Gustavo started for the door as soon as his duty to courtesy was completed.
"Have a nice night, Daring," he called over his shoulder.
The Wanderer blanched. "Daring?"
The old man turned back to her. "Why yes, Herbert 'Daring' Dashwood. Damn glad to meet you! Call me Daring though. Everyone else does."
Daring sat there with a grin on his face, but the Wanderer had closed herself off to him. The barrier created by her hair was lowered again. She wanted nothing to do with this man. No man who enjoyed tying up women for his own sick enjoyment was a friend of hers. This was the man Susan had been taunting her with.
"Uh, my dear, have I done something to offend?"
Her cold shoulder was not lost on Daring. Good. She wanted him to leave her alone. She'd heard about Daring Dashwood's exploits on the radio: stealing his manservant's girlfriend, frequenting the Blue Destiny Brothel, hounding after King Crag's daughter, dooming Rockopolis, and eventually leaving his manservant to die. Sure the radio broadcasts had put a dramatic and funny spin on the tales, but after hearing Susan's account of the old man, she doubted that the stories were as innocent as they were made out to be.
"Nothing at all, Daring," she replied coldly.
While seeming like some old fogie, her mood swing was not lost on Daring.
"Oh, really now," he said doubtfully. "Because it seems to me that you've got a bone to pick, my dear."
"And if I do?"
He looked surprised. "Then you pick it! And you don't stop until everything's cleared up or the other man is dead. Or woman. Or ghoul. Or yao gui. Or deathclaw. Et cetera, et cetera. You can't keep things bottled up, my dear."
Daring looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to divulge the nature of her grudge.
"I've heard of you, Daring Dashwood."
"And may I ask what you've heard?"
"That you're a womanizing whoremonger who enjoys forcing himself on women and girls."
Daring's face hardened. "That's a damn, dirty lie! Well, everything, but the whoremonger and the womanizing. I'll openly admit that in my younger days I was a tad more rambunctious than was proper, but I never, never, forced myself on anyone. I have the utmost respect for your gender, my dear."
"Oh? Is that so? You mean you didn't take your friend's girlfriend, bed the daughter of King Crag, or sleep with the Black Widow? GNR broadcasts your stories quite often."
"It's radio drama. Not a documentary," he gently scolded. "But, in answer to your question, guilty on all counts. However, in order, I didn't know she was taken, I was unaware of her identity, and I was seduced. With disastrous results I might add. Damned Black Widow."
The Wanderer wasn't giving up her grudge that easily. "So, I suppose you don't enjoy tying a girl up and having some fun if she's in on it?" she asked scornfully.
"Who hasn't had a little adventure in the bedroom?"
The Wanderer turned to him this time. Her angry glare was no longer hidden behind her hair. The look of rage and fear was not lost on Daring. He recognized it as one part anger, one part memory. He looked down with an ashamed look on his face.
"There goes my big mouth again. Now I really have offended you. I forget sometimes that the adventures I had in the Wasteland were not always happy and the same goes for everyone else as well. I'd like to blame my forgetfulness on my age, but that's just not honest. It's plain carelessness. I am sorry if I have forced you to remember things you'd rather forget. No girl your age should have to deal with things like that."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she replied stiffly, but just a little too quickly.
"Of course not... Say, I'm going to order us another round of these," he lifted his glass. "Why don't you share some of your tales with me. I'd be happy to listen."
She stared suspiciously at the earnest, old explorer. "Fine," she relented. "But you're buying the rest of my drinks for the evening."
With a mad grin, Daring flagged down Shakes. "Anything to apologize to a fellow adventurer!"
He handed her a new drink and raised his. "To past adventures. The good and the bad."
This time the Wanderer returned his toast.
The two of them tossed stories back and forth for the remainder of the evening. Daring would tell her about his travels with Argyle and she'd return with some ludicrous adventure she'd been on with Butch, Charon, Dogmeat. The two were surrounded by empty beverages. Daring had kept his word and put them all on his tab. The Wanderer had realized the old man was no monster as she'd envisioned him. Susan Lancaster had been trying to get under her skin (and succeeded). Daring snorted with contempt at the 'wanton hussy' in his words. The two of them had quickly hit it off as fellow adventurers once her mindset had changed.
Daring was currently snorting into his drink as the Wanderer told him about the super-beings of Canterbury Commons.
"He called himself the Mechanist and she was, oh what was it, oh! The Antagonizer! They were tearing the town up with their ants and robots. The townspeople were too afraid to get in the middle of it."
"So what happened?"
"Well, I was passing through with Butch, Charon, and Dogmeat-"
"Charon was your ghoul friend, yes?" interrupted Daring.
"Yeah, big, tall ghoul. Quiet though. And serious. Anyway, we get to the Commons just as those two are fighting. We were just walking and then all of a sudden we're getting attacked by robots and giant ants! Charon and I just started shooting. It was Butch who noticed the-" the Wanderer stopped as she felt a hand on her shoulder.
It was the drunkard from several seats over. The Wanderer stared at his hand distastefully.
"Hi, there, pretty lady," he slurred. "Name's Michael -hic- Hawthorne."
The Wanderer, as calmly as she could, removed his hand from her bare skin.
With a frown, Daring spoke up. "I wouldn't, Michael. She's not the type you want to mess with."
Hawthorne waved a hand dismissively at him. "I saw her walking in, uh... yesterday! Yeah, yeah, yesterday. She's from the Wasteland -hic- Daring. She needs someone to show her around."
"I really don't think that someone is you. Why don't you have another drink?"
"NO!" he shouted belligerently. "You don't tell me what to do, old man! I tell me what to do! I'm Michael Hawthorne!"
He put his hand back on the Wanderer's shoulder. She snorted with disgust.
"Now, this little lady," Hawthorne smacked the Wanderer's ass, "is going to come with me, so I can show her a good time. Show her how we do things in high society."
"Oh now you've done it," muttered Daring when he saw the Wanderer's face.
The Wanderer slowly stood and removed Hawthorne's hand from her bottom. She handed Hawthorne her drink.
"Here, hold this."
Hawthorne took it with his empty right hand and stood holding his and her drink out in front of him like an idiot.
The Wanderer wound her arm back and slugged him the face as hard as she could (which was quite hard). Hawthorne sailed back and straight through the Wellingtons' table. He crashed through it and lay unmoving on the ground. The food and drinks that had been on the table sailed up and onto the couple sitting there as well as those surrounding. Edgar's suit was soaked through, as well as Millicent's dress. Susan Lancaster was pulling food out of her hair with a horrified expression on her face. The Chengs were shouting, but it was mostly at each other.
"My suit!"
"My dress!"
The Wellingtons shot to their feet in outrage. Millicent strode over to the Wanderer and slapped her across the face.
"How dare you, you filthy little tramp!?"
Daring sat on his stool with barely contained glee. "Uh oh. Those are fighting words, Millicent." He looked at the Wanderer. "Well? What are you waiting for? Join the fight!"
With an irascible smirk at the old man, the Wanderer was only too happy to comply.
She returned Millicent's slap with a back hand of her own. The woman fell back into her husband's arms, who promptly dropped her and rushed the Wanderer. She grabbed his tie as he approached and pulled him towards her. Her forehead met his nose with a crunch. She saw Susan approaching from the side with a broken bottle. The Wanderer jumped and twisted in midair, kicking her in the stomach.
It was around this time that Gustavo and several guards rushed into the room to see what the commotion was. As they ran past Daring, he stuck his leg out and tripped Gustavo. The security chief fell forward into the mix followed by the rest of his men.
The Wanderer flipped a table into two guards approaching from the front. As Gustavo struggled to get to his feet, he was met with a kick to the face from the Wanderer's sandaled feet. If only she'd been wearing her combat boots, she thought. A guard threw himself on her from behind. She struggled to remove the weight from her back, but without a weapon that wasn't going to happen. And besides, it's not like she was trying to kill anyone. Gustavo, not to be forgotten, wrapped his arms around her legs.
With the aid of three guards, Gustavo managed to restrain the Wanderer. They carried her out between the four of them, held aloft from the ground and quite unable to move. She didn't mind however, she was laughing too hard. The whole situation had proven to be quite hilarious to her.
Herbert 'Daring' Dashwood allowed himself a quiet chuckle before turning back to Shakes.
"My goodness. She's a tough one, isn't she?"
Burke again found himself called away from his desk by Gustavo. When he was told who was responsible for the disturbance he felt the beginning of a headache coming on. That girl was proving to be far more trouble than he'd expected. He needed her out on assignment and not in the tower as soon as possible. If he gave her missions to occupy her perhaps this ridiculous behavior would cease. He'd had reports of her argument in the Cafe, her brief spat with Susan, and now a bar fight. Mr. Tenpenny would not be pleased if the Wanderer did not soon earn her keep. It was with this thought that Mr. Burke brushed past the two guards standing at attention outside her suite door.
The Wanderer was seated cross-legged on her bed with a glass of water in her hands. Her mutt was lying at the foot of the bed with his eyes firmly fixed on the man Gustavo had stationed in the room. Burke was pleasantly surprised that the man was still alive. He honestly hadn't expected that. Maybe he had underestimated the Wanderer's self-control.
"So I hear you started a fight in the Federalist Lounge."
"Not at all," the Wanderer said with that unnerving smile he so hated. "I didn't start anything."
"Oh really? Mr. Hawthorne is still unconscious in the clinic, Mister and Missus Wellington are traumatized, and Susan Lancaster is all manner of agitated."
The Wanderer's smile widened at that.
"Do you have nothing to say for yourself?"
"Nothing of consequence," she absentmindedly replied while looking out the window. "I actually thought you'd be quite happy. I didn't kill anyone. In fact no one was really even injured."
"Mr. Hawthorne has a concussion!"
"Oh, he deserves that," she snapped.
Mr. Burke continued, "And you broke Chief Gustavo's jaw."
"And I think his jaw broke my toes (stupid sandals). Give him a stimpak and he'll be fine. All in all I showed enormous restraint I think."
Mr. Burke sighed with frustration. This was the problem with hiring dangerous sociopaths. Even when they were on their best behavior they still caused problems. The Wanderer was no exception. He just had to get her out of the tower.
"I'm having you confined to your suite for the next few days until I can find a suitable assignment for you to go out on."
The Wanderer put on a pouty face. "You're sending me to my room?"
"Yes, I am. Food will be delivered for you. I would appreciate it greatly if you didn't murder anyone in an attempt to leave. It will only be for a few days. Think of it as time to cool off and prepare before you get back to work."
The Wanderer sighed and fell back onto the bed. An uncomfortable silence fell on the room as Burke waited for her verbal confirmation to stay in the room.
"Fine. But I'll want some books to read. And a radio!"
"I'll have them delivered in the morning."
Burke turned to leave. The guard stationed in the room hurried to follow him. They exited and the door clicked shut followed by the clack of the door being bolted from the outside.
Dogmeat hopped up onto the bed next to his mistress and curled up by her side. She scratched his ears and he closed his eyes in contentment. She followed suit and closed hers.
"Totally worth it."
