Hello, and welcome to my way-too-late pet project! Yet another idea of mine that I've had for years and slowly made a reality, and now finally posting. I have a good idea of how this whole thing will pan out already, so if y'all are still interested in reading some good ol' fashioned Fallout 4 based content, then check this out! I hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading!
Smoke hung over the room in a thick blanket, its oppressive stench permeating everything it could snake its way into. This, combined with years of wear and near-constant fighting resulted in ugly wall coverings that were stained a sickly yellow, peeling in several spots to reveal the aged concrete beneath. The light from the overhead lamp flickered constantly, its bulb on the cusp of losing the last trace of life, much like the world it inhabited. By all accounts, the building should be long abandoned and left to return to the earth from whence it was built.
And yet, noise bounced off the storied walls as the bar's patrons yelled, sang, and drank until they forgot how long it'd been since the time they were last drunk. An old man sat behind the bar, his tired eyes locked on a glass as he wiped it clean for the fourth time that half hour. Once sufficiently satisfied that he'd made it worthy of housing more of the local swill, he chanced a glance around.
Half a dozen men and women occupied the decrepit couches, laughing heartily as a particularly brave soul attempted to down the contents of his mug in one go. The result was near-instant rapid ejection of his stomach's contents, consisting of three more mugs worth of Bobrov's reserve and a bag of expired chips. The man sighed; another night to be capped with tedious floor cleaning plaguing his mind.
A child of one of the patrons stared at the perfectly preserved pie slice adorning the uppermost level of the Port-o-Diner, face glued to the glass and hands pressed up against the dome as if it was liable to get up and leave from neglect.
The lone chair opposite the couches was occupied by a blonde woman whose once vibrant frost blue eyes had been reduced to a dull matte color after years of less than stellar treatment by these same bar patrons. Sitting on the arm of the chair was a black-haired man with sunken eyes, a tired smile on his face as he spoke to the woman. He noticed the bartender watching and waved cordially, the woman following suit. The bartender smiled and returned the gesture, afterwards holding up an outstretched hand to signal that her break was nearly over. She nodded, turned her gaze back to the man, kissed him warmly, and stood up to see him off.
Vadim couldn't help but smile; Travis and Scarlett had come so far over the years. He adopted a look of thoughtful remembrance as the memories of the forming of their relationship flooded back. He briefly wondered what had become of the man responsible for bringing them together; it had been so many years since they'd spoken.
He looked to the person sitting on the barstool set furthest into the corner. A glass of bourbon was held precariously in his right hand, ice quickly diluting the drink as a result of the heat in the room. In his left, he pinched a California Sunlight (so said the wrapper) between his index and middle finger. As Vadim's eyes went to the man's face, the cigar's lit end met the ashtray below, spent ash collected by cool ceramic.
"Something on your mind?" The man spoke as smoke billowed from his mouth.
Vadim shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut to stop himself from staring. His voice picked up an edge more gravelly than normal, a product of the drink and the age of its owner. "Eh, thinking about old times."
A single dry chuckle escaped the man's lips as he raised the glass to them. He took a sip before speaking. "Careful, don't hurt yourself. Don't know what Diamond City would do without you and your toxic elixirs. They might actually get some work done, rebuild old world society, cure cancer."
For the first time in what felt like years, Vadim let loose a boisterous laugh. The sound waves echoed throughout the bar, earning more than one annoyed glance. "This is why you are favorite customer, even if you don't come give me your money very often anymore. Much like your father used to be my favorite customer! Heh, the tales we could tell…"
The man hummed in acknowledgement, eyes never straying from the faded baseball on the bar sign against the wall.
Noticing the distinct lack of desire to continue the subject, Vadim pivoted. "That reminds me, how is your mother? It has been some time since she came to drink some poor ublyudok under table!"
The patron took a drag of the cigar. He blew a ring and watched it slowly dissipate into the air. "Same as ever, I assume. You'd be a fool to think the years have slowed mom down at all. Heard that just the other day she nearly broke some guy's arm for catcalling her one too many times. Guard came by to check on the noise, took one look at her, kept walking."
"I have no doubt of that, my friend! She was always little firecracker when she graced my bar. Next time you see her, tell her that Vadim misses her dearly!" Vadim adopted a sad tone to accentuate just how broken up he truly was.
At last, the other man cracked what passed for a smile. "Sure thing, old man."
The conversation died, Vadim turning his gaze to a customer coming to the bar to place an order. The man tuned out the surrounding clamor, allowing his vices to hold his undivided attention once again. He was no stranger to spending his time alone at the Dugout Inn, making use of his imposing figure and sour-looking attitude to keep most of the rabble at bay.
As a result of the total of several years of this routine, he'd developed a reputation of 'someone not to fuck with.' The only souls that dared disturb him were those too full of drunken confidence for their own good, and the occasional drifter in search of a partner to warm their bed. Both types tended to leave the bar disappointed, though one more often than the other, and for entirely different reasons.
The damp heat became too much for him, and he removed his navy jacket, resting it on the next stool over. A short sleeved black shirt tucked into his pants was all that remained, save for a chain holding an unseen trinket beneath the fabric. A tattoo was half shown on his left arm; a skull set into a clock with Roman numerals bordering the edges. Between the numerals were abstract curling lines, intertwining amongst themselves all throughout the clock. A thick blindfold covered the sockets of the skull, riddled with tears and scorch marks.
The bell on the door jingled, signaling another new body to try to drain the ever-stocked stills. The man paid it no mind, keeping his eyes locked on the heavily weathered bar. It wasn't until the newcomer dumped his jacket onto the floor and dragged the stool closer to his, banging on the bar and asking Vadim for a glass of rum, that he tore his eyes away from the wood. He knew the mannerisms, the sound of the voice, even the footsteps. The woman slapped a hand on his shoulder, shaking him in greeting as she attacked the glass of alcohol with reckless fervor.
"Nat, we've talked about this, I get very upset when you dirty my clothes. Now I'll have to— "
Natalie Wright raised a finger as she emptied the glass, wasting no time in doing so before slamming the glass down and asking for another. She sighed deeply, as if having waited all day for that drink, and took the time to shift her long black hair behind her shoulders and resettle it into a bun. The sides of her head were shaved, fading into nothing as it travelled past her ears. This revealed her plaid buttoned shirt, left open just a step above what might be considered to be publicly indecent.
"Never lacking for confidence, are we?"
She stopped and smiled widely. "Aww, Jack, you know me so well!"
"I would hope so, since we're apparently related." Jack shook his head before returning to his cigar.
"So they keep saying. How the hell are ya, kid? You drop off the face of the earth for a couple months and just show back up like it's nothing! I mean, you do you my man, but your mom's gonna kill you if you keep disappearing on everyone without a word."
"You know me, been busy rescuing kittens from trees and helping old ladies like you cross the streets."
Nat swatted his shoulder with the back of her hand. "Ass. Well whatever, glad to see your ass occupying that stool again. Damn thing was starting to get lonely."
"And don't you forget it."
They shared a laugh as they settled in.
"So, what have you actually been up to, Jack? People ask me like I would know, as if you would've told me! Not that I was concerned you weren't coming back this time, I know you can handle yourself."
Jack shrugged, taking another sip before answering. "Odd jobs. Security for a trader, overgrown pest control, even did some debt collection. Whatever lines the pockets."
Nat hummed. "Well, I guess there's worse things for you to be doing. Never pegged you as the loan shark type, though, how'd you end up with that?"
"Got talking with one of the shopkeeps about their usual traffic; guy mentioned a couple deadbeats that opened a tab and then skipped town. Offered a hundred caps each for their debts or their hides, so I took it."
She turned to Jack, rested a hand on her thigh, and scanned his face. She didn't answer him until he looked back at her and asked. "What?"
"It's just odd, hearing you talk about killing people so willy-nilly like that. You weren't always so blah about it."
Jack scoffed. "Look I don't kill them straight up, Nat. That's the last resort, and I haven't had to go there yet. Don't worry, I'm not turning into the next Pickman."
Nat leaned back over. "Alright, I believe you. Hell, I'm just glad to see you whenever you head our way."
"Helps that the company's good." He clinked his glass against Nat's. "And what have you been doing?"
An hour later Jack and Nat found themselves sitting in the comfortable atmosphere as the night soldiered on. In between stories, they were content to merely sit and watch the crowd as it grew in number and recycled like the cells making up the lifeblood of the bar.
Jack always made a habit of keeping tabs on his surroundings, even when distracted with drink and company. He watched with mild curiosity as a tall, broad man stumbled in with all the grace of a Brahmin in a bathtub and floated from place to place, trying his hand at convincing any woman who would give him the time of day that he wasn't a total waste of human life.
Three times this happened before he sauntered over to a woman sitting alone at the bar giving off an air not unlike Jack had been not too long ago – 'leave me the fuck alone.' At a height at least a full head below the drunken man, she was having a more difficult time forcing him to leave; words failing to have the intended effect. After one too many unwanted advances, she snapped and shoved the man, causing him to stumble into a couch and fall to the ground, drink becoming an impromptu shower.
The attitude in the room sobered up in an instant, everyone quieting as the drunk bolted upright.
"You fuckin' bitch!" Pushing up his sleeves, he advanced toward the much smaller woman. Using his brutish size, he held the woman's arms at bay and pushed her into the bar. Glasses shattered as they were knocked to the floor, liquid going with them.
A stool loudly scraped against the stone floor, sending all sets of eyes to the source of the second disturbance. Jack stood stock still next to his seat, fists clenched. The stare he leveled at the other man threatened to cut through the wall of the building if his eyes burned any brighter. Nat, standing by with an equally incensed edge, gave a low whistle. "You fucked up now, you ugly shit."
"She said no, jackass. You should leave." Jack's voice boomed off the walls with an unmatched authority.
The man marched over to Jack, face inches from his own. He pointed a greasy finger at Jack. "And who the hell are you, pipsqueak, her fuckin' bodyguard?!"
"Doesn't matter. Get out of here."
The man snarled in anger, refusing to back down at Jack's challenge. His arm reared back, preparing a widely angled punch as he launched himself forward. Jack snared the man's wrist, spun him around, and muscled his arm behind his back, the drunken man's face being introduced to the bar.
"Back off and get out, or I'm breaking the arm."
Between ragged, booze-drenched breaths, he swore at Jack and struggled against his grip. "Fuck… you."
The bar patrons bore witness to a slew of nauseating sounds, topped off by the sight of the man's now-broken arm. The man howled in anguish, tears sliding down his face.
Nat put a hand on Jack's shoulder, causing his gaze to snap to her. Her chestnut eyes bored into his. Jack's anger abated, enough to convince himself to release the man. The body hit the floor with a loud thud, whimpering all the while. The room was otherwise silent; everyone looked at the victim with equal parts pity and disdain.
Jack snagged a fistful of the sniveling man's shirt and dragged him toward the exit corridor before shoving the door open, unoiled hinges shrieking in protest, and tossing the man outside. Nat heard the door slam shut, and the room gradually returned to its normal state. Jack walked over to the woman that the drunk had been harassing. "You alright?" He asked, low and quiet.
She broke out of the reverie she'd been in since Jack's intervention, "Y-yeah. He didn't even really touch me. Thank you."
Jack nodded and returned to his seat. He resumed his progress on his glass, as if nothing had happened, Nat joining him. "Nice work, white knight."
"Ain't going to stand for that shit. Maybe if he's lucky, Doc Sun won't make him wait till morning." Jack tossed back his glass.
Nat tilted her chin toward the far wall. "Isn't that the good doctor over there?"
He spared a glance to where she looked. Sure enough, there sat the elderly man laughing with his whole chest. Jack shrugged. "Shame."
The bar resumed its raucous nature, forgetting about the interruption entirely. Vadim kept the drink flowing, and the party at the Dugout continued well into the night.
Let me know what you thought!