"And what are we doing here?" asked Sam as he and Oz strolled in to a small town.
It wasn't much to look at. They had passed a rusted sign on their way in that said the town's name was Ely. There were several buildings, rising above the others, located in the centre of the town which looked like they were of Pre-War origin. But the rest of the town looked like a scrap heap, with the other buildings being built from scrap metal, old armour and what Sam guessed was remains of former Pre-War buildings that used to occupy the area.
"Recruiting" Oz said over his back. Sam grabbed his arm and pulled the man around so they were face to face.
"What do you mean recruiting?" demanded Sam, annoyed. This whole 'being light on details' business was starting to truly piss him off. Oz shook Sam's hand off his arm like it was nothing, but he still had a small smile on his face. Damn, but that man is always smiling at something, thought Sam.
"You didn't think the two of us were just going to stroll across the mountains alone, did you?" Oz asked.
"I did, actually"
Oz laughed a little, thinking Sam was making a joke. But when he looked back at Sam's stern face he just muttered something to himself and turned back to moving through the town. Sam sighed in annoyance, but followed the man nonetheless. He started to wonder, and not for the first time since the pair had left Vegas 4 days ago, what exactly he had gotten himself in to.
There weren't many people in town. A few merchants, pack Brahmins sagging under the heavy weight of various wares, were bartering with locals here and there, but for the most part the streets were empty. It wasn't until the pair got further that Sam started to understand why.
Rising out of the middle of the town was a huge, 3-storey Pre-War building that towered over the others, even the other Pre-War ones. He noticed a lot of people were staring up at it in wonder and almost forgot that out here, amongst the poor and hopeless, this was probably the largest building they had ever seen. It didn't compare to the Lucky 38, or any of the other casinos on the Strip, but Sam could understand why people would be impressed. It just looked powerful, indestructible, like looking up the face of a tall mountain range. It made him feel small for some reason.
As they got closer to the door Sam started to hear the noise of drunken singing and laughter. He looked up, wanting to see what this place was called, but there was no name. It just had the word 'INN' painted in white across the top of the doorway.
"No name?" asked Sam, nodding up at the letters above the door. Oz half turned towards him but continued walking.
"No need" he explained casually, "it's the only place for miles. Everyone knows it"
Sam was about to point out how stupid that was until they walked through the door. The place looked much bigger inside then it did from the outside, but even with this added size the place was packed.
On the back wall stretched a long bar that was staffed by 4 or 5 bartenders, each almost constantly busy pouring drinks. Waiters and waitresses scurried around, weaving in between the crowds of people, plates of food and drinks balanced precariously on one hand.
Everywhere else, at least from what Sam could see, was packed with people. Wastelanders sharing some drinks and a few laughs, merchants trying to do business, struggling to be heard over the noise, whores plying their trade in the corners, leading men up a flight of stairs in the back right corner...it was like an entire city squeezed in to one big hall.
Sam expected someone to throw him a look or two, seeing as how he was dressed in full armour, helmet and all, with several menacing looking weapons attached to his body and his pack. But no one so much as looked at him. I guess they see worse than me, he thought.
He noticed Oz was trying to say something to him.
"What?" he shouted, his voice just barely rising above the noise. Oz leaned in closer.
"I can see our man" he shouted back, "He's over the back, follow me." Then he disappeared in to the crowd.
"Damn it" Sam muttered, as he tried to follow. The crowd was so thick it felt like he was wading through mud. Nobody was moving for him either and weaving around them in full armour was near impossible, so eventually he just pushed his way through. This seemed to be the way it was done, as nobody said anything.
Eventually he found Oz shaking hands with a man. He was tanned, with short black hair, roughly the same height as Sam and with only slightly less muscles. He looked a warrior. That was until you looked at his baby face, a huge grin seemingly permanently etched on it. No warrior had a face like that.
The man offered his hand to Sam and he shook it. "Samael Grant" the Courier shouted, trying to get above the noise of the rest of the place.
"Patrick Maurice Garrett" the man shouted back, that smile still on his face, "but please, call me Mo"
"Mo it is" said Sam, smiling back. It was hard to be genuinely happy in this noisy, overcrowded place, but Sam figured it wouldn't hurt to be nice to the man. At least until he found out what Oz wanted from him.
Mo motioned for the pair to follow him and they came to an empty table, a single mug of beer all that was on it. Sam was genuinely surprised. He wouldn't have thought they could have found a chair, let alone a table for the three of them. But as Mo picked up the mug and downed its contents in a single gulp, he guessed the table had been his. The fact that no one had took it must mean he was known around these parts, but whether his reputation was a good or a bad one, Sam couldn't tell yet. He couldn't imagine this man being a killer but, looking around, he couldn't imagine the standing men willing to leave an empty table for a soft hearted Samaritan either. It was a big question mark that wormed it's way right to the front of his head and left him feeling uneasy.
They all sank in to chairs and Mo waved his mug at a waitress, trying to order another round, but she didn't see him through the crowd. He shrugged and turned back to the pair.
"So..." he started.
"It's been a while" offered Oz.
Mo grinned. "I know, right? When was the last time? New Canaan?"
"I thought it was Goldfield?"
Mo face palmed. "Ha! 'Course, how could I forget that? With that little Jimmer guy, right?"
"Yes" Oz laughed, "What a tool." They both laughed at that. All it did for Sam was make him feel like more of an outsider.
"So..." Mo started again, glancing at Sam before turning back to Oz, "I'm guessing you didn't come to talk about old times?"
"No, no I didn't" Oz said, "I have a job for you, if you're interested"
Mo leant back in his chair and folded his arms. "I'm always interested in work, you know that. What's the job?"
"Me and my friend here are going for Vault 16. We could use your computer skills and, honestly, Patrick's muscle wouldn't hurt either"
Sam stiffened. I thought his name was Patrick? There's another one?
"You know he's still pissed about Tonopah?" Mo asked.
"What? Why?"
"He feels you abandoned us..." Mo said solemnly, as if he partially felt the same. Oz looked away.
"I think...I think I should talk to him"
"You sure?" asked Mo, concerned, "you know what he gets like..."
"Got any better ideas?"
Mo opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to decide against it. "Not really" he finally said, "ok, here goes..."
He closed his eyes and his face went blank. He sat like that, in silence, and just as Sam was going to say something his eyes snapped open and fixed on Oz's face. But it was the rest of his face that shocked Oz. That baby face, that couldn't hurt a fly, was now twisted in to the most savage scowl Sam had ever seen, and considering the people he'd known that was saying something.
"You've got balls talking to us" he growled at Oz.
"Lucky I don't have the brains to match" laughed Oz. 'Mo' didn't get the joke. At least, that's what Sam hoped kept his face in a scowl. He felt his hand touch metal and looked down, a little surprised to see his hand already over the grip of his pistol. Old habits die hard I guess.
"I heard your offer" 'Mo' sneered, "and we're not going"
"Come on Patrick, it's a good deal and-"
"THAT'S WHAT YOU SAID ABOUT TONOPAH!" he roared, surging to his feet and almost knocking the table over in the process. Sam backed out of his seat, pistol drawn now, chair clattering noisily to the ground.
Patrick's eyes turned to meet his, that scowl sending shivers down Sam's back and almost making his heart skip a beat, then he closed his eyes. His face went blank, the scowl gone, and a moment later they opened and he shook his head, as if trying to clear his mind. The grin from before came back and he sat down, fixing up the table while he was at it.
"You're lucky. It's easier to lock him up when he's angry...and he was pretty pissed" said 'Patrick', although it sounded more like Mo. He looked at Sam, seeing him still half crouched, chair lying sideways on the ground between his legs, pistol in hand. He smiled broadly at him. "You won't need it, we're all good now. Jesus but I need a drink"
He got up and headed to the bar without another word. Sam was still in shock, but he had the presence of mind to holster his pistol, making sure nobody had seen him draw it. He had no idea what the laws were like in this area and didn't feel like making unnecessary trouble this early in their journey.
Luckily the place was noisy enough to cover both Patrick's yelling and Sam's chair falling, so he breathed out slowly to calm his beating heart, then rounded fiercely on Oz.
"You've got some explaining to do" he said, through gritted teeth.
"What about?" Oz asked casually, trying to wave one of the waitresses over to take his order. But in the horde of people she had no chance of seeing him.
"Are you dense?" Sam hissed, "What was that?" he waved his hand at the seat Mo had been sitting on.
"Oh...THAT" Oz said, turning to look at Sam and sighing, "he's a little...troubled"
"You've got to be kidding me..."
"Ok, ok...you're right, I should have told you before we came. I'm sorry" Oz said, although Sam couldn't tell if he meant it or not.
"Just tell me" Sam said, resigned to the fact that this was likely the most he was going to get out for now.
"Mo...well, technically Patrick...has two personalities. Mo is the easy one. Patrick...I think you can guess"
"And what do we need him for?"
"Them. What do we need them for" Oz corrected, before continuing, "We need someone who knows computers to help get us in to the lower levels of the Vault. That's Mo."
"And Patrick?"
"He knows his way around a gun and that's always handy" he answered with a smile, "he used to be with the Brotherhood of Steel, you know?"
"He was?"
"Yeah..." said Oz, shaking his head sadly, "he got captured by those Legion people, tortured for weeks...months...maybe years, no one knows. But that's where he picked up the passenger in his body, if you get what I mean"
Sam nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. He had seen firsthand what the Legion was capable of and, after reading some of Mr House's 'human condition' books, he wasn't surprised that Patrick would create a second personality to help him deal with the trauma.
"Wait..." started Sam, his brows furrowing as he just thought of something, "why is Mo the dominant personality if Patrick is the real one? And why is Mo easygoing? Shouldn't his split personality have been more like Patrick? Tougher, more savage, a better capability to handle that sort of trauma?"
"Ah" said Oz knowingly, tapping his nose, "you're not the first to ask that. In fact, I asked those very same questions the first time I met him..." he trailed off, his eyes staring off in to the distance as if remembering some old memory. Then he seemed to snap back to reality and he turned back to Sam. "I met a doctor once who thought that neither is the original Patrick Maurice Garrett. He said that the real one is buried so deep he might never come out, that both Patrick and Mo were created as a way for him to deal with it all." Then he shrugged. "And that sure as hell made sense to me"
Sam nodded. It was an obscure explanation, but he didn't expect anything more from the man.
"And is he the only one we need to...recruit?" Sam asked. Oz smiled.
"Of course not" he said, "but all in due time..." he trailed off, turning towards Mo, who had returned from the bar with 3 large mugs. His tongue was sticking slightly out of his mouth as he did his best not to spill the drinks and he sighed slightly with relief when he got them safely on the table.
He pushed a mug in front of both Oz and Sam, then raised his in the air.
"To old times" he said, "and older friends"
"Cheers" Oz said. Sam just nodded, and all 3 men took a long swig from their mugs.
"I take it you're not coming with us for free" said Sam, locking his eyes with Mo's. An expression crossed his face, one Sam couldn't quite make out, then he looked down and a slight smile stretched across his lips.
"All business...I like that" he said. He took another swig from his mug, "Well, a percentage of the Vault would be a start"
Sam's eyebrows raised slightly. "A start?"
"My services don't come cheap" he said, that slight smile still on his face, "so I was thinking..." he hummed thoughtfully, "...20 percent sounds fair"
"Oh, well...that's too bad" said Sam absently, taking a sip from his mug, "I was hoping we could work together. Oz?" he motioned towards the door and got up to leave.
Mo looked at Oz, a look of confusion on his face, but Oz had the same look on his face as well.
"Where are you going?" Mo asked.
"Who, me?" Sam asked innocently, "I'm going to Vault 16. Right Oz?"
"You know you need me to get in, don't you?"
Now it was finally Sam's turn to smile, a small, mocking smile. "See, there's the problem...I don't"
"Excuse me?"
Sam let out a laugh. "I brought down the Legion and NCR single handily. If you don't think I can get in to a Vault by myself..."
"This is no ordinary Vault. Did you tell him Oz?" Mo asked, turning to Oz. The man just nodded dumbly though.
"Oh, he told me. But what I didn't tell him is that I know my own way around computers" he turned to Oz, "details...who needs them, right?" he finished sarcastically. He turned and took a few steps towards the door.
"Wait!" called Mo. Sam couldn't help but smile, although he hid it as he turned back.
"Yes?"
Mo had a welcoming smile on his face. "Please, sit down and we'll talk about this"
"Why? If you don't come cheap I can't afford to take you"
"My price is...negotiable" Mo finally said, as if he had been searching for the right word.
"That's good to hear" said Sam, sitting back down and matching Mo's smile. "I was thinking more along the lines of 5 percent"
"That's a bit low...tell you what, let's split the difference, so it's-"
"10 percent it is" interrupted Sam, offering his hand to Mo. Mo still had his mouth open, about to say something, but then he sighed resignedly and took Sam's hand.
"There is one other thing" he said, before he shook Sam's hand, "I have a debt here. Nothing huge, a few hundred caps or so, but I'm all out of money and they won't let me leave until I pay it"
"I'll take care of it" said Sam, and the two men shook hands.
"So when did you want to leave? This place isn't bad, if you've got a few days to spare" said Mo, taking another gulp of his drink, "Boris is usually fair with his price and I could probably even get you a discount because of my..."
Sam tuned him out. He stared around the now silent room. People were still moving, still talking, laughing, making noise, but he was completely oblivious to it.
He thought about this place. A bed was a very tempting proposition; 4 days of sleeping on rocks, taking turns on watch would be enough for anyone to crave a soft mattress and maybe even a warm body. He looked over at the whores. It had been a while...
Then the noise started. It came in slowly, starting off like pouring water, building up to a cascading waterfall and finally ending as an angry bee-hive buzzing between his ears. Everyone, and he thought it was possible that it was literally everyone, was talking, or laughing, or just generally making noise. It made him nauseous and started a throbbing behind his eyes. Suddenly sleeping on rocks didn't seem so bad.
"How long until you're ready to go?" he asked Mo.
"Well, I'd have to put on my armour, pack a few things, get some supplies..."
"How long?"
"If I rush...10 minutes?"
"Good. Get to it"
Mo looked at Oz, his brows furrowing in mild confusion. "What? Right now?"
Sam was rubbing the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the throbbing. "Yes"
"Uh, the suns going down. Shouldn't we at least wait the night..."
"No"
A long pause as Mo stared at him, then the man shrugged. "Fair enough. You pay the bill and I'll get my stuff." He disappeared in to the crowd, heading for the stairs at the back.
"You sure about this?" Oz asked, leaning closer to Sam. Sam sighed, his headache not going away.
"As sure as I've always been" he answered sarcastically. He got up and headed towards the bar, leaving Oz alone to mind the table and his pack that he left on his seat.
The bar was as busy, maybe even more so, then when Sam and Oz had entered. It took 10 minutes just for him to be noticed and another 5 for someone to ask him what he wanted. A young lad served him and when he told him he was here to settle a debt the boy called out to the back for a man named Boris.
A big, lumbering man strode out of a door at the very end of the bar. Clearly this was Boris, the owner, that Mo had mentioned earlier and he was a fairly imposing man, with wide shoulders, thick hair and a thick moustache to top it off. His well rounded stomach and deeply lined face made him look old, likely in his mid-40s. Dressed in simple overalls, he looked annoyed by the distraction to whatever work he was doing out the back.
"What do you want?" he grunted rudely. Sam hid his annoyance.
"I'm here to pay the debt of Patrick Maurice Garrett" he answered formally. The old man laughed.
"You must be some kind of idiot" he said, "paying another man's debt...oh well, your life."
He reached under the bar and produced a well worn back. Opening it reverently, he held it at arm's length, squinting to read the writing. He was clearly long sighted.
"That's 137 caps. You paying it all know?" he asked. Sam nodded and pulled his cap pouch from his waist, the small, heavy sack jingling as it landed on the counter. The man's eyes widened as he saw the pouch and he looked back at the book, pretending to rub something from the page.
"Ah, forgive me," he said, "there was some dirt on the page. That's actually one thousand caps." He smiled then, like a predator closing in on his prey, "Looks like you got enough to cover it there..." he started, his hand slowly reaching for the pouch of caps.
Sam's caught it before it ever got close. "I'm here to pay a debt, not line your pockets" he said softly, but with a quiet authority, "I'll give you the 200, but no more"
"This is my bar," the man snapped, "I make the rules here". Sam looked at him, then noticed a dirty mirror standing behind the bar. Despite it's years of dirt and grime Sam could make out the shapes of two men, looking like nothing more than normal patrons with drinks in hand, who were clearly angling towards him. They were close too, close enough to stop him from reaching the pistol he had strapped to his thigh.
If a person were to say anything about Samael Grant, it was that he was a cautious man. A thinker, some might even call him a schemer, but he was definitely not one to run in to a situation that forced him to rely on luck to win. And this was just one of those situations.
Sam thought for a long moment, running over the different scenarios in his head, trying to think of a way to come out of this clean and easy. But he came up blank.
"You're not trying to cheat me then?" he whispered. Boris' face went red with rage.
"How dare you..." he hissed through clenched teeth. He nodded to someone over Sam's right shoulder and he felt a hand grab his shoulder forcefully.
Samael Grant may have been a cautious man, but he knew when he needed to fight. And if a fight is unavoidable, you might as well through the first punch.
Sam's left hand snapped up, locking on to the man's wrist. He pulled the arm forward, rolling his shoulder to get his right hand behind the man, grabbed his hair and slammed his face down on to the bar. There was a sickening crunch and Sam guessed the man's nose was broken, and if he was lucky that was all that was broken.
But he hadn't forgotten about the second man and turned, left arm raised ready to block a right hook, the typical punch of a half-drunk goon. But the man was already down on the ground, eyes staring up at Oz as he pushed his foot gently on to the man's neck.
"You really need to work on your customer service Boris" he said with a slight smile. Sam turned back to see the large man's eyes wide with fear. He quickly counted out the caps owed and pushed them over the bar.
"The debt is paid" he stated. Boris nodded meekly. Sam was just about to walk away when Oz moved past him and held out a folded piece of paper. Boris took it.
"Give this to the man" said Oz.
"What man?" Boris asked.
"Don't play stupid" Oz said calmly, "You know who. Tell him we're heading north"
He handed Sam his pack, then turned and headed in to the crowd. Sam followed him. They headed to the door and met Mo there. The man was dressed in full power armour, although it was dented, scratched, burnt and just generally damaged. He had his helmet in one hand and a pack over another. Sam also saw the tip of a plasma rifle, not unlike his own, sticking over the man's shoulder, magnetically stuck to the back of the metallic armour. Mo saw them both staring at the armour and gave it a look over himself.
"We've had some times, me and my second skin here" he said with a smile, "you still want to go, it's getting dark out there?"
Sam looked out on the town. The sun was going down, the very tip of it all that was showing over the mountain range in front of them.
"Yes" he said confidently, then headed out, not waiting to see their response. His headache eased the further he got from the INN though and, when he heard two sets of footsteps behind him, matching his pace, he sighed contently. As he lead them north he finally felt like he had some semblance of control over this little adventure.
"Excuse me" shouted a female voice, a little bit behind them. All 3 men turned to see a woman running up to them. She was wearing some rough leather armour and had a rifle slung across her back, as well as a pack. Her long dark hair was tied in a ponytail and while she wasn't stunningly attractive, Sam thought she was at least good looking. As she got closer Sam saw she was several inches shorter than him but she still looked like she could handle herself. "You wouldn't be heading north, would you?"
Oz and Mo both turned to look at Sam, unsure what he wanted to do. He wasn't exactly sure what to do himself but eventually he nodded.
"Why?" he asked, honestly curious why she would ask them. They were armed but he doubted they looked all that formidable.
"Well, I'm heading that way too and I'd rather not go it alone," she said, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, "so I was wondering if I could join up with you. My caravan isn't going any further..."
"Your caravan?"
"Oh, yes, sorry. I'm a caravan guard"
"So you can handle yourself in a fight?" Sam asked. She smiled.
"And then some" she answered cheekily. Sam looked at both Mo and Oz but neither said anything, although Oz had a slight look of concern on his face.
"I don't have to pay you or anything, do I?" he asked suspiciously. She laughed, the sound pure and unforced.
"No, no, if anything I should be paying you" she said.
"How about you 'guard' us and we'll consider it even?" he offered. She nodded and stuck out her hand.
"I'm Abigail, by the way. Abigail Winters. But everyone calls me Abby."
"Samael" said Sam, shaking her hand, "call me Sam."
Mo shook her hand, a grin of his own on his face, although it was clear what he was thinking of as he looked her up and down more than once. Oz shook her hand meekly, then looked away, deep in thought. Sam swore he heard him mumbling 'not part of the plan' over and over, but he couldn't be sure.
"So are you leaving now?" she asked. Sam nodded. "But it's getting dark..." she said, trailing off.
"See!" said Mo, as if she just proved him right.
"We've wasted enough time here" Sam grunted, then started walking again. The others followed, the setting sun on their sides, a small road leading in to the mountain range ahead of them stretching out in front of their feet.
Mo put his helmet on, a hissing sound coming from it as the suit fully pressurized. Sam did the same, although his suit wasn't pressurized so there was no hiss. Still, he turned the night vision on with a low setting and the darkened mountain lit up in front of him. He smiled. For the first time in months he was back out in the wastes, doing what came naturally. Ruling New Vegas was seemingly taking a bigger toll on him then he thought as he realised how much he missed this kind of adventure.
He had thought he was ready to settle down after Hoover Dam but right here, right now, he was glad to be proven wrong.
The room was an absolute mess as Abercrombie entered. Four bunk beds were lined up, two each, against parallel walls. There were clothes, under garments, uniforms, everything, scattered around the floor, including several empty bottles and what looked like scraps of mouldy food.
There were 3 young men lounging around the furthest bed from the captain, all bunched around a small radio, relaxing to some Pre-War tunes on the Enclave civilian radio station. They didn't even seem to notice him, which sparked his annoyance.
"Officer on deck!" he barked and two of the men jumped up, snapping in to a crisp salute. But the third, a wiry blonde, just looked up from the magazine he was reading, sighed and slowly joined them. Abercrombie checked the file again and was sad to see that that was his newest recruit.
"You two" he said, pointing at the other two, "out" he nodded towards the door. They saluted again and left, almost rushing out the door. The lower ranks usually didn't like being around officers and very few wanted to be around Abercrombie, although that seemed to be the normal reaction to him nowadays so he wasn't surprised.
"Corporal Hart?"
"What's this about?" asked the young man absently, yawning quite loudly. Abercrombie's eye twitched with annoyance.
"You've been transferred to my unit. I expect you to pack lightly and head to the hangar in 10 minutes"
"Excuse me?" Hart asked, seemingly surprised that Abercrombie would dare say such a thing. Abercrombie stepped up to him slowly, then swiftly grabbed two fist full's of the man's shirt, spun around and slammed the rather light man in to the closed door. "What the f-" he started.
"Listen carefully" Abercrombie snarled through clenched teeth, "you might have been able to breeze through the army up until now, but that ends here. You're an Irregular and you will show your commanding officer the respect he deserves"
Hart looked like he wanted to hit Abercrombie. He almost wished the young man would try it, but as he released him the young man just stared at him, like he was trying to stare him down.
"I've been transferred?"
"Sir" growled Abercrombie.
"I've been transferred...sir?" he asked, almost spitting the last word out, "I wasn't informed of this..."
"You're being informed now" snapped Abercrombie. "Pack your things, I expect you in the hangar in ten minutes or I'll do more than throw your weak ass against a door"
Hart glowered at him, but moved around and started to sift through the assorted clothes on the floor, picking out clothes that were his. Abercrombie strode out of the room, still fuming.
He knew he could have, should have, handled that better. First impressions were everything, even in this line of work, and it seemed he had paved the foundation for a bad relationship with the man that, in all likelihood, would be the difference between his life and death at some point. But his lack of respect, lack of protocol...it just sent Abercrombie over the edge. How could you trust a man to watch your back, to do what he's told, if he can't even follow a simple rule like addressing a superior officer as sir? He started to realise now why the man had been transferred so many times, but unfortunately he knew he was stuck with him no matter what. The Council wanted him gone and the 2nd Irregulars was the furthest gone anyone could go. There was no getting out of his unit, short of coming home in a body bag. And nobody deserved that, not even this arrogant prick.
He sighed. Hopefully the boys like him he thought, thinking about his men. He would see them soon, as the vertibird was going through pre-flight procedures now, but he had a bad feeling about this mission. Some of them weren't going to be coming that, he could feel it in his bones. But that was the job. He was a soldier and he followed his orders, even if he was hated by the people who gave them. He just hoped it was worth it this time.
Farilla strode through the market, one of her fine dresses draped over her well toned figure. She had gone several days without a man and, bored, had set off for the civilian markets to pass the time. There wasn't much there for someone like her; the stands were filled with relative junk, things that were rare in the wastes but rather common in the Enclave's Pre-War stocks, which were in better condition as well. Of course, most of the civilians didn't have access to those stocks, so they flocked to these markets every week to buy whatever crap the merchants had managed to dig up in their travels. She felt sorry for them, really. They didn't understand what they were missing out on.
But a part of her also envied them. They enjoyed such simple things, a skill that she had long since forgotten. Drenched in the finest things the Enclave had, she found little enjoyment in anything anymore, even her occasional acts of adultery. She realised that being locked in a loveless and ultimately unfulfilling marriage probably didn't help either.
Then she shook her head, snapping out of her thoughts. What was she thinking? She had everything. A marriage to one of the most powerful men in the Enclave, everything she ever wanted literally at arm's reach. She was the one others envied, not the other way around. Still, she felt like she was missing something and so turned her attention to the task she had come here for; finding another man. The soldiers were starting to bore her and the civilians, while less impressive, were generally more interesting.
She noticed a few well built men, probably miners, mechanics or some such, but they were too like the soldiers, bulked up losers with inflated egos. Then she spotted a particular man.
He wasn't anything special and, as she got a full look at him, she noticed he was in uniform. A soldier she thought and tried to turn her attention to scouring the crowd again, but something drew her back. He wasn't physically impressive, he had a slightly chubby baby face and his hair was a mess, like someone had dyed a mop black and glued it to his scalp. But as she studied him she felt her heart skip a beat and, looking down, she saw her hands were shaking slightly. She smiled broadly then. Finally, she thought, something different.
She strode over to him and stood next to him, although he initially didn't say anything. He glanced at her, but looked too meek to say anything.
"Farilla Dushon" she said to him. He turned to look at her. His cheeks went slightly red as they locked eyes and he had to quickly look away. How cute, she thought. She froze. Cute? What the hell has gotten in to me, she thought?
"Steven Hughes" he mumbled. She smiled at him and he half smiled back, seemingly unsure what to do.
"Would you like to go somewhere to talk?" she asked him smoothly, a line she had practiced and repeated hundreds of times before. He nodded dumbly, then looked around.
"Where?" he managed to ask.
"Oh, I know a place..." she answered seductively and grabbed his hand, leading him towards an exit. She felt her heart beating faster as they continued walking hand in hand. This is definitely going to be interesting, she thought.