The metal door opens with a swirl of warm night air and the smell of dust; a little smoothskin walks in and takes off her odd helmet. A mop of dark curly hair practically explodes and tumbles everywhere as the helmet comes off. Her eyes sweep the room and land on him, immediately going round as saucers. She's brave though, he'll give her that. She schools her expression into something a little more presentable with all the effort of mastering a mad brahmin.

She doesn't appear disgusted, exactly, but emotions are flitting across her face as quick as humanly possible. He catches glimpses of fright, fascination, and then oddly, concern.

With a deep breath, she pulls herself together and hitches on the shoulder straps of her pack, like she's getting ready to go on a long journey.

Approaching a corpse would count as a long journey, he thinks.

That creepy Mr. Burke seems determined to get her attention, and is waving his arms like a lunatic. When that fails, he actually snaps his fingers and whistles at her, like a dog. She stops and turns slowly, fixing him with a glare that would have peeled paint. She stalks past him like he doesn't exist.

Gob is liking this smoothskin already.

Sidling up to the bar, she plops down on a barstool and gives Gob an honest to goodness grin. She opens her mouth to talk to him, but is interrupted.

"Hey, baby. You're cute, and I'm Jericho. Wanna screw?"

So much for subtlety. Gob stifles a laugh when the girl cheerfully tells him he can 'fuck right off and sideways,' like she's talking to him about the weather.

Jericho, too drunk to be mad, lets out a startled laugh and mutters something about 'fucking rat bastard kids these days.' She's lucky he's on the right side of smashed or he would have beat her into the ground.

She turns back to Gob with that thousand watt smile.

He can't remember the last time someone actually smiled at him besides Nova and Moira Brown. Neither of them really counted though. Nova has been strung out on Jet for three years and Moira is a cheese slice short of a sandwich.

They both smile all the time like a perfect pair of dipshits, and it doesn't mean a thing. This girl smiles a real smile, and while it makes him nervous, he can't help that stupid warm feeling from spreading in the center of his chest.

"So, I don't want to be rude," the girl says confidentially, swinging her too-short legs under the bar like a living metronome, "so don't answer this if you don't want to, but what happened to you? Is there anything I can do to help?"

He relaxes. She means him no harm, too ignorant to be an immediate threat. He thinks he can probably talk to her without getting hit. "You been living under a rock, smoothskin? I'm a ghoul."

She seems to take that and roll it around a little. "Hmm. Ghoul."

"What, you never seen a ghoul before?"

Gobtholomew has been stuck in this hellhole of a bar for fifteen years with nothing to break up the stifling boredom of his days except beatings, and the compulsive polishing of glasses. Needless to say, he notices everything.

He looks her up and down and the pieces start to fall into place. The unscarred skin and shiny hair have never seen lack of clean water, a healthy roundness in the small face that is ignorant of hunger, the clear whites of her eyes a stranger to disease, while the irises snap with an intelligence that comes from an actual education.

Vault kid.

It had been a long while since he'd seen one of those, but lately, they seemed to be escaping their little warrens with the frequency of rats fleeing a sinking ship. When one did manage to stumble into town, well, they just weren't quite right. It wasn't easily recognizable of course, but they were just different - flighty and nervous.

And crazy.

One he met talked to himself constantly and couldn't stand being outside during the day. Said the sky was too big and heavy and was sure it would crush him. He had wandered out into the Wastes one night and just never came back. What was his name? Something commonplace and forgettable. George? Glen? Gary maybe?

Her face is scrunched up, looking at him like she's trying to solve a difficult puzzle. "No. I assume it has something to do with radiation?"

"Got it in one. Took too much radiation, and here I am. Now what do you want to drink?"

"I'll have a Nuka-Cola, maybe?"

"Good choice." He looks over his shoulder and doesn't see Moriarty. "I like you, so I'll tell you this up front," he murmurs, just loud enough for her to hear. "Don't drink anything in here that isn't already sealed."

"Why? Something bad in it?"

Gob nods seriously as he pops off the cap. "It sure as hell isn't good. You're lucky you got me instead of Moriarty. Real lucky."

"Thanks," she mumbles, sniffing the cola suspiciously.

"What, you've never had one?"

"No, Dad said it'll rot your teeth, but I've heard it's good. It is, right?"

"Try it and find out, Lucky. Don't forget the cap."

She grins at his nickname for her. "Lucky. I guess I kind of am. I'm alive, right?" She pockets the cap and takes a sip. Her eyes get round and a look of pleasant surprise passes across her features.

"It's...spicy?" She sticks her tongue out and tries to look at it with crossed eyes.

Gob actually laughs at this and it sounds so foreign and strange to his own ears he has an inexplicable urge to clap his hands over his mouth.

"Not spicy, smoothskin, that's just the carbonation."

"Well," she says, peering into the bottle and back to his face, "I think I like it."

Three Nuka-Colas and a two hours later, Lucky has been educated in most things Wastelandia and Megatonese. She tells him about the vault and her dad going missing.

He wants to tell her he saw him a day or two ago, but Gob is a fucking coward.

He hates himself for being such a spineless piece of shit. Fifteen years of constant abuse has beat him down so far, he's not sure he could ever get up again. Another fifteen, and he would probably go feral. Maybe it would be a blessing, to stop caring and just fade away. He simultaneously shivers and smiles at the thought of a freshly feral Gob chewing on Moriarty's arm.

Gob skips the part about her dad and tells her about Moriarty instead, about Nova, and how he ended up in the saloon.

"You really can't leave? What's keeping you from telling him…"

"What, to "fuck right off and sideways?" he interrupts with a snort, an impressive feat for someone missing the soft tissue of their nose. "You've got a mouth on you, Lucky."

She ducks her head and looks sheepish, of all things. "Kids are scared when you're smarter than them, and it makes them mean. You've got to be mean right back."

Gob sighs. If only he could be 'mean right back'. He's had detailed fantasies of killing Colin Moriarty every day for over a decade. "I'd give anything to leave, but he'd rather kill me than let me go. Besides, I'm a ghoul, not a human. No one's going to stop and help a walking corpse."

Her brows draw together as she frowns.

"That's stupid. Your DNA might have a few more loopty-loops now, but how are you not human in the ways that count? You're bipedal," she says, ticking her points off on slender fingers, "you walk, talk, reason, feel, and remember like a human." She waves her hands as she gets more excited. "Think of it this way, you thrive in a distinctly radioactive environment. If anything, it's "smoothskins" who are inferior, biologically speaking."

He whistles through his teeth, impressed. "You're smart. Doesn't change a thing though."

"Well, I'll think of something," she says with a calculating look on her face.

"You do that, but forgive me if I don't wait up for you."

"What about other ghouls? Are there many others like you?"

He explains all about Underworld, marks it on her little computer, and tells her about Carol.

"If you get out that way, tell her I say hi. I sure do miss her," he says, and thinking of Carol makes his heart twist into a knot that will never really untangle.

"Shouldn't wish for things you can't have, boy-o." Gob cringes as he hears the Irish brogue much too close behind him. Moriarty claps him on the shoulder, hard.

There will be a beating tonight, in the dark, when the customers have all gone home. Nova will be upstairs, hopefully sleeping, and Gob will keep quiet so as not to wake her. She doesn't get nearly enough sleep these days. He'll have to clean up the drops of his own blood from the floor before morning.

Somehow, though, having a normal conversation with a real person might be worth it.

"Now, little one, drink your drink and don't bother the help. You don't have to listen when the zombie yaps, you know," Moriarty says with a wink.

Her brows furrow at the word "zombie", but just as quickly the look is replaced by a sweet smile. Gob can see it is the type of smile that's soft on one side, but sharp on the other.

"Oh, I don't know, I find him to be fascinating."

"Well, it's best if you find your drink or Nova's tits more fascinating. Now, shut up, drink up, and get out," Moriarty growls, patience wearing thin.

"Oh, now, I didn't mean any harm, just interested in anyone new. Tell me about your bar and this Nova. She sounds so nice, I just may want to rent a room for the night."

Gob wants to laugh at both of them, her for trying to play Moriarty, and Moriarty thinking he could play her. It's like watching a game of cat and mouse; one with two cats and no mouse at all.

Moriarty stares at her a moment, but greed wins out.

"Of course, little one! You'd be hard pressed to find better company in all the Wastes. Now, it's almost closing time. Except Nova, she's always open."

Lucky giggles politely at his joke, but a bit of something hard flashes in her eyes.

"Before I do, I have a few questions about a man that might have come through, tall, dark hair and eyes, paler than me, has one of these." She turns her little computer over with a flick of her wrist and the dim bar lights glint off the screen. "Have you seen him?"

Moriarty smiles, an old wolf with worn down teeth. "You must be the little baby girl, all grown up! I've seen him, all right. He's already come and gone. Got what he came for and left just as fast."

"Wonderful!" She claps her hands the way a child might. "Can you tell me where he went?"

Moriarty does his best to look apologetic and fails miserably. "Ah, I could, yes, but nothing is free out here in the Wasteland, as you'll soon find. 100 caps should do the trick." He chuckles at her crestfallen face. "Fine, if you haven't got the funds, just run a little errand for me, and perhaps we can work out an arrangement. You know, for old time's sake."

Lucky shrugs noncommittally, but inclines her head like she's listening.

"A woman named Silver was in my employ. Traitorous harpy stole 300 caps worth of chems from me and ran. Find her, kill her, and bring back whatever caps that junkie bitch hasn't already pissed away."

Lucky smiles the smile, smooth as glass and just as sharp, just as likely to kiss you or kill you. Moriarty is a fool for not noticing it, but caps are clouding his eyes. "I'll see what I can do," she says. "Now, I believe it's past my bedtime."

"Nova! Get your whore ass down here, you've got a customer!" Moriarty yells up the stairs.

Nova sashays down and her bleary eyes go wide as she takes in the little Vault dweller.

Gob wishes Nova would look at him like that. He knows Nova is only nice to him because she's usually blitzed out of her mind, but he can't help soaking up her kind words like a thirsty earth and turning them into something they have no business being. She has never touched him, not once in the five years she had been here. Nova touches everyone else, her hand on an arm, the back of her knuckle down a cheek, her fingers playfully ruffling someone's hair, and Gob truly can't tell if it's because she actually wants to or because it's just a habit.

"Aren't you just pretty as a picture!" Nova says, running a finger down the back of Lucky's hand. "Give your caps to Colin and come to bed, sugar."

The Vaultie just wants her hair combed.

Nova wishes she had another dose of Jet, even half a dose. Time moves so fucking slow without it. Her hands shake and the nausea of withdrawal is tearing at her gut. She's wearing thin, and Moriarty's holding out on her to 'teach her a lesson.' She had asked to keep a few more of the caps she earned. He looked like he wanted to beat her, but no john wants a bruised up piece of ass, so he hit her where it hurt. Vicious bastard always knew where the soft spots were.

Nova runs the brahmin-bone comb through the shiny locks and relaxes a little with the steady, mind-numbing motion. Now she understands why Gob is always polishing the glasses. The Vaultie's hair is soft as the tight curls slip through her fingertips and smells like something sweet.

Nova's jealous, but not jealous enough to stop sending a little prayer to heaven that the Wasteland won't frizzle out the silky strands with its heat and wind like it has everyone else's.

Some good things on this earth should be able to stay good, right?

As his face smashes into the floor and he feels the gush of blood that comes when whatever is left of his nose is broken, just like it has a hundred times before, Gob thinks of how that thousand watt smile shined in his direction and decides he was right.

It was worth it.