Meeting Moira had been...interesting. Cort could probably quantify the entire thing as bizarre, but seeing as how the rest of her life was now in backwards-land, it really wouldn't have made any difference. Two hours later(and thank heavens she found the bathrooms on the way, very unsurprisingly she had had to pee like a racehorse), she was lighter, slightly richer, and somehow tasked with a really weird set of assignments. In hindsight, she probably should have asked what exactly Mirelurks and Molerats were before agreeing to trot off after them. The descriptions were less than thrilling, even when delivered with a cheery 'Youbetcha!' Considering every time she managed to go somewhere new it involved her becoming insensible she needed to get resources to somehow prevent it, or at least cushion her fall on the way down. At least bartering was familiar. With a limited set of possessions inside the Vault, everyone got a little crafty at trading, and bottle caps weren't too different from comic books, at least in theory.

She'd gotten a bit of a crash course in Wasteland 101('oh soooo funny, girl, tell another' she snarked at herself), received an explanation on what the lunatics around the bomb were doing, and had some more map markers added to her Pip-Boy.

Cort sat on the edge of one of the ramps and plucked at the armoured Vault suit Moira had given her. There was a puzzle. Moira didn't look old enough to have been around when Grandma Taylor and whoever Lewis(probably related to Floyd, Cort thought, nudging at her sunglasses) was. That implied that someone else had made it out before her father and her, and meant that for all the massive lead and steel plug, 101 was about as leaky as a screen door. Whenever it was must have been before she was born and when Amata's father hadn't been in charge. She supposed she would have heard about the shit fit it would have presumably caused otherwise. Maybe my own grandmother, Cort mused. It's a fucking family tradition.

Looking around, she tried to decide what to do. Simms was busy across the bowl talking to someone next to the Brahmin, which is apparently what went for cows, or where cows went to, depending on how you wanted to look at it. Her eyes swiveled back to the bomb. Well, Moira wanted her to get irradiated...it couldn't turn out that badly, since she had her Pip-Boy to judge how sick she was down to the rad, and she was promised a checkup and cure when she was done. She could certainly use more towards some Rad-Away, since every food she tested ticked like a wristwatch. Moira was definitely scatterbrained, but she appeared to be successful enough, and probably could manage the treatment for radiation sickness. It wasn't really brain surgery by any stretch, she was in horrible physical shape compared to everyone else out here to go tromping off into the wastes(at least from a fitness standpoint), and truth be told, part of her really wouldn't mind it if she dropped dead on the spot. She labeled this part the wind chime part, since it felt like her first morning, and set to taking off her boots and socks after swallowing a giggle that threatened to choke her. Relatively painless and quick won over being shot or chewed to death any day.

Cort delicately shuffled into the pool around the bomb. "Hmm, tingly!"

"Have you come to embrace the greatness of Atom, my child?" Confessor Cromwell intoned from her left.

"More so to get battered to hell by it, actually."

"Yes, the burden of the Glow can be great. Bask in it and be divided!"

"That's not really what I...sooo tell me about your church then, huh?" Cort went for bland interest over the theological mud sling she felt nudging around the edges of this conversation. She smiled politely and nodded in the appropriate places and thought about drinking out of the pool to speed things up, then reconsidered when she thought that Cromwell would probably take that as a commitment to his loopy brand of faith. Feeling mildly sick and bored, halfway through a what was now Cromwell's soliloquy about the 'blessed of Atom', whoever they were, she decided to flip open a panel on the bomb next to her. Somewhere a plate crashed and she vaguely registered the opinion with herself that more than a few necks would probably be sore with the way the heads on them whipped around to look at her.

"This looks a lot like the oven timers Stanley let me repair when Andy tore through the cafeteria kitchen. Isn't it funny you'd use the same thing to start baking people as to finish baking for people." There was one of those alarming giggles again, but she managed to turn this one into a burp. Cort rolled her cuffs up to the thigh and plopped down in front of the panel. This would speed up exposure and give her something to do. She dug her hands in the wires and rummaged around happily. This was something familiar, and familiarity right now was rare and soothing.

"Miss Cort? What do you think you're doing?" Simms had come up behind her, his boots not quite touching the edge of the pool.

"Helping Moira and keeping myself busy. Your robot is a bald face liar, by the way. This thing's active as hell. You're probably lucky nobody's hit it in the right spot." Cort continued to yank things loose and twist off wires. "You're also lucky I read Dean's Electronics and repaired stoves." Two or three hiccups escaped in a row.

Simms crooked an eyebrow and started moving into a position to shoot her without hitting the bomb or Cromwell(although the bomb took priority) when Cort wobbled to her feet and slammed the panel shut with a bang. He wasn't sure but he thought the scream and thump he heard after that was Jenny Stahl passing out behind her counter. Simms watched as the girl fiddled with her Pip-Boy, which started clicking so hard it was nearly screaming.

"Oh good! 608 Rads. Excuse me, I have to get back to Moira before I drop dead. Bomb's disarmed now, by the way. You don't have to change the robot."

Cort wandered past Simms, shaking mud off her feet and making a very erratic course up towards Craterside Supply. Simms ran a hand over his face and sighed. "I need to tell Stockholm to give a second thought before letting in weird." He grabbed a post and leaned in closer to flick the panel Cort had been fooling with open to peer inside. "Sonofabitch. Little girl actually did it." Sparing a glance for Cromwell, Simms decided not to notify him of the destruction of his personal God. The radiation was probably enough to keep him happy anyway, at least until he mutated or expired. The Church of Atom were decent citizens, for all they were their own brand of crazy.

Another scream rang out and Simms nearly lost his grip on the post. Hauling himself back from the pool, he looked up towards Moira's.

"A teeny tiny bit WHAAAT?"

Simms winced at the climbing range of Cort's second screech and sighed again. He'd have to tell her about her father now. He had a debt to pay and a prize to award, and damned if he was going to bald face lie to a citizen that useful. He hoped the kid could handle tricky people as well as wires.