Takes place before the events of Chapter 1.

"Hey, Fahrenheit!"

The ginger turned at the sound of her name. Emery. Vault dweller, approximately 230-something years old. Hancock had told her about the lass's "bangin' body art", too. Emery mostly wore her vault suit, like today, or on cooler days, wastelander clothes, so the tattoos were hardly ever visible. Hancock had done a little bit of touring with Emery- that he knew this came as little surprise. No surprise, actually. Fahrenheit was never surprised. Fahrenheit finished up her quick and silent analysis in less than a second.

"Hey." She greeted in her own gruff way.

"Hey back. I was wondering, d'ya wanna hang out?" Emery asked, head cocked.

Fahrenheit stared back for a silent moment. "No MacCready hanging off of you?" Emery and MacCready had recently been known to go together. This consisted of a lot more than just watching her back and taking caps, like a real merc. Fahrenheit knew that- she was the most loyal one for miles around. And she knew not to become emotionally invested or fuck clients. Stupid MacCready.

"No, he's sick." Emery answered. Fahrenheit rather liked her- when she was present, shit got done.

"Sure, let's go chill. Hancock's passed out on one of the couches." The guard turned on her heel and pushed the door to the Old State House open with her shoulder.

The pair had been drinking whiskey and chatting, from noon to sundown. Fahrenheit had taken the couch with a half-sprawled John Hancock on it and Emery had been graced with a couch to herself.

"So why does he like to fuck outside so much, right?" Emery asked, pointing with the glass she held toward the ghoul. Fahrenheit shrugged, pushing at one of his feet. She took another sip of whiskey. "He's really into that shit, I mean, I think a lot of people like it? Dunno, some of these creeps are um,"

"Creeeeeeeepppppyyyyy." Emery added, grin on her face.

"Yeah. Myy turn," Fahrenheit drawled. Another sip of whiskey.

"Shoot." Emery poured another glass of whiskey for herself, and took a sip.

"He told me about your, damn. What're they called? Anyways, he said you had them on you."

Emery stood. "The tattoos? Yeah, he loves 'em."

Fahrenheit grinned. "Shooooowwww meee."

Emery started to unzip her suit, revealing more and more cleavage as she did so. She'd soon peeled the entire thing off, standing in only her bra and panties. A Neighborhood Watchman whistled from a few feet away. Fahrenheit did too. "A skull with flowers?" she asked, confused what the two had in common. "Popular when I got 'em." Fahrenheit's eye traveled further down the thigh. "So, winged babies, flowers, skulls, and a few trees?" Pre-war shit was weird. "Yeah, I know. What the fuck. I think they're-"

"Fuckin rad, man." Hancock stirred awake. His waking sight was half-nude Emery. A shit-eating grin formed on his face. "Were you gonna take anything else off or…?"

"Go back to sleep." The pair demanded simultaneously.