The child's legs dangle as she sits on a bar stool that is far too tall for her. She kicks them idly and stares at Willow who is sitting beside her at the bar, chewing anxiously on her nails as she nurses a beer in front of her.

She's been here for a while now, drinking, listening to Magnolia's crooning, and ultimately procrastinating on actually going back to the VIP room and meeting this... MacCready character Sadie had spoken about. The child is smiling with amusement, and she twirls a strand of red hair around her finger.

"Are we just gonna... sit here all night?" she asks, leaning over. Willow's eyes flick to her, but she doesn't respond. Instead, she picks up her warm beer and takes a swig, her nose curling when she does.

"Tastes like piss, don't it?" asks the Mr. Handy behind the bar. Whitechapel Charlie. Willow finds the robot quite entertaining, honestly. He floats around behind the bar with a fancy little hat atop his metallic head and he yells at the patrons who piss him off. His banter has actually helped calm Willow's nerves – even if only a little. "Don't worry, after the fourth or fifth one, they stop tasting like much of anything." he adds, and Willow smiles faintly at him. She lifts her beer bottle and sees that it is a sip away from being empty.

"Well... Guess I better get another one then." she chuckles and reaches into her pocket, then slides some caps across the bar. Charlie takes them, counts them, and bobs one of his glassy eyes as if he were nodding.

"Fine choice." he says and floats away to get her another beer. The child watches him go, then turns back to Willow.

"Another one? Seriously?!" she scolds, and Willow turns her head to look straight out in front of her, ignoring the child. Her fingers drum on the counter in irritation, and the child sighs loudly, dramatically. "Oh my Gooooood, man," she whines, "Hey, I've got an idea! Let's waste all our caps on booze! Who needs a mercenary when we can just be alcoholics instead! Surely this is a better solution to our problems!"

Willows jaw is clenched, and she is staring directly at the child now, eyes hard and brimming with indignation. Charlie floats back over then, beer in his claw, and notices her staring pointedly past the empty stool beside her and toward the VIP Lounge.

"Somethin' over there I'm s'pose to be seeing?" the robot asks, two of his three photoreceptors turning toward the lounge. Willow blinks, gives the child one last warning look, then turns back to Charlie. She takes the beer from him a bit more aggressively than she means to, and Charlie's lenses constrict as if he were narrowing his eyes. "Oi!" he exclaims. "Watch it, would ya?!"

Willow takes a sizeable gulp of beer and attempts to be more gentle in how she puts the bottle back down on the bar. "Sorry..." she mutters and pinches the bridge of her nose. A tinny, mechanical sigh escapes Charlie and he grabs a rag from behind the bar, moving to wipe up the beer Willow had spilled.

"You're an odd one, ain't cha?" he chastises her, but Willow does not respond to his question. She glances back to the child beside her, who is watching her expectantly, then draws in a breath.

"Do you know anything about a... MacCready?" she asks instead, and Charlie barely looks up at her.

"What about 'im?" he asks. Willow's fingers tighten around the beer in her hand, and she can hear her heart thumping in her ears. When Willow doesn't answer, Charlie's photoreceptors swivel to look at her curiously. "He's in the Lounge, if you wanted to see him." he says. He figures quickly she is likely looking for a gun for hire, and he doesn't hate the thought of getting the man away from his bar for a few days anyway.

Willow chews her lip, staring at the doorway into the VIP Lounge now. She swallows, and then, after a moment, slides off of the barstool. For some reason, her stomach is twisting itself into a knot. She doesn't even know why she is so nervous – maybe it is the fear of being vulnerable enough to ask for help. She has always been a lone wolf. She doesn't work with people. This was all... so foreign to her.

She takes her beer from the bar and pushes the bottle to her lips, tipping it back and chugging its' contents before she places the empty bottle back onto the counter. "Thanks, Charlie." she says, then pounds her fist to her chest to help a burp up. If Charlie had an eyebrow to raise, he certainly would. Instead, he watches her straighten her shoulders and ball her fists, before she grabs her bag and heads toward the lounge.

"Hey, tell the bastard if he can't be bothered to pay his tab, the least he could do is bring his empties to the bar!" he calls out after her, but then goes back to tidying his bartop. "Strange bird, that one." he mutters quietly to himself.

There is a short hallway which seperates the VIP Lounge from the rest of the bar. Willow's steps slow as she enters it, and halfway through, she stops and moves in towards the wall, reaching out her hand to feel the cool surface beneath her palm. She steadies herself, and looks around in the red light, eyes scanning for the child, her most annoying little travel companion. But she cannot find her. Go figure. Now, she feels completely alone.

She draws in a deep breath, pushes herself off the wall, and straightens again. She is not an imposing woman – with her jacket open, it is evident just how thin and bony she is. She stands at an average height, and has a face that appears younger than it is. Her hair is long, black and straight, with bangs cut too short because she had done them herself. And she has ears which are almost disproportionately big against her head. She is an awkward looking woman, but she tries to make herself look far more hardened than she really is as she finally steps into the room.

MacCready isn't hard to find, on account of the fact that he is the only person in the lounge. He turns his head, his eyes flicking up and down the woman as she walks in and stares down at him where he sits. And she says nothing at first, which makes her seem almost... unsettling.

He clears his throat and furrows his brow slightly. "You need something?" he asks, already sounding annoyed.

Willow's expression is cold, unreadable, but she tilts her head, eyes on him as she does so. "I don't know, are you offering something?" she replies, earning her a sigh from MacCready. He puts his drink down on the table beside him and stands, crossing his arms. He is taller than Willow and a lot scrappier than she had imagined him to be. In fact, he looks nothing like she expected him to – she had been picturing a muscular, staggering hulk of a man. Maybe a tattoo or two. Bald, if she was being honest. Old.

Instead, the man before her is far younger. Maybe even closer to her own age. He is thin, lean, and his clothes are ripped and dirty. It makes her wonder if she has the right guy at all.

"Look, I don't have time to try and answer your riddles or whatever the hell this is." MacCready says. "If you're here for a hired gun, then I'm your guy. If you're not, then I'd like to get back to my drink."

Willow notices now how intense his blue eyes are, and how they are staring so pointedly at her. She grits her teeth, but keeps up her charade of confidence. "MacCready, right?"

"Ah, so you've heard of me." he says, widening his stance. He isn't so sure of this woman, but he isn't intimidated at all by her.

"Yeah. Edwin, Sadie. You know them?"

"What, that big ugly ghoul and his goody-two-shoes daughter? Yeah, I know them. Why?" MacCready asks, and the confusion is evident on his face. He has no idea where this is going.

Willow runs her tongue across her teeth behind her lips, then replies, "They recommended your... services."

MacCready looks surprised, honestly, that Edwin would be one to sing his praises. But he quickly regains the arrogant expression he has been wearing since the beginning of their interaction and nods.

"Then I'd say you should listen to them." he smirks. Willow pulls her jacket closed and crosses her arms, matching his posture. "What's the job?"

"I have several people I need help killing." Willow states bluntly. "I don't want you to do it. I just need help getting to them."

MacCready is intrigued, and he nods. "Alright. And exactly how many people is... several?"

Willow's eyes drift to the top corner of the room and her brows knit together as she thinks. "I think there are really only three that I need your help with." she states finally. The fourth one, she assumes, she can handle easily given the circumstances.

"Hm." MacCready thinks for a moment. Willow is nervous as she watches him and hopes that he doesn't ask why these people were on her list. She doesn't feel like getting into it all right now. "Okay, price is 250 caps. Up front. No room for bartering." he says firmly.

Willow can't even feel relieved that he doesn't pry – instead, her mouth falls open at his price. "250 caps?!"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

"That's ridiculous." she says. "Up front, too... How the hell do I know you aren't just gonna take my money and run?!"

MacCready chuckles defensively. "Hey, you approached me." he reminds her, and Willow groans.

"First of all," Willow says, arms dropping from where they were crossed across her chest, "I am not paying you up front-"

"Then I'm not going with you." MacCready shakes his head, remaining defensive. He is trying to stay aloof but he is clearly becoming irritated.

And so too is Willow. She frowns, fists balled again. "Fine. Fine, if you insist I pay you up front, then 175 is what I'm willing to offer you."

"175 caps? You're kidding, right?" MacCready is not impressed by this offer, and his fingers dig into his biceps. "250. Non-negotiable."

Willow shakes her head. "200."

"You need to work on your listening skills, lady. I said non-negotiable."

"250 is ludicrous. I don't even know that you're worth that."

"Oh, trust me. I am." MacCready's words are sharp. "Now. Do we have a deal?"

Willow stares at him incredulously for a moment, and the smug, imperious look on his face vexes her. She is headstrong, stubborn. And she is not budging.

"No." she spits the word at him. "You're out of your mind if you think anyone will pay that much up front for you."

MacCready chuckles again. "Sticks and stones, pal." he turns and grabs his drink from the table, approaching the chair he'd been sitting in. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Willow watches him as he sits back down and sips his own drink, eyes on her. He looks away, and she stands speechless for a moment before she turns suddenly and storms from the room. Who does this man think he is? She shakes her head and hurries through the red-lit hallway, across the bar, up the stairs, out the door, and into the cool streets of Goodneighbour. She doesn't need him. She doesn't need anybody.