Reward

The Jefferson Memorial basement was getting pretty familiar to Ellen by now, as was the sight of robed Scribe-Initiates lined up outside Bigsley's door with stacks of paperwork and identical worried expressions. She'd overheard their conversations a few times; Bigsley got a lot of work done when he was awake, and tended to squeeze his underlings for even more.

The sooner Paladin Tristan called her back to the Citadel, the better, Ellen thought. For now, though, she had to report in. She rapped at Bigsley's door before opening it, more to give him the chance to pretend he hadn't been sleeping at his desk again than anything else.

It might've been her imagination, but the stacks of papers around his terminal looked like he'd actually made some headway since she saw him last. Before Ellen could say anything about that, though, Bigsley ran his hands through his thinning brown hair and said, "Yes?"

"Reporting on a mission completed-" She hesitated; she was only on loan to him, he wasn't even in her chain of command, was he? "-Scribe," she decided. It sat better on the tongue than 'sir'.

Bigsley seemed to expect it, anyway. He nodded, expression getting a little less pinched and put-upon. "I got a message from Rivet City a little while ago," he said. "Officer Lepelletier tells me you and that big green friend of yours took a pretty big gang out of commission. Got any proof they won't be causing problems again?"

"... I didn't take their heads, if that's what you mean," Ellen said after a moment's stunned silence. Nobody had ever asked for proof before, except for the Regulators- and they'd made that part clear from the start. "I did strip them all of their armor and their guns, except one pistol and a clip-"

"No, no, you did it, I can tell," said Bigsley, waving a hand irritably. "No offense, kid, but don't ever try going into gambling. You've got tells all over you, you're about as subtle as a Brahmin to the face... anyway, I got that note of hers. It's around here somewhere." He glanced at his desk and the masses of paper. "Eh. Never mind. No matter where it is, I know what it said."

Ellen nodded silently. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to respond to that.

Bigsley let out a sigh. "The Initiates," he said, "just finished itemizing a requisition of confiscated Enclave gear. I'm low on caps at the moment, haven't had my payments come in from some of the buyers yet, but I suppose you're welcome to what we haven't sent out." He leaned across his desk and pointed past Ellen to a door on the other side of the room where the Initiates were waiting. "In there. Big black cabinet. Can't miss it. Tell them I said it's all for you and it's their own fault for not shipping it out fast enough."

"... all right," Ellen said cautiously. "What kind of Enclave gear are we talking about here?"

"Oh, the usual- it's part of the Adams haul," said Bigsley. "Armor, guns, ammo, that kind of thing. Get your pet Frankenstein to carry it if it's too much for you. I just want it off the premises."

Ellen's eyes narrowed at the comment about Fawkes, but it would've been bad form to kick Bigsley in the shins, especially since she'd've had to go around his desk first to reach the body part in question. She just nodded instead and left him to his incipient keyboard nap.