Moriarty's
Jan. 25th, 2009 03:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aaaaaaaagh_skyEllen stepped through the door of Moriarty's Saloon and felt her shoulders untense for the first time in a long while; she was indoors again. She'd definitely missed the security of walls and a ceiling defining the space around her. Even if the saloon did look considerably more rusted and bodged together than anywhere in Vault 101 (and a million miles away from anywhere on the Milliways premises), it was still indoors, and that counted for a lot.
The saloon had two floors to it, from the look of things. There was a small bar in the main room, just ahead of her, with a few stools and a few patrons gathered around it. Up above, a balcony with a slender metal railing surrounded the open space. There were doors up there, leading off to what she assumed were the owner's private quarters; there were also doors down below, probably leading to stockrooms of some kind. To her right there was a smaller open area with a few tables and a screened-over window or two. The whole place smelled of old alcohol and old sweat in a way Milliways never had. Given the circumstances, though, she was pretty sure she could understand why.
A crackling noise drew her attention; she glanced over at the bar. Someone was pounding on what looked like an old pre-war design of radio, of all things. "Come on, now, work you stupid- Oh, hey there, smoothskin. Need anything?"
That was quite possibly the weirdest thing Ellen had ever been called. She glanced up at the bartender and jumped a little. To put it as bluntly as possible, he looked dead. His skin was a nasty grey-white where it wasn't a necrotic reddish-black, hanging from his face in places and drawn far too tightly in others. He had no lips that she could see, and no nose, either, and most of his hair had fallen out in clumps. Frankly, she was a little surprised he even had eyelids. "Gah! What are you?" she blurted out- and then clapped both hands over her mouth, remembering Lorne. "Oh. Oh, I'm so sorry..."
The dead-looking man heaved a sigh. "Haven't you ever seen a ghoul before?" he asked in a resigned tone.
"No sir," Ellen said, wincing. "I'm really sorry."
"Huh. Well, not all of us got the chance to hole up in a nice cushy Vault when the bombs fell. A bunch of us got stuck out here in the world, and got a full-on blast of heat and radiation. Turned us into a pack of walking corpses." He shook his head. "Near as I can tell, we age slower than you. A lot slower. There're even a few ghouls that were alive during the war."
"Oh my God," said Ellen, horrified.
"Yeah," said the ghoul. "And with a face like ground Brahmin meat, you can imagine that folks don't take too kindly to us."
"That's awful," said Ellen. "I'm so sorry, sir. I had no idea."
"Hnf." He considered Ellen for a bit. "You know? I think you might mean that. You're not half bad, for a smoothskin. Name's Gob. I tend the Bar here for Moriarty."
Ellen nodded. "My name's Ellen. I'm looking for my dad. Mr. Simms said he might've passed through here?"
"Middle-aged, looked like you?" Gob guessed. "Yeah, I do remember a guy like that. Honestly, I usually keep my head down. I tend to get smacked around if I look customers in the eyes. But talk to Moriarty, he'll know more."
"Thank you," said Ellen. And then, because it was a hot day and her throat was pretty dry, "Can I get something to drink?"
"For you? Anything." Gob grinned. It wasn't a pleasant sight, but not for lack of trying.
"If you have any Nuka-Cola back there, that'll be fine."
"Not a problem. That'll be seven caps."
Ellen started to reach for the pouch of bottlecaps she'd collected for her work at Milliways. The image of Butch demanding her sweetroll on her tenth birthday flashed before her eyes; she thought better of taking the pouch out for everyone to see, and instead just dug out the caps with two fingers. "Here you go," she said, and passed the flattened bottlecaps across the bar.
"Thanks. You're all right, kid."
"You too, Gob," said Ellen, and went to sit in the other room. This was going to be more complicated than she'd thought, and she needed some time to think.
She didn't get it, though. Almost as soon as she set foot in the open area, a man she'd missed entirely waved at her from one badly-lit corner. Thinking it might be Mr. Moriarty, she headed his way. "Yes?" she asked. "Can I help you?"
"Just when I had given up all hope," the man said, settling back in his chair. He wore a grey suit similar to Doc Hoff's and a narrow-brimmed hat tilted low over his forehead. "My dear girl, I am very happy to make your acquaintance. I am Mr. Burke."
"Ellen Park," Ellen said at his pause, wondering if she'd missed something along the way. "Pleased to meet you, sir. But why are you interested in me?"
"Well," said Mr. Burke with a smile that didn't quite seem to reach his eyes, "you are not a resident of this... putrescent cesspool. That makes you a rather valuable individual."
Ellen blinked a few times, the urge to say Hey, it's not that bad of a place warring with pure confusion. Confusion won. "It does?" she said, and winced at how foolish it sounded.
Mr. Burke nodded. "I represent certain... interests. And those interests view this town, this "Megaton", as a blight on a burgeoning urban landscape." He gave another half-smile. "You have no connections here, do you? No interest in this cesspool's affairs, or fate. You could assist us in erasing this little accident off the map."
She stared. She literally could not believe what she was hearing. When she could speak again, she said, "Go on," in the dwindling hopes that she'd somehow heard him wrong.
The rapidly dwindling hopes. Mr. Burke nodded. "The undetonated atomic bomb for which this town is named is still very much alive," he noted. "All it needs is a little... motivation. I have in my possession a fusion pulse charge constructed for a singular purpose-"
"Detonating the bomb," Ellen finished, trying her best not to squeak in horror. Her voice came out surprisingly even.
Mr. Burke nodded. "Finally, someone of real intelligence," he said. "You'll rig it to the bomb, and then you'll get paid. Handsomely. What do you say?"
Her voice sounded very far away as she protested, "Sheriff Sims wants me to disarm the bomb..."
"Bah! He would, wouldn't he." Mr. Burke said. "He can't reward you the way I can. Caps and a home in the finest bastion of civilization anywhere in the Wasteland- what do you say?"
Ellen swallowed. She'd seen enough pre-war vids of atomic testing to know what it would look like if that bomb went off, and she could see it now if she so much as blinked. "You're out of your mind, Mr. Burke," she murmured, surprised the words were coming out. "I'm not helping you do that."
"Tch." Mr. Burke clucked his tongue sadly. "Now that is a disappointment. Well, if you change your mind, the offer still stands. Good day."
There was no way Ellen could sit in the same room as him, or even the same building as him, after that. She nodded and turned away stiffly, heading for the door as quickly as she could.
The saloon had two floors to it, from the look of things. There was a small bar in the main room, just ahead of her, with a few stools and a few patrons gathered around it. Up above, a balcony with a slender metal railing surrounded the open space. There were doors up there, leading off to what she assumed were the owner's private quarters; there were also doors down below, probably leading to stockrooms of some kind. To her right there was a smaller open area with a few tables and a screened-over window or two. The whole place smelled of old alcohol and old sweat in a way Milliways never had. Given the circumstances, though, she was pretty sure she could understand why.
A crackling noise drew her attention; she glanced over at the bar. Someone was pounding on what looked like an old pre-war design of radio, of all things. "Come on, now, work you stupid- Oh, hey there, smoothskin. Need anything?"
That was quite possibly the weirdest thing Ellen had ever been called. She glanced up at the bartender and jumped a little. To put it as bluntly as possible, he looked dead. His skin was a nasty grey-white where it wasn't a necrotic reddish-black, hanging from his face in places and drawn far too tightly in others. He had no lips that she could see, and no nose, either, and most of his hair had fallen out in clumps. Frankly, she was a little surprised he even had eyelids. "Gah! What are you?" she blurted out- and then clapped both hands over her mouth, remembering Lorne. "Oh. Oh, I'm so sorry..."
The dead-looking man heaved a sigh. "Haven't you ever seen a ghoul before?" he asked in a resigned tone.
"No sir," Ellen said, wincing. "I'm really sorry."
"Huh. Well, not all of us got the chance to hole up in a nice cushy Vault when the bombs fell. A bunch of us got stuck out here in the world, and got a full-on blast of heat and radiation. Turned us into a pack of walking corpses." He shook his head. "Near as I can tell, we age slower than you. A lot slower. There're even a few ghouls that were alive during the war."
"Oh my God," said Ellen, horrified.
"Yeah," said the ghoul. "And with a face like ground Brahmin meat, you can imagine that folks don't take too kindly to us."
"That's awful," said Ellen. "I'm so sorry, sir. I had no idea."
"Hnf." He considered Ellen for a bit. "You know? I think you might mean that. You're not half bad, for a smoothskin. Name's Gob. I tend the Bar here for Moriarty."
Ellen nodded. "My name's Ellen. I'm looking for my dad. Mr. Simms said he might've passed through here?"
"Middle-aged, looked like you?" Gob guessed. "Yeah, I do remember a guy like that. Honestly, I usually keep my head down. I tend to get smacked around if I look customers in the eyes. But talk to Moriarty, he'll know more."
"Thank you," said Ellen. And then, because it was a hot day and her throat was pretty dry, "Can I get something to drink?"
"For you? Anything." Gob grinned. It wasn't a pleasant sight, but not for lack of trying.
"If you have any Nuka-Cola back there, that'll be fine."
"Not a problem. That'll be seven caps."
Ellen started to reach for the pouch of bottlecaps she'd collected for her work at Milliways. The image of Butch demanding her sweetroll on her tenth birthday flashed before her eyes; she thought better of taking the pouch out for everyone to see, and instead just dug out the caps with two fingers. "Here you go," she said, and passed the flattened bottlecaps across the bar.
"Thanks. You're all right, kid."
"You too, Gob," said Ellen, and went to sit in the other room. This was going to be more complicated than she'd thought, and she needed some time to think.
She didn't get it, though. Almost as soon as she set foot in the open area, a man she'd missed entirely waved at her from one badly-lit corner. Thinking it might be Mr. Moriarty, she headed his way. "Yes?" she asked. "Can I help you?"
"Just when I had given up all hope," the man said, settling back in his chair. He wore a grey suit similar to Doc Hoff's and a narrow-brimmed hat tilted low over his forehead. "My dear girl, I am very happy to make your acquaintance. I am Mr. Burke."
"Ellen Park," Ellen said at his pause, wondering if she'd missed something along the way. "Pleased to meet you, sir. But why are you interested in me?"
"Well," said Mr. Burke with a smile that didn't quite seem to reach his eyes, "you are not a resident of this... putrescent cesspool. That makes you a rather valuable individual."
Ellen blinked a few times, the urge to say Hey, it's not that bad of a place warring with pure confusion. Confusion won. "It does?" she said, and winced at how foolish it sounded.
Mr. Burke nodded. "I represent certain... interests. And those interests view this town, this "Megaton", as a blight on a burgeoning urban landscape." He gave another half-smile. "You have no connections here, do you? No interest in this cesspool's affairs, or fate. You could assist us in erasing this little accident off the map."
She stared. She literally could not believe what she was hearing. When she could speak again, she said, "Go on," in the dwindling hopes that she'd somehow heard him wrong.
The rapidly dwindling hopes. Mr. Burke nodded. "The undetonated atomic bomb for which this town is named is still very much alive," he noted. "All it needs is a little... motivation. I have in my possession a fusion pulse charge constructed for a singular purpose-"
"Detonating the bomb," Ellen finished, trying her best not to squeak in horror. Her voice came out surprisingly even.
Mr. Burke nodded. "Finally, someone of real intelligence," he said. "You'll rig it to the bomb, and then you'll get paid. Handsomely. What do you say?"
Her voice sounded very far away as she protested, "Sheriff Sims wants me to disarm the bomb..."
"Bah! He would, wouldn't he." Mr. Burke said. "He can't reward you the way I can. Caps and a home in the finest bastion of civilization anywhere in the Wasteland- what do you say?"
Ellen swallowed. She'd seen enough pre-war vids of atomic testing to know what it would look like if that bomb went off, and she could see it now if she so much as blinked. "You're out of your mind, Mr. Burke," she murmured, surprised the words were coming out. "I'm not helping you do that."
"Tch." Mr. Burke clucked his tongue sadly. "Now that is a disappointment. Well, if you change your mind, the offer still stands. Good day."
There was no way Ellen could sit in the same room as him, or even the same building as him, after that. She nodded and turned away stiffly, heading for the door as quickly as she could.