Ellen Park, the Lone Wanderer

"... or... that too," says Ellen a little weakly. Because now? Now people are not looking at her and Annabelle any more. They're looking at Demyx. Which could be helpful, maybe...

"We get music out here, sometimes," says one of the patrons of the Brass Lantern. "When the radio's workin', anyway. Galaxy News Radio's got some good songs."

"Yeah, the same good songs, all the time," mutters a darker woman from further down the open-air-bar's tables. "Three Dog'd better find something new soon. That stuff's getting as old as the Enclave tracks."

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Annabelle is good at reading a crowd. "Oh for the love of....hush Demyx." Her next sentence is carefully pitched to ensure that their audience hears it. "Hopefully, once we've seen the Atom you'll stop this nonsense..." Annabelle's not the world's best at lying, but she seems to be better at it than Demyx.

Now that she's got the audience's attention, she gestures toward Demyx and makes the hopefully still universal gesture for crazy. She then puts on a sad face. They are going on a pilgrimage to heal the poor crazy man, really.

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"No, really! Italian opera, it's made people cry before! You don't even have to understand it, because I really don't understand Italian. And there's rock and roll, and soul and bluegrass and I can play some for you next time we get a chance, I can play anything." When unable to lie, excessive truth is sometimes the next best thing.

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"Huh," says the blonde woman behind the counter of the Lantern. "You know, stranger, I think I wanna hear some more of this-"

"Demyx," whispers Ellen in Demyx' ear, "can you do something about the water and still keep their attention?"

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"I certainly hope he can, since I don't think they're going to ignore us at this point..." Annabelle whispers.

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Oh ye of little faith. Did you forget Demyx's bartending, Annabelle?

Demyx stands with his back to the water. Radiated, horribly so. But nothing he can't fix if allowed to cut loose. And asking him to entertain while purifying the water? That's just going to make it go easier. He always works better when he can sing.

"EVERYONE! Watch and listen!" Demyx declares, summoning his sitar to his hand a moment later. "All eyes on me!"

He starts playing, catching the water with his music and making it dance with the beat. Dance and churn, separating out all of the radiation from that which was pure.

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The slow, tranquil music at the start is one thing, and draws all eyes and ears to Demyx. But then the tempo changes...

There were people coming out of the Church of Atom area to see who the strangers were that were approaching the bomb. Even they've stopped in their tracks to listen and stare.

(Ellen, for her part, is checking her Pip-Boy and waiting for the Geiger counter to drop as Demyx purifies the water. The instant the radiation falls low enough, she darts forward, activates her Pip-Boy's light, and starts right in to work on one of the key panels on the side of the bomb.)

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Annabelle has never seen Demyx do something on this kind of scale. It's very impressive.

Annabelle knows how powerful music can be, one of Æon's members was a concert pianist, after all. It's good that the music seems to compel the audience's attention, but Annabelle is starting to worry what will happen when Demyx stops.

If the crowd turns violent, Annabelle isn't sure if she'll be able to stop all of them in time.

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Why would Demyx ever need to stop?

When that song ends he seamlessly transitions into another, something original. A faster tempo, more of a heavy baseline if he had a full band to be able to play it. He's making it up as he goes along, and it feels wonderful to play for an audience. To just play and have it all be listened to.

He could do this for hours, as long as his hands don't cramp he'll be fine, and if they do he's still got his voice.

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He's got an audience, all right. A significant portion of this part of Megaton is either coming down to have a look, or at least poking their heads out their front doors. Quite literally nobody remembers the last time there was music like this around here. Because there wasn't.

Just don't let Confessor Cromwell come out, Ellen thinks to herself. I'm almost done with it...

"Annabelle. I have one more set of wires to pull and then this thing won't ever be able to go off again. How do we get out of here with all these witnesses?"

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"That's likely to be the tricky bit. If he can hold their attention, we can probably make our way back up the slope. I've no idea what you're going to tell them about where we went though."

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"We're going to tell anyone who asks that we're looking for Sheriff Simms, to thank him for letting us make our pilgrimage," Ellen mutters. "Okay, here goes..."

It's a lucky thing Demyx hasn't got a drum with him, because even in the Vault's isolation Ellen learned what a drum roll meant, and she'd probably roll her eyes at one of those right now. Not that it's all that important. A few moments later she holds out a pair of gleaming wires.

"We're done. We should withdraw before people start talking to us."

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(OOC: I must call slow-time for the night.)

Annabelle nods in understanding, and starts to make her way up the path. She's still keeping an eye out for trouble.

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If there's going to be trouble, it's likely going to be once Demyx stops. Right now everyone's attention seems to be riveted there.

Well, everyone's except for one man's, all the way up at the top of the stairs some distance back from the crowd; he's middle aged or older, grey-bearded, dark-skinned, and wearing the cowboy hat and leather duster one would expect of somebody out of the old west. "Impressive show you people put on," he says dryly.

"It seemed like the easiest way to make sure nobody caused trouble," says Ellen. "Annabelle, this is Sheriff Simms. He's in charge around here. Sheriff, this is my friend Annabelle Newfield."

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Annabelle smiles and extends her hand, "It's good to meet you Sheriff Simms. I offered to keep an eye out for trouble while Ellen did her work, but, thankfully, it looks like my talents aren't going to be needed tonight."

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"Not unless your friend down there starts a riot," says the Sheriff, shaking the offered hand. "Long as he doesn't, I'm not going to ask where you two came from or how you got past Deputy Weld without him noticing." He glances over at Ellen. "So did you pull it off?"

Wordlessly, Ellen holds up a handful of parts from the bomb's control mechanisms. That's the thing about atomic warheads: they require high explosives to compress their fissile material enough to actually induce the reaction. Ellen figured that if it didn't look like it belonged in the Vault's reactor, it was probably a control mechanism for the explosives and needed to come out.

"Excellent," says the Sheriff with considerable satisfaction. "In that case... well. I know I promised you a hundred and fifty caps, but all things considered I think we might be able to come to an accommodation of a different kind."

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"I don't think he's planning on causing any trouble, although pulling him away from an appreciative audience before he collapses may prove difficult," Annabelle says dryly.

She raises an eyebrow at the mention of an 'accommodation of a different kind.'

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Simms shakes his head. "Wasn't planning on trying," he says. "I heard you folks on your way down. I know better than to interrupt someone who's that good at pretending he's crazy."

"Anyway. We have a pretty strict rule in Megaton that if you want to live here, you've got to have contributed a lot to this town in one way or another." He nods towards a nearby building, just to the left of the stairs. "We've got a house here that's gone empty ever since its last owner died. I know you said you were just here looking for your father, but between that bomb and Burke, I'd say you've earned a place here with us. It's yours if you want it."

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"We all have our talents," Annabelle says with a grin. She doesn't plan on telling Sheriff Simms that Demyx wasn't acting.

She eyes the...house carefully. It doesn't look like it's going to collapse around Ellen's ears, but she's no architect.

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Ellen rubs at the back of her neck, looking at the house. On the one hand, she could probably easily spend the night in Milliways before going after her father. On the other hand, time hasn't moved at all here while she's been in the Bar, the few times she's done it. And on the mutated hand, it would probably be horribly insulting to these people to say 'no, I don't want your house, I can stay in a super special bar somewhere you've never heard of and can't reach'.

"Thank you, Sheriff," she says aloud. "I'd be honored."

"Good. Here's the key, and the deed to the house." Simms dips into one of his coat's pockets and extracts the items in question. "Keep it locked. We get all kinds around here, and I can't be everywhere at once. Now, someone probably ought to go and tell your friend to stop hamming it up down there..."

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"Do you want to go and get him, or would you rather I make the attempt?" Annabelle asks Ellen.

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"Would you mind?" asks Ellen. "I don't mean to shove it off on you, but- well, you did all the talking before, so..."

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"I don't mind, although I may not have much luck getting him to leave."

Annabelle starts to make her way toward Demyx. When she thinks she's close enough that Demyx might hear her, she says, "I think it's about time for our little pilgrimage to be over, Demyx. We've done what we came here to do."

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