[ happy hour ]

[almosthonorable]

Not one to pass up a good business opportunity, Ben’s behind the counter, aiming to earn some credit toward what’s left of his tab.

Specials
† bourbon
† milkshakes
† bourbon milkshakes


The bar is fairly quiet at the moment, so Ben’s leaning on one elbow, doodling on a napkin.


[ tiny tags: gene hunt, mark hoffman, moist von lipwig ]


[ ooc: have at, guys — open till 8:30 p.m. est; tag away, and feel free to threadhop all over the place!

eta, 8:33 p.m.: AHAHA, you people. THANK YOU ALL. closed to new threads, but i'll be hitting these as i can before bed tonight, and tagging back all slows tomorrow for those who want 'em! ♥! (threadhopping, o' course, is still encouraged.) ]

Comments

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"It's not a breed. It's a device," Ellen says. "Um. A robot's a....a person or a thing made of metal, designed to do work without having to sleep or eat or be alive. Before the Great War they made a kind of robot horse that they called Giddyup Buttercup, for families to give kids so they could have something to ride and play with that didn't need to be exercised or fed or cleaned up after. When they were done with it for the day they just switched it off, like blowing out a candle."

[almosthonorable]

As Ellen explains, Ben grabs a fresh paper napkin and begins to sketch.

Squinting at his first attempt, he shakes his head, pushes it aside, and starts again.

"Anything like this?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen looks at it for a bit. Eventually she gestures for a pencil and a napkin of her own.

"Like this."

[almosthonorable]

Ben studies the napkin with critical eyes.

"That's not half-bad. Miss Bar's got drawin' supplies to spare, if you ever get yourself some free time and take advantage."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Huh," says Ellen. "You think? We never really did much drawing in the Vault except on the chalkboard. Didn't have a lot of paper to go around...."

[almosthonorable]

"Tell you what," he says, giving the counter an affectionate tap with one fingertip. "When she wakes up, I'll ask her to cough up another one of these."

He produces a small sketchbook from his pocket, and a slim case that holds a handful of graphite pencils.

"Comes in handy if you're killin' time with nothin' but your thumbs to twiddle."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Oh, there's usually other stuff that needs to be done," Ellen says, "but all right. It could come in useful someday, who knows?" She smiles. "thank you, Ben."

[almosthonorable]

"You gotta stop sayin' 'thank you' so much. That's a dirty habit, hasn't anybody told you that?"

But he's only teasing, as evidenced by his tone and the shine in his eyes.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Force of habit," says Ellen, smiling back. "We put a lot of store by manners in the Vault, and they seem to make it a lot easier dealing with the traders in the Wastes. Even with Crazy Wolfgang."

[almosthonorable]

"I try to mind my manners myself, especially around folks I'd like to keep on the good side."

He raises an eyebrow.

"And especially around people with names like 'Crazy Wolfgang.'"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"He's a junk dealer," Ellen says. "Sells whatever interesting things he finds in the Wasteland. I don't think he's quite as nuts as he claims, but it's best not to ask. The one you really want to be careful around is Lucky Harith. He's a really nice guy, but he's the weapons merchant. I've never seen anybody with that many guns and explosives strapped to one pack animal."

[almosthonorable]

"Your acquaintances are far more interestin' than mine'll ever be, just so you know."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Harith believes the only way to make sure people are safe in the Wasteland is to make sure everyone's equally dangerous," Ellen says. "Hence the guns. I've never asked him if it's working or not, but he seems to be able to go just about anywhere in the Wasteland without people giving him trouble- he even helped me get a little boy to Rivet City to live with his cousin when giant ants killed the boy's father."

[almosthonorable]

Ben grabs a nearby pitcher and pours out a glass of ice water for Ellen, then one for himself.

"I was right there with you, till you said 'giant ants,'" he says, placing the water next to her bourbon. "How big're you talkin'?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen scrounged up an old working camera and bought film at the Bar for a reason. She reaches into one of her belt pouches and pulls out what resembles a Polaroid picture. "This is a dead ant outside Megaton," she says. "Stockholm, the man who keeps watch over the city walls, took it down with his hunting rifle. I put a can of beans next to its head for scale- the can's a little smaller than that can of beer over there."

If that's the case, the photograph is of an ant that must be roughly the size of a human being. Maybe a little bit smaller.

"The ants that killed Bryan Wilks' family were mostly that size, but there were a few bigger than that."