"Are you kidding me? I'm a Model of Selflessness." Sara proclaimed, her easy set eyes not betraying a hint of doubt in the statement. She relaxed back in the worn chair, stained a lighter color by the exposure of time and radiation, and crossed her leather clad leg casually over the other.
"Really?" Lone scoffed in return, her eyes narrowing derisively, but the lightness of her voice didn't show any true resentment. "I could list a thousand different things. Like, for a small example: look how you're always ordering Charon around."
"But he's my zombie manservant, that's what he does. If I take that away, it'd kill him. We all have our lot in life -- his is to be tall, dark and do whatever I say." The other woman stated simply, the corner of her mouth quirking slightly upward. She suddenly raised her hand to point an accusing finger at Lone as the argument occurred to her, "And you're always bitching at Jericho -- like you're so much better."
"Difference is; Jericho is an asshole. And after I spent half my Stimpaks reviving us both, I think I've earned the right to complain. But that's not what we're talking about here." Lone quickly added, shaking her head as she lifted her hand, from where it was across her middle section, to flick dismissively. "The original argument wasn't that I was perfect, but that you aren't either. I've made no effort to deceive people into thinking I'm a Symbol of Order."
Moving silently behind them, Charon gathered together a few nonessentials, unconcerned about their conversation but always listening as he went along his task. Dogmeat watched passively beside him, tongue drooping loose from his mouth as the heat of the day penetrated the metal Megaton hut.
"I'm not perfect, but I might as well be an Earthy Angel. I'm a joy to be around!" Sara’s voice suddenly bright as she explained, "I always go out of my way to help someone; even if it's just something that doesn't really matter. Like Agatha!" She suddenly sat forward in her chair, un-crossing her legs as she leaned her forearms onto the table separating the two women. Her expression suddenly keen as she jumped at the newly realized point, "All the crap I went through, just so the wonderful people of the Wastes could be granted beautiful music."
"Yet you only listen to Butcher Pete." Charon interjected quietly, but just loud enough for it to be heard -- not lifting his eyes from his work as he counted out the bullets filling the metal clip he held.
"No one's talking to you, Charon." Sara shot back without any real venom, eyes shifting to the side to address him, but her form never turning. The statement didn't seem to affect him deeply as he rested down the clip and took up another, continuing on with it just as the first. Her attention returned to Lone seamlessly, "Did you risk life and limb for the sake of classic symphony?"
"I..." Lone faltered, "Whether or not I would have doesn't matter. We're talking about you."
"No, no, don't dodge that. Answer the question, Marauder."
"I- I don't know -- maybe? Depends if it was on my agenda. I have important things to do, I can't spend all my time fetching things for random people." She defended, just a little faster than entirely necessary; her tone betraying undercurrent disdain. "After I finish taking care of my own problems, I'll handle everyone else's. On a scale, finding my dad tips more against getting an old lady a violin. Especially if I'm not getting much if anything back for it. I mean, come on, call me cold, but I don't exactly have a steady nine-to-five job to keep food on the table. Especially when my companions blow all my caps." She added as an afterthought, the antipathy not masked at all. "I'm more of a Strider of The Wastes. A Loner."
"Hey, hey, The Lone Wanderer is my title." Sara warned in mock offense.
"No, ‘The Kid From 101’ is. I'm the Lone Wanderer." She leaned forward, resting her head in her hands in only partially feign exhaustion, "Please, don't get those confused. It's bad enough no one can remember my real name. It's simple too; why can't everyone just use it instead of 'The Lone Wanderer'? That's a mouthful."
"It's theatrical! Flashy. Cool. Don't you feel badass when someone is like," Her eyes softening to a suave impression as her voice deepened, "'Hey, you, The Lone Wanderer, come show off your unrealistically awesome skills and save the day.'" A smile flashed over her features as she laughed gently, the smile widening even more as she noticed Lone smirk across the table. Sara shrugged, "But the downside is it doesn’t do much to score any hot guys." Sara twisted her mouth regretfully, "Why don't we?"
"We technically do. Charon, Jericho and Fawks came along for the ride." Lone offered halfheartedly.
"Oh man, don't give me a Fawks visual."
Lone laughed sharply, almost choking on the thought; dropping her head to her hands in defeat. "That's not what I meant. We've attracted guys, just... not in the sense that you meant. Our bedposts shall remain notch-less." She paused, her gaze moving down as she pondered, "Well... Mine at least."
"Yeah, you're right. Out of the two of us, I just have more... Charisma. Guys don't like girls that can kick ass better than them; just ones that have bigger guns." She smiled, adding quietly under her breath, “If you know what I mean.”
"I meant you and Charon. Although I guess the latter part would make you qualify for him."
"I- wait, what?"
"Nothing, nevermind." Lone dismissed sharply, averting her gaze to the table. "We got sidetracked, back to the discussion."
"Yeah, why do we keep getting distracted?"
"Because we think too much alike. I make a point and you run with it, then we go back and forth, and suddenly we're talking about whether Three Dog is gay for President Eden or not."
Sara looked at her hands with a mildly devious grin playing on her lips, "I think we were a little drunk that time."
"I think we were a lot drunk." Lone scoffed.
"We should do it more often."
"As long as Charon guards the door again, I'm completely onboard."
"Of course! He won't mind, especially if he gets to hit Jericho again. Charon, being such an old timer, picked up a lot of that old world chivalry." Sara reasoned. Then she hesitated, pausing for a moment as if considering her next words; a grimaced forming on her expression, "Jericho is such a creeper. No joke."
"Dear God, do I know it.” Lone declared without pause, leaning back in her chair with the bitter narrowing of her eyes. “I'm starting to regret hiring him. He's such a pain in the ass."
"Didn't he shoot you once?"
"It was technically an accident, but his mediocre fighting skills made it almost predicable. And then he had used all my Stimpaks when he blew himself up that there weren't any left. So I got to walk home with my shoulder bleeding like a sieve. You should have seen the Doc's face when I came in to buy Stimpaks. I lost enough blood that I was a bit delusional, so he all but tied me down to get the bullet out and pump me with Stimpaks.” Lone shook her head ruefully, “Do you know how shell shocking it is to have to deal with that instead of it being fixed immediately? It made me a little more than paranoid -- which is why I need to go talk Moria into selling me more cabinets. Mine are all full of Stimpaks and other medial supplies, I need more."
"Oh man, that sucks. I make sure to have a couple on me all the time. I only needed to get shot once; and I had Stimpaks then. After that, I was like 'oh hell no' and never go anywhere without at least a few. I didn't need any lessons."
Lone nodded, but didn’t add to the statement. The room went silent for a short while before she smirked, "We got distracted again."
"Yeah, we did."
"What were we talking about before?"
"Uh, I only remember drinking."
"Something about music."
"Drinking is more important."
"Sara, you make an excellent point."
"I have lots of beer and whiskey. You have anything you'd like to add?"
"... Grape flavored Mentats?"
"Oh, so you're one of those girls."
"Oh, shut up."
"At least you didn't say Jet."
"... I have some of that too."
"Oh ho, you're a crazy woman! You’re sure you came out of Vault?"
"I never said I did Jet; I just have some. Like I said, I'm paranoid. I like having a little of everything at my disposal."
"I'm not a drug addict, stop it."
"To each their own. I prefer wine."
"It's not my own -- I don't do drugs. When I want to loosen up and unwind a bit, I have some whiskey, I don't get high."
"I'm not judging."
"Stop patronizing me."
"Whatever floats your boat."
"You're just mocking me now, aren't you?"
Lone chuckled, "So, how about a drinking game?"
"We swap stories and we take a shot every time someone has asked us to go on some terrifying quest in exchange for something insignificance."
"Do you want to die?"