Madison told him she had better things to do with her time and resources than chase some old dream... some meaningless bullshit from their past. Maybe she was right. Maybe she had a future on the boat, but he had nothing. He had to keep chasing the dream... fighting the good fight, as Three Dog said. The DJ reminded him of his father in that respect, though his old man was a right old bastard in every other way.
James found a pair of mercenaries, a hard case called Diaz and a more laid back man called Talget who were willing to offer him an armed escort in exchange for some caps. He suspected the pair might kill him as soon as they left the boat, but he needed the muscle because the dogs were waiting for him. They were hiding off the path, behind the rocks and around the bends, leaving the tattered remains of a pair of Super Mutants as their calling cards.
He led the mercenaries to the Jefferson Memorial and helped them fight their way into the Rotunda. They had heard about the dogs from Hoff, but it was not until they prepared to leave and the animals rushed forward that the men gave any credit to the old drug pusher. The three of them drew themselves back into the building, using a heavy, metal footlocker to brace the door. They sat in the giftshop, heating 200 year old salisbury steak over a hot plate when Diaz decided he was done playing nice, and started bitching.
"Why are you constantly breaking balls and bitching about everything?" Talget sighed, nudging his food with a scavenged spork.
"Cause I wanna live, motherfucker," his partner retorted, grumbling. "Do you understand that? I don't want some stray dog shittin' me out in this stupid building."
"You're scared," James murmured, looking up from his food. Catherine had always somehow managed to make something edible from the old crap they found in the ruins, but without her it was just mystery meat.
"What?" the hardcase demanded
"You don't need all that nonsense, all that chest puff and bluster," he added, thinking of the way Butch DeLoria and his gang liked to pick on his child. "What's wrong with being scared?"
"I'm not scared."
"You're not?" He was incredulous.
"No."
"I'm terrified."
"I can tell." Sarcasm was always such a treat.
"And not an ounce of shame in saying it," he added, hoping Diaz could finally see the point of it all. "I'm scared."
"That's because you're a punk. I don't walk through this world with fear in my heart."
"You pick that up in the holding cells back in Rivet City? Somebody scribble that in the Muddy Rudder's toilets?"
"You better take it easy, motherfucker," came the counter. So he could dish it out, but not take it?
"Talking tough means nothing now," he countered. "You're not scared? You're a fool. Worse, you're a bald-faced liar."
"I should have checked your chin in the fuckin' boat," the man snarled. "Get up! Come on! Get up, you big Irish fuck. You wanna knuckle up?" Diaz got to his feet holding his combat knife, acting like any mercenary that need to establish his place in the pecking order.
Moon Rise - Ch 5a/8
Madison told him she had better things to do with her time and resources than chase some old dream... some meaningless bullshit from their past. Maybe she was right. Maybe she had a future on the boat, but he had nothing. He had to keep chasing the dream... fighting the good fight, as Three Dog said. The DJ reminded him of his father in that respect, though his old man was a right old bastard in every other way.
James found a pair of mercenaries, a hard case called Diaz and a more laid back man called Talget who were willing to offer him an armed escort in exchange for some caps. He suspected the pair might kill him as soon as they left the boat, but he needed the muscle because the dogs were waiting for him. They were hiding off the path, behind the rocks and around the bends, leaving the tattered remains of a pair of Super Mutants as their calling cards.
He led the mercenaries to the Jefferson Memorial and helped them fight their way into the Rotunda. They had heard about the dogs from Hoff, but it was not until they prepared to leave and the animals rushed forward that the men gave any credit to the old drug pusher. The three of them drew themselves back into the building, using a heavy, metal footlocker to brace the door. They sat in the giftshop, heating 200 year old salisbury steak over a hot plate when Diaz decided he was done playing nice, and started bitching.
"Why are you constantly breaking balls and bitching about everything?" Talget sighed, nudging his food with a scavenged spork.
"Cause I wanna live, motherfucker," his partner retorted, grumbling. "Do you understand that? I don't want some stray dog shittin' me out in this stupid building."
"You're scared," James murmured, looking up from his food. Catherine had always somehow managed to make something edible from the old crap they found in the ruins, but without her it was just mystery meat.
"What?" the hardcase demanded
"You don't need all that nonsense, all that chest puff and bluster," he added, thinking of the way Butch DeLoria and his gang liked to pick on his child. "What's wrong with being scared?"
"I'm not scared."
"You're not?" He was incredulous.
"No."
"I'm terrified."
"I can tell." Sarcasm was always such a treat.
"And not an ounce of shame in saying it," he added, hoping Diaz could finally see the point of it all. "I'm scared."
"That's because you're a punk. I don't walk through this world with fear in my heart."
"You pick that up in the holding cells back in Rivet City? Somebody scribble that in the Muddy Rudder's toilets?"
"You better take it easy, motherfucker," came the counter. So he could dish it out, but not take it?
"Talking tough means nothing now," he countered. "You're not scared? You're a fool. Worse, you're a bald-faced liar."
"I should have checked your chin in the fuckin' boat," the man snarled. "Get up! Come on! Get up, you big Irish fuck. You wanna knuckle up?" Diaz got to his feet holding his combat knife, acting like any mercenary that need to establish his place in the pecking order.