Home Is Where Your Work Is

Jason had just walked out of the Anacostia Crossing Station. What stood before him was the giant marvel that was Rivet City. Despite being here many times in the past there was something about the pre-war Aircraft carrier that was just an astounding sight to him.

He walked over to the Merchant holding area and looked at many of the Merchants' wares. Trying to find something that could strike his interest among the traders. He bought some food and medicine then traversed to the docked warship where, quite possibly, humanities greatest surviving settlement was.

As he came onto the ship he had decided to hit the Rivet City market. He first went to Flak 'N Shrapnel's extended arsenal where Flak was standing as today's clerk.

"Hey, Jason." Flak greeted him.

"Hey, Flak." Jason replied. "You still selling these piece of shit guns?" Jason asked, sarcastically.

"You know we don't put the good stuff on the table." Flak said, with his 'business-as-usual' tone. "Alright can I get some 44. ammo?" Jason asked. He bought 12 rounds then bought another clip for his Chinese Assault Rifle. He then decided to hit the Muddy Rudder.

He sat on one of the stools and waved the bartender over, who looked at him and sighed before coming over.

"You're still banned, Jason." The bartender said. "Awwh, thought we was becoming friends." Jason joked. "Won't start anything just want a beer." Jason told him. After awhile the bartender stubbornly gave into his demands and got him a beer. He sat back and took a quick sip of his beer. So far everything was calm but the evening was still young.

Paladin James Masterson was sitting on a stool at the Ruddy Mudder, downing his worries with a good bottle of Scotch. He looked around, it was a lot more hustling then usual, he saw the scientist chick that he'd bumped into once, and a guy with a robotic arm. Capital Wastes were very diverse. He tapped the Bionic Man on the shoulder and asked.

"What's your story?"

It hadn't taken Sander much thinking to decide to stop by the Muddy Rudder. Good place for a drink, and just as good to try and drop in on some business meetings or at least make himself available for hire. The fact that Mom wasn't home certainly helped, and while he had to wonder just where she was it didn't really matter. Unless she was dead, of course, but he rather doubted that - given that he helped pay her rent when she needed it, there was no reason for her to leave Rivet City and risk such things alone.

So it was the Muddy Rudder then. Nothing like a dark, vaguely-intimidating place to get a drink when you had time, caps, and a thirst to burn. He made his way in a rather relaxed fashion through the cramped hallways of the aircraft carrier that was Rivet City. Sander could have gotten to the Muddy Rudder with his eyes closed, but keeping them open generally helped as far as running into other people went. He was pleasantly surprised, once he reached the more open area of the bar, to notice a couple of faces belonging to people who probably weren't denizens of Rivet City.

Maybe he could harass them into hiring him. Had to earn caps somehow, and - as much as he disliked trying to pawn himself off on people like some prostitute - sitting on your ass at the bar was far from the best way to get work.

So Sander strode up to a couple of unfamiliar faces at the bar, just in time to catch a few snatches of conversation. One asked another - the latter a man with a cybernetic arm, he noted with a fair bit of surprise - what his story was; and, much more significantly to Sander, a man declared he was looking to hire some folks.

"Mercenary work, you say?" he called out in response to the man, striding up to the bar and signaling the tender for the usual - a bottle of whatever beer was closest at hand. On top of the pay, it would be nice to get to do something other than kill people for money - the kinds of acts which rather went against the morals he tried to uphold. Doing something in the name of goodness for a change would be nice, Sander supposed. "I might be interested."

Although Jason didn't usually spend all of his time at Rivet City there were events that had allured him there on certain occasions. Many of times he's sat in the Muddy Rudder, drinking his worries away and hitting on that less-then-quality waitress he never really saw very many interesting characters all there at once. Tonight was certainly a special occasion.

The weirdest out of all the misfits that found themselves in the confines of Rivet City on this fine evening was the stranger that stood before everyone. He claimed to have 'mercenary work' now this isn't what really caught Jason at all until he started going on about the greater good.

Being a former regulator Jason had always pondered the ethics for which he stood by. The Regulators were lawmen for sure, or so they assorted themselves out to be but they had some shady connections and an even shadier way of dealing with certain matters. When this man spoke of the greater good there was a glimmer of interest that certainly caught Jason.

Despite the man being a stranger he had a certain sincerity to him there was of course something off about the stranger yet something so convincing about him. Jason stood up from the barstool. "I hope your pockets are as big as your mouth is." He bluntly stated. "If so, then I'm in."

James glared at the bionic-man. He was just trying to make conversation, but nevertheless, this wouldn't put him off of drinking. His attentions were however stolen by the woman, the scientist one, attempting to contract mercenaries. A bold move, doing it next to a man with more guile. James took pity on the woman, and decided to take one for the team, and help her out. James moved off of his bar stool, and cracked his back, then walked to the woman.

"Well, it seems I'm the only one that's willing to take one for science, not caps, in the infested shithole of a boat. No offense. What's the job detail, Miss....?"

James got shady looks from most people in the bar, probably the power armor. But if this woman was indeed a scientist, then she wouldn't decline his offer, one, from the willingness to help, and two, he had some of the best technology available to man.

Sander scratched his chin at the man's offer, pondering briefly what it was he'd said. Anacostia Crossing, that was only a few minutes' walk away from here... but while it was close, and caps aplenty were promised, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted anything to do with a man who couldn't discuss his business publicly. That just screamed shady backdoor deal for personal gain, and - call him an idealist - probably meant violence and killing. Sander preferred guard duty or similar jobs, the kind of thing where you could sometimes get away with standing there and looking intimidating. At least until a group of raiders attacked your caravan; but Sander tended to lose it where raiders were concerned, and not in a way that implied anything less than homicidal bloodthirst.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Sander looked up and to the suited man to find that he was leaving - presumably for the metro station he'd mentioned a moment ago. He noted, however, that the man was removing his suit in public - certainly not the most normal of actions - and, even more curiously, revealed what looked like a Vault jumpsuit, a pistol of some kind, and a golf club. Interesting weapons, certainly, and it was fair to Sander to say that you had to use whatever you had on hand in this day and age... but something about him, at least as much as the 115 across his back, just rubbed Sander the wrong way. But caps were caps, and he needed some either way, so--

Speak of the devil, he thought as a woman somewhere behind him rose her voice with what sounded like a nervous quaver, and he shall answer. Well, at least he'd have enough time to hear out this young woman--funny enough that he thought of her that way; she could have been older than he was--before he strolled over to Anacostia Crossing.

He strolled over towards her just in time to catch some guy in power armor insult his home. Sander opened his mouth to respond in kind, but realized he probably didn't want to get his face punched in by pneumatically powered armor, so he just settled for attentiveness. "Help, you say?" he asked, mirroring what he'd said to the man just a moment ago. "I'm helpful sometimes. Do tell more."