Smells like Whiskey & Regret [Cassidy, OPEN TO ALL]

Kaheliki town is a place where a free scoundrel can settle down and get wasted. Specifically in The Mutant Muscle, the most popular and lively bar in town. All manner of mercenaries, criminals, hunters, and general adventurers come through here. This is a place where business deal can go as civilly as a family meeting and go as sideways as a drug bust. Still, thought Malo as he took in his bar, he wouldn't trade it for the world. Malo was a big man with a head for business and people. He was young, but he was sharp tongued and as tough as nails. Whatever went down in his bar he could handle.

He began to walk through the bustling place, waiters taking orders and waitresses smacking pervs. The bartenders along the massive roundabout bar in the center of the building prepared drinks and listened to life stories. Truly a tale as old as time. The bouncers patrolled the building in metal armor carrying double-barreled shotguns to discourage disagreements. That's how Malo started out, a bouncer. Though he preferred a bat to a shotgun, less messy that way. Eventually he schmoozed the dying owner enough to get the deed. The guy was a prick, but he had no one. Sometimes Malo even felt bad.

But his grief melts away when the band plays. A four piece jazz band with a lovely male & female singer rotation. Both of them were pretty and both of them were good. This evening the man was singing, Logan. He was getting up there in the years, but he was still looking good and had no trouble pulling the ladies. His soulful crooning and the band splashy tune drowned out the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, which was located at the back of the building. Malo looked around his establishment and couldn't help but grin as he returned to his office. He hoped he'd get some interesting characters tonight.

A weary looking traveler gently opened the door to the Mutant Muscle, an uneasy pattern to his steps as he strode on in. An unusual metal guitar case was held up by his left shoulder, rubbing up against his small backpack. It caught a few glances as the man had entered from the entrance, from people at their table, as well as a couple of mercenaries. Few had entered with such a curious container. His fogged up gas mask had been on, preventing any strangers with prying eyes from recognizing him.

As he approached the bartenders that fed his unfortunate vice, his gait changed from uncertain to calm and consistent, his stressed shoulders lowering as he must have felt he was in familiar territory. Taking a seat on a stool by the counter, he brought up his right hand, pulling away his makeshift gas mask from his face and carefully lowered the metal guitar case to rest against the counter, by his legs. "The name is Cassidy." The youthful looking man began to say in a soft tone, as one of the bartenders took a few steps over to hear what he had to say (and order).

"Check your stocks for Olde Royale, I'm willing to pay for a bottle of that." The amiable cadence of his voice was lost along the hustle and bustle of the Mutant Muscle's many patrons, not surprising for the adventurer. Cass stole a glance over at the many bottles on display behind the employees serving swill, a pleased smile tugging at his lips as he realized he couldn't recognize a couple of brands. "Good selection you've got here..." Cassidy spoke under his breath, to nobody in particular. With a free hand, he took off his backpack and moved it to his lap in a quick motion, keeping an eye on it as he got himself situated in the bar.

"You cannot deny me access to this bar, it is my god-given right as an American citizen!" A mechanical voice seemed to yell from the entrance. A quick inspection found that there was a Mister Gutsy unit hovering in front of one of the bouncers. The man in metal armor rested his shotgun on his shoulder, seemingly annoyed by the presence of the robot. He said with a gravelly voice "Get lost you floating pile of scrap, paying customers only. Last time we let one of you bots into here unsupervised it ended up going haywire on some random schmuck that bumped into it."

The robot floated there for a second, processing his dialogue. He continued speaking in the synthesized voice. "That is irrelevant. You are going to let me into this bar, and you are going to like it! I've served my country, and I have enough money to keep the spirit of capitalism alive!" The bouncer sighed, there was technically no rule against allowing robots in. The bouncer considered it for a moment, thinking that this robot would be stupid enough to buy drinks that he couldn't use. Against his better judgement, he lowered his shotgun and allowed him in. "Alright Junkbot, but I've got my eye on you. The gutsy responded almost immediately. "And I've got all three of my eyes watching this bar for any hints of communist spies. I'm practically doing three times the work you are." The guard grunted, as the gutsy began floating inside.

It was hard for the robot to not attract attention, but it seemed as if he didn't care that all eyes were on him. He floated straight over to the bar, inspecting each patron sitting down. He hovered at the end, waiting for the bartender to walk over. Meanwhile, he turned two of his eyestalks to the man with the guitar case. He gave a quick inspection of him, scanning for any signs of allegiance or occupation. He saw that he was drinking from a flask of whiskey, quickly identifying the brand as being American-Made, his initial suspicion was calmed for the moment. Deciding that he seemed American enough, he spoke in a low, modulated voice. "I'm looking for Commies, have you seen any?"

Following the rather dramatic entrance of the the, evidently malfunctioning, robot, a third figure slipped in, largely unnoticed by patrons and bouncers alike. He carried himself with a sort of predatory grace, his eyes ceaselessly darting around the dingy tavern he'd found himself in. He abhorred bars, too many people, too many drinks, and far too many weapons for such a confined space. "Degenerates," Blackwell spat quietly to himself, lithely avoiding a stumbling drunkard before securing an empty booth for himself, as close to the corner of the domicile as possible.

Despite Luke's utter loathing of the various drug dens and speakeasies of the wasteland, there was no denying there was no shortage of clientele to be found. Raiders, Caravans, and Adventurers alike were always looking for a hired gun, and the ample supply of mind addling substances helped to offset his tactless negotiation.

His appearance was typical of his profession. A well-fitting leather jacket was wrapped around his shoulders, well worn, but equally well maintained. Strapped around his torso was a harness, a patchwork of additional leather providing rudimentary, but practically weightless, protection. Displayed clearly on his shoulder was a holstered pistol, a cheap manufacture with a worn grip, yet the gunmetal shone with the dull gleam of a recent cleaning.

For now, he was content to watch, his unnaturally intense stare briefly finding interest in a metal case, slung over a patron's shoulder, before resuming its incessant search for threats, and eyeing the nitwits thick enough to call themselves his competition.

Due patience had always rewarded him with opportunity, and for now he was content to enjoy the show.

In a nearly wordless transaction between patron and bartender, a bottle of Olde Whiskey was brought in front of Cassidy and the magical clink of caps hitting the counter shortly followed. The bartender, with a nod, pocketed the caps and moved on to his next thirsty customer. Cass took a moment to stow away his gas mask, placing it in his backpack that rested on his lap.

Popping the cap off of the pre-war beverage, he took a solid gulp of the whiskey straight from the bottle. As the young man felt its signature burn as it went down, a genuine smile appeared on his face. He attempted to glance about the bar for any interesting people he would enjoy speaking to, but in an unexpected twist, a dilapidated old Mr. Gutsy floated itself square in to his vision. His smile quickly faded.

"Communists? Bot, the war is over. It ended a long time ago, China was wiped off the map." Cassidy found himself responding in his usual tone, surprised that he was speaking to a centuries-old warhound. He knew all too well that trying to convince this bot that there aren't any Communists around would be a moot point from experience, yet he couldn't help himself. "And so was the United States." He added after an awkward delay, shaking his head as he went back to his drink.

"Listen here, cupcake. I didn't mention China ONCE in my past thirty transmissions. I have, however, mentioned the ever-looming threat of Communism. You think that just because China's been destroyed that their ideals are just going to fade? In the Army, that sort of laziness is fatal. Communism is an ideal that appeals to the weak-minded and the foolish. In times of crisis, big red's going to talk about equality and promise in exchange for unwavering loyalty. They are the poisonous talking snake that wants to infect and eradicate you! So, greenhorn, what do you think the probability of people turning to promises of life and happiness nowadays? How many people do you think are easily manipulated over sweet, honeyed lies?"

The Gutsy spoke with zero hesitation, not that his programming would allow it. His processor gave him an almost prideful conviction. True, he was just another cookie-cutter battle bot meant to be thrown into the line of fire to protect human lives, but the thought, design, and idea behind the robot meant so much more than just to be used as a tool. Or perhaps, that was just how he wanted to be viewed. In either case, it didn't seem like the robot would stop speaking anytime soon.

"Now the United States of America on the other hand," As the robot spoke, Cassidy could hear one of the speakers on him crackling to life. Not-so-Subtle patriotic music would begin to play, only bolstering the ego of the robot as his speech is given an even more dramatic flair. "Democracy and Liberty are two ideals that must always persevere in these harsh times. If we allow ourselves to be weak, that invites corruption into our lives, and the longer it goes, the deeper the roots of communism will grow. We must be free to govern our own lives, and ensure the rights of our fellow man are guaranteed from the grasps of those who would seek to do harm to not only our society, but us as individuals. Things may seem grim now, but it is only a sign that we must be stronger! God bless the United States of America!

As Cassidy listened to Sergeant Johnson prattle on about the terrifying threat that the ideals of Karl Marx still posed, he found himself rolling his eyes. The wondrous melodies of the four piece jazz band were all but lost to his ears, replaced with the obnoxious voice of the Mr. Gutsy that was lecturing him. "Please, like the United States does anything for us nowadays. That god you're hoping to bless your dead nation? He wasn't there when everything fell apart." He spoke in rebuke, bringing his whiskey up for another gulp before continuing on. "As pleasant as the ideals of 'democracy' and 'liberty' are, they only matter if there is a strong enough presence to enforce it with laws." The young man noted, with a faint tint of rose red coming to his cheeks.

"I spoke to a couple of people that were there, right after the bombs. There was total anarchy, where no home was safe. The average person had to reinforce their apartment door to prevent those desperate Americans from either killing them for their supplies, or when things were particularly desperate, for the skin off their backs." He spoke with an almost sorrowful tone, going deeper in to his bottle. "I can't even tell you how many times I heard those types of horror stories from ghouls. I'm no Communist, but even I can tell you that their ideas won't spread far if we don't stop killing eachother. Along with your American Dream, junkheap."

[A few blocks away from The Mutant Muscle]

Lei couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"You're out?!" She asked incredulously, her raspy voice muffled through her gas mask. Tito gave an apologetic toothless grin.

"Sorry, Lei, getting the product has been harder than usual lately. Ohana authorities all up my ass, you know?" Her hands began to shake. She stepped away from Tito and turned around to breath, she was dangerously close to shooting the little rat. This wasn't the first time he let her down. She could feel the shakes start to set in. One vial of Jet was barely enough anymore and if he hasn't got any supply...

Lei sighed and hoisted her bag to a more comfortable position on her shoulders, walking away. Tito hurried after her.

"Come on, don't be like that, I got some other stuff you might be interested in. I ain't no one trick pony. Come on, baby-"

In a flash, Lei had her revolver barrel pressed against his forehead. Tito gave a nervous smile and scurried away like the vermin he was. Lei stashed her gun and leaned against the wall of an ancient, rotted building. She ripped her mask off as the shakes set in and her cool demeanor gave way to tears and quiet sobbing. The evening air felt nice on her ancient skin. She didn't mind taking off her mask, she just hated looking at herself. And the looks she got from other people. Her helmet had fallen off in her fit and she picked it up, sliding the mask back on and replacing the helmet on top of her head.

She set off for the bar, the music there always cheered her up and she was cool with a lot of the bouncers.

Lei arrived at The Mutant Muscle a few minutes later, nodding to the bouncer at the front. As she crossed the threshold, the delightful sound of jazz music and jovial conversation flooded into her ears. Immediately, she spotted a Mr. Gutsy, which seemed to be spouting off it's propaganda. Lei rolled her eyes and looked for a seat near the band but it was a full house an as fate would have it, there was a bar stool next to the robot and a handsome young man. Grimacing under her mask, she slowly made her way to the bar and took her seat, waving off the bartender.

She could hear the band, but it was like the stupid machine's speaker could cut through the detonation of a nuclear bomb. Finally, she spoke up.

"Hey Private Pyle, some of us come here to enjoy the band, not listen to you prattle on. How about you shut your metal trap?"

The Gutsy's voice seemed to not fluctuate at all, as if he he spoke only fact and was only correcting mistakes made, as a teacher would. "Look around you, son. Everything around you is related to the United States. That band up there? That style of music originated in the States. The building we're in? Built by American workers. That whiskey you're drinking? Produced in American factories. The weapons everyone carries around nowadays? Produced Pre-War. No part of civilization today is not influenced by the actions of the people that existed before the war."

The Gutsy stopped, briefly addressing the newcomer. "I am currently informing this young man about why his lack of thought is counter-productive to the rebuilding of humanity. Please hold all of your questions until I am finished." He would turn, re-addressing the man.

"While you are right that democracy and liberty can only be supported by a strong presence, it is the people who must be strong enough to enforce it themselves. A government can only be as strong as it's people. That, citizen, is why I go around and make sure that people are strong in mind. To rebuild Democracy. Before the war people thought that mutually assured destruction would be the end of humanity. You're still alive. I look around this bar and I see the future of humanity. I see the tree of life being rebuilt from the roots up, but in order to grow it healthy, you have to kill the weeds holding it back."

As the Gutsy spoke more and more to the young fellow, the man appeared to become more agitated by the words of the bot, and just a tad more sassy in his words. "I look around this bar," he spat in a mocking tone, taking an exaggerated glance around as he did, "and I see too many people sitting and drinking their sorrows away instead of rebuilding that iron clad hold over the world that the U.S desired the most. The ideals you speak of, I won't lie, are wonderful. Democracy, a government by the people, for the people-- but they are just that, ideals. Ideals won't put bread in your jar, and they won't save one of your brightest, dying out there as we speak."

Cassidy adjusted in his stool, turning around to look at the bot face-to-eyestalk. With a bottle in hand, he couldn't ask for a better time. He stole a quick glance at Leilani, the expression and subtle shake of his head saying "No, don't antagonize him". Shifting his focus back to the Gutsy, he continued his debate. "I realize that you can motivate many individuals with those ideals, but not these people. These people will continue to kill eachother as they always have over the past couple hundred years. I've seen it time and time again. The moment they see their dying light, it will have already been gone." His apathetic world view was made obvious with each and every word that came out of his mouth.

"I'm no different from the people in this bar." He continued, gesturing with the branded bottle of whiskey in his hand. "I've got dreams, and hopes. I can tell you this much... none of them extend beyond the end of the day. The moment I get up from wherever I dared enough to sleep, I think, 'How am I going to get through the day?'. The moment you've got an answer to that that isn't philosophical or whatever the hell you're peddling to us, you will have hooked us."

Jesus, this place was bumming her out.

From Sergeant Buzzkill over here, spouting the good word of Uncle Sam to this waster who had accepted the realities of his awful fucking life. Lei could barely hear the band now and it wasn't because of those two. She remembered the day it happened, how excited she had been to enter the next chapter of her life as a traveling musician, she was actually going to get paid to play music. She also recalled iron cold fear that shot through her when she saw that bomb drop. She was in a taxi, on her way to the airport. The taxi driver fainted at the sight of it and they crashed. He was killed by a rebar pole going right through his neck.

It was all she could do to crawl out of the vehicle and down a sewer drain to avoid the wave of radiation and heat that would engulf all of Hawaii.

Lei came out of her flashback with a start, her hands violently shaking. She needed a hit. Now. She quickly and quietly got up from the bar and went to the bathroom, practically shoving those who were in her way to the side. Once inside, she slid into a stall and dug desperately through her bag. Finally, she found her last vial of Jet. She carefully took her helmet and mask off, her hands still shaking. Lei gingerly took the Jet and put it in her mouth, pressing the button down. Her eyes rolled back as she was consumed by the high.

Lei's worries just melted away. Her insecurity, her regret, her sorrow, gone. All that was left was to enjoy the high while it lasted. Lei inhaled the bathroom air deeply and gave a smirk. She stashed her gas mask in her bag and put her helmet back on her head. She opened the stall to see her reflection, a ghoul, and grinned, leaving the bathroom. She made her way back to the bar and ordered a drink, annoyed to see that the robot was still here. An idea began to form in her brain, something that would most certainly get her kicked out. She gazed around the room, absentmindedly sipping her drink. If she could get a brawl going, she could have some real fun...

"What you fail to realize, civilian, is that things have to get worse before they can get better. Coming to a place like this wasn't a mistake. I'm no malfunctioning unit, I know I have no way of processing alcohol. People like you don't come here for fun, no, they come here to forget about the past."

"These people are at their worst, but sitting here in a bar doing nothing when you could be out there, making a difference. All that's stopping them from doing that is discipline. They need to be whipped into shape. They need to able to see past the bottom of whatever bottle they're drinking out of. After that, it's just a matter of getting them to understand the beliefs, and getting them to realize that it is, and always will be, worth fighting for."

"And as for your question, young man, there's many ways that it can be answered. You can work for yourself, working to make sure that each day will be safer than the last, to the point where you don't have to worry about getting stabbed in your sleep. You can work towards making the world a better place for society as a whole, building up something more than a list of people that you've killed to survive."

"But, I suppose if you're looking for a more comprehensible answer, all you have to do is take each day one step at a time."

Cassidy brought his bottle of whiskey to his mouth, taking a final shot of its contents and finishing it off. Setting the bottle on the counter, he adjusted himself in his stool once more, trying to get more comfortable. He paid no mind to Leilani as she left for the restroom, his focus on Johnson. "That is what we are doing here, bozo. All of us, in our own way." He spoke in response, before pausing for a second to gather his thoughts. "You're not like the other Mr. Handy and Gutsy units I've met. All of them can't even hold up a conversation like this without sounding like broken records, and don't care about the way people are living today. They hold up their previous orders to the 'death'."

"If you were a human being, I'd get you a flask of your favorite purely for the thoughtful conversation." His agitation at the unit seemed to almost melt away as he ordered another Olde Whiskey from the bartender that serviced him earlier. "I've never been one for causes, but you almost convinced me there, I'm impressed. I'd help you out with some landmarks here and there to help you move around the islands, but I'm a newcomer here, straight from California." His voice got lower and lower as he spoke to the unit, down to a whisper, trying to keep any information about himself away from listening ears.

When the ghoul ended up coming back from the bathroom, the most he did was raise an eyebrow before turning from the robot back towards the counter. "Watch yourself around here." Cassidy spoke under his breath, still speaking to the Gutsy. "Any dumbass with half a brain might try messing with your circuits, if they get a chance. Lower your voice, too, there is a performance on and the last thing you want to be in here is rude."

As Lei was watching the people in the bar, the Gutsy's monologue seemed to bore into her skull. Her anger flared and the combination of drugs and alcohol severely damaged her self preservation instincts. Lei turned towards the robot, slammed her drink down, and grabbed hold of one of it's eye stalks, pressing her own face into it.

"Beliefs?! You want to talk to me about beliefs, your entire fucking existence was determined by an engineer who believed in a group of destructive imbeciles at the very top who held such a hatred and paranoia of anything different than them that they blew up the world. And the people they hated were fucking scumbags too!"

Her grip tightened on the Gutsy.

"You and I, we're products of a group of powerful, old fucking murderers who didn't give a shit about anyone other than themselves. We're relics, except the difference between us is I stopped believing in that stupid propaganda two centuries ago while you're still here spouting it in a world your 'beliefs' ruined. And I know the only reason you're still doing it is because it's literally impossible for you to stop!"

She let go of the Gutsy angrily and went back to her drink, heedless of the many people near them having gone silent. Even the bartender looked at her with concern. She threw another few caps on the bar and simply said "Keep 'em coming."

"You're goddamned right I was, you brain-dead, skin-peeling, depressed, alcoholic zombie! And this 'engineer' you're prattling on about did more in his short life than you've done in the past two-hundred years! The U.S Government made sure people that were worth protecting were protected in underground vaults. If it wasn't for them, the only people that would be alive today would be ghouls like yourself, and I don't even need an advanced processor to know you're too biologically fucked to reproduce. Your kind would be the last generation, and once they're dead, guess what? No more humanity."

"So, you better thank your lucky stars that the group you call "Old fucking murderers who didn't give a shit about anyone other than themselves." did care about preserving humanity, because if it wasn't for them, you'd be walking around trying to find enough alcohol to drink yourself to death because there would be no one else for your miserable self to talk to."

"The difference between you and I is that I don't let emotions get in the way of my processing. As you said, 'It's literally impossible' Which, sister, is why I haven't lost faith in democracy, because I can see a long-term goal, rather than trying to forget the mistakes I've made in the past."

"But you are right about one thing, the communists were 'fucking scumbags.' If there's anyone you want to blame, they should be it. From them encroaching onto our territory in Alaska, forcing us to kick their asses over the Pacific, to stealing our technology to re purpose it for their own gain. The reason they couldn't sustain themselves on their own and had to invade U.S soil was because of their failing economical system. Sure, they promise that everything is divided equally among the people, but guess what Einstein, Nothing divided among millions of people is still nothing!"

"They're the ones that started the war, plunged everything into chaos, and now it's up to us to clean up the mess, and restore society. The second you can realize that, and think about something other than trying to atone for whatever mistakes or events that you were too stupid to prevent, that is when you'll realize what America stands for."

With a frustrated sigh upon hearing their voices raise at eachother, Cassidy set down his newly-opened bottle of Olde Whiskey to pick up his backpack and wrap the straps around his shoulders. "Bunch of dilapidated old fuck-ups walk in to a bar, just my fucking luck to be the crux of a joke like this." He grumbled under his alcohol-laden breath, popping the cap back on to his bottle of whiskey and placing it in his damaged khaki parka's inner pocket.

Ignoring the prying eyes, he picked up his metal guitar case and got up from the stool, finding himself smack dab in between the two forces of nature. "I've been in enough bars in my lifetime to tell where this is heading. If you bastards are going to fight it out and spill some blood, at least spill it outside." He reasoned, glancing between the two to judge how they were going to react.

(( +13 to Diplomacy dice roll ))

The member 'Cassidy' has done the following action : Dices roll

---

'1d100' : 77

(( A whopping roll of 140, with diplomacy and Soothing Voice in effect ))

His voice appeared to have a significant effect on the two, considering all the activity in the bar. Now, Cass realized, a lot of people had stopped their conversations just to look at the spectacle occuring in front of them. The last thing these people need is to see a robot and ghoul tearing eachother up, he thought as he took in the many eyes upon them. Glancing between Leilani and Sergeant Johnson, he gestured with a hand towards the entrance (now exit). "Take it out of here."

The gusty paused for a moment, no doubt running calculations inside of his head. He gave a grunt, and began floating over to the door. He realized that it was fruitless to attempt to rouse some patriotic spirit so long as he was just treated as an ordinary robot, perhaps it was time for some change.

The bouncer laughed as he left, finding it humorous that a robot would back away from a fight. Sergeant Johnson paused, before continuing onward.  He floated off down the road, this town had nothing left for him. It was time for him to move to greener pastures, perhaps he would find someone willing to join his cause...

Blackwell looked back at the strange man with interest, the one he had skimmed over before. Even he felt himself influenced by the sudden declaration, a feat not many could achieve. As someone who guarded his independence with all the ferocity of a cornered animal, he immediate detested the action. To be manipulated with words, as his philosophy went, was to render oneself as a slave to another.

Perhaps he had been wrong in his initial judgement of the man with the bizarre metal case. His weapons were clearly not to be found in some sheath or holster, his tongue, rather, seemed to be his tool of choice.

He filed this information away for later use, for now, at least, it was best for him to remain innocuous. There might be opportunity here yet.

Lei had stood up at the robot's insults, a hand on her revolver. But the young man intervened and the robot backed off, leaving to the laughter of a bouncer. After a moment's silence, the band started to play again and Lei sat back down, pushing the drink away. She was never a heavy drinker, she just wanted something to keep her mind off the robot. But now it was gone and the sweet, sloppy tones of the jazz was delightful to her ears. Lei looked over to the man who had just defused the situation.

"Guess I should thank you for preventing me from getting kicked out. I've been hanging around this place since it opened, would be a shame if I couldn't come here anymore. How about I buy you a drink to say thanks? You seem like you enjoy it."

With that, she waved down a bartender and gave him some caps "Whatever handsome here wants."

The situation having resolved itself after Cassidy intervened, he found his shoulders relaxing from tension he hadn't even realized built up. As he watched the Gutsy unit leave the establishment, he took a couple of steps behind him and sat back on his (apparently) desirable stool. Resting his guitar case against the counter again, he didn't take off his backpack like the first time he took a seat at the bar. "I'll never say no to a stiff drink." The young man spoke in response to Leilani, glancing at the bartender that she had waved over. "I'll take another bottle of Olde, if you got any. Along with two shot glasses." He adjusted himself in his seat, so he was facing his kind benefactor.

His cheeks were as rosy as they were earlier, and a faint smile was evident on his face as he was under the influence. "I don't just enjoy it, it's my favorite hobby." He said to her, as his bottle got served to him, with the requested glasses. Popping the cork out of the bottle with ease, he poured a shot glass for himself, before gently sliding the bottle with assorted shot glass across the counter to Leilani. "Try it out, tell me what you think."

Lei watched with an amused expression as the young man slid the drink towards her. She picked up the bottle and began to pour the drink when she noticed the guitar case. A flood of memories greeted her and her eyes lit up. Slamming back the shot she groaned as it burned down her throat. Lei casually pointed to the case and asked "What year is that guitar?"

She placed her shot glass down on the counter and scooted closer to get a better look at the case. Lei remembered the first time she picked up a guitar. It was spring, 2065. She was 10 years old and her aunt was showing her how to play. From that day onward, Lei wanted nothing more than to be a musician. The case looked a little battered, which made her hope that the guitar was in better condition.

"Nothing like the burn going down..." Cassidy commented after seeing her down the shot of the premium whiskey, elbow pressing against the counter, cheek in hand. "I always loved that brand more then any of the others I had experienced. Nothing like how it was made pre-war in my travels." He said, before pulling away his elbow to look at the guitar case. He placed a tender hand on it, as if it was an old friend of his.

Not taking his eyes off the guitar as he responded to her, a tinge of nostalgia would infect his voice. "This old girl has been with me since I was a boy. It's an authentic pre-war guitar, passed down in my family for generations..." He trailed off as he spoke, before shaking his head in disapproval. "That isn't what you asked. We never found out the exact year, not in our conditions."

He pulled his hand away from the case, turning towards the counter and his shot glass. Picking the glass up, he'd shoot it down. "The average wastelander doesn't care too much about these instruments. They'd sooner think I'm carrying some kind of large rifle then anything like this." A hint of curiosity hit his expression as he looked over at Lei. "You sound experienced, I'm not going to ask if you used an instrument before. That'll bring back memories. Pass over the drink, I want another shot."

Lei slid the bottle and glass back to the man, saying "Music was once my calling. A very long time ago. But I like to keep in touch with it."

She studied him more closely as he poured himself another drink. He was an interesting one alright.

"What's your name?" she asked, then offering "Mine's Lei. Well, Leilani, but you can call me Lei."

The band had stopped and gotten off the small, elevated round stage. The only sound that filled the bar now was the jovial conversation of friends and the tense bartering of enemies. Everyone had seemingly forgot about the tense spat between herself and the robot, which was fine by her. She'd sooner shoot herself in the foot than see that delusional tin can again.