ROBCO EVENT LOG V2.66
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Jackson As it always seems to be, the Gold Digger Saloon was a bustle of drinkers, drunkards, and sober folk trying to find their way toward one of those two states of mind. The moon shimmered brightly in the sky outside, the wind whipped through the quiet El Dorado streets like a chilly phantom, and Jackson Parkes couldn't give half a shit about it. He was the leader, and sole survivor of a patrol straight into an ambush earlier that morning, got lit up by a Vertibird's minigun, and nearly found himself buried by a pile of pre-war TVs. Simply put? He was drinking himself into a stupor.
The man in question leaned hap-hazardly upon the bar, nursing a cup of whiskey whilst ignoring the pair of aviators barely clinging on to the tip of his nose. All he wanted to do was forget this day ever happened, and he was well on his way there as he slammed another cup of the liquor home. It burned like liquid plasma as it crept down into his innerds, and he shook slightly as it gave him goosebumps on the back of his neck. Strong shit, to be sure.
Franky     A curious brow accompanied Franky as he strolled toward the doors of the Gold Digger. El Dorado had that vibe that he could never get used to, not enough concrete maybe? Stranded too far west problems he attributed it too, nothing a glass of Rotgut wouldn't fix. He pushed open the doors and stepped inside, glancing about while his shoes carried him toward the bar.

    Several caps fall from a fist onto the bar top and a grin his given. "Whatevers cheap." He asks, taking a moment to look up and down the bar, and noticing the Copper from breakfast the other morning. He tips an imaginary hat, and sets his happy ass into a stool.
Jackson As the man sat down next to him, Jack glanced toward him for a moment as if he wasn't even there, and finally seemed to focus in on him after he'd sat there in silence for a moment. It was that guy from breakfast the other morning-- the one who just kept eating his breakfast while the rest of them walked outside. As he noticed that, he slurred out something resembling a conversation starter.
"Fuck if I didn't wish I'd just kept eating my breakfast the other day. Shit, I*HIC* wish I'd just sat down and ate my breakfast today. Or just sat here and drank myself into oblivion." He paused for a moment, fixing his sunglasses and buying himself another whiskey with a thrown handful of caps.
"Dunno if I introduced myself the other day. I'm Jackson. Dep-*HIC*-uty at small." At that, he offered Franky a hand to shake as he gulped down his most recent whiskey.
Franky     Frank offered Jackson a strange look as he started his conversation, an eyebrow cocking as the gears turn and Frank realizes that Jackson's on his way to Oblivion. "Make mine a double." Franky says with a wink, he's got some catching up to do. He looks down at the offered hand, hesitating for a minute, be then taking it firmly for a quick shake. "Franky. I'm new around here."

    His drink is poured and he takes it up with his left hand, the one with a partial missing ring finger. "Cheers." A long swig is taken followed by an ahhhhh. "What's the occasion?"
Jackson The deputy shook the man's hand firmly, and grinned at the man's mention of a double. He took a long swig off of his own drink, rubbed his hand over his face, and tried to think of where to begin.
"It's a pleasure. Everybody's gotta' be the new guy sometime. It's not too bad around here. A little quiet, but, y'know. Safe enough." The last part of his sentence sounded a bit hollow to the deputy as he spoke it, but nevertheless, he continued. "As for the occasion? Drinking to forget. Led a lot of people straight to hell today, and the reaper left me behind. Not without a trophy, either." At that last bit, Jack opened his duster a bit to reveal the outline of blood-tinged bandages wrapped around his abdomen.his tone was deadpan and lacking the majority of the slur it'd had a moment ago. Seemed as though he was trying to reel himself back in a bit-- To no real success, mind you. Slurring or not, he sounded like some combination of drunk and full of sedatives, though the latter just wasn't true. Drunk? Yes. Drugged? Not likely.
"How about yourself?"
Franky     Franky listens to Jackson talk about being the new guy, he cocks his head before giving an accepting nod. Another drink from his glass of cheap clear alcohol, he takes a moment to admire that the glass isn't some form of recycled plastic vessel. A grin spreads before disappearing when Jackson tells the tale of the last patrol.

    Frank's blue eyes flash down to the red weeping bandages, his eyes center on Jackson for a second. He raises his glass, "To the memory of the dead." He takes a long pull and finishes the cup, "Ahh." Gritting his teeth as he produces a post-war package of new vegas smokes, offering one to Jackson before taking one himself. "Just killing time til morning. Was hoping to find maps of the surrounding area, looking for a crash sight."
Jackson With a sardonic grin, Jackson raised his glass in kind, drinking long and deep from the caramel spirit as it's warmth spread throughout his body. That was just the kind of toast he could get behind. He took the offered smoke with a nod of gratitude, removed a refillable lighter, sparked it up with little difficulty, then offered it's open flame to Franky as he listened.
"Can't say that I've found anything like that myself, not that I was lookin' into anything like it. Only crash site i've heard of is a Brotherhood airship that went down near Dead Man's Gulch. Rumor has it that the place is full of some.. Wacky characters. That the place you're lookin' for?"
Kaelyn The door to the place opens, and in wanders Kae.. She's wearing her easy going type outfit and stuff, this consisting of her skin suit, a pair of blue jeans, and a raggedy tank top. She pauses as she gets inside and looks around curiously before wandering up to the bar, where she leans that giant gun of hers, the beowulf... How someone of her build even carries the gigantic thing around is anyone's guess...
Franky     Franky leans over a lights his cigarette on jackson's offered lighter, "Appreciate it." He mumbles, the stogie dancing between his lips as he speaks. A long drag, and an even longer thought, a cloud of smoke vents into the air above his head. "Hm, Brotherhood? No, not them. Interesting thought, any cool shit at that one?"

    Franky turns to look when the sound of a black rifle gets leaned up on the bar. He lifts a hand in hello, "Hey." More caps get brought out and placed on the bar. "More doubles."
Jackson "To my knowledge? A bunch of talking animals. But you didn't hear that from me, and I'm not just saying it because I'm shitfaced. It's the kind of shit you have to see to believe." His voice, though obviously intoxicated, was totally serious. At the appearance of Kaelyn and her rifle, Jack flipped up his sunglasses and gave her a once over.
"You know, you should really be careful with that thing. You could put someone's eye out."
Kaelyn Kae blinks and glances to Jackson curiously.. She then looks at her rifle then back to Jackson, then the rifle, and then to Franky and waves quietly to Franky then she glances back to Jackson "Least of one's worries with that thing...
Jackson With a snort, Jack downed the rest of his whiskey and idly appraised the weapon's quality. It was definitely a murder machine-- he'd just seen another one of her weapons in action earlier on in the day, back at the scrapyard. He could definitely say for sure that he wouldn't want to be on the wrong end of that thing though-- especially if she was behind the trigger.
"So what brings ya' out this way Kaelynn? Getting shitfaced like the rest of us?"
Franky     Speaking of shitfaced, drinks are delivered to Jackson and Franky. "Need something to drink, Kaelyn?" Franky offers, giving her a questioning gaze. His smoking hand goes to his lips again he takes a drag. After exhaling, Franky grabs his drink and has a gulp. He sets it down and wipe his mouth with his forearm. "What's rounds cost in that thing anyway?"
Kaelyn Kae then smiles cheerfully and umms "I can't really get... Drunk..." She adds and shrugs "I'm here for soda!" She adds. Then well the Soda is dropped off to her, seems that the owner of the place knows what Kae likes.... Kae then motions to the BEo "That? Average about 14 caps a pop, it's .50 cal ammunition.... Thing holds 50 of the buggers too and right now is fully auto..."
Jackson Taking the offered drink with a nod and a smirk, Jack took a deep sip off of his drink, wrinkled his nose slightly at the taste, then realized what he just heard Kaelyn say.
"Wait, y-you can't get drunk?" He queried with liquored-up astonishment. "I think I'd kill myself. It's pretty much the only thing that keeps me from going insane" He paused his speech for a moment to take a drag off of his smoke. "Well, that and the nicotine."
Franky     "Hmm, .50 beowulf...wonder how the ballistics compare to .50 AE..Had a deagle in .50 AE back east. Garbage of a pistol caliber." Franky takes another swig of his drink. "That's right...That Lowry guy was mentioning you taking 5 gallons or something to get drunk. Imagine that hurts the pocket some." Franky looks at Kaelyns rifle again, "Buffer and spring must soak up recoil pretty good. Know if it's gas recoil or blowback?"
Kaelyn Kae glances from Jackson to Franky and shrugs slowly "Part and parcel of having this kinda body... However, add to it, I can't really get sick, from what I understand, not even FEV works... Oh and I'm pretty much immune to rads too..." She adds and shrugs.. "I think, not bothered testing that..." Kae then glances to Jackson curiously, then Franky "Piston blowback system... Hydrolic recoil suppression...." she adds...
Jackson As she did in his past few encounters with her, Kaelyn never failed to be anything but intriguing. Between her story, her arsenal, and her.. Well, assets, there was never a dull moment. As the trio continued to converse, the night dragged on longer and longer, and they spent the rest of it drinking, talking, and trading stories between each other. Of life, and combat, and loss, and pleasure, and pain. Of booze, of the future, of the past, and of what came next. It was another quiet night in El Dorado, and for once, Jackson was alright with that.