Theme toggleSCENE LISTING SCENE SCHEDULE Scene Schedule RSS Feed
Owner Pose
Elsie It's early morning at the Second Chance Saloon, but that doesn't mean it's not a busy morning! The small hole-in-the-wall contains a smattering of people, from whores getting off their evening shifts and looking for a come-down, to old drunks who haven't quite managed to sober up enough to get off their barstools, to a few fresh-faced Kings awake and ready to start their day of shakedowns and patrols.

Working behind the bar is a pretty hazel-eyed redhead known around the place as Elsie Bell, proprietress. She wears today a purple sequin dress (those of you familiar with fallout should know the one) with simple, yet high, grey pumps. Thankfully the floor's been evened-out enough to allow the wearing of these things! Styled thusly, she is popping in and out of the kitchen and behind the bar, delivering steaming hot bowls of oatmeal, thick with honey, for those who wish for such things. Most just wish for the house brew, however, and she keeps that pouring freely and readily as well. There's a smell of coffee though, or rather, of chickory root that can be excused for coffee in these post-apocolyptic days.
Doc     The ghoul called Doc wanders into the saloon carrying a chain with a half-dozen gecko heads on meathooks on it. Sitting down at the bar, he slaps his free hand down on it. "That did not go as planned," he informed the barkeep. "Do you have any pent up rads stored away somewhere? I could use some glow after the night I've just had."
Stockton Stockton finally stumbles down from the upstairs with a slow thumping gait that carries him to the bottom floor in his heavy boots. Trousers and suspenders over a buttoned shirt at least. His wild mane is left that way, and he clutches a cigarillo between his teeth as he stalks towards the bar. The gecko heads on meathooks only garners a passing glance before he's rather fixated on the girl in the blue dress and heels. Can't blame him, Doc, you just can't. "You what now?" he looks at the ghoul with a hint of that scarred eyebrow going up. "There's plenty'a places that you kin get irradiated at 'round 'ere."
Elsie Elsie blinks in surprise at the sight of the ghoul, her hazel eyes going wide. She doesn't, it seem, have a problem with ghouls in her establishment, even ones bearing gecko heads. She has to think about it, mind, for a few seconds, before she realizes that she doesn't have a problem with it. In fact, she looks quite interested.

Stockton and his wandering eyes get a little smile from the redhead, before she looks back to the Ghoul and leans forward on the bar, folding her arms beneath her. "Ya want rads? I mean ... I can see if there's some dirty water down below, stuff I couldn' use for the hooch," the girl drawls easily. She leans to one side and eyes the gecko heads. "Got any meat to go with those? I'd sure buy it off ya. I ain't started the lunch and dinner meals yet today, and some fresh gecko stew, maybe with some spicy peppers, might be a popular new taste for the folks 'round here."
Doc     Doc groaned a bit. "Yes," he moaned, "but they're full of ferals, and I'm still working on my neuron-regenerator to make them people again...I mean...not crazy, radiation-lobotomized people." He finally looked at Stockton and furrowed his brow. The woman speaks to him, but he's looking at Stockton. "I'm sorry, are you Aquaman? You look exactly like Aquaman." Suddenly, he's pulled away from his idle thoughts by others based on Elsie's question. "What? Oh, sure. Here." He lifts the chain and sets the heads on the bar. "Knock yourself out."
Stockton Stockton doesn't seem interested in the ghoul or his geckos at the moment, but he's keeping a watchful eye on Doc all the same. Even the redhead smiling at him doesn't tug him away from that thousand-yard stare that measures the other fella. Brows furrow, including that scarred one, the hazy eye under it still able to focus sharply on the one calling him Aquaman. "Marshal Stockton," he introduces himself as way of refuting the other craziness. The half-Tribal doesn't seem bothered by the heads appearing on the bar, just makes him look at Elsie and wonder aloud, "Still got any'a that bighorn bacon?" clearly made hungry now.
Elsie Elsie reaches for one of the heads, lifting it with a rattle of the meathook chain to examine it. "Heads ain't got a whole helluva lot of meat on 'em, and we get busy in the evenings. You got the carcasses stored away someplace?" she asks, turning her attention to the Marshal at his request. He gets a little grin. "I tried to save ya a lil' but that girl I got workin' here doesn't seem to realize when I set somethin' aside it ain't to be used. Or Lowry got into it. Either way there's a few slices but not 'nuff to keep ya fed. I'll bring ya some oatmeal too." She picks up the heads, grunting at the effort to lift them. "And you, shug?" she asks Doc. "Just the water, then? Or ya fancy a snack too?"
Doc     Doc tapped the bar. "Give me your strongest water," he insisted. He turned to Stockton and said, "I am The Doctor, so called because I have more doctorate degrees than any person alive or dead. I am the Lord of Science, and have been since before the war. I invented half the tech that's more advanced than a shovel and spade, so, you know, you're welcome." He seemed to forget the kind of half-standoff he was having with the half-tribal as he was speaking, and as he stopped talking, he thrusted out his hand. "Call me Doc."
Stockton Stockton just chuckles a little bit, shaking his head at Elsie, "Yer helps gonna git 'er hand slapped next time, er I'll just blame Lo'," he grins toothsomely at her before glancing back at the Ghoul with the grandiose ideas. He flat out laughs. Not like rude, but he finds something incredibly funny. "Shit," he breathes before sucking in some air, "If'n I 'ad a horse fer everytime I 'eard some new nerd claim to be the high mucky muck of science I'd have a whole damn herd." He shakes his head and holds his hand up at the Ghoul, "'Pologies, 'm sure yer a smart one, but 'tween Mr. House, Doc Brown, Einstein an' the various nerdlets o'er at S.O.E.D., I'm up to m'eyeballs in smarty pants. Alrigh'. Doc the Third it is."
Elsie "In that case, just blame Lo. I can't go about hirin' new help if you put the fear a God in 'em everytime someone gets too high to remember that your bacon ain' for their eatin'," Elsie teases Stockton. She pauses, looking between the two men with a smirk of amusement and enjoyment before she hoists the heads and brings them into the kitchen in the back. There'll be a lot of cleaning of skulls, today. But then, cheeks are a delicacy, are they not?

Elsie will be gone for a round, fetching everyone their respective food and drink orders.
Doc     "I didn't know Einstein had more doctorates than me," Doc said, "or that he was ghouled." He was being facetious, of course, since neither of those things were true. "Now, can you ease back on the riding-my-ass-o-meter a few notches, cowboy? I'm just here for a drink and a little relaxation."
Stockton Stockton shrugs slightly at Elsie, that not-so-innocent look on his face telling the tale, "Fear'a god ain't hurt no one," he reminds her before reaching over the bar and snagging a glass and the pitcher with the clean water in it so he can quench his sudden thirst. With Elle slunk off, he turns to Doc and offers an easy smile, "Ain't sure what Einstein is to be fair," he notes with a conspiratorial tone. There's a squint and eventually the Marshal seems to settle deeper into his stool. "Habits of the badge don' turn off, apologies." he tips a Stetson that isn't on his head
Doc     "Forgiven," Doc said. "Einstein was nice. Only spoke German, though. I'm usually pretty nice, I just don't like pissing contests." He reaches for an invisible stetson as well, but realizes the folly of his motion half-way through it. "So, what do you do, Marshall Stockton? Shoot things, presumably."
Stockton Stockton smirks, "The Einstein here isn't German...I don' think?" he offers before considering with a scratch to his head. At the question of what he does, he blinks. "Well, bein' that I'm the Marshal of the El Dorado Federation, I uphold th' few laws we got, help the people where I can, hunt the Enclave an' the ghouls what ain't so kindly as you are," he at least seems to understand there's a distinction between a ghoul and a feral ghoul.
Doc     "At least you seem to understand there's a distinction between a ghoul and a feral ghoul," Doc said, as if reading text that wasn't there. "Hey, speaking of El Dorado, maybe you'd know. What provides power here? Does everyone just have their own generators?"
Elsie Oh look, Elsie's back! She's just stepped out from the back, carrying a tray of items. She pauses, though, to shout up the stairs. "We know ya done ate the Marshal's bacon, ya drunk!" she hollars, though there's a grin of fondness and amusement on her features. Lowry, presumably, shouts at her to 'fuck off' from upstairs, and there's a slamming of a door followed by the giggles of ... well, it sounds like at least two women. Oh, Lo.

She approaches the bar and sets the tray down, unloading it. A bottle of beer and a glass for the Marshal, along with a plate with a few thick cuts of bacon that look more like ham and a bowl of oatmeal. Two bottles of questionable-looking water for the ghoul. "On the house," she informs him with a wink. "Fer puttin' up with this one early in the mornin," she adds, casting a fond look at Stockton before she sets the tray aside. She brings out another clean glass and pours a bit of the Marshal's beer into it, for her to drink it seems. "Lo says good morning," she reports with a smirk.
Stockton Stockton makes sure to puff on his cigarillo there, tugging on the nicotine for a moment. That glassy eye squints some along with the good one at Doc before finally shrugging, "Hoover Dam pr'vides mosta the power in these parts. Git further south'n it's mostly generators. We tried tah harness a Poseidon Facility...didn' work out so well," he shrugs and looks up as Elsie comes out again. The shouting match between friends just has him rolling his eyes, "I'ma shoot 'im in th' foot one'a these days," he warns the redhead with a smirk. Course she's pouring out his beer and then taking her sippy-tax, he just chuffs and reaches to take it from her, "I'ma say good mornin' at three A.M. next time," he threatens with a hint of bestial growl to his voice. Turning back to Doc he wonders, "What're you doin' round these parts, yerself?"
Doc     "Science," Doc replies, matter-of-factly. "Well, I'm trying. I've been beset by aliens and supermutants and ferals. Honestly, I'm trying to make a cure for feralism, but it's not as easy as it would have been with a pre-war facility. Obviously, the Enclave and the Brotherhood have the equipment to make it much easier, but the Brotherhood don't deal with ghouls, and obviously, the Enclave is horrible. So, here I sit, with nary a cure to my name, and no biology lab to work out of. Funny how life works, isn't it."
Elsie At the talk of aliens, Elsie frowns and reaches up to touch her head, turning the gesture into a natural one by running her fingers through the red locks and tucking them behind one ear. "Aliens ain' no good," she says. "Better off stayin' clear of all that stuff. Maybe gettin' a job in a Vault, but other'n that, s'no good that's come from all that tech that I can see." Elsie pauses then, reaching into her pocket to pull out a little bottle of pills. She palms a few, then takes them and chases them with her stolen beer.

It's then she looks back to Stockton and sticks out her tongue. "You'll do no such thing, Marshal Stockton. I ain't gonna have Lo laid up in my place for three months while his foot heals. I'll be outta every chem in the place in a week! You need anything like that, shug, by the by?" She asks, the last question for Doc. "We sell booze'n chems as well as food."
Doc     Doc shook his head. "No, thank you," he said, politely, picking up the bottles of dirty water and stuffing them in his already-full lab-coat pockets. "Chems don't have any effect on feralism, so I'm going a different route with it. A lot of psychological conditions, such as depression, are caused or aggrivated by poor nutrition. It's really hard to get adequate vitamin C these days, wouldn't you know it."
Stockton Stockton huhs and then nods, "Then I'd suggest yah talk to the S.O.E.D. them boys'n girls got med labs, weapon labs, science labs, if'n it's a damn lab, they got one er know someone that does," he offers with a try at a peace offerin. Elsie's general demeanor makes him grumble, but he seems to accept the law that's been set down in this establishment. No shooting Lowry in the foot. "In the knee maybe?" he asks with a cheeky hopefulness of the redhead.
Elsie "Watchu got against Lo, anyway? He's nothin' but a sweetie," Elsie informs the Marshal, downing the beer she stole from him. It wasn't half bad! Perhaps that's why she pulls out a fresh one for herself from underneath the bar. Yeah, it's early in the morning. Welcome to how the other half lives. This time, she swigs right from the bottle, her hazel eyes, looking uncertain, flashing between the Doc and the Marshal.

"What's vitamin C?" she asks, and then after a moment's though, she continues. "What's depression?" Yeah, not a whole helluva lot of education out this way.
Stockton Stockton looks lost as Elsie is but he doesn't let her get away with stealing his second beer. Because this one is his dammit. He just theifs it from her hands and guzzles half of it right there, "Ain't got nothin' gainst's like friendly brotherly type things," He tries to explain bullshit to a bullshitter. At the questions though, he shrugs, "Hell if I know." Hoping and figuring the Doc has more answers there.
Doc     "Don't worry about it," Doc says with a kind smile. "Pre-war terms. Depression, there's still a lot of in the world, but vitamin C has all but disappeared. I'm honestly surprised people don't get scurvy more often." He rubs his bald head and continues, "People have been telling me about these 'sood' characters a lot. Honestly, I'm hesitant to join up with any group, but it wouldn't hurt to go talk to them. It would be nice to not have to explain all the technical terms I'm apt to use."
Elsie "You mean like scurvey?" The illiterate bar-owner asks Doc with a cheeky grin. "Don't knock us too bad, Doc. Why the Marshal here's been teachin' me to read and write and everything. Granted, I dunno what the point of it is, most times, but he's awful insistant about such things. HEY!" While she was talking, the big man sniped her beer and now she's pouting. "You rotten bastard. I oughtta have Lo' take out your kneecap, see how you like it." She glares and sticks out her tongue at the man once more, taking a big, defiant swig of her own booze. "Though the both of you are still spozed to take me out shootin', to learn me that. You know much about shootin', Doc?" It's like a PhD walked into a townie bar....
Doc     "Energy weapons," Doc says. "I have never been too keen on throwing slugs around," he continues, referencing a firearm sometimes being called a slugthrower, though he expects the joke will have fallen on deaf ears, so he just continues. "Oh, speaking of, I have need of microfusion cells. Do either of you have any of those you'd be willing to give or trade?"
Stockton Stockton gives Elsie an eyebrow, "An' you'll be thankful'a such things eventually," he is still rather insistent on such things it seems. Though she's pouting and he can't help but smile at her demurely before watching her tantrum drink her beer. "Could go to a strict no booze diet," he counters in retaliation. Then thinks, "Still need tah do that, jus' get so damn busy." At the scientist he shakes his head, "Naw, I don' carry the things on me, too finicky.
Elsie For the third time, Elsie sticks out her tongue at the man across from her. "Does that mean whiskey only?" she teases back, moving to get another beer for the man and set it out in front of him.

That allows her to look back to Doc, shaking her head. "Naw, shug. Wouldn' know what to do with any of that sorta stuff if I saw it, which if I have I ain't rightly remember much about it," she confesses. "Really, your best bet is the nerds in El Dorado. Talkin' to 'em doesn't mean you gotta join 'em. But they'd know what you're on about. Us, we're just simple folk here. Well I am," she looks at Stockton with a grin. "This one here, with all his laws and his readin', is as fancy as they come."
Doc     Doc smiled a slim and half-hearted grin. "Seems that way," he says. "Well, if you fellows will excuse me, I think I'm going to take my order for the road."
Stockton Stockton chuffs at the woman and just shakes his head. And then again at being called fancy. "I ain't fancy, just slightly educated," he notes before tipping his non-existent Stetson at the Lord of Science, "Be well, sir," he tells the ghoul before looking back at Elsie with a broad smile. "Bacon was delicious, darlin."
Elsie "You come back an' see us now. And next time bring the whole gecko, woncha!" She calls out to Doc, lifting her hand in salutation while the man turns to go. Her eyes then move to Stockton, giving him a fond grin. "Thank ya," she says, moving to take his empty plate. "I'll see about gettin' some more for ya in the next day or so, and hidin' it a bit better. Thing is, when Lo's high, ain't no slice of bacon safe."