ROBCO EVENT LOG V2.66
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Chevelle      An hour before dawn. Not the busiest time for any bar in the world. Music piped out of an ancient juke box beside the bar, as a few die hard drinkers propped up the bar. A Mister Handy with an almost comical Southern accent whooshed softly around, weaving it's way between empty tables. In one corner, Chevelle sat, clearly having a serious conversation, minus all the talking, with a bottle of cheap Whiskey. Earlier in the evening rumors had abounded about who she was or why she was here. Two full days she'd spent most of the night, and a good part of the day, sitting alone in the place, drinking and staring off in to the middle distance. Some thought she was a raider, others thought a spy for everything from the Enclave to Reavers. No one knew for sure, she'd had only one visitor, Fern, apart from that people kept their distance from the strange woman.

     She'd blown out the candle which had previously lit her table as night fell, and had wasted the evening nursing the bottle of rot gut in front of her, doing her best to get shit hammered drunk. She'd just about reached that point where her joints felt greased and everything seemed just good enough to keep on living.

     Her age was difficult to determine, as was her looks. Her whole body and outfit caked with road dust like she'd spent a good few months walking from one end of the Earth to the other. Beneath the dust a myriad of Tribal tattoos and Raider body paint, left most just plain puzzled as to who or what she was.
Rome Rome thuds through the entrance to the saloon, the pistons of his Power Armor audible and gaining the attention of several patrons who fill the saloon at such an early hour. He casts his gaze about, AEP7 and Pip-Boy 2000 hand-held in one hand and AER9 held in another. His attention is drawn to Chevelle eventually when he finds her, scrutinising her behind his armored helmet, "How's the whiskey?" he asks with a mechanical tone, filtering out his mic and filter embedded into the helmet, entire suit covered in dried blood splatters and dust.
Chevelle      From a distance she looked carved out of stone. The simulacrum of a person, far too still to be among the living. However at the sound of whirring motors and hissing hydraulics, her gaze dialed back from a thousand yards away and honed in on the source of the noise. Following him with her eyes she moves only slightly, bracing her feet beneath the table, leaning forward slightly. Her hands moving just beneath the lip of the table, ready to flip it and bolt if need be. Though to the casual observer it just looked like she was adjusting her seat.

     Looking back at her own road weary reflection warped by the goggles or whatever you called those eyepieces of the helmet. Eye's flickering to the emblems painted on his armor, her expression one of casual disinterest as she sucked softly on her teeth. Her voice low, with more than a touch of rasp to it. " Cheap. " Gesturing with her chin to the weapons in his hands, eyes fixed on the faceless helmet. " Those for me? "
Rome Rome laughs when Chevelle speaks, the mechanical buzz filling the air of the saloon as it filters out his helmet, "A comedian." he says.

He doesn't seem off guard or suspicious on prompt of her question, by his outwardly appearance and posture -- still casual, though what he's thinking or looks like behind that helmet is anyones guess. Perhaps it's because he has nothing to fear from someone dressed in rags cobbled together from bits and ends found throughout the wastes. "You couldn't sheet these to save your life." He says, walking over to her table to seat himself down. "What brings you here?"
Chevelle      Studying him in the only way available to her, his relaxed demeanor contrasting with his drawn weapons. Canting her head to the side as she swung her shotgun around by striking it precisely with one elbow and a calculated shift of her shoulders. The weapon falling smoothly in to her hands. A crocodile smile on her lips as she slid her fingers along the shotgun and nodded. " Maybe not. But I can shoot this one just fine. But if you're gonna sit at my table, I'd rather you do it without a gun in your hand. Ain't polite... " Letting her own shotgun rest in her lap as she reached out and picked up her glass, knocking back the remainder of its contents before pouring herself another and gesturing to the bottle with a nod of her head, eyes remaining on his faceplate as she spoke. " Whiskey. You? "
Rome Rome chuckles at the grime covered, tattooed girl, prompted by her response to his question. He sets his pistol and rifle down carefully atop the tables surface, the hand-held Pip-Boy model resting between both energy weapons. "I was part of the assault against the Enclave, sole survivor." the mysterious figure reveals, even though his tone is somewhat mechanical, there's a hint of youthfulness to it. "The whiskey worth it?" Rome asks conversationally, resting his thickly armored hands between firearms and pip-boy, gaze set on Chevelle.
Chevelle      Picking up her glass, swirling the contents around in it for a moment as she listens to that warped mechanical voice of his through the helmet. Watching him carefully set his weapons on the table, she too took her hand from her shotgun and leaned back slightly in her chair. " And what...? You want an award? " Shaking her head she took a sip from her glass, holding the amber colored liquor in her mouth, letting it burn in to her tongue for a moment before swallowing. " Or wait... Did you win or lose? Also, can you do me a favor and take that stupid helmet off? You're in a bar not a battlefield. And Whiskey is always worth it. Even this rotgut. "

     She certainly appeared a touch acerbic, though there wasn't any malice in her voice despite those fightin' words of hers. Perhaps she was just blunt. Or a giant bitch.
Rome Rome sighs through his helmet, considering Chevelle's request, "You're asking too much of me now." he retorts back to her, leaning forward slightly chest height, shifting atop the bench, "That's a nice shotgun you have." Rome comments, eyeing the alien-tech shotgun across the table studiously. "Might invite you along for a trip some time if you manage to stick around town long enough."
Chevelle      Shrugging concomitantly, Chevelle canted her head side to side slight, as if internally weighing his proposal. Figuring the whole 'sole survivor' thing probably had something to do with why he wouldn't take his helmet off. Probably got his god damn face burned off. " And maybe I'd accept. Didn't think the brotherhood of steel worked that way though. Thought you all kinda... Kept to yourselves.... But thanks... I like it. "
Rome Rome chortles through his mic, fingers flaying lightly in gesture to Chevelle as she muses aloud to him. "You've got spunk. We'll see if you can put your metal where your mouth is. How long have you been in town for?" he asks the face tatted girl who hasn't seen a wash in probably ages, given her dirty state. A hand draws over to the tablet like Pip-Boy with a earlier version of Vault Boy, his hair and suit red. Rome taps the green lit screen, bringing up a map of El Dorado and the surrounds idly, general gaze of his helmet resting solely on the mysterious girl before him again.
Chevelle      Darkly painted eyes ticking down to the tablet as he fiddles with it through the clumsy looking metal gauntlets which serve him as hands. Another casual shrug of her shoulders as she knocks back the rest of the whiskey in her glass with a practiced flick of her wrist. Picking up the bottle she refilled her glass and took another slip, clearing her throat as she studied the blood spattered helmet he wore, wondering what was inside it, wondering who exactly she was talking to. " I'm all metal tin man. I'm made out of twisted steel and sex appeal. " The line delivered in a deadpan, matter of fact manner, contrary to the humorous little turn of phrase.

     Truth be told if he could smell through the chemical and biological filters of his helmet, he'd get a nose full of it. A mixture of road dust, sweat, and something almost prickly and sage like, but it was clear neither her smell or appearance detracted at all from her own self-confidence.

     " Couple of days or so. Who are you anyway, the sheriff? Or is everyone in this town just nosy? "
Rome Rome raps the table amusedly as Chevelle delivers her line matter-of-factly, "That's how I like them." Tin boy jests, drawing his hands back to the edge of the tables surface as he eyes Chevelle. "Just feeling you out, seeing if you're going to try put a bullet in my back or set me up if we go into the wastes." Not that the armor clad man should have anything to worry about, if his story and claim indeed checks out true. Rumor has it the Eastern and Western Brotherhood of Steel members descended on the Enclave's sky fortress from their own airship in aerial and ground assault, a full scale war that was interrupted by unknown forces or means. Everyone died, except tin boy here. Apparently. If he was there. If anyone knows anything else about the events, it's him. "You don't seem like trouble." Tin Boy offers in contradiction, shifting his gaze to the folks lining the bar, more shuffling in as the sun breaks and the day starts.
Chevelle      " Huh. That's funny. I was trying to figure that out myself. " Sole Survivor. Two words about as familiar to Chevelle as water was to weeds. It was a magic word, the kind of concept that brought ones imagination to life. It said a lot about a person, how they react to hearing it. To Chevelle all it meant that Tin man here was either late to the party or opted out entirely. "Luck" as it was didn't enter in to her own vocabulary. After all, there was only one kind of luck for Chevelle, and it was spelled B-A-D.

     Chuckling softly as he revealed his opinion of her, shaking her head, eyes focused on his face plate as her lips spread in to a mirthless grin. " Kid... You got a -lot- to learn about people. This world ain't black and white. Good or bad. It's every shade of gray inbetween. With a whoooooole lotta black. " Taking a mouthful of whiskey in to her mouth she leaned back in her chair and gestured to the first few beams of sunlight as the dawn began to break and knocked back the remainder of her glass. " That's my queue. " Stuffing the cork in her bottle she stood up, revealing the gleaming chrome of her right leg. Replaced from her mid thigh down with something slick and organic looking, bright chrome gone dull and flecked with rust. It would gleam like silver if polished, and on the way it moved. Picking up the bottle she began to head for the door.
Rome Rome watches Chevelle indifferently from behind his helmet as she calls his bluff, looking her figure over as she retrieves her bottle and rises from the table, "Reaver huh? I'm spooked!" He jokes with mechanical static, retrieving his own gear from the tables surface, taking it up in hands for lack of storage, he too minds the bench as he heads out after the girl, going to do whatever it is the mysterious figure does during the day.