Fallout: Den Of Thieves

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Jacobson sat in the far corner of the Swooning Cazador, a bottle of whisky sitting next to an almost-clean glass. His hat sat next to him in the booth, just over his .357 magnum revolver. He was sitting leaned back, watching everyone in the small, dusty bar while trying not to doze off with the cool breeze blowing in from the two windows on either side of the "door", which was nothing more than a tan, tattered cloth hanging in the doorway. It might be easier than having to deal with a door opening all the time, Jacobson though to himself, but at least a door could keep some of the dust outside. Another breeze blew in from the far window, and he watched dust roll in over the table right under it. When the air settled, both costumers looked even grimier than before and were fussing over their ruined drinks.

With a chuckle, Jacobson looked at the small extra stack of application fliers sitting on the table in front of him, weighed down by a rock and a shot glass. He wondered if anyone who would see a flier asking for people to meet in a dirty bar. There had been two people that had tried to mug him in the place, just because they assumed someone wanting to start a mercenary gang would have a lot of money. He'd arranged with the owner to allow him and whomever joined his group a night of sleep and a meal, which would be paid for after their first successful contract. Sure, some of the new members wouldn't like it, but it was the right thing to do. So he sat and waited for people to walk up to a stranger with a gun and day, " Hey there, I'd like to go do random jobs with you."

Rocket looked up at the board, which looked like a place that someone would have posted upcoming events in town if there was still events and town organization to utilize such a system. Rocket hadn't been in this particular town for very long, she had been spending her time digging through junk and dead wastelanders, trying to find enough to buy herself another dose of hydra. It took awhile, but she finally thought she had enough, now the problem of finding a seller came along. She had heard from a passing ranger that Mexico City was full of crime and grime, as if he was trying to deter the girl from going there. And while looking for a seller she had come across this message board. She attempted to read one of the pieces of paper, but the wind and sun in her eyes as well as the side effects of withdrawal was making it hard to focus on the flapping piece of paper.

With a growl she grabbed one of the notices, tearing it down with enough force to also tear out a chunk of the dried cork that supported the board. Rocket took a deep breath, trying to steady her skating hands long enough to read what the message even said. A mercenary group? And then something about getting caps and food and family or something. That sounded like something she could get into, she missed fighting. She held the paper in her trembling hands. She was told to meet at the Swooning Cazador, which she thought was a stupid name. Cazadors don't swoon. Regardless she navigated herself there, only getting lost a handful of times.

She stood outside the building, internally commenting on how broken down it looked, and then looked to the paper in her hands. This was the place. She walked through the flap of cloth which attempted to pass as a door. Going from the bright of the wastes to the dark interior of the bar gave Rocket a headache, her vision swimming for a moment before she could adjust. It had been too long since she last had a hydra, and she was feeling it. The worst part was her lack of endurance, which might hinder her ability to get into the mercenary group. Regardless she scanned the patrons of the bar, it didn't take long to find this Jacobson person. He was sitting by himself with a stack of similar papers.

Taking another deep breath, hoping to steady her shaking hands, Rocket made her way over to Jacobson. She swallowed, she felt herself breaking out into a cold sweat, but regardless tried to keep herself together.

"You're...uh...Jacobson right? I'm...uh...here to apply."

Leo Lows

leo had been walking for a few days, since his run with the Gun Runners he had kept traveling, only staying in a town for a few days at top.
he took work clearing out wildlife and scaring off local punks that messed with any town he passed through, Never using his real name or gave any information away that could bite him in the ass. He had been tracing down a rogue trader that had been selling broken tech, upon apprehending the trader and the search of his belongings he found a small leaflet, "Swooning Cazador and Jacobson"

After collecting his claps from the townsfolk, he made his way to the swooning cazador. there was a nice hill around 1 click away which had a clear line of sight to the front door, setting up his rifle just under some Bushes he took aim, He wasn't just going to go into this meet unknowingly, he wanted to see who entered and didn't come out. He had a near photographic memory allowing him to remember the faces armor and weapons each person that enters.
Now he waits.

Jacobson looked up and examined the small figure that stood across the table from him. The young woman couldn't have been over 19, and she looked as if she was suffering from some sort of withdrawal. Jacobson softened his expression, gave a slight smile with the corner of his mouth, and motioned for her to take a seat. "Yes, I'm Jacobson, it's good to meet you." He removed his sunglasses and placed them on top of his hat. He waved to the 'bartender', or what passed for one in the place, and asked for a water. "So, who are you? What've you done before for to consider joining a mercenary group?"

Rocket shifted awkwardly on her feet, suddenly feeling a lot more self conscience about her tremors. She expected to be outright rejected, a lot of the more put together groups didn't accept anyone with any sort of addiction, not like she was addicted to hydra or anything. She had convinced herself she was just feeling the symptoms of not using hydra for a long time, but there was no way she was addicted. Rocket couldn't help but feel like the man with the sunglasses was looking her over, no doubt seeing what was wrong with her. But instead of laughing her off she saw his expression change. He looked sympathetic. Under normal circumstances she would punch the guy in the nose for trying to play the sympathy card, but for some reason she felt like she needed this job.

And once he took off the sunglasses she looked away, feeling nervous under his sharp gaze. She twiddled her thumbs, feeling the need to move her hands. He motioned for her to sit down and after a few moments of deliberation she accepted the chair across the table from him. And then he ordered a water, perhaps for her. She considered offering him a thank you, but found the words got stuck in her throat. And he asked for her name. She struggled to speak for a moment and then coughed.

"Uh Ro-" she stopped herself, the guy didn't want to hear her silly nickname. If he was to be an employer she had to have some sort of a professional look. "Uh...I'm Alex."

Oh man he asked her about what she had been doing before. She couldn't just tell a stranger that she was once a member of an illegal fighting ring, but she had no idea how to word it to make it sound better.

"Um...I've uh...done a lot of fighting..." She lifted up her wrapped knuckles. "I punched a lot of things..." She looked like she was struggling. "And I...uh...figured I could do some more productive fighting..."

A low growl that could give a angry Night Stalker a run for its caps rumbled out of Mordecai's stomach. The boy barely out of his teens clenched his gut as he dragged his feet over the dusty roads of this crime ridden town. Sweat ran down his head as the sun beat down on his head and he looked desperately for anyplace that he could get his hands on some food. It wasn't long until he found himself at the board everyone in town posted their offers on. He had been there a few times before, he took some small jobs like fixing a busted radio or some pipes that busted in the water treatment plant so he would have some caps. But what caught his eye this time was a flier that stated a free meal and a bed. His gloved hand quickly snatched up the flier and his one sickly green eye looked it over in detail. "Mercenary group..." The teen mumbled as he considered. He was definitely not a fighter and leg work was kind of out of the question, but a free meal and the pay seemed good... Another growl escaped Mordecai's belly that basically settled the matter. "Every team needs somebody with brains." He said as he started off towards the bar.

Mordecai walked through the make shift door of the Swooning Cazador, his eye quickly adjusting to the lack of light. He scanned over the buildings occupants and decided that the man he wanted to talk to had to be the one sitting with the young girl. A slight grimace came to Mordecai's face as the endless possibilities of what the man and girl's relationship was rushed into his mind, even with his short time in the wastes most of those possibilities were quite dark, never the less Mordecai made his way to the two. When he reached their table he stood with a perfect posture before looking to the man and speaking in a simple inquisitive voice. "Jacobson?"

Elayne sat inconspicuously at the bar, nursing a clouded glass of purified water. She smirked, the irony not escaping her of paying extra caps for the purified water and yet being forced to drink it out of an unclean glass. Upon first entering, she had seen the man with the stack of papers. But, Elayne had grown cautious in her years. A woman of her stature meeting with any man alone in an establishment such as this-never turned out well. At least not in her experience.

However, this man was turning out to be more popular than she'd originally anticipated - being first approached by a woman and then interrupted by a thin man. She carefully analyzed them, eyes scanning for threats and weaknesses among them."Not yet. Let them keep talking" she thought to herself, motioning with a hand for the bartender to come closer and to bring a cleaner glass with her.

Jacobson looked up from Alex at the thin man who had interrupted him. He was very tall and pale, an interesting combo for someone wandering the wastes. "Yes, that's me. I'm assuming you're here for the same reason she is. Feel free to take a seat, it shouldn't take too long." He looked back at Alex just as the bartender brought the water for Alex. "Thank you, would you be able to bring another? If it isn't too much to ask, of course." The bartender just held his gaze a moment, then walked away.

Jacobson turned his attention back to Alex. "Now, I know your name. I just want to know a bit more about the kind of fighting you've done before that involves a lot of punching, if I may. I just want to get an idea of what you're capable of."

Rocket graciously took the water from the waiter. If this glass of water was any indicator of what was to come, Rocket couldn't wait to be part of a mercenary group. She wondered how this man could afford so much purified water, as if ordered a second for the man who had just joined them. After a few moments of holding the cold glass in her hands she realized that her shaking was even more obvious by the ripples in the water in the glass. She quickly set it back down on the table, without taking a sip. She chose not to acknowledge the man who had approached the two of them, feeling more comfortable talking to Jacobson.

She tried to control her fearful expression when he asked where she had fought before. Should she lie? But that would just be digging herself into a deeper whole. She could say she worked for a town, punching mantises and ants into smithereens. But she figured if he could see past her lies then she would be in more trouble then it was worth. She swallowed back her shaky voice, feeling her eyes dart around, trying to avoid his gaze.

"Uh...yeah you can know..." She muttered, wringing her hands nervously. "It was...uhh..." She paused, trying to be as vague as possible. "Lots of entertainment boxing and such..." A partial truth.

Mordecai looked over the pair one more time before taking the man's offer and took a seat at the table. His sickly green eye first scanned over the man he was here to see, Jacobson appeared like what Mordecai had come to expect from the average wastelander. He was armored and armed just well enough that he could get out of some trouble but not too much that it would slow him down or mark his as a target for any raiders. That gave the pale young man some faith in his potential leader, if one knew just the right amount of power to show they knew how to survive long enough to enjoy their rewards. Mordecai then looked over to the girl that was also sitting at the table. She was young like him, maybe in her mid teens, but that was were the similarities ended. He could tell this young girl knew how to handle her self in an altercation, her toned body and rough hands made it more than clear she had gotten into her fair share of fist fights and since she was here that meant she a least good enough not to get beaten to death. But despite all of her tough exterior Mordecai noticed something else about the girl. The breaking in her speech, the sweat that was beading off of her even though inside, her nervous energy, and the shaking. Though he wouldn't be able to say so with out a proper examination and a few tests Mordecai was sure that this girl was suffering from withdrawals from some sort of chem. This worried him slightly as he had met a few people going through withdrawls in his wandering and he knew just how desperate and reckless they could be.

It happened in every town he went to.

Grenaud Corbin gave a rousing speech about the true north strong and free. He spoke of trees - real trees - bearing the fruits of the Canadiens' labour, and of the thriving metropolis of Ronto which had fallen under the control of the American conquerers hundreds of years before. He spoke of his peoples' spirit, and how with sufficient numbers, they would be able to reconquer the sacred Canadian lands from their occupiers and forge a new nation from the bones of an old one. Grenaud would tell them of the bounty which awaited them if they followed him to Ronto to establish a state as powerful as the NCR or Legion.

Inevitably, someone would ask what fruits this conquest. Someone would point out how his vision was nothing more than a nationalist pipe dream. Most people this far south hadn't even heard of "Canada". His arguments for joining his liberation army would fall apart, and people would leave, angry that their time had been wasted, or worse, attack him where he stood. He was usually able to escape, or distract the crowd by tossing a dud grenade, but it would occasionally lead to conflict with the locals. This time, a man had attacked him with a combat knife after screaming something about how Grenaud was "disturbing the peace" and calling him a "dirty northman". Attempts were made by other locals to stop him non-violently, but in the end, Monsieur Corbin was forced to dispatch him with a swift strike from his sword. Nobody attempted to confront him after that, instead going about their daily business as per normal. His post-battle victory speech was somewhat mitigated by the time he spent picking through the man's pockets, claiming the knife and what few caps he had on him for himself. He noticed a flier on him as well, likely having found its way into this man's possession through a trade caravan. "Ah... a golden opportunity, this is!" He said in a heavily accented tone, sheathing the knife in his belt and pocketing the caps, "I shall find this man... this... 'Jacobson'!"

Nobody heard his declamation, however: the crowd from his speech had already dispersed, barring a few especially curious or bored-seeming onlookers. "What are you staring at, ennh?! The speech is over! Go! Allez!!"

They didn't move. Grenaud left in the direction of the Swooning Cazador indicated on the flier. With some caps, he would be able to back up his empty promises with pay. Of course, the amount of mercenaries necessary to liberate Ronto was far beyond anything Grenaud Corbin could hope to pay for, but he pushed such rational thoughts to the back of his mind. He had been doing that a lot lately.

"Bonjour!" he yelled as he fumbled with the brown cloth that was meant to constitute a door, receiving many annoyed (or downright amused) stares from the bar's patrons. "Ehh... if you tied the bottom of this down with--... ennnnh... that is to say, eh--... make it heavier with another weight, it would be a bit easier to open." He continued his search, rather embarrassed by the incident, and he eventually found his way to Jacobson

Extending his hand to shake Jacobson's, he finally spoke: "Salut! I am here about the job offer. You are Monsieur Jacobson, oui?" His tone oozed with blind hope and enthusiasm.

Jackson Jones

Tic tic tic Jackson's geiger counter set off, he looked down at his pitboy, noticing that the radiation ahead was very high and would kill him in a matter of minutes..even with his suit and natural resistance to low level radiation.
He checked out his radX and radaway supplies and noticed he was low and wouldn't be able to get through the tunnel. His Father always told him No matter the pay, no matter how great you think a find maybe, it is not worth your life. Dont be stupid With those words resonating through his head Jackson began to turn around, he always stuck by those words on any job he got, though he would seal this place up so once he got some better equipment he could return, His suit though good, didn't give him the best protection against rads, power armor would be needed for this job, but alas to find some is rare, to find some thats working is even more rare but he could live in hope.

The tunnel he was in stretched on for miles, it would take him at least a week to get the the exit, he quickly scanned the area and checked his pitboy map and noticed there was a small room just a few meters ahead with a ladder going up to god knows where, he was always cautious when going up these places, he unclipped his hunting pistol removing his scope before taking another step. The door was rusted and locked, however not very well, he quickly managed to pick it and slowly entered the room to find nothing but empty cans and bottles, nothing worth selling but at least there was no raiders, ghouls or worse..super mutants. The ladder was on the far wall and appeared to go up quite some distance,
with any luck this would take him to the surface and not a dead end.

The climb was slow, and uneasy. Jackson hated heights..good think he worked underground mostly then, as he approached the top he could hear the sound of chatter. pulling his gun out he slowly opened the hatch, the room was dark and the smell of liquor was strong, after waiting for a few moments making sure no one was about he crept out, his low light goggles in his helmet helped him navigate the room safely to some stairs, as he got closer the sound of chatter became louder. peeking through the door he could see what appeared to be a bar and one full of patrons at that, keeping his pistol at hand he slowly opened the door and entered to room.
luckily no one noticed and he was able to get a seat in a far corner, he had noticed there was a gathering of people all talking to a man called jacobson, and one rather eccentric man, he wasn't from around here, but he spoke What was known in the old world as French Apprently the lands beyond america all had different languages from the books he had read when scavenging.
He curiosity got the better of him and he had to go over to this man talking to jacobson "salutations bon monsieur, Your speaking...how you say français are you not?"
He was desperate to talk with this man..and would love to learn from him. He then turned and nodded to the other people and at the man he assumed was Jacobson Greetings all

Jacobson looked around at the growing party surrounding him. I was hoping for a few people, but not all at once. He sighed. You can't always get exactly what you wish for, but at least there was a decent turnout, and that was all that mattered. "Hello, you two. Welcome, if you'd kindly wait at the table right over there, I'd be very appreciative." He gestured to a table just a few feet away, against the wall. He returned his attention back upon Alex. "Now, where were we.... Ah, yes, you were talking about your career in 'entertainment fighting'. Believe it or not, I used to bet on those a few years ago." This wasn't entirely a lie, though Jacobson conveniently left out the part where he never won a bet and would lose half his paycheck each time he bet. "It'd be nice to have someone with your skills along. As far as I'm concerned, you're welcome to join if you still wish to. We may want to see about getting you some Fixer, in the meantime. And make sure you drink up, it's not polite to leave water sitting." Jacobson smiled to the bartender as she carefully slammed another glass of water in front of the first man to show up and interrupt the 'interview'. "Let me guess, two more for the other gentlemen?" she asked. Jacobson nodded and handed her 13 caps as a tip, trying to be polite. She snatched them and walked off to grab more glasses.

Rocket noticed how crowded the small corner of the bar was getting, and started feeling nervous again. Maybe she was getting in over her head. These people seemed quite...loud and animated. And yet she kept herself in her chair, quietly waiting for her interview to continue. She relaxed again when Jacobson told her that he had attended fights before, and even bet on some. It showed that he clearly wasn't strictly lawful. She nodded eagerly when he mentioned that she was allowed to join the group, but then stopped when he mentioned fixer. She didn't need fixer. Fixer was for Jet huffers and psyco junkies, of which she was neither. She chose not to say anything, not wanting to loose her new job right after she got it. She followed his instruction about drinking the water, picking up the still cool glass and taking a few sips, wetting her dry throat. She leaned back in her seat, still silent, figuring it was someone elses turn for a interview.

The one that had walked up and said a brief statement to the latest man and then greeted everyone suddenly up and left without warning, walking out of the makeshift door. Jacobson watched the man leave, wondering why he decided to leave as suddenly as he had appeared. After a few seconds, he realized that there were more important things to think about. He turned to the pale man that had joined him and Alex. One thing that struck him as off was his one eye, as discolored as it was.

"So, I never caught your name. What skills do you have, how would you carry yourself in a group?" Jacobson poured himself some whiskey and took a sip, savoring the burn. He might actually be able to get a group together that would be able to hold their own. Considering he was originally thinking only one or two people would show up, this was a better turnout than expected.

Mordecai's gloved fingers slowly snaked their way around the glass of water that was brought to him. He gave a slight nod as a thank you to the woman that brought it to him, though she seemed quite annoyed at the fact that she would have to go get more for a few other members of the group. The pale teen brought the glass up to his lips and took a slow sip, enjoying the radiation free liquid running down his throat. He only stopped when the man he was here to see spoke up. Mordecai cleared his throat, set the cup down on the table, readjusted himself in his seat so his posture was even straighter than before, and turned to the man. "My name is Mordecai and at the risk of sounding boastful sir what I have to offer to this group is expertise beyond any you could find in the Wastes." Mordecai said, his voice being impressively professional for a man his age. "I am quite skilled at deciphering and recoding data code. As well I am more than proficient at maintaining, repairing, and even improving a wide variety of weapons. Like wise I am also very familiar with handling medical situations, bullet wounds, broken bones, even addictions..." He said, his eye drifting over to the girl that sat at the table for a moment before looking back to Jacobson. "And sir you can rest assured that my training has come from some of the brightest minds the Wastes have to offer. Mordecai finished in the same professional tone as before.

Jacobson took another sip as Mordecai gave a brief summary of his skills, nodding as he mentioned coding and medical training. These were necessary things to have in a mercenary group, of course. Having someone in the group able to repair weapons and armor would be a lot more cost efficient than having to go into towns and pay for people to repair them as little as they could. "Well, that does seem like a good skill set to have tagging along. However, if you were to have to hold your own in a fight, would you be able to keep yourself alive? I mean no offense, of course, I'm simply asking if you'd be able to look after yourself." To Jacobson, it seemed a fair question. The young man seemed to be intelligent enough to know what he was talking about, though his tall, lanky frame seemed fairly weak. However, he learned to stop judging people in the wastes by how they look. Everyone can have surprised up their sleeves, and it's better to be safe than sorry

The brow over Mordecai's one good eye raised slightly and only for a moment when Jacobson asked about him being able to hold his own in a fight. The young man adjusted himself in his chair again before he spoke. "Again sir I give you my word that though I may not be the most able fighter, I will not be a burden that you will have to constantly strain yourself to protect. I have developed certain talents that prove quite useful at keeping myself alive out in the Wastes." After he finished Mordecai slowly took his glass of water and sipped from it again. He didn't plan of telling Jacobson all of his 'skills', well not yet anyways. There were too many ways for this to end badly for Mordecai to risk telling this man his secret. So he merely waited to see how Jacobson reacted to his response, evasive as it might be.

Elayne eyed the growing group with impatience. At this rate, there would be too many of them and she was starting to wonder whether or not joining this band of mercenaries was such a good idea. More people meant more personalities to deal with. And that meant that fights internally were more likely, and Elayne didn't have time to waste with bullshit.

Tossing back the remainder of her water like a shot, Elayne dropped a few caps into the empty glass for the bartender and scooted the bar stool back across the worn floorboards with a soft scrape. With carefully calculated steps, she approached the table of applicants who had been shooed away by the main man. "I suppose I'll just wait my turn..." she spoke softly to no one in particular before pulling up a chair. She slid her hands into the pockets of her coat, her right hand folding and unfolding the corner of the application she'd grabbed earlier. She kept her gaze on the table, passing the time by counting the grain marks in the old wood, her ears straining to hear the progress of the current "interview".

Jacobson carefully considered Mordecai's slightly evasive answer as he watched the latest person, this one a woman in a parka, pull up a chair and take a seat. Jacobson sighed. "Well, I need all the help I can. You're hired, as it were. We'll figure out some way to test your abilities. Not that I don't trust you, mind, just that I want to double-check what I'm getting. You understand, I'm sure." Jacobson looked over at the man, now sitting by himself, that had walked up and was anything but quiet with his greeting. After waving the man over, Jacobson looked at the new woman that joined the table. "Now, I hate to make you wait, but this man has been waiting a while, I don't want to keep him waiting too much longer. After him though, you'll be next up. And if you two don't want to sit here in this dark bar, feel free to walk around the city, we'll have dinner shortly. Just don't stray too far from the Cazador, it's fairly dangerous out there in the streets." Jacobson turned to the louder gentleman and gave him a slight, courteous bow of his head. "If you would, I'd like to know your name and a bit about you."