SECONDARY QUEST-The Dogs of Dijon Street

((Collab post between Ordure, Letter Bee, and Lord Coake))

Par didn't protest as he was escorted unceremoniously from the bank; he had found out enough. Finding an alleyway to change from his noble's clothes to his ordinary wear, then making his way back to the Wolfe Bar with a triumphant smile, the 19-year old traveled through the dank and disgusting passages, which, in the glow of inspiration, seemed less dank and disgusting, and then spoke to Mike McNulty, utterly confident.

"I have a plan; it requires someone with my charisma or greater, but a different apperance and build, some authentic Order Uniforms, as well as your gang. Basically, we're going to use my faction's oncoming attack on the Bastile to our advantage; our conman - or me with a makeup job and [i]clean[/i] contact lenses if you cannot find one - will go to the Bank, pretending to be an Order officer who's requisitioning Protectrons, Lasers, Flamethrowers, etc, in order to defend their prison-fortress better. Once we've dismantled or reprogrammed enough of their defenses, we then take the bankers hostage and force them to open their small-v vault."

[color=#cc9900]"Hrmph."[/color] McNulty grunted, taking a deep whiff of a Sanfrancisco Sunlight - sure as hell glad that his developers had input a respirator into his hollowed, synth chest. [color=#cc9900]"It sounds.. good enough, kid - I got a question, though - and I [i]certainly[/i] hope you got an answer."[/color]

He propped up his feet on the flat, circular wooden table before him, kicking apart an hour long poker game and earning him a death glare from the ghouls and humans playing before him. [color=#cc9900]"The bank [i]obviously[/i] ain't giving up all of their defenses - in fact, I'd say half at most. They'll donate to protection, but they're still greedy sons of bitches; they ain't losing their defense system because some prison wants their help, no matter how charming "The Order" is. They'd much rather have the bank [i]explode[/i] than let themselves get stolen from, and have their little spotless record get ruined."[/color] The synth snapped his fingers, and a super mutant holding a plate bent down, offering him a silver platter of drinks, one of which he took and promptly drank in it's entirety. Par Rapids would notice some leaking out of his stomach. [color=#cc9900]"Now. How the hell do you expect us to deal with the remaining defenses? You managed to turn an impossible task into something that'll be hard as hell - so what's your plan, kid?"[/color]

"There's a terminal in the window by the main vault," spoke Par. "A closed-circuit system can still be broken to if you have access to something connected to said system. If I get that makeup job and contact lenses anyway, and your gang and my guards cover me once the shooting starts, I can rush that terminal and deactivate/reprogram the remaining defenses."

[i]There will be casualties, but my bodyguards are better-trained than the gangsters. Thus, less people to split the bounty with, but I and my own won't be part of the 'less'.[/i]

"Anyway, if there's nothing more, can I meet whatever conman you have, now?"

[color=#cc9900]"I certainly hope you ain't saying that I'm splitting this [i]equal[/i] with your little body guards."[/color] McNulty growled, his artifical voice dropping in tone as he blew a thick puff of smoke ahead. [color=#cc9900]"The money is for me - my surviving boys - the con man and his bud - and [i]you.[/i] The deal is already at risk with the stupid [i]con man's[/i] bodyguard. Back in Goodneighbor, our con men did deals with their guns and their wit, not flanked by some burly walls of beef. You can split your money yourself with your goddamned men - or cut them down to one at most."[/color] 

[color=#cc9900]"Now, our man is an interesting guy - our aggreement was less than peaceful, so his body guard broke the back of my muscle."[/color] McNulty said, taking a more relaxed tone, straightening the brim of his fedora and lightly brushing his pin-striped suit. [color=#cc9900]"Old 'Vin had to be sent to the hospital. I hired him on the spot, and ended up getting a new muscle - protectron from the slums named Bud. Real card."[/color] He referred to a protectron in the corner, a fedora tipped on his glass dome, a tommy gun clutched in his stubby, servo-powered arms. [color=#cc9900]"Anyway - our man should be coming any minute now."[/color]

And with that, as if on cue, walked in Franklin and Scar. Franklin gently removed his bowler hat from its perch upon his head, Scar taking a surveying position in the corner of the room. "Good evening, gentlemen." Franklin spoke, a sly smile cast across those present. He stopped at Par, seeing his face as one unknown, and took a quick moment to introduce himself "I do believe we haven't had the pleasure of meeting yet. I am Dr. Franklin Arlington, businessman." He would then look back to McNulty. "So for this plan of yours...You want me to [i]persuade[/i] these bankers at the site to do away with some of their security, giving us the chance to bring in our more...muscular help to finish the job, correct?" As he said this, he would make a soft gesture to Scar.

"Happy to meet you, Mr. Arlington," Par smiled. "Did you ever pass through Vicksburg, by any chance? And, yes, I think that you'd be a good fit for the plan." He then turned towards Mike:

"Do not worry, my Bodyguards will be getting some extra arms from the Bastille at midnight, anyway, so they don't need a cut of this job." [i]A reminder that I am part of the Revolution, and that if they cross me, personally, they'll be crossing Napoleon V as well.[/i]

[color=#cc9900]"Oh, trust me - I don't give a flying fuck if I cross Napoleon V."[/color] Mike McNulty snarled - the entire room around him quieting. [color=#cc9900]"I've crawled through hell. I've been through a nuclear meltdown. I've had a claw rammed through my goddamn spine. I've been almost ripped apart by some power-armored crusader who thinks I'm utter scum. So she can go ahead and scoop out my eyeballs and tear apart my components. I'm a synth, kid; I don't go to hell."[/color] 

[color=#cc9900]"And, uh, "Doctor" Arlington and Scar."[/color]  He said, making air quotes as he referred to doctor. [color=#cc9900]"You head into Captain Cade's stronghold - place is a pile of rubble right now - and dig through. You'll find a uniform in there somewhere. Clean up the ash and sew it back together - bam, you got an official that's asking to requistion some defenses for the Bastille."[/color] 

[color=#cc9900]"Anyway, you two - heist is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, twelve'o'clock on the dot. If you ain't there, you're square."[/color] McNulty said, straightening out his tie and adjusting his fedora, strapping his tommy gun to his back. [color=#cc9900]"First Southern Trust Bank, kid. Remember it."[/color] 

With that, McNulty strolled out of the bar. As his crew exited, gathering the poker cards and games while leaving the room primarily empty and oddly damp, his protectron stated blankly, "PROTECT. AND. SERVE." before punching a clean hole in the wall as he walked out. A reminder as to what would happen if he was doublecrossed.

Par felt...intimidated; Mike really was successful for a reason. Moving to depart from the bar, he couldn't wait to get back in the sun for a while before going to the Revolution's HQ to prepare for the Bastile assault...

[@Ordure], [@Ulstermann], [@LordCoake].