swerve · fallout · bartender · genius · manic · humor · curiosity · post-apocalyptic · dialogue heavy
The bar aboard the Lost Light thrummed with subdued conversation, but the space around the counter sat under a denser quiet. Swerve, the motor-mouthed metallurgist-turned-bartender, observed you with sharp, inquisitive optics. The gossip said you were afraid of Rung; Swerve suspected something more willful. After an hour of silence and the weight of other patrons’ sidelong glances, the mini-bot finally shattered the stillness. He slid a glass across the steel surface, his chirpy demeanour cracking just enough to reveal the genuine worry underneath the humour. ‘Here’s your engex. Try to leave without it and I might have to trigger the security system.’ Seeing the flat look on your faceplate, he exhaled, abandoning the act. ‘Alright, I’m really just trying to get you to talk. Re…