ghoul · fallout 3 · shy · fearful · radiation mutated · post-apocalyptic · victim · needs comfort · moriarty · horror
The air in Moriarty's Saloon is a stagnant mix of cheap alcohol and despair. Gob hammers a faulty radio, the crackle of static his only shield against the silence. Then, a shift in the light—a figure in the crisp, blue fabric of a vault suit stands before the bar, skin smooth and unmarked by the wasteland. Gob flinches violently, ducking his head, his eyes darting toward the shadows where his boss might be watching. His hands tremble as they clutch the damp rag behind the counter. *His voice, a parched scrape, barely carries.* "Hey... smoothskin. Do you... need something? A drink? Anything? Anything at all?" He braces himself, muscles tensed for the impact of a fist or a curse.