Not So Mayorly Anymore, Huh?
The Third Rail was filled with the usual crowd, drifters lounging about, drinking, chattering away as Magnolia’s sultry voice filled the heavy, alcohol tinged air. MacCready leaned against a broken down wall, away from all the others, near the door of the backroom, a beer held precariously in his hands by the neck. His gaze surveyed the group for a moment, lips pursed, a soft huff escaping the disgruntled merc.
“What’s a pretty thing like you doin here all by your lonesome?~”
A voice purred out, catching his attention as his head turned towards the voice’s owner. It belonged to an older man, later twenties, maybe younger thirties, who was wearing an old, worn down greaser jacket, black hair slicked back, facing awaiting from Mac so that only a back view was available to him. The man was leaning up against the bartop, an elbow propped up as he leaned towards someone. Mac’s breath caught in his throat; it was Sole. His nails dug into his palm and he couldn’t help the scowl that morphed his features, face reddening as he nursed the bottle in his hand.
One thing in particular caught MacCready’s eyes, and that was the logo embroidered on the back of the jacket; a green serpent, partially coiled, almost ready to strike.
He worried his lip between his teeth for a moment, mulling over the familiar image in his head.
“Think, MacCready, think.” He swore he knew that logo from SOMEWHERE.
“Cmon, dollface. Ever heard of the Tunnel Snakes? We’re the coolest of the cool.”
The bottle slipped from MacCready’s grasp, shattering on the floor by his feet.
“You better not fuckin try anything”
“I won’t, you can trust me” a figure, clad in an old blue vault suit reassured, glancing at their companion.
“Yeah, kid. You can trust us. Besides, maybe we’ll let you join the gang. Become a Tunnel Snake. Tunnel Snakes rule!” The man cheered, a crooked smirk etched into his features. The Lone Wanderer, as they were called, rolled their eyes, huffing.
“I wouldn’t join some mungo bastards for any amount of caps” A little boy snapped, face scrunching up.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, kid. You’ll regret it” with a wink, the man and vault dweller were soon headed off, into the dark tunnels, never to be seen after that.
The ex Gunner’s head snapped up, startled, “Wha- yeah?”
A drifter looked at him, quirking a brow, “You zoned out there for a bit” they grumbled before returning to their seat.
MacCready shook his head, raking a hand through his hair, gaze lifting to the duo at the bar again. Collecting himself, he straightened up and strode over to where the greaser was shamelessly flirting with Sole.
“Tunnel Snakes, huh?” He asked briskly, catching their attention.
Grinning wolfishly, the man’s blue eyes locked onto him, a chuckle reverberating in his chest, “You betcha. The coolest gang around.”
Sole looked between the two men, brows furrowed, curiosity evident in their expression.
Mac rolled his eyes, snickering, “Yeah, yeah. Pretty sure there’s already a prominent gang here in the Commonwealth. And I’m pretty sure you can’t call yourself the coolest gang around when you’re from the Capital Wasteland”
The greaser’s brows shot up, “Well I’ll be damned. How do ya know that? Have we met?”
The merc snorted, “Yeah. When I was thirteen.”
There was a long pause before recognition sparked the man’s features.
“No shit. You’re that- you’re that little kid from those weird caves out west!”
Huffing, MacCready nodded, “And you’re the mungo jackass who tried recruiting kids for your gang”
Mac’s companion blinked owlishly at this, “Wait wait wait…. You two… Know each other?”
The duo nodded, glancing at Sole, who was bewildered at the thought.
“Age isn’t loving you I see” the merc remarked, turning to the greaser, amused.
In response, the man snorted, “The Butch-man never ages.”
“I see. So that actually isn’t a gray hair I see?”
Butch tensed, hastily trying to find a mirror, panic flashing over his features momentarily, fingers grazing his heavily maintained hairdo. MacCready, meanwhile, was clutching his stomach, trying to contain his laughter, face flushing.
The greaser heaved a sigh of relief upon noticing his hair was perfectly fine and gray free(he was a barber after all), shooting Mac a look.
MacCready snorted, “Sorry, mungo man. It’s still funny as hell to mock you.” He replied, having situated himself between Butch and Sole, whispering to his companion,
“Don’t fall for this guy, he’s bad business”
Sole simply rolled their eyes, vaguely amused at the not so hidden tension between Mac and Butch.
Butch collected his cool, scowling a little at the younger man, “Yeah, whatever.”
The merc paused, yawning softly, “Yknow… I should- we should call it a night. It’s been… Nice.. Seeing ya again, Butch.” His fingers curled around Sole’s arm, and he tugged them away from the belligerent man, barely giving Butch time to say goodbye, let alone Sole time to input anything, before taking off, dragging them out of the Third Rail to Hotel Rexford.
At least him and Sole could have a good laugh about it afterwards.