Fallout 3 - Beautiful Stranger

Chapter 8 Part 1

The room was smaller than she expected. Wide enough to walk around the desk, with filing cabinets lined up against the walls. Moriarty had dropped into a large, comfortable leather chair and already had two shot-glasses filled with whiskey. He tapped the top of the desk, his legs crossed, staring at Patience as she entered, Valrie close behind.

The mouth breather turned stood behind Moriarty, arms crossed, the .45 now holstered and an assault rifle strung to his back. The man was young, around twenty, no older than twenty-five, but he had the eyes of an older man. A sharp scar paralleled his left eyebrow and the military grade body armour and fatigues looked battered and well worn on his well muscled body. Patience knew a dangerous man when she saw one.

"Five hundred caps." They were the first words that Moriarty uttered as soon as Patience sat in one of the low chairs opposite the man.

"Go fuck yourself. Five hundred caps, my ass." Valrie drank one of the shots of whiskey before she even sat down. "That's a play and you know it. Don't fuck around. Tell her what you really want for the map."

"I don't recall looking at you when I called my price, Valrie dear." He didn't look at Valrie. His eyes remained upon Patience, finger tap, tap, tapping the desk top. "Five hundred caps."

"What she said." Patience leaned back lifting one foot on to her other knee. "I don't know much about the economy around here, but five hundred sounds deliberately excessive. You want me to refuse. To try and bargain. Come over as desperate."

For the first time, Moriarty looked away, upwards to his companion, or bodyguard. The man didn't move, his eyes blazed at Patience. He did, Patience noticed, flex his fingers. It was slight. A tiny amount. The man was anxious. Impatient. Moriarty returned his eyes to Patience.

"Alright. You're both clever girls." He pushed the remaining full shot glass towards Patience, retrieved the empty one and refilled it from the bottle, downing it with one, swift gulp. "What do you think isn't 'excessive'?"

"How about nothing, you rat faced fuck?" Valrie took the glass in front of Patience and drank the contents, almost throwing the empty glass across the table to Moriarty. He continued to ignore her.

"It's another play. You want me to offer something so you can turn it down and appear offended." With her hands in her lap, relaxed, inoffensive, Patience made a deliberate blink. She wasn't about to allow the man to think he was in a staring contest. "You have an offer in mind, right now, you just want impose your authority in the matter. Like these chairs compared to yours. Yours is big, comfy, high. Ours are low, simple and rough. It's a power thing. If you need props to show how powerful you are, then you don't have as much power as you think."

"Is that right?" The tapping increased in speed and weight.

"It is." Without looking at Moriarty's bodyguard, Patience nodded towards him. "Like him. Big man. Big guns. Crossed arms to impress us with his size. Yet, he's worried. Anxious. He knows I could kill him before his finger itched towards his .45."

The man moved for the first time, arms uncrossing, eyes blazing, face in a grimace. Before his arms had finished uncrossing, Patience's sidearm found itself aimed at his groin. The man froze. Patience's eyes never left Moriarty and the Irishman begin to chuckle, placing a hand on his bodyguard's arm, pushing him back.

"Well, aren't you the cocky little bitch?" He leaned back in his chair, stroking the Van Dyke. "Alright, you win. We cut the bullshit."

"About fucking time." Valrie reached for the whiskey bottle, but Moriarty thwarted her, moving it out of reach. Instead, she took out a cigarette, lit it and blew smoke over the table towards Moriarty.