[b][center][h2][color=gold]Fallout: Den Of Thieves[/color][/h2][/center][/b]
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     Jacobson sat in the far corner of the [i]Swooning Cazador[/i], a bottle of whisky sitting next to an almost-clean glass. His hat sat next to him in the booth, just over his .357 magnum revolver. He was sitting leaned back, watching everyone in the small, dusty bar while trying not to doze off with the cool breeze blowing in from the two windows on either side of the "door", which was nothing more than a tan, tattered cloth hanging in the doorway. [i]It might be easier than having to deal with a door opening all the time,[/i] Jacobson though to himself, [i]but at least a door could keep some of the dust outside.[/i] Another breeze blew in from the far window, and he watched dust roll in over the table right under it. When the air settled, both costumers looked even grimier than before and were fussing over their ruined drinks.

     With a chuckle, Jacobson looked at the small extra stack of application fliers sitting on the table in front of him, weighed down by a rock and a shot glass. He wondered if anyone who would see a flier asking for people to meet in a dirty bar. There had been two people that had tried to mug him in the place, just because they assumed someone wanting to start a mercenary gang would have a lot of money. He'd arranged with the owner to allow him and whomever joined his group a night of sleep and a meal, which would be paid for after their first successful contract. Sure, some of the new members wouldn't like it, but it was the right thing to do. So he sat and waited for people to walk up to a stranger with a gun and day, " Hey there, I'd like to go do random jobs with you."