[color=00aeef]FRIEDA RICHTER[/color] -- Salem Clinic - Very, very late morning to early afternoon

"Uhhh..." Arthur stuttered, seeming to hesitate, "Right!...right of course." He immediately left the room and beckoned for Frieda to follow him. He had hardly glanced around for a moment before he found the scissors she'd asked for, "Mindful of the edge. Its sharper than it looks," He said as he handed them off to her. 

"Most things are, it seems," she replied under her breath.

"I should get back to treating Ms. Summer. Thank you again for the supplies Ms. Richter, and for the help. Lord knows I could use it."  Frieda nodded and turned to step outside for a cigarette, when he added, "..and you're right. I'm not from around here. I'm...from a vault. Vault...uh...vault 88. It's well...its a long story."

"I'm sure it is," she winked, not meaning to sound as sarcastic as she did, but...well, it was the truth.  Who didn't have generations worth of a story in the wasteland?  The doctor all but dove onto the first aid kit and began muttering to himself.  Frieda shook her head and went outside, around the corner, and stood in the shadow of the church to have her cigarette.

Frieda gazed over the market square, her eyes landing on the plasma scar still burned into the dirt.  Something still didn't add up about the doc, and she wasn't totally sure what it was.  There had been other, more rare occurrences in her life when the response to the word "Enclave" had been an ignorant "huh, oh, really?" so it wasn't [i]totally[/i] out of the ordinary...

...maybe it was the way he repeated the word "vault," as if he were convincing himself, as much as her?

She blew her smoke out of her nostrils, the idea still nagging her, but no answers came.  [i]Ah, well.  No sense in trying to force it.  It'll come to me, eventually, I'm sure.  Plus, he didn't flat out decline a later talk.[/i]  Frieda snuffed out her smoke and returned to the inside of the clinic, twirling the scissors on her finger, and headed back towards the storage room.  The space was a little cramped for unfolding an entire bed sheet and shearing it into strips, but she wasn't in a total hurry and made do with the space she had.  Frieda began to hum while she worked, finding a twisted pleasure in having simple busywork to do for several hours.


[color=f7941d]CELESTE BROWN[/color] -- Sandy Coves Inn -- late morning to early afternoon

Adam gave a short exhale of a laugh and smiled as he ran a hand through his grey and brown beard, "No thanks, Ma'am. I put business over relaxing. I'll be 'round back and show you what I'd like." He turned to head out back, then and turned, smiling, "Then we'll talk about that coffee." and went out side to look out back.

"My heavens," Celeste sighed, reaching a hand up to her heart.

"Everything all right, Manager Celeste?" asked Archie, drawing up from behind her.

"Everything's fine," she replied dreamily, then looked around to recall that someone was missing.  "Where's Brandy?"

"Ahh, Ms. Brooks asked if she could rifle through the refuse out back.  Did you not hear her ask?"

Celeste blinked, then swallowed.  "I, um, suppose I did not..."

"Well, in any case, I told her she was free to loot through and take what she liked, much as you did for Mr. Wilford."

"...oh!  Well, that's great!  I hope she doesn't think I was ignoring her."

"But you [i]were[/i] ignoring her."

Celeste blushed fiercely once more.  "Not on purpose!  Anyways -- what have you got around here that would be fit for baking up some scones?"

"I believe there remain some perfectly sealed tins of flour and baking powder in the basement --"

"PERFECT!" Celeste nearly shrieked, tearing off into the kitchen.  "I need those, right away, and any shortening, cinnamon and sugar you might have, too."  She fiddled with the dials on the oven, eventually coaxing them to life.  Celeste pulled up a wooden stepping stool up to the counter island and neatly lined up her ingredients: flour, baking powder, salt, sugar, pumpkin pie spice (for whatever reason, there was a huge stash of it in the basement, but no plain cinnamon), and a block of shortening.  An odd, oily, unpleasant smell began to waft from the oven as it heated up.  Celeste had begun to combine ingredients for some fresh scones and had thought the oven was just burning off some centuries-old residue, but the smell kept getting worse.  "Archie?" she called out towards the hallway.

Dutifully, the robot appeared.  "Yes, manager?"

"Can you check what is making that terrible smell in the oven?  I've got my hands full, here."

"Is there an odd smell?  My olfactory sensors must be damaged, or acting up.  Anyways, of course I'll investigate."  Archie opened up the oven to reveal a partially-decayed radroach had begun to roast in the oven.  "Oh...oh, dear."

Celeste immediately covered her nose and mouth with both hands.  "Oh, my god!  Archie!  Get it out, right now!!"

"Absolutely, right away."  The robot glided across the kitchen, opened up a high cupboard, retrieved an ancient roasting pan, then returned to the oven to pull out the rack and dispose of the radroach.  It slid into the roasting pan, making a sound that was half crunch, half splat.

"C-can you scrub off any guts, too, Archie?  Please?  And quickly, before the whole place begins to reek."

"I will work as quickly as possible."  Archie pulled out his small blowtorch and charred any of the roach remains on the shelf, turning them into so much dust.  The robot then rose with the roasting pan, left through the front door, and returned several moments later.

"Did you --"

"Tossed the whole lot into the sea, yes."  For a robot, it sounded disturbed by what it just had to do.

Celeste sniffed and wiped her nose, smearing some flour onto her face.  "Well, that's...great.  Thank you, Archie."

Within twenty minutes, Celeste had rolled, cut, and placed her scones into the oven.  Approximately twenty minutes after that, she pulled them carefully out of the oven and placed them onto the stove to cool.  She leaned over and took a deep inhale of the spicy, sweet aroma.  "That should take care of any rotten radroach stink, I think!" she declared, feeling satisfied.

"Miss Celeste! I got stuff here outside," Adam called from the front.

"Be right out!" she replied, dusting her hands on a ratty looking dishtowel, before exiting through the front door.  She saw Adam standing there with an old pre-war chest.  "Oh, I remember that from yesterday!"  She followed his gesture and lifted the lid, carefully rifling through its contents.  An old photo, other assorted memorabilia lay within.  

"I figure the box is worth about 100 caps at most, but I'll throw in about 115 for good measure. Most of this stuff is junk, so it's not worth much in general, but I want it, so I'm always willing to pay a little extra to get the things I want."

"Golly!  That's...quite generous," Celeste gushed.  "Thank you!  Please, why don't we settle up inside, hmm?  I made some scones and believe I owe you a coffee."  She held the door open for him.  "I'd love to hear more about what's so special about that stuff.  I've met a few folks in my life who were into pre-war things but I don't think I've ever met a collector so...passionate."

She was laying it on a little thickly, but she didn't care.  She was just glad to have his attention for a few moments.  Celeste led Adam to the hallway and gestured towards the dining hall, where a setting had been placed upon one of the repaired tables.  "Now, you just sit right there and let me get you one of these warm scones and some coffee!" she grinned.  As she entered the kitchen, the front door closed and she heard a voice call out "hello?"

"Aw, geez.  Archie?" Celeste cried once more, hoping the robot could take care of the front desk so she could go back to chatting with Adam, but to her surprise, the robot didn't respond.  "Must be out of hearing range," she muttered.  She sighed, straightened her dress and posture, then stepped out to the front desk.

"Hello!  Can I help yo-ooo-oooou're a super mutant," she rambled upon the sight of Rook.  Recognition crashed into her like a sack of potatoes.  "You're Brandy's friend.  From the diner.  I.  Yes.  Ahem."  She attempted to compose herself and continued to ramble.  "How can I help you?"