[@LordLinguinie]

A pair of dogs fought over a scrap of dried molerat skin, while a skinny, lanky man scratched at scales on his skin standing next to a fat man and a leaner toned man. While the muscular fat one took a hit of Jet and passed it along to the skinny guy. Mange takes a hit and stares at the old Fairfax ruins.

“Whats’ in ‘ere that?” Mange ask.

“Kind of creepy,” Rottooth says exposing his blackened teeth and a gaping hole, he says shivering and trying to hold himself in his fat arms. While Fleabite just looked at the dilapidated placed with a delighted smile, his teeth slightly yellowed, as he slipped a mentat into his mouth. To keep alert or perhaps keep his  mind busy.

“Nothing much boys beside some desecrated walking corpses,” Fleabite replies, “But. It’s also a place used often among gang members.”

“So we takem ‘em back,” Mange says excitedly.

“No, we’re taking their stash,” Fleabite laughs. Mange and Rottooth join in on the chortle. While Fleabite lets the Mentat dissolve in his mouth. It got difficulter and difficulter chasing a high. They rarely ever gave him more of a tingle and he had to go deeper and deeper and find more combinations to find himself in a state enough to find the Great Mother and her words.

Ripjaw and Shredclaw followed along closely, their tails high in the air like a signal flag. Ripjaw’s hackles stood up and he began to growl. While Shredclaw sniffed the air. They were not alone. It was either the bloated walking corpses known as feral ghouls. Or something completely different. Both dogs wandered off ahead of them. Though many of them had great faith in the companions that followed them closely by.