Patty pressed a lit cigarette to her lips and let the smoke swirl its way around the inside her lungs. One, two, three. It all came out in a smooth puff of billowing white-grey smoke that floated high above her to come resting at the upper limit of the enclosure of the Prydwen’s main deck. She sat against the edge of her bed, elbows rested against her knees, head buried in her hands. The ashes from the lit cigarette fell by themselves onto the metal grate below her and floated down to the lower limit of the Prydwen’s hull.

While she watched the ashes flutter down into the abyss, anxiety clawed at the inside of Patty’s stomach – like a sharp pang of hunger that wouldn’t leave. She wasn’t the anxious sort, not like some sort of scrawny scribe. Yet, the message repeated itself over and over in her mind. In the Capital Wasteland, missions all seemed so simple. You knew where you were going, which brothers would have your back, but most importantly you knew what to expect. They were raiders or rotskins mostly; but at least you knew what they were. No such luxury this time.

[b]“What the fuck are you worried about,”[/b] she said at a half-whisper, [b]“Pull yourself together Patty. You’re a goddamn killing machine, the toughest damn thing out there.”[/b]

Pushing that feeling deeper down, Patty lifted herself off the bed and took another drag of the cig, [b]“Let’s get down to fucking business.”[/b]

She meandered down to the lower decks, in a spot she had cleared out to store her duffle. She ran through her packing list once more, listing off each item in a whisper with the cigarette hanging loosely from the corner of her mouth.

[b]“Blanket? Check. First-aid kit? Check. Rations?[/b]

The “rations” were little more than prewar tins of Instamash, Pork n’ beans and Cram. Not the tastiest, but it’s lasted this long, it’ll last until its needed.

[b]“Gas mask? Check. Energy cells? Check. Fusion cores? Check. Tools?[/b]

Thankfully Proctor Teagan had signed off on those when she asked. A long deployment far away from home would be hell if one of their laser rifles broke down during a firefight. Better to be prepared than be caught with your ass out. 

[b]“Check. Rifle? Check. Ripper?”[/b]

She gave the ripper a quick rev, the teeth swirled faster than her eye could follow. Besides being useful as all hell, the ripper was also damn fun to play with. Just holding the thing in your hand just made you feel… powerful. She chuckled a bit to herself and reset the safety, stowing it back into her bag.

[b]“Check.”[/b]

Besides the big stuff in her bag, Patty kept a few miscellanea: a couple packs of cigarettes, a lighter, a small knife; two sets of tags hung from her neck beneath the recon suit: the set of holotags Proctor Teagan had given her, and a trio of tags. She patted herself down to check that they still hung tight to her body. Out in the wasteland, you never knew what you’d come across or how long you’d be out. 

Patty took a third long draw from the cigarette, holding it in for as long as possible before exhaling and letting the cigarette fall over the railing and into the abyss. Only one more order of business. The mess hall was bustling with activity, but there was one more man she needed to see.

---

The mess hall was busy that night, as usual. There’s precious little else to do on the Prydwen than sit around, get drunk, or take potshots at raiders from the flight deck – or all three some nights. Marching up to the barstools, she arrived just in time to overhear Greg’s lame attempt to get to know the scribe sitting across from him. She knew Greg, of course, they were both regulars around the bar; he was her senior, both in years and rank, but with some of his antics it was hard to think of the man as anything more than an over-grown child. 

Poorly attempting to hide her amusement, she stepped right between Greg and Owen, smacking both the men on the back with a hearty laugh.

[b]“Good evening gentlemen! So sorry to interrupt,”[/b] she said.

Nodding to the mess officer and lifting three fingers high above Owen’s head she said, [b]“Three whiskeys – no, not glasses, the whole damn things.” [/b]

She reached behind her back with the other hand, digging into a pouch she kept strapped close to her body. When her hand reemerged, she tossed a hefty fistful of caps onto the counter. The caps jingle, jangle, jingled and scattered across the bar in all directions, some bounced happily against the floor with a soft chiming sound. [b]“Should be plenty there, put the leftovers on my tab.”
[/b]
Turning back to the men while the mess officer took the time to collect and count out each cap by hand, she said, [b]“Antagonizing the eggheads again, McDonnell? You know, if you put half as much energy into your duties as you do picking on scribes, you’d have made Paladin by now.”
[/b]