Fandom 𝐈'𝐌 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐔𝐓 [ 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘦 ]

[brogley]

Knowledge is power. It was under this mantra that Solomon had been raised; the words bludgeoned into his head by his mother and father alike. Discouraged from using weaponry, improving his vigour and endurance. A book can stop a bullet better than any metal, son. However, what they had failed to mention, and what Solomon swore he’d teach his children when it was time to pass on the legacy, was that with knowledge, just as with power, came immeasurable danger. Suddenly, everybody was a cutthroat, wanting to ruin all your progress.

This fact had been emphasized upon when he found those messages sent between his former assistant and Thomas Hildern, Director of OSI. That bitch wanted to stop Solomon and his research which was of limitless importance. And for what? Some dubious morals? Ethics has no place in science.

Even so, it didn’t stop Thomas from wanting to investigate Solomon, and frankly, he couldn’t have that. And so, within a week’s notice, he had entirely left the Mojave Wasteland, wanting to avoid criminalization in the NCR and its five contiguous states, taking all his research with him.

It was all very contrived and threw a massive wrench in his plans but, indeed, the show must go on.

And so, Thomas found himself in Seattle. It wasn’t optimal; not when compared like a pest-filled city like New Vegas, but it was good enough.

He did marvel at its snowfall though, unfamiliar to him - cold biting at his fingers, even now when he sat in his office. It was a ramshackle setup, being an old Nuka Cola office building only briefly refurbished by his team. They got the power working, but the dust was still dancing around and trash stacked itself wherever it was not in the way. It all gave him a headache, but with his temporary reduced team size, there was little he could do.

However, he was about to introduce a new member: the bodyguard. His old bodyguard had gone missing - really, Solomon put a bullet through his head because he couldn’t trust the man. He was a crook, and although it had its advantages, now it became a danger.

Solomon leaned back in his seat. Finally, after letting the long moment of contemplation pass, he stood up and walked to his door, opening it. Telling his secretary to call the next candidate in, he left the door ajar. When somebody did enter, he greeted them with his back turned.

“Good evening. Sit down.”

 

[sspky]

(( Sorry for the wait. Took a while for me to get my brain in gear today.))

Galloway liked to think he was a man of fairly simple needs. He enjoyed a soft bed in a safe room, sure, but he had no qualms with sleeping under the stars. Although he didn’t technically need to eat, he valued a good meal and a strong drink, and despite his considerable age, the ghoul still found himself tapping his foot to whatever golden oldie happened to be playing over the radio.

When he strolled into the partially restored office building that morning, he did so with a simple goal in mind: work long enough to make the few hundred caps he still owed to Tall Charlie, and then grab a position on the next caravan heading out of town.

When the secretary called his name, Gallaway stood, stretched, and followed her direction into the office. No stranger to the interview process, Gallaway knew how to present himself as a sane and reliable candidate for most jobs. While not what you’d call handsome (mostly on account of him missing most of his face), he did have an air of personability about him.

He was a noticeably tall man with broad shoulders and the sort of rough build that came naturally to the ‘travel miles by foot hauling heavy weaponry’ sort of wastelander. Preferring not to draw any more attention than necessary, Galloway wore unassuming, lightweight body armour beneath a heavy leather aviator jacket. There was a rifle slung over one shoulder, a 10mm on his hip, and an assortment of hidden away knives that were as practical as they were dangerous.

As instructed, he took a seat across from his interviewer, his black eyes taking in every inch of his new surroundings with practiced care.

 

[brogley]

When Solomon did turn around, his immediate reaction to his new candidate was a twitch of the eyebrow; not one of annoyance or perturbance, but one of surprise. A ghoul. Solomon, unlike a surprising amount of the population, had no particular gripes with ghouls. As far as lab subjects go, they were interesting - Solomon spent years trying to investigate what made them resistant to radiation with little resulting from it. As people - well, he didn’t care. Some of the denizens of the Wasteland would proudly have a dog follow them but won’t even shake hands with a ghoul. Objectively speaking ghouls, grotesque or not, were many times more human than any dog wagging its tail. If you can shoot a ghoul, you should be able to shoot a dog.

After regarding the man for a second, Solomon’s green eyes ambling up and down, he placed himself in front of the ghoul before shaking his hand. He found he could judge many things from a person’s handshake. If it was too weak, they didn’t know what they were doing and they couldn’t be trusted with a gun. If it was too strong, there was a confidence which could be dangerous.

Solomon, he liked to tug their hand slightly - so slightly it was almost unnoticeable, and look them deeply enough in the eyes it suggested he knew something unknowable.

Solomon had the instinct to judge the man for his attire. Nobody valued formality anymore - nobody knew what a job interview really was. Or at least, nobody dressed for the occasion. However, it was hard to judge when he himself was donning nothing but a dirty lab coat with his black hair slicked back only courtesy of the sweat which wearing a hat created. Similarly, the ghoul wore clothes cognate of his role - so once again, could Solomon really question his judgment based on his attire?

At least he could be assured the man was, as it is colloquially put, “loaded.”

“I am Solomon. Or Dr Simmons, if you’d like.” Solomon moved back in his chair, his eyes thinning as he continued to speak. “As I’d hope my assistant, Ms Baker, told you - or hopefully, told you I will be the one you will primarily be working with. I am the lead researcher in this team and while, yes, I do spend a decent chunk of time in the lab, you are needed. Not only do I work in the field, but I also have certain… Enemies.”

“Now I’d love it if you told me now that Ms Baker already told you all of this, but I doubt it. Why? Because she is incompetent and foolish and is thus getting fired. And that,” Solomon breathed in, not allowing the ghoul to speak, “is why she’s getting fired. Which conveniently leads me to my next point; your competence.” Solomon stood up from his seat, walking over to the side of the desk and instead hovering above the ghoul, a glint in his eyes. “Now luckily for you, I have no need for extraordinary intelligence from you. If you can shoot something and not miss, that is good enough. In fact, maybe it’s better the less you understand. However,” Solomon moved once again, circling to the other side of the desk. “What I need you to understand is when to move that mouth and when not to.”

“Science is a lawless pursuit and people who try to tell you otherwise are just as foolish as Ms. Baker. There are reasons I have enemies. If you have certain moral qualms, may I suggest you are not right for this position?” Solomon lingered for an uncomfortable moment, his eyes picking apart the ghoul’s every twitch, before sitting himself back down. “But if you’re still interested, give me your name and I can guarantee you a starting salary of 200 caps per week.”

[ That's no problem! I also have such days. Today I was also quite busy with my studies. But now I'm available at least for the night! ]

 

[sspky]

Throughout the doctor's monologue, Gallaway remained stony-faced and stoic. If he thought the discussion to apparently fire Ms. Baker was a little unusual, he didn’t comment. He did, however, make a clear mental note to himself: his employer was fickle, and he’d be out of work at his next whim. Gallaway would have to be careful to ensure he was paid in full before his eventual dismissal.

When he shook the doctor's hand, his grip was politely firm. He didn’t seem brother by the doctors peering gaze -- but then, with the fascial scarring in the get black eyes, it was sometimes difficult to really read the old ghouls subtler expressions.

Given how the doctor spoke to him, Gallaway had no difficulty imagining the man had enemies.

“200 is acceptable,” he replied in that gravelly voice characteristic of his kind, “And the name is Gallaway.”

He regarded the doctor a moment, and then asked, “What sort of ‘enemies’ are you expecting? The usual sort, or should I arrive with a heavier arsenal?”

While Gallaway preferred to fight with what he was currently carrying, he did have access to some tools that packed a stronger punch.

 

[brogley]

[ hi i realize im about a month late but i had 0 clue you had replied?? are you still up for this? super sorry for replying so late! ]