Charon.

He saw her come in from across the room. It was his job to notice, to punish, and to keep this shit place clean of filth. She was different. Not only was she a smooth-skin, she was kind to the ghouls, unlike most. She looked around, and their eyes met. Shit.

Anastasia.

He had to know something. If anyone in a bar knows something, it's the guy in the corner or the bartender, so she sidled up to him.

"Hello." Was all she got out before he grunted,

"Talk to Azrukhal." She blinked.

"I just-"

"Talk to Azrukhal." She was silent for a moment, but then she turned and went to the bar to talk to Azrukhal.

Charon.

Why should he care what she thinks? Somehow he couldn't help but wish he could hear what she was saying to that bastard behind the bar. He grumbled. He'd kill that son of a bitch someday. The murmur of Ghouls talking over their jet and beer tormented him, and the sound of the stranger's smooth, clear voice came through the noise refreshingly. Money exchanged hands; she sold him booze, he sold her stimpacks. Charon decided he'd stop caring. She'd be gone in the morning, killed by Super Mutants. He'd see her strewn all over the sidewalk next time he went out for a smoke. He'd like to see Azrukhal all over the sidewalk.

Anastasia.

She approached him for the second time. But he had strict orders.

"Talk to-"

"None of that, buddy. You've got a new employer as of now." She waves his contract around in front of his face, and then puts it in her pack, looking at him expectantly. It takes a moment for him to react.

"Excuse me for a moment." He says, brushing past her.

She hardly hears the argument before Azrukhal is all over the wall in little chunks. She quietly grabs some caps and his keys when nobody is looking, and heads out, with him in her wake.

Charon.

This could be very good, or very, very bad. But he shows no emotion.

Anastasia.

When they are out in the museum lobby, she turns to him and holds out her hand. He doesn't take it.

"My name's Anastasia." She tells him, smiling. How can she smile in the middle of an apocalypse, having just seen a man strewn all over the walls? Even she has no idea.

"I'm looking for my father, but exploring along the way. I need to learn all there is to learn about this place." She explains, and he doesn't get it, but then he remembers the radio, and recognizes the description of the 'saint from out of the vault.' He says nothing.