Goodneighbour is the polar opposite to Diamond City. While the Great Green Jewel of the South is bright, and colourful, the emerald stands which give the city its name lit at all times, Goodneighbour is little more than a dilapidated collection of buildings surrounded by a wall. Its population consists of those who weren't good enough, weren't rich enough, weren't human enough for the mayor of Diamond City. It's dark, and grimy, and under the cover of night, the town is cast in a shadow that is only broken by flickering neon signs. There isn't a soul here who can be trusted. Cutthroats, and thieves make up the life blood of this town, but hopefully amongst them, they will find the person they're looking for.
Located out of an old subway station, the Third Rail isn't much better than the rest of Goodneighbour, but there is something undeniably alluring about the shady establishment. Perhaps it is the dark haired Magnolia crooning her tunes into a microphone in the corner of the bar. Or perhaps it is the customers who speak in whispers, and ask no questions about strangers. Here anonymity isn't nearly as important as privacy. Intrude a little too much into someone else's business, and one might end up losing a tongue. Or an eye. Or their life.
He scans the crowd with a watchful eye, trying to tell if there is anyone hiding here who should not be. He knows that the Railroad is better than that. Their agents have managed to avoid both the Brotherhood and the Minutemen, and they haven't done so by being loud, and ostentatious.
"Whiskey," he tells the Mr Handy functioning as a bar tender. He slides over several caps before he is prompted to do so. "Neat."
The Mr Handy mumbles something under its breath about the increasing rudeness of the Rail's clientele, but it falls on deaf ears. A moment later, a clouded glass full of whiskey slides across the bar, but as he reaches to pick it up, a hand with holding a lit cigarette between two slender fingers wraps around the glass. He watches, mouth dry, as the newcomer lifts it to her mouth, and swallows its contents in one go.
"Why, I don't think I've seen you around here before." He had thought Eleanor had looked odd without her Minuteman coat, but the black suit and tie she sports fits her perfectly, as though tailored to her body. Her golden hair falls in loose, soft curls around her face, drawing attention to her glittering eyes. She looks like she belongs here, in the criminal underworld. It's been three days since they had agreed to this—three days since she had set off on her own, and asked him to meet her here. He had half expected to not be able to find her. "Your first time?"
Arthur swallows, watching as she raises her cigarette to her lips, and takes a long drag. "I suppose you could say that."
She cannot hide her pleasure as he plays along with whatever intricate ruse she's set up. "Then let me treat you to a drink. Charlie?" She taps on the bar to get the Mr Handy's attention. "Full bottle of your finest whiskey, and two glasses." She snatches the whiskey out of the robot's grip before it can begin to complain, shooing it off to tend to the other waiting customers. Eleanor pours them both a generous glass. "Then let me welcome to the Third Rail, Mr...?"
"Jonathan." It is—it was his father's name. His voice comes out deeper than he had intended it to, cracking as he takes in the sight of the pre-war woman standing before him. She looks like she should be standing on the stage next to Magnolia, not leaning against the bar as though it is the only thing supporting her weight, holding a burning cigarette between two fingers. There's something entrancing about her nonchalance, like this isn't even an act for her.
"Alex," she supplies in return, drawing out her name so he can clearly see her crimson painted lips curl around every syllable. "A pleasure. I was just starting to get bored of the local... scenery."
They both know that her words hold another meaning. It takes him a moment, but he does not remain stunned for long. If this is the game that she wishes to play, then he shall play it. He is highly competitive by nature, and if she thinks that her little act will get him to break, she is sorely mistaken. There are other ways they could make it seem like they belong here, a dozen other covers they could have used, but the trap has been set, and he has already been baited into it.
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Untarnished, She Shines With Honour // Arthur Maxson x F!Sole Survivor
Fanfiction"I care about them, you know. The people of the Commonwealth," he says. She meets his eyes, and in that moment, she looks so much like Sarah his heart aches. Her hand finds his own, fingers intertwining. "I know." - - - The war the Brotherhood fight...
