>>He is seated in the living room of the too-quiet house, in it's sole and creaking rocking chair. His face, lit by the crackling fire -the scent of which pleasantly permeates the building- shows lips moving in silent, hateful mutterings. One steady hand holds tight the oaken shaft of his shillelagh, whilst the other- his right hand- carefully polishes the gnarled and knotted staff. As he hears the footsteps which herald your entrance into the room, he tilts his head up and regards you, with eyes dark despite the dancing firelight upon his cheek. His eyes close for a moment to collect his words and thoughts, and when he opens them and speaks his voice is a gravelly whisper<<
Ah, good, you came.
A matter has come to my attention. An insult. A betrayal.
My friend, I am an investor and - as is my wont - I invest in caravans. Caravans trading in junk, in weapons, in clothing and armor. And of course, caravans trading in chems, stims and food.
It makes me a pretty penny, having a cut of the dividends as well as a discount on most goods which the caravan merchants carry through their Wasteland routes. But most of all, I invest because I expect my dear, dear partners in business to take my money and use it to improve their stock. Stock which I will then purchase from them and use for my various... interests across the Wastelands. It has been, as they say, a win-win situation and for a very long time, I have believed this arrangement to be a good, healthy, relationship based on mutual exchange and respect. Unfortunately, it has come to my attention that I have been misled in this assumption.
The good Doc Hoff has been holding out on me, keeping me from his stash of Nuka Cola. Now, I know what you're thinking. Its no big deal, right? It's just a few bottles of Nuka - ten to fifteen refreshing every few days to be exact - nothing to burn the barn with the cattle inside about. It should be something that I talk with him about over some shots at Moriarty's. A misunderstanding, maybe, that we'll all laugh about later. Something nice. Easy. Simple.
But its not that simple, friend. >>He draws a softly glowing bottle of Nuka Cola Quantum from the inside of his vest and sets it on the half-table beside him. The glass of the bottle makes a soft 'thud' on contact<< It's not that simple at all
You see, I need my Quantum. I need bottles of Nuka Cola to make - yes, make, friend - My Nuka Cola Quantum. That which keeps me from my Quantum... i-it...
... It upsets my calm, friend...
I want Doc Hoff brought before me. I want him alive, friend. I want him alive because I want to be the one who makes the "Good Doctor", with his "Magic Bag", understand what it is he has done, to know how he has hurt myself and an unknowable number of other Wastelanders by withholding his goods.
Do this for me, yes friend? It will be... Good Business.
-- The Arcadian Rook (talk)Needs More Battle Cattle 08:25, September 4, 2011 (UTC)