Chapter Text
Ralph was one of the few who got to call themselves a Vegas local, even if other people didn’t believe him.
Vegas wasn't much in those days. The strip wasn't lit, the NCR still a foreign country, it was just some scattered prospectors and gangs at each other's throats. He kept his head down, and played nice with the traders that had set up shop. In a collection of prospectors, a mechanic wasn't special. He couldn't help take apart rockets. The only real advantage he had, was that he had seen some of the scavenged equipment when it was operable. Other people could take things apart but he could tell you how to make it work. And usually that involved buying something from him.
He couldn’t quite sell you the shirt off your back but Ralph's acceptance of under the table payment and willingness to bend the rules earned him a lot of favor. It was enough to get himself a storefront and a new name.
Through good connections he found himself in the possession of a professional quality printer. It didn't mean much until the day the NCR crossed the dam and suddenly there were forms and IDs. Passports needed for the strip, leave papers for the soldiers, even medical records from the Followers. With some trial and error none of it was too hard to fake. It was good enough business that he got caps he could actually save and early reporting of the town gossip. News was the NCR had real hospitals and working auto-docs.
—
Mick never thought he would leave New Reno.
The sounds of construction almost drowned out the other man’s voice.
“I’m sorry but no, we’re not hiring and especially not strangers off the street.”
“Come on man, I came all the way out here because I heard you were opening a new branch. I have the experience and you’re gonna need bodies.” Mick pleaded through the still shiny new fence.
“If you can get a referral from someone we have a contract with then we can talk. But until then fuck off.” Isaac said with finality before turning to approach the bare bones of the soon to be factory.
“Shit” said Mick kicking the dirt. He was too damn hot, too damn tired, and too damn sober to deal with this. He needed a drink.
The only consolation he had, pushing through the gates to Freeside, was that it actually felt like home. A messy place of vice and violence run by gangs where you could smell the jet in the air, might as well be New Reno. He skips the guards, he’s armed as always, and passes the food stalls and followers camp. The Atomic Wrangler seems to be the place where people drown sorrows, so that’s where he stops.
He pays for a beer and posts up in a corner away from the noise of everybody else. Mostly pathetic wallowing like him, some excited shouts from the casino and rooms upstairs. He swigs from the bottle and then chugs as the weight of his actions hit him.
The ghoul spots the stranger sitting in his usual spot with his head in his hand.
“Damn buddy, you look rough.”
“Yeah, thanks” Mick retorts, barely looking up.
Rotface pulls up a chair, “What's up?”
“I moved here to try to work for the Gun Runners and they weren’t hiring.”
“That bites. Why the Gun Runners?”
“Repairing and putting together guns is kinda all I know how to do.” he pauses before adding “besides ruin a marriage.”
“Oof.” says Rotface standing up. “You know what, you should go talk to Ralph,” he points across the bar “He owns a repair shop in town. From what I hear he doesn’t know too much about guns and could maybe use some help in that department.”
“Wait really?” Mick asks, looking at the man Rotface is pointing at. He’s unassuming and sitting by himself occasionally chatting with someone at the bar he seems to know. His hair is long enough that he has to tuck a strand behind his ear to keep it out of his face. “Yeah.” Replies Rotface trying to mask his uncertain tone.
Mick stands up before draining the last of his beer and straightening himself up. He stops at the bar for two more beers before walking over to Ralph.
He sees the other man look him over as he walks over to the table. Mick sets a beer down in front of Ralph and takes a seat opposite him.
He puts out his hand “Hi, I’m Mick”. Ralph takes it trepidatiously, “Ralph.”
“I thought I would buy you a drink. My friend over there,” Mick looks behind him to see Rotface fully asleep in the seat he just vacated, “um, nevermind. I heard you own a repair shop in town.”
Ralph is still drinking his own beer, “Repair shop, general store, a pawn shop if I’m feeling generous.” His voice was kind and inviting.
Mick felt rough around the edges in contrast. He smiled and kept his slightly shaky hand out of view.
“I actually repair guns, it's what I do .”
Ralphs relaxes back into his chair, “That so?”
“I repair them and sell them.”
“That all you repair?” Mick felt the sweat build as the conversation shifted into an interview.
“I can do some work on household machines. I can also sew.”
“Hmm…Can you cook?”
“A bit, why?”
Ralph smiled, “Cause it might just be your lucky day,” he paused. “You want a gig, meet me at my shop tomorrow morning. You can just ask anyone where Ralph’s is.” Ralph got up to leave, stopping briefly next to Mick who’s still seated “And just so you know, people round here like me. So if you fuck with me or try to kill me, you’re not making it out of town alive.” His tone is serious but not threatening. It was like he was just stating a fact. With a subtle smile Ralph punctuates his sentence with a pat on Mick's shoulder and heads out.
—
Mick walks into the store at 9am to find Ralph already at the counter.
“Hey man, glad to see you took the offer.” Ralph says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Come with me.”
He leads Mick down an aisle of appliances to some kind of open storage space at the back of the store.
“You see this room, I need help putting a false wall over it.”
“Why?”
“Not every customer needs to see everything I sell.”
–
When the store closed on Friday, Ralph invited Mick up to the apartment for dinner. The apartment was sparse and utilitarian. Workbenches, a printer, a disected securitron. Anything valuable to the general public was already downstairs for sale.
Mick poked through various projects while Ralph hastily constructed a meal. Suddenly something bright blue hanging out of the dresser caught Mick’s attention. He carefully walked towards it not wanting his host to notice his snooping. It was leather, Mick’s mind filled in ‘vault suit’. But his curiosity did not wane so he dragged the garment out just enough to see the number 3 on its back.
He looked up to make sure he hadn’t been caught. Ralph made eye contact with him across the room. Mick didn’t bother folding it again, he just set the suit down and walked away from the dresser.
“So is that yours or…?”
He was met with silence from Ralph. Mick went ahead and took a seat at the dinner table, trying to make the moment less awkward.
Eventually, as they started eating their food Ralph started making conversation.
“So you’re from Reno?”
“Yep.”
“What’s it like?”
“Freeside but bigger. And skeevier. What about you, where are you from?”
“I’m a local.”
“Huh.”
“Lived in Vegas my whole life.”
“Always Freeside?”
“No, Freeside’s kind of new. I was over in West Vegas.”
“Oh, so Westside.”
“No. Think more like Fiend territory. But with less fiends.”
“That where vault 3 is?”
“Yeah.”
“You still got family there?”
“No, they’re gone. But we weren’t on good terms anyway.”
“Oh.”
“Do you still have family in New Reno?”
“Yeah, I have a daughter and an ex-wife back there.”
“How old’s your daughter?”
“She’s three about to be four.”
“Nice… So ex-wife?”
“Yeah, high school sweetheart, married for eight years.”
“Wow.”
“Mhm.”
‘What happened?”
“I left the bar one night with another woman, my wife's friend happened to see me. The wife gets obviously mad, we have a fight, she asked me if I even loved her anymore and I told her the truth. I don’t think I ever loved her.”
Ralph nearly spit out his beer, “Holy shit! You’re a douchebag.”
“Never said I wasn’t.”
“If you never loved her, why marry her for eight years?”
Mick takes a sip of his beer and shrugs, “That’s what you do, right? You find a pretty girl, you get married, you have a kid, then you spend less and less time together until one of you dies.”
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I’ve got worse.”
“Damn. So you get divorced and move to Vegas.”
“Not exactly, it took some time for me to realize that I permanently ruined my reputation. Thought maybe after a month I would start to get work again, but no. Year and a half later and I was still shit out of luck.”