Molly kind of just nodded. "I don’t think I’m ever gonna get married. What’s the fun in that? Also I wouldn’t want to lost half my stuff in a divorce,” she said, clearly having some firm priorities. Whether these priorities lasted the teen years were hard to say.
"Like, when I see you working, you’re always doing paperwork or with boxes of stuff. I thought Followers were doctors and scientists or nurses." Except that one dude who wrote bad poetry in the courtyard. That guy was just sad. "What do you do for the Followers? LIke, orders and forms and stuff?" That couldn’t be it; Molly was sure he didn’t get to be called Doctor just for filling forms. Or could you? Hmm.
"Maybe one day you’ll find the right person for you, Molly. However you’re quite young still - likely too young to be considering such factors. Just focus on life and growing up first - I understand well that can be challenging enough without having to deal with the nuances of relationships." Although the kid did have her annoying moments she was a good kid - while Arcade felt a little awkward considering his lack of recent experience with children he really didn’t mind Molly too much. It did sadden him inexplicably to see how mature she was - how likely the harsh reality of the wasteland had appeared to rip the child of youthful innocence.
And such a thing was impossible to get back; to look at the world with eyes clouded with wonder and hope.
Oh. Ooooh. "I work predominantly as a researcher here. Occasionally when hands are short-" Which was rather more painfully often than the blond man like to admit. "-I help out with the medical work, but it’s not my primary functionality here." Not that he was particularly good with said research… but it was better than doing nothing, right? At least he was trying.
God was he trying.
His dog was trailing behind him with narrowed blue eyes at the ground. Red spots dripping ahead of the wolf from Cassander’s shoulder. That last attack hadn’t been easy- Caesar was beefing up the people he was sending after him. His lip was busted, cut on his forehead and on his cheek, and two bullet in his shoulder. He could feel the two piece of metal rubbing up against each other. Legion still wanted him alive so he’d be kept that way for a little while. Artemis let out a long whine and he stopped, “What is it?” He asked and the dog let out another whine of concern getting low and moving toward a sand mound. It was night, when he liked to travel the most to get out of the damn heat. Cassander lowered the lever action brush gun with one arm. He cradled it by his hip, other arm hanging loosely by his side as he came up on a patch and a blond man working with picking roots. He narrowed his eyes at him, his NCR armor was badly damaged and his sunglasses had a damn crack in theme. The ranger hat wasn’t fairing much better. “Oi- you selling medical supplies?” He called down, Artemis coming up beside him to watch the man below now that his master’s gun was out and ready to use.
It was a whine that caught the blond Follower’s attention more than anything else; the man pausing in his deft gathering of xander roots as he glanced around. What was that? He knew enough to be wary, be cautious… after all a pack of coyotes - emboldened by hunger and habituated to people - could prove to be even a danger that Arcade didn’t entirely wish to be forced to deal with.
Pausing, his hand dropping to rest on his plasma defender, glancing up when he heard the voice calling to him and squinting to combat the looming darkness of night to see who exactly it was. Visual confirmation told that it was a stranger - he had suspected as much - but while the uniform certainly heralded towards NCR that didn’t necessarily mean the other man was friendly..
"Selling? No." There was a wavered pause before the Follower straightened a little bit more, muscles tense in case he’d have to attempt to dodge gunfire. "Are you wounded?"
Holden laughed, “Well I’m sort of mixed on you being surprised, but honestly I like singing.” Especially for those he cared for. “Did you at least like what I sang?”
"I wasn’t meaning that in the unpleasant sense." Arcade amended carefully, knowing well enough aware he had done it yet again - not chosen his words properly and likely confused the other man. "I certainly did. It’s the first in… a long, long time that anyone had sung to me."
But he really didn’t want to think about that either.
Who are you to change this world?
No one needs to hear your words.
Let it go.
She paused her repair on the damaged vehicle when she noticed someone was standing in her light. Taking the time to turn and look up above her.
“May I help you?"
A thrum of fingers glided across the fabric of his white jacket at the blond man took a good look at his current surroundings, lips curling into a decisive frown as he found himself at an utter lack of being able to pinpoint where exactly he was. Still, the voice was enough to capture wavered attention - blue eyes flitting over towards the unfamiliar figure. "Ah.. yes! In fact you can - may you please tell me where exactly I am?"
“——-Then I believe I’ve called the wrong doctor.”
"… well that would rather depend, now wouldn’t it.
What sort of doctor were you looking for?”
Arcade lists off his inconveniences and the courier stares, nonplussed, in some quiet turmoil in the moment before the punchline hits. He blinks once or twice when he realizes the gripes weren’t made in earnest, not entirely, his mouth twisting to mimic the fleeting simper that had taken to his companion’s face. It’s a subtle display, but he gleans the humor from the situation. Keeps his suspicions about it, too.
❝Good to hear it.❞
Taking a doctor out of Freeside and into the Wasteland has its perks, certainly, but the courier is receptive to what he hears, and wonders if this partnership will accomplish more than what either of them can do on their own. His grasp of their synergy is ambiguous at best, and while he has confidence in their respective abilities, the track he’s on is hard austerity and tangled political skeins — things may take a turn for cruel at any moment and he needs to know if Arcade can handle it sooner rather than later.
He’d prefer to skip the odd Legion ambush or a run in with Powder Gangers, but he’s hoping this trek might help solidify an opinion one way or the other.
❝Going to see if I can’t take something off the Nashs’ hands,❞ he says when Arcade prompts him for explanation, shrugging lightly, a hand on the strap of his pack, the other a satellite about his hip and the pistol docked there. ❝They’ve a damaged robot collecting dust in the Mojave Express office. I think I can fix it.❞
He thinks. Truth be told, he has no experience with complex machinery, but hell if he hasn’t spent most if not all of his leisure reading texts on the subject, pocketing certain metal components along his travels if they fit the bill. His brow twitches down and he sighs, listless.
❝If not, I was planning on making my way to the Gibson Scrapyard eventually. Pawn it off there.❞
For a half-moment Arcade almost expected for the other man to not catch it. They’d just met, just started traveling together really, and his impression of the courier was one still certainly working it way towards being formed. Sure - the man was enough of a conversationalist that the blond could claim with truth behind it [although he’d never share the circumstances behind him knowing this without good reasons] that he’d had better, more proactive conversations with a wall prior… but there was that subtle movement, that almost quirk of lips, that he’d been lucky enough to glimpse.
Well that was good. The notion that there was a sense of humor somewhere in the other man was a factor certainly most workable - and it was another tick in the courier’s metaphorical favor. It was difficult to say if they would assist in the means of one another’s own respective goals, not yet but it was something more than sitting around with his thumbs up his ass doing questionably beneficial work [it was in theory, needed work in practice] for the Followers.
This way he was doing something at least.
He was doing something,
“Something is rather vague.” Just a quick interrupting quip from the man as he headed along the hard road - easily used to the cracks and falters where time and destruction had claim away from man-made structures where the Mojave worked to reclaim what was once a part of it. Of course he’d spoken too soon, perhaps marginally too flippantly… and for a moment the tall Follower nipped down on his lower lip. Shut up. Just because when he got going he could likely talk enough for the both of them didn’t mean he needed to put it into practice, so he managed to maintain an interested silence until the other man was able to finish. "What sort of robot?" A pause. "If you know, of course." He assumed he might have at least some idea if he planned to attempt towards fixing it… but who really knew at this point.
For a moment digits graced across the surface of his plasma defender - a heavy but currently unneeded weight at his side. Thankfully. While the day seemed clear enough - a dry heat ever increasingly pressing down, but nothing too out of the norm for the area - it was otherwise clear and otherwise quiet. The terrain was open enoguh that they could likely currently see well - it wouldn’t be until they reach another area populated by crumbling remains that they might have to worry about a raider assault or worse… and on the brighter side, a Legion assault might very well be seen and promptly avoided if they tried such tactics in this particular immediate area.
Of course it wouldn’t last. It never did. While Arcade may indeed wish otherwise safety was an illusion at best within the Mojave.. and it would be foolish to lower his guard on the notion that right now they were safe from immediate strife.
"Better to try and fail than never try at all. Est id quod est." Musing words, mostly. "We can pick up supplies if we need them in Novac at least.." Perhaps Arcade hadn’t noticed how his own tone had changed a bit, subtly, as he uttered those words - more loose with them, more aloof, as he chanced a glance towards their surroundings. He knew Novac rather well - Daisy was there after all, although god forbid he’d have to somehow avoid the woman that had virtually became a surrogate mother to him after his own had died.
Too many questions he just couldn’t answer. Not yet.
"It’s because I thought it would look nice, no other reason. I suppose when I meet new people I just hand them out. It makes everyone happy." There was a momentary pause before she continued. "I’m Historia."
"That’s… admittedly a perhaps surprisingly rarity these days." Not many people acted to bright happiness to others, much less to those who were strangers to them. Still - the blond Follower supposed that he couldn’t argue or begrudge the woman her attempt. "I’m Arcade."