Dancin until dawn.

[robotdick]

[The hardest part about keeping a secret is the waiting around. Nick's better at surprises and delayed gratification than most, but even he's having a hard time keeping a lid on this one. It takes planning, though, setting up a really romantic evening, even one as juvenile and silly as this. Thankfully, between Ellie and the Vaultie's pack-rat tendencies, Nick's managed to set up something genuinely pretty nice.

Nick had thought about clearing out the upstairs, but the odds of Hancock just wandering up there were too high. Instead, he cleared out the floor below theirs and went to work. The decorations were top notch, he'd figured out how to get SNOW to play music down here. Had set up spotlights, metallic streamers, the whole nine yards.

No high school prom had ever looked more prom-like. Vaultie had even provided balloons.

He had the whole thing sewed up, prom, romantic food, he even wore the nice outfit that the Vaultie had given him. All he required now was Hancock.

Nick tried to remain inconspicuous as he meandered through the Old Statehouse, but he was dressed to the nines. The look Farenheit gave him was longsuffering, but she didn't say anything otherwise. When he finally got to Hancock's door--he knocked and adjusted his tie.]

Comments

[chem_break]

[ Of course Evaris will help you Nick, you don't even have to ask. As aggressively altruistic as always, the Not-Quite-a-Vaultie provides above and beyond the synth's requests. Decorations? Certainly, here's 300 balloons. Metallic streamers, galore. White icicle Christmas lights (specifically, those are a must), and a fog machine. What, no? No fog machine? Fine, he'll scrap it for parts.

Snacks? Absolutely, the mad science this dude can do with a pot over a fire. Drinks? Sure, here's every variety of Nuka Cola, and Vim, a (metric) boat load and a half of booze, and classic punch inside a giant mutant melon bowl that is certainly not spiked but extremely Refreshing. Plus a small mountain of ice, but you gotta chip that yourself dude come on now.

Music? No problem, already installing the same massive stereo speakers as in The Third Rail, because clearly he already has schematics for those laying around no big deal. That's not a stage, don't be so over dramatic, it's just an extremely fancy karaoke bar.

Somewhere amid the Vaultie's extremely fucking manic re-do of the floor beneath Nick and Hancock's flat, the version of Snow currently operating Neon Flats will kindly provide the synth a little context. Aspects of Synthetic Neural Operating Window Version 2 still exist in the Gen 3's hardware; it repaired vital parts of his OS, and can't separated without irreparable damage. One of Snow's original functions, a task they took and valued and cherished before even coming to know Themselves, was interior design.

Specifically, Snow had been tasked with designing Neon Flats. They are the architect behind Nick's snazzy flat, those crisp neon lights and mini-fridge night-stands that he and his paramour so much appreciate and enjoy.

So Evaris (with his one green eye and his one white braid) are doing a Thing now, please forgive the bordering obsessive dedication to the task.

That's gotta be why the extreme excess of effort here, right? No additional, Glowing Green reasons could possibly exist? ... Anyway.



Over at The Old Statehouse, Hancock is doing Taxes. There's an ashtray brimming with several variety of spend smoke butts, a glass that's empty and a bottle of whatever Charlie gave him that's half-way there. There's even a few scattered ceramic cups, implying someone cooked up something at the coffee station downstairs and brought it up here, too.

The ghoul sighs to himself as he attempts to balance his books-- the keys of his terminal clacking with his mounting irritation at the numbers on his computer's screen. ]

C'mon Allen you're killin' me here...

[ He mutters to himself, trying to make 100 caps into 500 is going to take some-- well, that's just a couple bounties, right? He can probably cover that himself if he goes out and does the actual work. Not an impossible bridge to gap.

Besides, he's the one who cut his own stash of Cognitive Cocktail in half. That's the math he's trying to balance out, because one of his two remaining shots is due to go to Fred soon, which means--

There's a knock and Hancock shoves himself up from the desk, striding away from his computer like it offended him and he has to step back before he decks it. If this is Fahrenheit, he's gunna send her on a run to snag a handful of of righteous bounties for him-- ]

Oh-- Nick, hey, I need to grab a couple-- [ Record scratch. Hold on. Nick looks... fancy. The blunt wolfish attraction is the first expression to flicker across the ghoul's face, followed by mildly concerned befuddlement. Had he forgotten something, here? ]

Are... we supposed to be dancin, tonight?

[ A wild guess, while his smile is faintly reluctant for a fraction of a second. He should solve this issue--

He can leave it for later.

He wants to see why Nick looks so especially dashing this evening. ]

Don't tell me I forget about those Lindy lessons? Told ya I got a brain like holey cheese... er, pretty sure I did.

Close to His Heart

[chem_break]

[ He finally fucking found it. God damn, that only took about three days.

Hancock had gotten the idea the morning after he and Nick had gotten engaged. Morning drugs and coffee (the appropriate before-noon vehicle for booze) typically comes with a couple of standard 'eureka!' moments, but this? This is a good one. The ghoul spends a good chunk of the next few days turning The Old Statehouse on its head.

He knows he has this thing. It is here... somewhere. Why is it not in your desk, Hancock? Because you didn't leave it there, obviously. The haphazard anarchist is suffering a terrible drawback of his chaotic philosophies.

Where the hell did it go?

Turns out, Fahrenheit spotted it somewhere conspicuous and tucked it away somewhere safe, like a literal safe, because she didn't want to 'hear him bitch about misplacing it for the fifteenth fucking time keep track of your important shit, Hancock.' This is soft talk for Fahrenheit and Hancock thanks her gregariously for the save.

She tells him not to lose the thing again, and he can genuinely promise that is never gunna happen. He doesn't take her disbelief personally.

The prized item is now concealed in an unassuming manila folder, which Hancock carries under his arm as he rides the elevator up to his and Nick's apartment. They're gunna have to find some kind of welding machinery to get this done right, but the ghoul assumes (sinse Nick did make his own ring) that his paramour can point them in the right direction for that part of the creative process.

This part? Probably best if they stay away from dry air and molten metal. ]

Hey Sunshine, I got somethin' for ya

[ There is a definite spring to the ghoul's step as he approaches, keeping that plain looking envelope mysteriously under his arm, despite the tempting declaration. ]

Comes with a bit of a story, though. Got time to shoot the shit with me?