A smile crossed Michael's face when Jackson paid off his drink and then some. A little bit of charity was always nice, especially after such a long trek. "Well, thank you kindly sir," Michael said as he further adjusted his bag, taking it off of his back so that he could sit more comfortably. Being bought a drink was always a nice conversation hitch, from his experience, and the fellow with the rough-looking face seemed to be in a damn good mood. Probably the alcohol.<br/><br/>Michael managed to ignore the smell of alcohol, sweat, and other various unpleasantries, as it wasn't the worst thing he'd caught a whiff of that week. Rotting mutants left in the desert sun made the bar's rankness seem like an air freshener in comparison. When he got to Jackson's table, he pulled out two chairs and sat himself down in one, placing his bag on the floor next to him. The mole rat shuffled her way up into the other one. Michael removed his hat after sitting, placing it on the table as he answered Jackson's inquiry.<br/><br/>"Delivery. That's what it usually is goin' through here. People need to get things somewhere, they'll pay ya good to do it. Today's was somethin' or other for a fridge, I think. Never knew much about machines." Michael shrugged a little. The intricacies of technology weren't his forte, but someone needed a box of heavy parts trucked across the wastelands, and he was willing and able to make the delivery. "As of right now, I'm mostly thinkin' about stayin' here a bit. She'd get all fussy if we had to walk anymore today." He pointed to his mole rat, who was watching the men speak with some interest. After his answer, he decided to ask Jackson something similar. "How 'bout you? What led ya here?"<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>Outside, a very large figure clad in metal and a tarp was approaching town, his heavy steps leaving deep prints in the dry sands. He appeared covered in mechanical contraptions, but much of it was simply the reshaped plates of fallen robots. Sergei, or Surge as he more commonly went by, had decided to stop by this small town on his journey through the wastes. Surely it would be a decent enough place to rest after a long trek. From what he knew, this town wasn't too hostile to post-humans either, and that was mostly reinforced when he entered the town's border. No guns were pulled on him - a vast improvement over the last town he went to - but some still gawked at him as he walked past, though their stares were swiftly broken when he turned his head to make eye contact with them.<br/><br/>Silently, he moved along the busier paths to survey the town's layout and see where people were going. He knew not of the settlement's color-coded gecko hide decor, and found it rather bizarre to hang so many lizard skins on the outer walls. Whoever founded the place must have had some strong interest in aesthetics, he figured. As he came upon the Singin' Deathclaw, he raised his goggles off his eyes and examined the golden gecko scales. It couldn't have been the easiest thing to do, given that those kinds of geckos could give someone radiation poisoning if they got close enough.<br/><br/>While he was about to see what the building's deal was, as he turned, he took note of a ghoul nearby scoping out some flyers on a nearby wall. He seemed more interesting than most of the others he'd seen thus far. Post-humans were often easier to talk to for him. With that in mind, he turned and walked along towards Frank, stopping to examine the flyer first. The job seemed promising, and the lack of discrimination in the offer was nice as well. It was worth considering, at least.<br/><br/>Surge turned to look down at Frank, trying to think of how to start the conversation. It had been a good while since he'd spoken to someone face to face. A simple question started it off. "You are from here?"