<table width="100%"><tr><td style="vertical-align: top; width:50%; padding-right:10px;"><span style="color: #E6E9FD"><span style="font-family: Nyala;"><span style="font-size: 120%; line-height: 116%;"><br/>On a normal Wednesday, the "100 Rads Bar" was by far the single best place for a casual night out. At least as casual of a night as there can be when the land can get over 100 rads itself. The bar had it's stereotypical senile old man as the owner who seemed to be as old as the fallout itself, a chandelier made of bicycle parts and tin cans which provided an even, warm lighting, and terrible beer. The only thing it needed was good company, which they surely provided. <br/><br/>"Matty! Stop fooling around and get out there! I don't pay you to sit in front of that mirror all day!" A burly voice commanded. <br/><br/>Fragile, thing fingers tied up silky, golden hair into a high ponytail. Even with it held back and up, the tips still grazed the small of their back. "I am not one that can be rushed." It was more of an audible thought rather than a reply. Elbows scooted the clutter on the counter away so they could set down, allowing for Matty to lean into the mirror. A thin, red paste was smeared onto supple lips with a bare thumb, a simple smack perfecting the look. With blush and makeshift mascara already applied, the server got up from the wooden seat and headed out to the main floor. <br/><br/>On a normal Wednesday, the "100 Rads Bar" was a token bar— an idealization. But today was not Wednesday, and no one cared about the date anyway. <br/><br/></span></span></span></td><td style="vertical-align: top; width:50%; padding-left:10px;"><span style="color: #E6E9FD"><span style="font-family: Nyala;"><span style="font-size: 120%; line-height: 116%;">As soon as the door was pushed open with a hip, music filled the air, along with the atrocious chanting of the unruly regulars of the establishment. The bartender served the customers in a blur, trying to keep up with all the orders. The iconic chandelier was dimmed down, the candles on each of the tables providing most of the luminescence, however not quite enough. The floors were wet and sticky from the beers that had been spilled and dried all day long, but at least the dark nature of the room prevent the spills from being visible, giving the place a faux clean feel. Even though you can still feel your shoes clinging to the grim on the floor as you walk. <br/><br/>The server nimbly glided around the room, passing by the instrumentalist who was playing a bottle flute and a skillet banjo at the same time. Patrons roared in song, clinking and spilling their glasses to the familiar, iconic tunes. Matty even hummed soothingly as they weaved through the crowd. Their light grey pants and long, over-sized, flowing white shirt made them stand out, catching many of the men's stares. Some of the usuals, like Chuck and Boris, whistled and called, alerting Matty of their ritualistic appearance at this bar. They also noticed John talking to yet another stranger at the bar.<br/><br/>But there were a few newcomers too. At least not regulars who come in often. There was a woman at the bar, but Matty was sure Joey had her covered. There was also a woman who stepped in, but she immediately sat down by the fellow who had been loitering here all day. As this was a common meeting place to discuss important matters discretely, Matty decided to let them talk for a while before going over to server them. So that left on the man, isolated at his table. <br/><br/>With a sway of the hips and subtle clicks of their boots, Matty came over William. "Afternoon~ What can I get for you today?"  She bent over the table to grab the spare cups and wipe the table off with a rag. </span></span></span></td></tr></table>