Food, often taken for granted. The people making it, even more so.
Both of these can be found in the cantina of Vault 88, a gathering place for the hungry, thirsty and/or chatty.
The one responsible that these needs get satisfied is as colorful as the spice needed to camouflage the
horrible interesting taste of post-apocalyptic, irradiated food.
RR: Ho there, sailor!
Cook: That’s ‘Captain’ to you, recruit! No disordination on my ship.
RR: Haha! Funny.
Cook: Breaking rank is as funny as sinkong. State your name!
RR: I’m –
Cook: Take this and swab the deck. That’ll teach you some respect.
RR: You aren’t kidding are you, mam?
Cook: The name’s Cook, Captain Cook. And you better remember it. Now, swab til your back hurts!
RR: OK, fine. Mind if I ask you why a Captain works as a cook?
Cook: To keep rule breakers like you in line. Disobey my command and you’ll get leftovers from yesterday’s leftovers. Look at Kane, and you’ll see what I’m capable of.
RR: As entertaining as this have been, it’s a bit too much for me, I think I’ll abandon ship, so to speak.
Cook: Mutiny! I’ll have you walk the plank.
RR: Oh no! Look, I’m leaving. See? The door is the plank, right?
Cook: Madman! May the sharks have mercy on you, scallywag.
Vault 88, like any other society, carry their share of mental disorders. If anything, it may even be more prevalent down here than any other place.
Long-term isolation is not healthy, as we now have witnessed.
Click here for the previous article in the series, before the interviews.