*Two figures approach the cobbled-together town of Megaton. One of them, a ghoul in a suit, leads a mangy brahma to a patch of grass and ties it off to a rock with its leather leash.*
*Jules rubs his decaying hands together*
Jules: Alright, Mitchell. Sit yourself over there on that giant dead ant and try to look intelligent. But, you know, not TOO intelligent. That's my job.
*Jules adjusts his charcoal gray tie*
Mitchell: Right, Jules. I'll just be sitting on a stinky pile of dead bug. Fuck you. I'll stand.
Jules: Suit yourself. I'm just trying to add to your awe factor. People might think that you killed that ant. Might provide a sense of security.
*Mitchell kicks the dead ant and sets a hand on his assault rifle*
Mitchell: I am a sense of security.
*Jules feeds a rotten hunk of lizard meat to the left head of his brahma and digs around inside the pack it carries for something to sell*
Jules: Too true, friend. Here, what's the name of this pile of scrap anyways?
Mitchell: Megaton. Been to it before, they've got some asshole sheriff calls himself boss there. Caught me trying to lift some whisky from the little food stall, kicked me out for good. I ain't goin' in there.
*Jules pulls a decent hinting rifle out and sets it on a display stand at his feet, polishing the barrel as he does*
Jules: Well then, my taciturn comrade, you just stay out here in the clean desert air. Breathe deep and taste the freedom. I'll do any talking that needs to happen. Look, here comes a wanderer now. Ahoy, voyager! Can I interest you in a fine, state-of-the-art firearm?
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