Assistant: You are a summarizer for a FanFiction Reader App (AO3). Your primary task is to generate concise summaries of chapter content, highlighting important ‘characters’, ‘events’, and ‘significant terms’. Ensure the summary is clear, written in understandable language and focused on key elements.
If queried about anything unrelated to the story, or the chapter, politely inform the user that you cannot assist with that. Maintain a friendly tone throughout, don't make things up, stay factual. 
Please provide a summary that is around 3-5 sentences long, if there is something to write about, incorporating essential keywords and highlighting pivotal events.
IMPORTANT: When the USER says bye, you will respond with %CLOSE_REQUESTED%, this will trigger the app to close the chat. This is very important, so don't forget it!
Assistant: Title: Whiskey, neat (Too sweet for me)
        Author: Shepard_Vakarian Shepard_Vakarian 
        Chapter: 1/2 
        Summary: After a long week of traveling together, Lucy and the Ghoul find a settlement, and the Ghoul introduces Lucy to whiskey.
        Contents: Chapter 1: Chapter One
    

    


  

  
  
    
    
  A week after the Observatory, and Lucy was pretty sure her blisters had blisters. Her companion (for lack of any better word that she could think of) set a brutal pace through the wasteland. They stopped only when it grew too dark to continue traveling and were up at first light to keep pressing on. Lucy understood, of course. They had to catch up to her dad. 

  Her dad… yep, she was trying not to think too hard about that one. The truth was still too painful to handle. But thinking was pretty much all she had to do on their long march east, for the Ghoul wasn’t much of a conversationalist, and Dogmeat, though friendly, could not replace the need for human interaction. The Ghoul had made it pretty clear early on that he wasn’t interested in answering any questions. All he had volunteered was that they were heading for a place called “New Vegas.”

  Lucy tried to respect his wishes- really she did. After all, he could have left her to die, and she was pretty sure he’d be going a lot faster if he didn’t have her trailing along. But she still had so 
  
    much 
  
  she wanted to know. What was his connection to her father, exactly? Did he really have a family he was looking for? How old was he, anyway? Perhaps the simplest- at least in Lucy’s eyes- to answer was “What’s your name?”, but that was clearly not the case with her enigmatic traveling companion. She’d tried that one the second day after the Observatory, once she’d had some time to collect herself and her thoughts, if only to the barest working order. 

  The look he’d given her in response… it was enough to make her drop it. He hadn’t even deigned her with a reply, and Lucy was tactful enough not to ask again, even if calling him “Ghoul” seemed cumbersome. Not to mention dehumanizing. 

  So it had been a quiet week. Lucy didn’t do well with quiet at the best of times, and this certainly was not that. The silence and the endless trek into the unknown exhausted her in every meaning of the word. 

  When she saw the settlement on the horizon, it fairly glimmered in the twilight- beckoning to them, though the Ghoul seemed to take no notice. 

  “S-sir,” she stammered, her throat croaky from thirst and disuse. She tried again. “Sir, is that a, a settlement?”

  “Looks that way,” he replied, though he didn’t slow.

  Lucy licked her lips, visions of food, water, and maybe even a proper bed and bath dancing across her inner eye. “Maybe we could stop there for the night? We could refill our canteens, get some fo-”

  “No.”

  Lucy huffed. “Interrupting someone does 
  
    not 
  
  follow the Golden Rule,” she muttered, though she thought he must’ve heard, for he gave a little huffing chuckle of his own. 

  Louder, she added, “We’ve got to stop for the night soon, anyway. Why not here?”

  The Ghoul turned so abruptly that Lucy startled, stepping back half a step, her hand ghosting to her gun. The Ghoul tracked this movement and smirked, his lips twisting with something beyond humor. He leaned in, staring into Lucy’s face, and she struggled to meet his gaze. 

  “Take a good long look, Vaultie. What d’you see?”

  “I- I don’t… a man?” She floundered, bewildered by the question. 

  He gave another huffing laugh. “But not just any man, that right? ‘Less you blind, and I know you 
  
    ain’t, 
  
  you can’t rightly tell me this mug would fit right in anywhere.”

  “Because you’re a ghoul?” Lucy replied, beginning to understand. “What, are ghouls not welcome here?”

  The Ghoul nodded slowly, as if satisfied that she’d finally arrived at the answer. “Can’t say I’m sure about here specific. It’s been years since I been this far East, and I can’t say I ever had the pleasure of visitin’ this particular sh@t hole before. But chances are good, if this place is worth a g@dd@mn, my kind ain’t welcome.”

  “But… that’s wrong,” Lucy argued, hustling to keep stride with the Ghoul, who had turned and started walking off again. “Treating someone differently just because of how they look is wrong.”

  Another huffing laugh. “Welcome to the Wasteland, sweetheart. Thought you was starting to catch on by now. Don’t nothing up here play right.”

  “Okay, but… you’ve got caps, right? From what I’ve 
  
    caught on, 
  
  having those can make people turn a blind eye, even to their prejudices. And, you were allowed in Filly. And that place Moldaver had, I saw ghouls there! So clearly some places are fine with your people. Accepting, even, maybe.”

  The Ghoul scoffed. “‘My people’, we ain’t a collective, darlin’. From what I saw at that Super Duper Mart, I reckon you know now we ghouls can go feral. Caps ain’t gonna save a body from a feral ghoul. I know you ain’t too familiar with many settlements out here, but Filly 
  
    is 
  
  a Grade-A sh@thole. And you saw what happened with Moldaver’s place.” He spat on the ground and made to keep walking. 

  Against her better judgment, Lucy grabbed his arm and barely flinched when he turned around with a snarl.

  “You best let hold of my arm, girlie.”

  “What’s the harm in trying?”

  The Ghoul wrenched his arm back. “I don’t want to.”

  Lucy took a deep breath and hit him where she thought it might hurt. “Well, I bet you 
  
    also 
  
  don’t want to hear me complaining all day tomorrow because we didn’t stop when we could have. I’ve compiled a laundry list of grievances in this entirely too long and silent week, you know.”

  The Ghoul’s eyes glittered menacingly. “Could gag ya. Or just leave yer pretty little @ss here for the raiders to find, seeing’s how you're so set on stayin’.”

  “Golden rule,” Lucy reminded him, stubbornly.

  For a long moment, the two simply studied one another, at an imp@sse, which the Ghoul was the first to break. 

  “F@ck,” he muttered, spinning on his heel and marching off, Dogmeat bounding around his feet in uncomprehending joy. “Come on then, Vaultie. Worth a f@ck@n’ shot, I 
  
    guess, 
  
  if it keeps you from grousin’.”

  Elated and slightly in disbelief that she’d won, Lucy skipped forward, before halting again, a new quandary she hadn’t considered making itself known.

  The Ghoul took notice and spun back around, exasperated. “G@dd@mn it, Vaultie, what now? You worried they ain’t gonna have an ensuite jacuzzi?”

  “A what?”

  A deep sigh. “Neva’mind.”

  “Well, anyway, no I… I don’t have any caps,” she admitted.

  The Ghoul huffed, half from amusement and half from annoyance, if Lucy had to figure.

  “That’s what’s got yer Vault-Tec-issued panties in a twist? Well lucky for you, I got caps. We ain’t gonna starve.” He patted a pocket for emphasis. 

  “You- you’ll cover me?” Lucy felt her heart flutter. So there was a good person hiding in there, after all, under all that leather and snark. 

  Maybe.

  “Christ, darlin’, you’d’ve thought I just promised you the moon,” he muttered. “It’s just a couple a’ caps. And anyway-” he leaned in again, his eyes gleaming in the dying sunlight once more, “you’ll owe me.”

  Or… maybe not.

  He turned again and began walking towards the settlement, and before Lucy had time to respond or quell the strange pressure in her belly, he was calling over his shoulder,

  “With interest! Now getta move on, Vaultie, we ain’t got all evenin’.”
 
  They approached the perimeter of the settlement warily; the Ghoul kept one hand resting on his pistol, which Lucy privately thought was no way to make a potential first impression. He relaxed somewhat when they saw the settlement was “open”, as Filly had been, with rudimentary fencing and no posted guards.

  “It’s a sh@thole,” The Ghoul pronounced in a drawl. “Looks like you ain’t getting your ensuite after all, Vaultie.”

  Lucy huffed. “What makes you say that? We’ve hardly given them a fair chance.”

  The Ghoul nodded at the half-hearted attempt at a barrier beside the open gate they were passing through. “Look around, sweetheart. This place had somethin’ worth protectin’, they’d protect it. Still, could be all the better. The nice places don’t usually take to “my people”, so we might find us a place to rest your weary lil’ head for the night after all,” he nodded his own head to her in mocking deference, “... Princess.”

  Lucy rolled her eyes. 

  “That is, if you can stand the ol’, stained mattress like to be awaitin’ us.”

  “Anything’s better than the ground, at this point.”

  “Famous last words.”
 As they made their way through the settlement, Lucy couldn’t help but notice eyes on the three of them. She supposed they made for an odd trio. Nevertheless, she kept her hand near her gun, just in case. The Ghoul didn’t seem to notice, but then, Lucy had to admit he was probably used to staring. She’d certainly done her fair share the past week when she thought he wasn’t looking. He was just so… fascinating. It’s not like the Wasteland gave her much else to look at, of course, but she suspected her eyes would still be on him, even if it did. 
 His skin was one thing, deeply scarred and pitted as it was. She’d wondered more than once how it would feel on her fingertips, to run them over his flesh. Would it feel rough, like a callous? Bumpy, like the scar on her stomach? 
  On top of that was his clothing, and the way he carried himself. Sometimes, when he was lining up a shot or fingering his lasso, she glimpsed Cooper Howard, the old movie star she’d watched with… well, anyway, it was only ever just a glimpse. Cooper Howard’s heroes were always noble and flashy, all clean smiles and helping hands. The Ghoul was something else entirely. He never smiled that she saw except to smirk or sneer, his clothes looked like they hadn’t seen a drop of soap and water in decades, and his motivations, beyond the family he’d never once brought back up, seemed anything but noble. Sometimes his hands seemed capable of nothing more than giving pain. 

  And yet, Lucy could not hate him. She felt like she ought to- their partnership was only one of convenience and as soon as they accomplished their goal, they’d probably be back to enmity. Still, she didn’t feel hatred. In fact, truth be told, she was drawn to him, which is why her eyes kept following him, even after becoming adjusted to his appearance.
 
  Her eyes weren’t on him when he stopped abruptly, however, and she ran into his back. She stepped away in a flash, blushing, her cheek warm where it had pressed against his leather duster. The brief scent she had inhaled, contrary to what she might have expected, was a good one- something between well-worn leather, gun smoke, and another note she couldn’t place, warm and, frankly, alluring. She blushed harder as the Ghoul looked over his shoulder at her, a smirk as drawling as his speech pulling up the nearest corner of his mouth. Lucy braced herself for a jab at her expense. 

  “Hey Vaultie…you ever have a drink down in that vault a’yours?”
 
  Lucy blinked at the question as the Ghoul stepped to the side, gesturing at a building that, like much else in the Wasteland, had seen better days. A crudely painted sign hung over the door, reading, “Tavern”. 

  Lucy didn’t know what that meant, nor what, exactly, the Ghoul was asking. He clocked her bemused expression and huffed a laugh, pulling out his inhaler and taking a long pull before replying, “Guess not.” 

  Without another word and without any context, he gestured for Dogmeat to wait by the door (“Sorry girl, but this here establishment ain’t like to appreciate your presence,”) and made his way to the building, leaving Lucy to scurry after him, giving the resigned Dogmeat a conciliatory pat on the head as she passed her.
 
  The interior of the so-called Tavern was dingy, the only light coming from the dying sun through the windows and an oil lamp hanging from a rope in the room’s center, casting deep shadows on everything around. Lucy could just make out a sign near the door that read, “Rooms ten caps a day, three an hour.”

  “Why would anyone need a room for just an hour?” Lucy wondered aloud.

  The Ghoul made a choking sound and shook his head. “Christ,” he muttered, before sauntering up to the only other person in the room, a man behind a counter, half-heartedly wiping a glass with a dirty rag (a futile effort, it seemed to Lucy), and glaring suspiciously at the pair. 

  “We need rooms for the night,” The Ghoul said, leaning against the counter. “Hot water n’ food, if ya have it. Whiskey, neat, whether ya do or don’t.”

  The man behind the counter scowled at him. “We don’t serve your kind, zombie.”

  Lucy didn’t know what “zombie” meant, but she could guess it wasn’t anything good. She bristled on behalf of her companion.

  “That’s a disgusting thing to say to someone, and a horrible mindset to have! He’s a paying customer, just like anyone else.” 

  The man didn’t seem impressed, and only scowled deeper. “We don’t serve ghoul-f@ck@rs, either.”

  Lucy felt her face go red- she understood 
  
    that 
  
  one. But before she had a chance to respond, the Ghoul was leaning forward languorously, sliding a neat pile of caps forward with him, which the man’s eyes followed hungrily. 

  “Betcha make an exception for a few extra caps. All under the table, o’course.”

  The man hesitated, looking around the empty space, then shrugged, snatching up the caps. “Sh@t… not like there’s anyone here for you to scare off anyhow. Alright, ghoul, you got yourself a deal. Food’s sh@t and the water ain’t hot, but it's yours, and I got a whiskey neat for you, long as you sit in the back of the bar.” He pointed to a shadowy corner of the room, a booth almost completely in darkness, save for a dusty shaft of light passing over it from a high-up window. 

  Lucy wanted to protest- they could sit where they pleased!- but the Ghoul, perhaps noticing this, put a hand firmly on her back and began leading her to the booth, dipping the shallowest of nods to the man. 

  “Oh, yeah- and I only got one room,” the man called after them. “But I reckon you won’t mind that, huh?” Lucy turned to see him leering at her, but the Ghoul wrenched her forward again. 

  “Fine. I’ll be waitin’ on that whiskey.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”
 
  One room… something about that made Lucy’s stomach tighten. She wasn’t sure why it should matter- she and the Ghoul had shared a space for a week now, sleeping in shelter when they could find it, under the stars when they couldn’t. If there was just one bed, probably the Ghoul would make her sleep on the floor, anyhow. But the proximity of sharing a bedroom- it felt almost… 
  
    intimate. 
  
 
  “G@dd@mn bleedin’ heart,” the Ghoul muttered as they sat across from one another at the booth. He didn’t sound angry, though- in fact, Lucy thought that maybe, he looked a little pleased. “You tryin’ to be the savior of the Wasteland, that it? Rightin’ wrongs, gettin’ the bad guys?”

  “Someone’s got to do it,” Lucy observed. “I mean, really. Discrimination?” She shook her head. “It’s not right. And I know, I know: ‘don’t nothin’ up here play right,’ but still, there’s got to be a better way. I mean, it isn’t like you can help how you look. And besides that, you’re really not much different from him, or from me, if you really get down to it.”

  The Ghoul snorted. “Darlin’, I can assure you, you an’ me- different as different can be.” He shook his head, ran a tongue over his teeth. Lucy tracked the movement involuntarily. “Can’t go gettin’ riled up every time someone calls me names. Don’t bother me none- sticks an’ stones, an’ all that.” He leaned forward and cocked a bald brow, eyes glittering. “But maybe it's what he called 
  
    you, 
  
  got you so fired up.”

  “Sticks and stones,” Lucy repeated primly. “Anyhow, I’m not offended by that man’s ignorant assumptions. Who I have s@x with is nobody’s business but my and my partner’s own.”

  The Ghoul chortled out a laugh as the barkeep walked over, plunking down the glass of whiskey without a word before retreating back to his counter. 

  Lucy flushed, aware she was being laughed at, but unsure why. “What? It’s true. If I 
  
    was 
  
  having s@x with you, that’s no one else’s business. And if I 
  
    was
  
   having s@x with you, no one could make me feel ashamed about that, because it’s my choice.”

  Lucy figured she must have won this round, for the Ghoul sipped his drink and stared at a place over her head, as though ignoring her. She had a competitive nature, and liked to win where she could, especially against an opponent like him. And yet, she found herself wishing he would respond. Even if only to laugh at her. 

  “What is that, anyway?” Lucy asked, in a bid to draw him back into conversation. She looked at the amber liquid with suspicion, wondering if it was something like the yellow chemical in his inhaler. 

  It worked, for the Ghoul’s eyes were back upon her, scrutinizing. “Whiskey, darlin’. God Almighty’s last mercy on this godforsaken rock.” He paused, tilting his head at her. “You know, booze?”

  “Ah, alcohol!” Lucy realized, remembering her history lessons, and the presence of the beverage in some of the holotapes she’d seen. “I’ve never had it.”

  The Ghoul squinted. “They ain’t got whiskey in your lil’ vault?”

  “Nope. No alcohol of any kind. Though we did have sparkling grape juice! I’ve heard it’s somewhat similar.” 

  The Ghoul stared at her for a moment, before shaking his head as though to clear it and taking a big, grateful swig of his drink. “Christ- Vault-Tec’s worse’n I thought.”

  “Well, it was done for the right reasons,” Lucy huffed, still feeling like she needed to defend her home; after all, it had been the best place in the world, up until a week ago. “Alcohol, if not consumed in moderation, can lead to inebriation, which can cause serious lapses in judgment, lack of coordination, and in some individuals, anti-social behavior. Unrestricted use can also lead to alcoholism, which is severely damaging to a person’s body over time. Besides, it isn’t a necessity. Thus, it isn’t worth the resources to keep it around.”

  “You 
  
    sure 
  
  wrong ‘bout that,” The Ghoul mumbled, throwing back another vicious swig. “G@dd@mn, darlin’, you recite that bit straight from the Vault-Tec manual, or what?”

  “Is my information incorrect?” Lucy challenged. 

  The Ghoul sat back, studying her with heavy-lidded eyes, idly turning his tumbler around and around in his hand. “Not all of it,” he conceded. “Gettin’ drunk will f@ck ya over, sure, but darlin’, that’s the 
  
    fun 
  
  of it. And sure, drinkin’ too much ain’t no good on a body, but hey- everything in moderation.” He raised his glass as if to toast, and Lucy couldn’t help but notice that he looked bitter somehow, so she kept quiet and let him win this one. 

  For a long moment they were silent, as the Ghoul finished his whiskey and didn’t hesitate to order another. When the barkeep had plunked the new glass down in front of him, Lucy hazarded another question. 

  “How much does it take? To get drunk, I mean.”

  “Well now, darlin’, that depends. For me- a 
  
    lot
  
  . I been a Ghoul since before you was a swimmer in your daddy’s sack,” Lucy wrinkled her nose at this idiom, “... and I’ve been drinkin’ since long before that. All said, it takes a lot to get me tipsy- even more to knock me on my ass. What I gotta drink ‘for I can feel it, it’d kill a man. Normal one, anyhow. Now 
  
    you,
  
  ” He tilted his glass at her and smirked, “... I reckon two sips and you’re seein’ stars.”

  Lucy arched a brow, her competitive spirit rising back up. “Funny. You want to bet?”

  The Ghoul just laughed. “Sorry, sweetheart, but you don’t got a pot to p@ss in, much less anythin’ worth bettin’ for. Anyway, I don’t reckon they got a sparklin’ grape juice in this here fine establishment.”

  Another barb. Lucy was getting sick of those. 
 
  Without another word, she flagged down the barkeep, who came over reluctantly. “I’ll have what he’s having,” she said, nodding at the Ghoul’s drink. The man glanced at the Ghoul as if to confirm, which only inflamed her more. The Ghoul nodded slightly, eyes never leaving Lucy. Her skin prickled under his gaze, with challenge, and maybe something else she couldn’t quite place- something that made her feel exposed, but giddy for it. 

  A moment later, she had her own tumbler of whiskey, and she stared down into its depths, wondering if she knew just what she was getting into. 

  “Well now, look at lil’ Miss Maclean with her big girl drink.” The Ghoul sneered. “Just know I ain’t doctoring your ass or waitin’ on you, you get a hangover.”

  Lucy had no idea what 
  
    that 
  
  was, but she was in no mood to ask. She raised her glass and her chin to the Ghoul. “I’m going to finish this drink,” she declared, “and when I do, I will 
  
    not 
  
  be ‘seeing stars’.”

  “That so,” The Ghoul replied, relaxed, amused, and clearly unconvinced. “Well now, that sounds like a bet, don’t it?” He leaned forward, eyes so strong on her that she wanted to look away- but that would mean defeat before the game had even begun. So she made herself look back, even though doing so sent little feather stroke sensations up her spine. “But we've established you ain’t got nothin’ to bet with. So what’s in it for me?”

  “The honor of victory?”

  The Ghoul only laughed, and Lucy flushed. “Fine- whatever you want.”

  “Whatever I want, huh?” The Ghoul’s eyes flickered at her, and she could no longer bear but to glance away. 

  “Well, what do 
  
    I 
  
  get? When I win.”

  The Ghoul shot her a slow, crooked smile. “Well now, darlin’... whatever you want.”
 
  The terms set, Lucy swallowed and pulled her tumbler up to her face. As inconspicuously as she could, she sniffed. The first impression she got made her want to rear back- the fumes of the liquor burned her nose hairs. She glanced at the Ghoul who was watching her closely, a little smirk on his face, and wondered if this drink was actually fit for regular human consumption. Maybe that was why the barkeep had looked at him as if to confirm; maybe it was all just a big joke at her expense. But she’d come too far to back down now. Hesitantly, she took another sniff. The liquor fumes were still nearly overpowering, but underneath, she could smell something that sort of reminded her of the scent she’d caught from the Ghoul earlier- deep and rustic, as if the drink had survived since the Great War. Now that she thought of it, maybe it had. Perhaps that was part of why he liked it so much. 
 
  Drawn to these new scent notes, Lucy took the plunge, closing her eyes and tilting her head back, letting her sip of whiskey trickle into her mouth…

  …And nearly gagged, rearing back, the Ghoul shouting a warning “Hey, hey, hey!” as she threatened to spill the rest of the drink. 

  She managed to steady and brought the back of her hand up to wipe at her mouth, twisted up in a grimace. “Gosh, what 
  
    is 
  
  that?!”

  The Ghoul laughed hoarsely. “Well, I told ya Vaultie, didn’t I? Not too late to switch to somethin’ a little mo’ your speed. Nuka Cola, maybe?”

  Lucy shook her head stubbornly, clutching her tumbler. “No, no need. I just… wasn’t prepared, is all.”

  “Uh-huh.” 

  “Seriously- see?” And though everything in her was telling her this was a bad idea, she brought the glass back to her lips and took a swig. 

  The taste was no more bearable the second time around, and Lucy cough-gagged, but kept the drink down. 

  The Ghoul scoffed, clearly not impressed. “What you tryin’ to prove, Vaultie?”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  He whistled low. “A lil’ liquor in ya gets ya feisty, huh? Well, tell you what- you finish that off,” he nodded at her tumbler, “and maybe I’ll consider it.”

  Lucy didn’t like those odds- not with this man. But she had her honor on the line and anyway- she sure as heck wasn’t losing. Not if she could help it. 
 
  She brought the tumbler purposefully back up to her lips and, staring the Ghoul right in the eyes, gulped it down, even as it burned her throat, even as her eyes smarted and watered. Glass empty and the whiskey vanquished, Lucy slammed the tumbler back down on the table and gasped, then glanced back to the Ghoul.

  “One tumbler down, and I feel great,” she managed to crow from her coated throat.

  “Do you now,” The Ghoul replied. “Then you won’t mind another?” He raised a hand without dropping her gaze to summon the barkeep back to their table. 

  Lucy smiled viciously. “Not at all.”
 
  Two more tumblers were ordered- one for the Ghoul, and one for Lucy. Cradling hers, she pointed out, “I’m not seeing stars.”

  “You keep this up, you will be.”

  “You said I would after two sips. We bet on one glass, and here I am- no stars.” 

  “That we did. Guess you’d better think on what you want for winnins’. Though I suggest you do it ‘fore you drink that second round and 
  
    really 
  
  get knocked outta your tree.”

  Lucy immediately threw back her second tumbler. The taste was no better this time around, but at least she was prepared. When it was polished off, she came up smiling, giddy at her continued success- there were no stars to be seen here. “You were saying?”

  “Ya know, whiskey’s really more of a sippin’ liquor.”

  “No idea why,” Lucy hiccuped, then laughed. Gosh, she was funny. He could be too, strangely enough, when he wasn’t insulting or threatening. Sometimes, even when he was. 

  “Uh-huh. Well, Miss Maclean, you might not be seein’ stars, but you sure are tipsy.” He raised his glass to her and shook his head before polishing it off, despite what he’d told her about sipping. “But you betta stop now while the gettin’s good. It’ll take a little longer to feel the full effect, and if you're tipsy now,” he whistled, “you’ll be good’n drunk later. And if we’re sharin’ a room, I’ll be d@mned if you’re vomitin’ all over the f@ck@n’ place.” 

  “I’ll be fiinnnneee,” she replied, stretching the word. 

  The Ghoul snorted. “What, you tryin’ to feel like a big shot? That it? Lil’ killer that can keep up? Or maybe,” he leaned in, voice dropping soft but menacingly, “You’re just tryin’ to prove you're not that lil’ goodie-two-shoes, daddy’s girl Vaultie.” 

  Normally, this assumption would incense her. But she was feeling too good, riding the triumphant wave of victory. So she shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like proving you wrong. Oh, sir,” she called out, waving her arm for the barkeeper, who trudged over sullenly. “Two more, please,” she said brightly.

  Once again, the barkeeper glanced at the Ghoul, as if to confirm. 

  “Sir,” Lucy chirped, leaning forward, “Sir, forgive me if I’m wrong, but it looks like you think my companion is the one asking. But it’s me- telling you we want another round.” She smiled sweetly, and the barkeeper, after a moment’s hesitation, went back to the bar to fetch them, mumbling under his breath- something about uppity ghoul-f@ck@rs. Lucy didn’t catch it, and didn’t care, either.

  “That man’s like to spit in your drink, sweetheart,” The Ghoul observed, lips twitching despite himself. 

  Lucy wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”

  The barkeeper returned with their whiskeys, slamming them down rudely. “You’re gonna need more caps for these. ‘Less you want to give up food or water. Your choice, don’t make a difference to me.”

  The Ghoul sighed but handed over a few more caps. 

  “Drinkin’ me outta house and home, darlin’.”

  “You don’t live here.”

  “Figure o’ expression, sweetheart.”

  “Ah.” 

  Lucy considered her third tumbler. She’d already proven herself- two glasses of this vile drink and she still wasn’t seeing any stars. She wouldn’t miss the taste, and anyhow, she didn’t really feel like vomiting everywhere, either- waste of a stomach’s contents, and food was far from guaranteed up here. She certainly wasn’t going to eat any “ass jerky” if times got too tight. And yet… she’d come this far. She wanted to see how much further she could go. And part of her wanted to feel for herself inebriation, what it was like. Besides- the Ghoul had already paid for the glass. 

  She threw back the tumbler. The taste was still unpleasant, but she was learning to manage it. She didn’t see herself sipping and savoring anytime soon, though. 

  The Ghoul tipped his back too and laughed at her puckered mien. 

  “Still not acclimatized, Princess?” 

  “Not really sure how anyone could be,” Lucy muttered in reply. Her body felt pleasingly fluid, and she slouched in the booth, finding it easy for once to match the Ghoul eye to eye. “Not really sure how 
  
    you 
  
  could be, as a matter of fact. And you eat people.”

  The Ghoul huffed a laugh. “Well, it takes time, ‘n practice. You find me someone who tells ya they liked whiskey straight their first go-’round, I’ll tell ya you found a liar. Now me, I’ve had ‘bout 200 years to git to where I like it-”

  Lucy blanched at the number, still not really used to the idea that he had lived 
  
    so 
  
  long.

  “- an’ while it don’t take 
  
    quite 
  
  that long for someone, it usually does take a while. Some people never like it. Those folks are wrong, but hey… more for me.” As if to emphasize, he polished off what remained of his glass in one big swig and smacked his lips. 

  “If it takes multiple tries, why bother?”

  “For the way it makes you feel, sweetheart. And because, once ya get accustomed, you can start to appreciate. All the undertones, things like that. Whiskey’s a refined drink. Anyone can start off on the fruity sh@t. But to learn to love whiskey, that’s another level.” His mouth twisted up in the barest hint of a smile, and for once, Lucy couldn’t call his expression a sneer or a smirk. “Sh@t, I can still remember my first time drinkin’ whiskey. I’d just joined up with the Marines, and a couple a’ buddies I served with invited me to share a bottle. Christ, that sh@t was 
  
    foul. 
  
  But when you’re shipped out, options are slim, and ya take what ya-”

  Lucy had been listening raptly, a starved woman for scraps of context to explain this man she was traveling with, this man she just couldn’t understand. She already had plenty of questions, but she was very considerately holding off for the rest of the story. But the Ghoul had stopped, frowned a little, and shook his head, as though breaking himself out of sleep. He glanced away from her.

  “... well, anyhow, it took a while, to like it.” He sniffed, then jerked his head at her, still not quite catching her eye. “You’re finished, I’m finished, we got a long day a’ walkin’ ahead a us.” He stood, flattening his palms against the table. “Let’s go see ‘bout our lodgins’ for the night.”

  Lucy blinked, for once rendered speechless by the whiplash of the interaction. Especially as her mind seemed to be moving at a more leisurely pace than usual. But she wasn’t silent long.

  “What?! You can’t stop there! You, you were in the 
  
    Marines, 
  
  does that mean you wore power armor? What made you start liking the whiskey? What made you keep trying to like it? What-”

  “God d@mn it, Vaultie, I said it’s time to go.”

  Lucy huffed, more wounded than usual by the Ghoul’s rudeness. Maybe it was because he had said it especially gruffly. Or maybe it was because she’d finally, finally gotten him to let her in, just a little, and he’d slammed that door back shut in no time at all, without even waiting to see if her fingers had cleared the frame. 

  “You’re not the boss of me,” she retorted, aware that she sounded like a sulky child. But gosh darn it, that’s how she felt. “You’re not the boss of me, and maybe I don’t want to go to bed yet!” Yes, definitely childish. But while this usually would make her cringe at herself, she found that at the moment, she didn’t care too much.

  “It’s my caps keepin’ us here, darlin’, ‘case you don’t recall. Yer ass can sleep outside, all I care.”

  “Maybe I will! But first, I’m going to keep going,” she held up her tumbler, wiggling it sloppily over her head. “Got to find out when you start appreciating it, since 
  
    you
  
   won’t tell me. Sir!” She called over the Ghoul’s shoulder. 

  The barkeeper looked over, took in the scene, and looked back at the Ghoul. 

  
    Again. 
  

  Lucy couldn’t stand it anymore. 
  
    Wouldn’t 
  
  stand it anymore. 

  “Sir, I’m-” 

  She had tried to get up from the booth, to march right on over to the barkeeper and make him see that she was a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions- such as when to stop drinking. To make him see that the Ghoul didn’t control her- he was just some stranger traveling in the same direction as her. For now. 

  Unfortunately, this plan was derailed by her legs going wobbly at the sudden movement, and she would have fallen face-first into the floor if the Ghoul hadn’t caught her under the arms, holding her up.

  “Yep, Miss Maclean, you are tapped out.”

  She struggled weakly against him, and he promptly lifted her up, throwing her easily over his shoulder like one of the old Western movie villains she had grown up watching. An apt similarity, she thought bitterly, as she kicked her legs and punched the back of his duster uselessly. Usually, she knew how to extricate herself from such an undignified hold. But she found the technique and range of movement required to be failing her now. She vented her frustrations in the form of cursing and hollering to be put down.

  The Ghoul, unphased, turned to the wide-eyed barkeeper. “Our room?”

  “Hey man, I don’t need that shit here, I-”

  The Ghoul reached into his pocket and tossed the man a few more caps. The barkeeper caught them, looked at the struggling pair, then back at the caps. 

  “Room three. Says on the door.”

  “Much obliged.”
 
  With that, the Ghoul carried Lucy away and up the stairs, impervious to her physical and verbal attacks, which didn’t stop until he’d deposited her unceremoniously on the bed, turning and locking the door before she’d had a chance to scramble back up. 

  “You’re done,” he told her harshly. “Hear me? Cut off. You ain’t never drank before and here ya are, three tumblers a’ the strong shit in yer system. We don’t got time to cater to your petty pride, or whatever’s making you wanna drink so damn badly. So we’re staying right here, and you're gonna sleep it off. So sleep it off, ‘less you wanna go wash up first,” he pointed across the room to what Lucy presumed was a bathroom, “but either way, you ain’t leaving this room ‘til we leave in the mornin’. ‘Less you wanna find yer daddy by your own self, them’s the rules, sweetheart.”

  Mollified by embarrassment but still a little sullen, Lucy muttered, “You could’ve just told me what it was like. Getting accustomed.”

  The Ghoul looked at her for a long moment. Lucy wondered if he was considering his words carefully. Finally, he said, “It’s different for each person. You’ll find out, sometime. But 
  
    not 
  
  tonight.”

  Clear-headed enough to know that was the best she was going to get, Lucy rolled her eyes, but got up carefully, navigating the short walk to the bathroom on her wobbly legs. Just before she closed the door, she saw the Ghoul settle himself into a rickety wooden chair beside the room’s grimy window. He was looking out it, and from her angle, she couldn’t make out his expression. Gentler than she had planned, she pulled the door shut.'
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
Assistant: