Oliver Swanick, Oliver Swanick, and Oliver Swanick.

Every time someone kills Oliver Swanick in-game I just want them to

imagine me weeping openly over my lost love

HAPPY BIRTHDAY I GOT YOU THIS LOTTERY TICKET, OH LOOK IT SAYS YOU'RE A WINNER

THANKS ANNE - THAT’S RIGHT MOTHERFUCKER’S, WINNIN’ SOME LOTTERIES UP IN HURRRR

Ain’t nothin’ could make Oliver feel unlucky today, he decides, as he skips through the streets of Freeside. ‘Cause he’s a WINNER. Smell that air, man. Smell them toxic fumes from the trashcan fires, baby. Gotta love that trash-strewn sidewalk, them crumbled buildings, right? Man life is good and things are lookin' up. And when the mustached dude seated next to the trash can purrs, “How are you today? Santiago is fabulous!” Oliver grins. This dude right here is his kind of dude.

Anne you are a flawless babe. I need one of those Deviantart stamp/badge thingies for this ship to put in my sidebar.

Fantastic explains to Arcade that his online degree program was totally legit okay and anyway he's not even a real doctor he's a researcher what the fuck is that.

"Great," muttered Arcade under his breath, rolling his eyes heavenwards as he listened to the Courier discuss Helios One. "Another idiot telling us what to do. Fantastic.”

"Wuh-oh, excuse me? What did you just say to me?”

Arcade shot the other man his best unamused stare. As far as unamused stares went, it was pretty good. “Oh, don’t mind me. I was just so engaged in your fascinating dialogue. Nothing makes me feel better about myself than listening to you talk about your job, after all.”

"Do you have any idea who you’re talking to, buddy?” asked Fantastic, turning on the doctor. “That’s Mr. Fantastic to you. Mr. Fantastic as in, first name ‘greatest’, last name ‘ever’. Other last name ‘Fantastic’. Who the fuck do you think you are, waltzing in here, telling me how to do my job?”

"I apologize, my mistake. I didn’t realize I was talking to an honest-to-God celebrity. Please, do go on.”

Fantastic’s mustache bristled with irritation. “Hey, I know your type. Some hotshot wasteland doctor, thinks he’s sooooo great because he knows the difference between an oboe and an elbow. ‘Wow, look at me! I’m ten feet tall and I can stick a needle in someone’s arm!’ I know goddamn junkies with twice your talent, amigo.”

"Did those junkies also go to the…’Mojave School of Secondary Sciences’? I couldn’t help but notice the degree framed above your desk. And where, pray tell, might that school reside? Bullshit valley?"

"Hey man, don’t be jealous because you couldn’t even get into sad little doctor school or whatever and had to go crawling back to the Followers. That degree is 100% le-git-“

"Oh puh-lease, I could write a diploma in bright red crayon, too, that doesn’t make it real-“

The Courier never did get to the controls of Helios One.

anneapocalypse replied to your post

If you ask for prompts I will dump so much nonsense in your askbox you have no idea.

Hey you should totally dump some nonsense into my askbox because Alexis is open for business. And when I say open for business. I mean that in like. The not prostitution way.