What was in Goodneighbor for a guy like Winston Freedman? Vendors who didn't ask questions, for one thing. And a ruling class that was just corrupt and vapid enough to warrant the occasional shake-up. And shake-ups were usually profitable, if you could get in on them early.

Hence, Winston spent a fair amount of time here. Sooner or later he'd have to move in, he reckoned, but not yet. It was never the right time for such drastic upheavals. Plus it was bound to be expensive.

Walking out of the pawn shop after selling off the cruft from that Raider raid, Winston fixed his sights on Kill Or Be Killed and lumbered over. But before he could reach the door, a familiar face walked out. Gladys, from that very same raid. Huh. What a coincidence.

But he suspected it wasn't a coincidence when two more big guys came from around the corner and crowded in on her. That brought a scowl to his scarred visage, and he decided that Gladys, as a comrade-in-arms, wasn't gonna be pushed around while he could do anything about it.

"Hey," he grunted, tapping one of the goons on the shoulder. "You gotta problem with my pal, here?" He loomed above even the taller of the two, and his armor lent a fearsome aspect to his visage. Hopefully they'd clear out, or he'd have a chance to sucker-punch at least one of them.

Gladys was prepared to duke it out with these thugs, but before she could reach for her pistol, Winston came to her aid. She hadn’t seen him in a few weeks, but his face was a welcome sight and she knew her assailants would scatter.

They both turned to Winston with an audible gulp, their bravado shrinking in his presence. “Listen here, buddy, we ain’t looking for trouble…” the taller one said, and they both turned and sprinted out of Goodneighbor’s gates.

Gladys merely laughed and turned to Winston, “Hey, thanks for that. I’m sure they’ll be back, but that’s a problem for another day. I guess I have a bounty on my head, but what else is new?” Looking back at KLEO, the assaultron had her rifle drawn, ready to blow those goons to pieces. Gladys offered her a thumbs up, “Thanks KLEO, we’re good. Winston here ran those losers off.”

“C’mon dude, let me buy you a drink, we can catch up,” Gladys said to Winston, gesturing towards The Third Rail.

Ricky saw the situation quickly go from bad to somewhat peaceful. The goons were faced with a mountain of armor and muscle as well as the unerring aim of KLEO. They scattered before anyone threw a punch. The two people left standing in front of the shop looked like the good sort and now more than ever he needed an armed escort out of Goodneighbor. If he was lucky they would be heading towards Bunker Hill. As they strode off Ricky did the last patch on KLEO's leg and began to follow. Maybe he could do a few favors for them in exchange for letting him tag along.

Winston followed her into the bar, and gingerly sat down at the bar next to her; the stool creaked, but held his weight, and he leaned his elbows on the bar itself. A bit of liquor would make the ensuing small talk a little easier, he figured.

Said liquor arrived, and he had a sip. "Mm," he sighed, feeling the pleasant burn down his throat. Alcohol always made things better.

Gladys was facing him, though, so he had to focus on her now. He shrugged and made a noncommittal noise. "Ain't been back there," he said. "Don't wanna pay for a new door yet. Been hunkered down, working my armor." He rapped his knuckles against the plating on his forearm, and indeed it was clear he was beefier than before. "No one took that Raider boss's power armor, so I did. Left the frame, joined the plates to my suit. Nice and threatening."

He reached into his pack, pulled out what seemed to be a welding mask, and dropped it over his face. "See?" he explained. After a few moments he took the helmet back off and stowed it again. No sense scaring the other clientele.

Gladys enjoyed Winston’s company; he was ordinarily a man of few words, but he was a good guy. She knew that he had her back, and that brought her some solace. Finishing her drink, she watched another ghoul enter the bar and take a seat near them, but otherwise she thought nothing of it.

A lot of ghouls lived in Goodneighbor and they were upstanding citizens, so Gladys saw no reason to discriminate against them. They were nothing like their feral counterparts. A comfortable silence settled over the group and she looked back over at the ghoul, watching him doodle on the piece of paper in front of him.

She was too far away to see what he was drawing, but it interested her. “Hey there,” she called to him, grinning. “What you got there? You an artist?”

"Hey, wow!" Ricky wasn't used to being recognized around the commonwealth. "Yeah, you can call me Ricky."
He took the opportunity to move closer and sit next to the pair. He held out his sketch pad. The paper was dirty and smudged, but clean enough to see past the weathering to make out the detailed pencil marks. 
"I was taking a look at your gear, big guy and I noticed a few gaps." He poked lightly in several areas around Winston's body. Lightly enough not to be annoying. "I'm really into metalwork, you see, and I wanted to see if we could work something out. You kids headed anywhere in particular?" 
Even with his eyes on the two smoothskins he kept adding small details to the drawing, clearly showing what Winston's armor plating would look like if it was covering all his vital areas. 

Winston sat in bemused silence as the ghoul prattled on, poking at the thin spots in his armor. He frowned and wondered if it was really that obvious, but then realized that Ricky was a smith; of course he'd spot weaknesses in metal. Peering at the drawings, he recognized that here was a fellow who knew his stuff. Apparently the dim rumors were not exaggerating.

"'m Winston, Winston Freedman," he explained as he finished his current drink. "Weren't headin' nowhere particular either, like Gladys." He wondered if they were gonna team up again. That wouldn't be so bad. "If you're gonna help me with my armor, I guess I'll help with whatever ya need." He rapped his knuckles on the forearm guard again. "Built it meself, y'know. Took bits off a' folks I beat up 'n all. Kinda piles up over the years."

So he made a habit of beating up Brotherhood Knights...?