You've walked into Moriarty's saloon late in the evening, took a place at the bar just a seat away from Jericho who looked like he had spent there a better part of the day and it didn't take long before he looked up from his glass and glanced your way – his face scrunching up in contempt. "Damn, kid, ya look like a Deathclaw munched on yer a**... Bet ya regret leavin' that cozy little vault of yers now, huh?" Jericho asked you in a mocking manner; almost choking on his drink in the process.