She's old, Dean. Old as balls. She knows a thing or two about about constantly feeling alone because all your friends are dead and you have to make new ones. Such is the curse of being long lived, especially in the Wasteland where even the some of the people that are longer lived can be taken out by a human thing.

But you must go on, try to hold on to whatever companion you can have by any means necessary. Because living long and not having companionship is the absolute worst thing, and she's been downstairs.

Isolde shakes her head. "It's fine. I'm older than the pre-war US. I remember coming here by boat."

"That's the spirit. If nothing else, spite can encourage you."