Disclaimer: I don't own Fallout only my OC
I'm not making any money out of this.
I'm bored and I needed something to do yada yada yada.
On a side note I know that I said that I'll only be doing one shots on my profile, scratch that. One shots or relatively short stories, this will of course be the latter since I bothered to put this message up.
Whether this is a good or bad thing is up to you, the reader, I suppose…
A Gambling Problem
Chapter one
Shae was spending his evening at the card tables, dressed in a typical brown dapper suit, his hat gently perched upon the unoccupied stool next to him. Every new hand he received he appeared to ponder before, either, staying, doubling down or surrendering. To the card dealer it appeared as though lady luck was on the man's side as the number of his chips never truly waned, the night progressed and it became abundantly clear that he'd walk out with more than what he came in with.
The dapper young gentleman sat across the card dealer, his eyes darting from the cards at deck to the ones at hand, the gears in his head turning as he began to go over his calculations. He shifted in his seat and dealt resulting in a considerable weight atop his current winnings. His chips were piling but not so much so as to arouse suspicion. Despite the knowledge that he was guiltless of any unprincipled tactics, this offered little comfort as what only ever truly mattered was what people believed to be the case rather than what was.
A waitress came by, dressed in a bright green summer dress; she smiled, and offered him his complementary set of fancy lad snack cakes. He gave a brief thanks before gratefully accepting the pastry goods. As he opened the cardboard packaging, took a small bite of the radioactively preserved cake, Shae's mind began to wonder as to what was taking his companion so long. He set the cake down, atop a plate next to his chips, glanced at the device on his wrist, an action which in turn caused him to blink in surprise, eyes slightly widened. An hour had passed but he never seemed to notice, the time read two am.
"Where is she?" he thought
Just as he was shifting up from his stool, ready to find the answer for himself, he noticed a familiar silhouette from the corner of his eye, getting closer. The courier turned to greet Swank but no words were ever exchanged. The scowl on the Casino manager's face provided the answer he needed.
"Great." The dapper young man breathed
Shae gave an exasperated sigh, looking down, shaking his head, rubbing his eyes before turning to and picking up his perched hat. He briefly combed back some of the crimson bangs covering his face, settling his hair neatly back to the blast backed style it was meant to be in.
"Where?" He got up from the stool, set his hat firmly atop his head and followed Swank as the manager lead him back to Cass's current location.
"The restaurant." Swank replied, the tone in his voice matching the irritated look on his face.
"Fucking asshole!"
Upon entering the casino's main bar/ restaurant, Shae was greeted to by the sound and vision of an infuriated Cass, held back by three chairmen. It was clear that she was trying to maul to death the hulking figure, possessing a dark brown Mohawk, he wore a set of standard issue combat armour, worn and weathered; he was on the ground being tended to by another chairman as he clutched his blood soaked face. An open first aid kit lay right beside the member of staff.
"Just say it! Say it again you fuck!" Blood was running down the cow girl's nose along with her forehead, a bruise was forming on her left cheek, and her hat was out of place as it leaned to the right at an awkward angle. For a moment she broke free and the courier briskly approached his companion, stepping right in her path, firmly placing his right hand on her shoulder and giving a nod towards the three chairmen as they caught sight of him. The casino owners hence left Cass in his care.
"Cass, calm down." He said assertively but his presence didn't seem to register "Cass!" this time he caught and maintained eye contact.
Her breathing, at first rapid, emanating a hostile intent, had now begun to slow considerably. She spat out some blood on the ground, brushed his hand off her shoulder, wiped the bottom of her nose and sat herself down on a nearby stool. Shae went to check on the victim, as the chairman was treating his injuries, he caught a glimpse of the damage, relieved to find that it was merely a broken nose, albeit severely so, and two missing teeth. Not as bad as his initial conclusions, having taken into account the damaged wares, evidenced by all the broken glass, from the casino's alcohol supply.
The Courier reached into his jacket pocket to procure an old pre-war leather wallet, taking out a large handful of hundred dollar NCR bills, he walked towards the Tops manager, his arms crossed, now standing beside the chairman in charge of the first aid and the victim, who in turn was now sitting up, assessing the damage with his hands.
"I'm really sorry about all this." He said, splitting the bills evenly between the two men who've suffered.
"It's not the first time-" The head chairman pocketed the cash "- I doubt it'll be the last." The tone in Swank's voice gave no hint of condo nation but rather one of grim acceptance as he shook his head. The mohawked individual meanwhile snatched the bills from Shae's left hand and grumbled something inaudible as the courier turned to walk away.
"Just keep it as few and far between as possible will ya." Shae briefly raised a hand in response. He turned his attention back to the cowgirl, sitting on the stool and having found a white cloth behind the bar counter. Her forehead, now clean, was absent of any wounds, making it clear that the blood, along that area at least, wasn't hers. The ex-caravan owner's companion approached her, allowing him to take the cloth from her hand, catching the scent of vodka along with the cloth's dampness, Shae gently grabbed her by the chin, proceeded to wipe the blood off her face and sighed.
"Glad to see you've been working on your anger management issues." He tilted her head up slightly, hoping to better get to the dried blood at the bottom of her nose.
"Bite me-ah" Her friend had pressed a bit too hard, causing her to wince.
"Sorry" He turned her head softly to his left, noticing a small bleeding cut along the forming bruise on her left cheek; he wiped the wound clean with extra care. When he was done he set the cloth down on the counter behind Cass, the cowgirl gently pinched the bridge of her nose, assessing the damage.
"Don't worry, it's bruised not broken."
"I wasn't worried." Cass slurred her response, she then attempted to get up from the stool but did so a bit too quickly; this resulted in her falling back against the counter, hat falling to the ground. Shae offered his shoulder, the fact that he stood merely three inches taller, at five foot eleven, meant that doing so gave his friend greater stability for the walk home. Cass gratefully accepted the assistance; the courier quickly bent down, snatched up her hat and placed it atop her head. From there Shae shouldered her semi-conscious form out of the casino.
Half way through the trek back to the Lucky 38, Cass shot up upon a realization.
"Our guns…" she slurred.
"Don't worry I'll get it in the morning just-"before he could finish Cass pushed herself off him, doubled over an old sewer grate and made an all too familiar retching noise. Shae calmly looked around as he stood near the vomiting cow girl, unsurprised when a securitron, a cartoon sergeant's face displayed on the monitor screen, wheeled over to their location.
"Defecating within the strip's public area is a serious offence and is thus subject to Mr House's specified fine." The command came in the robot's usual metallic and monotonous voice. The image of the cartoon sergeant changed to that of a price and set of instructions, being displayed on the screen.
"150 caps and or any equivalent amount in alternative currency" it said, a whirring sound could be heard as a small metallic compartment opened up below the securitron's screen.
"Robco Username: N3M35/5, Password: 31LD_C45D" Shae said in response, another whirring sound soon followed as the compartment shut and a new set of instructions came over the robot. A cartoon butler's face appeared on the screen.
"Good evening Mr Weber, what services do you require for today?" Its tone was noticeably friendlier despite the fact that Cass was still retching.
"Erase all fines related to Rose Cassidy's defecating offences." The whirring sound followed but along with audio of the robot's internal computers.
"System memory deletion complete; is there anything else?"
"No, thank you."
"Have a pleasant evening Mr Weber" The securitron wheeled away.
Shae turned and looked at his still kneeling companion, thankfully her retching had stopped, for good measure he bent down alongside her, patted and gently massaged the middle of her back. For a moment, Cass thought she felt more of the whiskey coming back round, she covered her mouth, leaned over the grate again but none came, the soothing motions Shae worked into her back further served to help her relax and calm down. The dapper dressed young man used one hand to take out a dark yellow handkerchief from his back pocket, offering it to her whilst his other hand continued massaging her back.
"Thanks" She used the cloth to wipe her mouth clean and clutched it as she got back up with Shae's assistance.
"Your liver shot through yet?" he smiled, shouldering her once again.
"Harr fucking harr…" the cowgirl found herself resting her head against the nape of his neck, recognizing the faint scent of a particular pre-war fruit, one she'd only ever eaten as a child, the source seemed to come from his hair.
"Strawberries…?" she murmured
"Hmm?" Shae never received a response, frowning as their proximity caused the smell of vomit to assault his nose.
Cass somehow remained conscious enough to keep walking but any other part of her brain was dead to the world. Shae brought her back to the Lucky 38 presidential suite without further incident. He slightly kicked the door to his room, which was ajar; setting her down on the bed he removed her hat, jacket; boots, so as to provide better comfort to her sleeping form. He neatly set her boots down underneath the night stand beside his bed, placed her hat and jacket on one of the two cotton white sofas in the room, doing the same with his own. Finally he went back to the cowgirl's sleeping form, which had now rolled onto its side towards the middle of the bed, and draped the dark blue duvet over her.
Just as Shae was about to enter the elevator he realised that he'd forgotten the locker ticket for their weapons. Going back to his room, he briefly searched through his jacket pockets before finding it in the only breast pocket; from there he continued the journey back to the casino. As he was in the elevator, having pressed the switch for the cold casino floor, Shae removed his black bolo tie, pocketing it, untucked his white dress shirt, undid the collar along with one of the top buttons.
The trip back was, again, largely uneventful but this time, unsurprisingly, quicker than the last. Shae went in and handed the receptionist the ticket. As the receptionist went off to retrieve the weapons, Shae flicked through the options on his pip-boy, glancing at the time, he switched of an alarm meant to go off for nine am as he made his way towards his winnings.
The time currently was two forty-five am; it took The Tops receptionist around three minutes to retrieve the gear, a hunting shotgun with the words "Dinner Bell" engraved along the stock, two 9mm pistols and a well sharpened combat knife were what he came back with. The courier arrived back at the front desk a few minutes later, having taken his chips and exchanging them for another large handful of hundred dollar NCR bills, favouring them for their light weight nature.
"Thank you" he said to the to the receptionist before proceeding to put the two pistols into each of his pockets, deciding to carry the shot gun and combat knife with his left hand as he walked out the door. It wasn't long before Shae was back at the presidential suite, walking into his room, he noticed that Cass had tossed and turned. She lay on her side, diagonally across his bed, hugging a pillow whilst using the other as it was meant to be used. The Duvet still covered her waist but now the lower part of her legs stuck out as it was scrunched, largely balled and folded up here and there.
A small smile crept along Shae's face as he shook his head, setting down the weapons, he placed dinner bell along the sofa where its owner's cowgirl hat and leather jacket resided. One pistol he set down on the coffee table along with the combat knife, he then took a seat behind his desk, opening a drawer filled with pre-war magazines; he placed the second pistol inside. The courier then switched on the computer in front of him, right before getting up to get the drink he never got.
The crimson haired young man went over to the kitchen/ dining area of the suite, opening one of the two refrigerators, he took out an ice cold sunset sarsaparilla and opened it with the bottle opener on the counter beside the fridge. Shae took one long swig from the bottle and ended up depleting half its contents. Wanting to savour the drink however he disciplined himself enough to settle for small sips, upon reaching his desk the first thing he did was type in the results of his new calculations, surfing for the appropriate folder for the specific written document he was looking for.
"Seven out of ten calculations successful, April 18th 2283" he typed and proceeded to go over and record the results, while they were still in his head.
Two hours of monotonous typing passed, followed by an hour of failing to fall asleep in the unoccupied sofa, Shae could feel the symptoms slowly creep in.
He found himself, for a short time, getting up, walking out the room, pacing back and forth along the hallway but quietly so as to not disturb his friend. Eventually he sat down on the sofa at the end of the hallway, running his hands slowly through his hair, scratching the back of his head and rubbing his eyes. After twelve minutes Shae got up; walked into the bathroom to his left and towards the nearest sink. He took the large glass sat atop it, filled it to the brim and drank down its contents within seconds. Afterwards he immediately did so again but only got half-way through before his stomach began to ache and so he emptied the rest of the water down the sink, placing the glass back where he'd got it from.
He looked at himself in the mirror, this one having been newly installed six months ago, there were bags under his bright green eyes and his supposedly "beautiful", clean shaven; mix of Caucasian and Asian facial features looked exhausted.
Shae felt about as great as he looked but despite his efforts, over God knows how long, sleep never came to him as easily as it did for most. He sat back down on the sofa in the hallway; leaning back he tried to think of when it all started; the "specific" traumatic experience that prohibited him from ever resting.
There were far too many to count.
"Benny, Nipton, Veronica, Elijah, Big Mountain, Zion, the Divide…" he continued murmuring the possibilities from the top of his head, ultimately it made no difference.
He was still restless, tired, frustrated and melancholic.
He knew he needed his fix.
Shae stopped his useless mumbling, soundlessly went back into his room and opened the cabinet which housed his elite set of riot gear.
Removing his dress shirt, pants and shoes, he folded the clothes up neatly and put them on top of the cabinet, leaving him in his slim fitting light grey undershirt and loose pair of dark grey boxers. He started by putting on the cargo pants followed by the boots and knee guards. The courier ensured that the straps were fitted properly and the boots tightly laced. This strictness extended to the act of putting on the combat armour, followed by the bandolier, the armour had a habit of making his small frame seem slightly bulkier than it actually was. Slight though it may have been, the overall effect with the complete set did wonders in terms of intimidation.
Again, Shae ensured that everything was as it should be and that mobility was no issue, the right arm guard and the shoulder pauldrons went on, right after the duster, by buckling them in.
Fully armoured, Shae moved towards the weapons locker at the foot of his bed, opening and first retrieving his sword. Right then Cass began to stir, shifting against the sheets as she muttered something incoherent. Regardless she failed to wake up, Shae had merely glanced at her upon hearing her movement, not entirely sure of what he would've made of the situation should she have woken up but it wasn't likely that anything she might've said would've changed his mind.
The Courier unsheathed his katana from its "saya", taking the red grip in his hand, getting a feel back for its balance; he then tried a few practice strokes with one hand before standing in a position with both his feet slightly apart, both hands now on the grip. Shae raised the sword above his head and made a practice strike, quickly shifting position so that his body was now facing sideways; his hands on the grip with the blade near his head as he quickly stabbed, spun and shifted position yet again, all done with barely a sound. He hoped that it was enough.
It had to be enough.
Sheathing the sword, he strapped it across his back and walked back towards the locker to retrieve the rest of his weapons. He started by strapping a bowie knife to his left pauldron followed by placing a combat knife, along his right boot. The Courier then loaded his customized .357 revolver; it had a white handle with the rest of the weapon black, complemented by a gold floral pattern with the word "lucky" along the barrel. Holstering it to his right hip, he took out a 9mm SMG with an extended magazine containing sixty rounds of ammunition, he removed the magazine, strapping the weapon itself onto a space within the left side of his duster and strapped the magazine to his bandolier. The next piece of equipment was a silenced .45 M1911 which he kept in a left shoulder holster he wore beneath his duster. Finally the last weapon he procured was his "All American" Marksman Carbine, along with its scope; Shae had attached a silencer and grenade launcher, courtesy of the death dealing "gun runners" from the NCR. Taking four grenades, strapping them along his belt, he liberally stocked up on ammo right before heading to his desk, grabbing a pencil and a piece paper, he scribbled a note for his passed out friend.
The courier put his riot helmet as he waited for the elevator, switching the night vision on and off to make sure that it still worked. As soon as he was out at the casino floor, he broke into a brisk pace, eager to get to his destination.
It wasn't long before he was where he wanted to be.
Where he needed to be.
The cold stone walls of the sewer they now called the thorn offered the young man a sense of comfort, one which most in the room who have come before him never found. He sat crossed legged on the blood dried floor, his helmet next to him as he made last minute preparations, sharpening and oiling his katana. Despite it being the sixth time that night, he had to be sure, he needed the certainty.
If he didn't have it, he would die, he'd foolishly cast aside his alternatives.
He heard the rusting metal gate in front of him open; he set the whet stone down, wiped the blade with the oil soaked cloth one final time and felt his heart hammer against his chest.
"I'm a fool" he thought, he took two deep breaths, put his helmet on and grasped the grip of his sword with both hands. The Courier slowly walked past the gate, all was silent, many of the newcomers didn't know what to expect. Looking up Shae saw that there were a lot more spectators than before, a red haired woman in a dirty green duster caught his eye; he'd felt her stare the moment he went past the gate, it was a feeling he was familiar with but not one he always welcomed.
In front of him, housed in the gate on the opposite side of the makeshift arena, were the manifestations of death itself.
"I'm a fool." He muttered, continuing to walk slowly towards the centre of the arena.
Once he reached it, the gate housing his opponents began to slide open.
The heavily mutated reptiles let out a spine chilling roar in unison and immediately charged towards the armoured figure before them, scrapping their claws along the ground. It was precisely at that moment that Shae knew he didn't want to die.
The Courier closed his eyes, quickly shifting into a position sideways, feet apart; bending the knee furthest from the charging beasts. The blade tilted sideways along his cheek, ready to strike.
He had to be certain.
"Deathclaws", Shae had always found the beasts appropriately named, like death they were unstoppable, intimidating, nerve racking, without pause and they came at you far too quickly.
Someone once told him, he couldn't remember who, that; "only a fool would choose to face death, right when he's got everything to lose."
"I'm a fool…" he muttered one final time, the sorrow evident to no one but himself.
Opening his eyes, the courier felt as though something small had flicked a switch at the back of his head. From then on the world had slowed considerably, his brain perceived it to moving be five times slower than it actually was. Shae thrust forward and pierced the first beast's heart, moving three times faster than he normally would, its howl of anguish prolonged considerably. The courier twisted slightly before pulling the blade out, blood spurting all over the front of his duster, armour and helmet. Letting go of the grip with his left hand, he quickly ran around to the right of the dying beast, turning his focus to its second brother.
The courier broke into a brief sprint; the deathclaw he faced appeared to be caught off guard as it slashed with its left claw, hoping to tear the small creature's face off. Shae more than easily dodged the blow, ducking as he was close to the creature, claw just missing the top of his helmet; he stabbed it in its left knee cap. Releasing the grip of his sword, he quickly reached for his bowie knife, his right hand taking hold, unsheathing and twirling the knife handle so that the point faced the opposite direction of his thumb. Using the beast's right arm as it was disoriented; he momentarily climbed with his left hand and left leg, getting just high enough to effectively stab the creature through the top of its skull. He immediately pulled the knife out and allowed the beast to "slowly" fall to the floor.
Finally, one deathclaw remained; the implant still in full effect. A small smirk crept along the left side of Shae's lips, his heart remained pounding; booming in his ears as it drowned out the sounds of cheering. Using his left hand, he tore his sword off the dead reptile's left knee cap, charged towards the final brother, decreasing what small space there was between them. The deathclaw's position shifted, getting ready to strike with both its arms. Before it could do so the courier spun the bowie knife in his right hand, held it at the tip, aimed and threw.
The deathclaw howled, staggering backwards as its left eye was blinded, grasping the red grip of his katana with both hands, Shae didn't hesitate to drive the blade through the beast's heart, tearing across it's torso for good measure. The blood came in torrents, further staining his armour as it fell backwards towards the ground, the courier following it with his blade.
Climbing off the beast Shae stood where he was for few moments, allowing the world to return to its normal speed. The sounds of the crowd's cheers were deafening but he removed his helmet regardless, panting, clutching the area where his heart was, the adrenaline and the slight ache in his chest causing him to do so, both of which would pass in due time.
A few more seconds passed before the young man took action, drying his katana with another piece of cloth, sheathing it, he then wrenched the knife from the deathclaw's eye and made his way back to the upper floor.
He felt content.
He now, once again, knew with "certainty" that his blades were sharp enough.