The bullet had certainly done a number on her mind, it seemed. Vixen found herself remembering things and forgetting others all in the span of a day, and her retaliation against the unfamiliar feeling of loss was to write it down. It had initially been Doc Mitchells suggestion – write down her life as she remembered it, and try to put it in order later. Unfortunately, she seemed to remember all the bad things first.
Her father had bet her at the Tops and Benny had become her new master in a matter of hours; the old man who had raised her, no matter how disturbing that raising may have been, left her in a casino of strangers to be done with as they willed. Of course, she'd always known she was just a slave, but he'd taught her so much about life. She'd been a little orphan in Freeside when he found her and took her in, and sure, he had beaten her and drug her into a tribe based on slavery and that was frightening for a five year old little girl, but he'd also taught her how to survive. He'd taken her hunting, and taught her to shoot – and maybe that was because he had wanted her as a bodyguard for a time, but to her it had meant so much more. He showed her how to survive.
"I hate him." Vixen whispered, feeling her anger boiling over. That man had taken her from a life of freedom, taught her how to be a good little slave, and then forsaken her. It shouldn't have been shocking for her, since she was just his property, but that thought didn't silence the vengeful screaming of her heart. She had never loved him, not like his children did or his wives, but he was the only father she'd ever known, and perhaps had he not instructed her to call him that – Father – the attachment wouldn't have been so damning.
Benny had owned her for all of three days before he finally, annoyed, explained that he only accepted her because the idea of slavery made him sick and he couldn't stand to see her standing there so emotionless and subservient. He'd told her she could leave at any time – that he didn't even want her – but she couldn't make herself leave. Not at the tender age of sixteen, having no real memories of being a freewoman. Benny didn't call her Vixen, like Father had, because he said it was inappropriate for someone her age to go by; she'd accepted any number of pet names he wanted to call her instead. One day he'd asked which was her favorite, and she'd told him Doll, and that was who she was to him. She was Benny's pretty little Doll, and he'd kept her safe and happy in the Tops for five years before he put a bullet in her head.
"I hate him too." Vixen whispered, though the admittance was for entirely different reasons. What Benny had done hurt. It wasn't untapped rage like when Father had left her, it was just a searing pain that seemed endless. He'd been good to her – treated her like she was more than a slave, because to him she was – and then he'd turned on her on the assumption she would turn on him. He'd put her down like a bad dog when he'd spent so long telling her she wasn't. In the end, she supposed he was just a different kind of master.
"I'm going to kill him." The words were out of her mouth before she'd really thought them through, but she meant them. She was going to put a bullet in that bastards head like she should have done to Father all those years ago; when she was done, maybe she'd finally go after him too. After all, she was a freewoman, and she could do whatever she damn well pleased. And that was why she started her trek across the Mojave with a pistol and a machete after doing a few errands around town, like putting down the Powder Gangers and running off some gekos. Everything in her way ended up dead, from the gekos to the radscorpions, they all writhed and fought fruitlessly as she put a bullet in them.
The same couldn't be said for when she stumbled into Nipton; for the first time in a long while, she was anxious. Walking through the town was disturbing in more ways than one; seeing the people hanging and waiting to die made her skin crawl. The sign was clear – Legion was strong, they were weak, and what are you going to do about it? Vixen knew she wasn't going to do anything. They were masters, and she was a slave. They could probably smell it on her when she tried to skirt around the battalion, trying to appear emotionless but knowing the tension in her body gave her away. She could only imagine she must look ridiculous, wound tight and ready to bolt at a moment's notice, but none of the men said anything about it as she tried to stealthily pass through.
"You there." The words weren't yelled. They weren't particularly pressing. Vixen wasn't sure why she stopped, turning to the man in the animal hat. She distracted herself for a moment, trying to figure out if it was wolf or fox – and then finally settling on coyote. His eyes were hidden behind pitch black frames, and it didn't help soothe her nerves at all.
"You're going to spread a message." It wasn't a question, so she didn't respond as he continued. It was simple enough – he told the story of Nipton, a place of sin and betrayal, from the way he spun it – and wanted her to spread word of their atrocities. She could do that easy peasy if it meant she got to walk away unscathed.
"Sounds like they got what was coming to them." Vixen hadn't meant to say anything at all. There was a long moment of silence where she and the legion man stared at one another, him with a small smirk and her wondering why she'd opened her mouth.
"What is your name?" Well wasn't that a good question. The little red-head felt very small under his scrutiny, though she tried not to show it. Who was she going to be? There really was no question, because when the name Doll tried to pass her lips she stopped, too pained to continue.
"Vixen." It was easier to be Vixen. Easier to deal with being traded off like property than having the one person you trusted in the world put a bullet in your temple and walk away like it didn't bother them at all. The legionary hummed his approval and turned to return to his squad, seemingly in thought.
"Who are you?" Again, she blurted out something she hadn't meant to, compelled to ask despite the danger to her person. Legion weren't known for humoring anyone, much less lone couriers wandering the Mojave in search of justice. It probably didn't help she was a woman, either.
"Vulpes Inculta." Ah, that was why he'd sounded so amused with her name. The pair of foxes stared at one another and she felt the corner of her mouth tilt up just enough to break her look of impassivity. She watched as the small squad walked away, heading back to wherever they came from, she assumed, and it occurred to her she could probably do the wasteland a favor and put a bullet in their heads.
But she didn't.