Sometime in late 2282…
The garment was carefully extracted from its container. It flopped out of its folds as the tailor held it proudly for his client to see. Its white polycarbonate fibers glimmered with the sunlight emerging through the windows of the King's suite. It was barely a week old and had dazzled with its absence of dust.
"Well, what do you think?"
Zeus rubbed his chin. "I like it. Is everything in there?"
"Come on, now. You're looking at the handiwork of the best tailor in the whole Mojave," the King goaded. "Try it on. It's got everything you need."
"It's not just your typical strong-man temperature coat, it can also of stop pistol bullets and energy cells," the tailor boasted. "Not to mention, it suits you well, sir."
Zeus was African-American, sporting a thick mass of curly hair around his head which he called an 'afro' (I'm sure I remember seeing a tribe of them.), and a large muscular frame chiseled by work and war. A white armored suit appealed to him and the tailor added the touch of making it fit his desired public image. He pinched the collar of the coat and was impressed at its thickness.
"Well, try it on." The King went to adjust the mirror in the corner.
Easy enough to move around in. The Courier approached his reflection, observing a burlier imitation of James Brown. "Not bad. It kind of adds in that vibe."
"I know what you mean. Just don't let it get to your head."
"King, I know what I'm doing. And I can handle myself." Besides, you have no idea how much trouble I went through trying to talk my brain back into my skull. With New Vegas under his belt, he needed something that looked just as intimidating as it was lightweight—a hybrid of a business suit and metal plates. "Kind of adds in a few inches here."
The tailor smirked. "Oh, that's just my handiwork. After all, a man as handsome and powerful as you should demand respect just by appearance."
"Dry cleaning?"
"So long as there are still functional Laundromats, your suit would look as good as new." Old Bill Ronte managed to get some of the driers at Mick and Ralph's back in working condition albeit requiring maintenance every dozen uses.
Oh, yeah! Zeus smiled. "I make this look good."
The King hummed agreement. "So, is there anything else you need?"
The Courier was about to seal the deal when a thought came to mind. "There is one more thing." He turned to the tailor. This'll be easy enough for you.
Both pairs of eyes widened. The King was about to voice out his concerns at the eccentricity of the request. When Zeus explained things further, a chorus of 'ohs' and 'ahs' settled and the tailor jotted down everything in his notebook, letting skillful imagination take hold.
Nine days later…
She found it sitting on her desk when she woke up. It was wrapped in faded wallpaper.
"I wonder who sent this."
If it was to any member of the Brotherhood, it would have to be thoroughly cleaned (and dissected if necessary) to make sure it wasn't some sort of rigged explosive or surveillance device. In Veronica's case, it must have been something unique in a way that it didn't have to go through all the brouhaha. Must be something special. But I don't recall anyone… Oh! Are these the latest modifications for my power fist?
She carefully tore off the wrap and found a note taped on the lid. It was written in the handwriting she associated all too well with one of her closest friends.
V,
I hope you like it. Custom made with every inch taken care of. No need to worry about doing the laundry. Stains are almost impossible on this. Take care, always.
- Z
Veronica almost squealed when she opened it. It was a marvelous, heavily designed, white dress. The seams were woven with her favorite patterns, the waistline an exact match, and the embroidery beyond anything she had ever seen. It fit her frame from inch to inch. She looked absolutely beautiful in front of the mirror, almost glittering in the lamplight above her head. It was fantastic. Rather, it was perfect. I love it!
"I love you, Zeus!"