Ok guys and gals, this is my first attempt at fanfiction since I was ohhhh, 17 years old. Oy vey. Be kind. But I appreciate any gentle critiques or criticisms. I am not sure how far and wide this story may stretch, or how long it may go on. I'm just having some fun :) My friend is also doing some artwork for this story, so I am really excited about that as well.
The story will span in-between the four years of Fallout 3 and Fallout: New Vegas, leaning closer to when New Vegas is about to happen. The story is being driven by the two main characters of my own invention, Jaime and Adam. But I hope to have them interacting with many different pre-existing characters from the games. I do reference some events from prior Fallout games (2 mostly at this time), but only when helping to explain things historically, or maybe in reference to a plot device or something to that effect. If things tend to go wonky, awry or my writing seems "unfocused," by all means, tell me to pull in and focus I guess!
So thanks for reading this, I hope it doesn't suck too bad. Enjoy.
A Reason To Breathe
Chapter One
"WE HAVE A WINNER!"
"I just knew this dress would work like a charm. Finally! My luck is changing. About time."
Jaime Van Graff smoothed out her skirt as she stood up and curtsied ever-so-ladylike. She was in the Ultra-Luxe after all. Everyone knew you should always be on your best behavior, or else things tended to get a little "weird" around that place. And by weird, they meant that the staff tended to become quite hostile and people just seemed to disappear, never to be seen or heard from again.
Oooooo, spooooookyyyy... Haha. She thought, had pretty much been her reaction after Ralph (THE Ralph, from the awesome shop in Freeside called "Mick and Ralph's") had ominously warned her before going to the Ultra-Luxe. But I mean, come on. She wasn't gonna let some lame-ass "White Glove Society" dudes wearing masks scare her out of the caps she knew were coming her way.
"700... 800... 900, one-thousand caps! Congratulations young lady. Would you like to bet again?" the dealer asked her eagerly, excited at the possibility of receiving an even larger tip.
She flashed her best smile, then graciously declined.
"Aww, but we're just getting started over here dollface."
Jamie turned her head and glanced over at the half drunk man who had been sitting next to her at the blackjack table. The way he was dressed, she was sure he was probably someone important here in New Vegas. She could also tell by the way he carried himself. Not like the humble, everyday people she encountered out in the wastes. Most just wanted to get on with their own daily grind; too busy with the unremitting task of trying to find food, shelter and maybe a little booze or jet just to get by. Just trying to stay alive and under the radar. Avoiding all the slavers and raiders was time consuming and important enough without trying to put on airs and sleep with pretty women. Which was apparently this man's full time job.
"Mmm, tempting. I'd looove to stay and... Press my luck. But a wise gambler knows when to cut and run, right?"
The man leaned in until he was mere inches from Jamie's face and whispered, "Look baby. You're just about the hottest dame I think I've ever seen on the strip. Your outta' this world. And believe me, I've seen 'em all. See, I run the Tops Casino across the street-a-ways. Now, I really like your style ya dig? You got that crazy hot thing going on, that face, that ass... I mean, I'm speechless sugar."
Probably for the first time in your life, she wryly thought, as she inwardly rolled her eyes.
"I say we blow this popsicle stand, " he grinned. " We could head over to my penthouse suite, eh? Pop open the bottle of Dom I gots up there.. It's year 2075. The good stuff, see. I got some Jet too, if you're into that... I've been savin' it for someone special... Now come on, how 'bout you and me get a little crazy..."
He reached over to grab her hand but she had already anticipated his slimeball tactics a mile away. He didn't realize that this sort of thing had happened to her many other times before. She had pretty much developed a sort of internal "jerk-dar," if you will. Besides, she didn't really like being touched. At all. She had her reasons.
Pulling her arm away gently, but with a slight twinge of annoyance she replied, "Maybe some other time, sweetie? Mama's reeeeal tired. A girl with a face and... Ass... Like this... Needs her beauty sleep in order to stay looking nice and pretty... Certainly you understand?"
She patted his knee and turned to leave. As she got up, she could practically feel his eyes burning into the lower back-end of her dress. Yes, she knew she had nice assets. And most of the time, she downright hated them. More often then not she cursed her genetics, many times wishing that her parents had just been normal, average people eking out a living out in the wastes.
Yes, good looks can help you get by. And yes, they are also handy to use as an advantage. But after years of dealing with the "complications" it seemed to create, she had become somewhat jaded about the whole thing. The way she saw it, her abnormal beauty was only a tool she wielded, much like any other one. Something to be used to help her get by, like a bottle of whiskey, a stimpak or a pistol. She really wasn't even very good at anything to be honest. Well, other then "Prospecting" (or junk collecting as it was commonly called), drinking heavily and occasionally doing Jet. Oh, and more recently, killing when she had to. She had been honing that particular skill for a long, long time.
In the Wasteland, her beauty really wasn't good for anything else. In fact, it often times brought on more trouble then it was even worth.
She continued to walk away, briefly gazing over her shoulder. She then stepped into the elevator and pressed the appropriate floor button.
God, that checkered plaid jacket of his was about to give me a fuckin' seizure... Sheesh.
She guessed that he probably wanted to pursue her to her room, but she was glad he wisely chose not to.
To most people, she was simply known as "Jass," her childhood nicknames. Jaime Van Graff was born in New Reno under somewhat shady circumstances. But what WASNT shady about New Reno? At the time, her mother was busy working on her sixth husband. No easy feat for most, but then again, her mother had never been "like most."
Born into humble, tribal beginnings, Tiaret Wilder had always dreamed of bigger, better. Of more. She never assigned herself to lead the complicit and modest existence of her peers. No, Tiaret wanted more for her life and the life of her children. Her thirst for power and control of her own destiny prompted her to decide that she would create a tribe of her own design, made up of the best and most worthy the wastes had to offer. She wanted her offspring to be bright, powerful, cunning and ruthless in their quest to dominate and rise above the common masses. She devised a plan to take at least three husbands (more if need be), and have one or two children by each, picking only the type of man who possessed the particular traits she desired in her progeny.
Her first five husbands were unaware of Tiaret's plans to build a family crime empire, and she was able to use her beauty and natural charm almost ruthlessly against them. Her first husband was where she acquired her name from, Van Graff. She thought it sounded regal, so she kept it. After becoming pregnant and birthing a child or two, she would abscond with the newborns, and then just disappear. This pattern continued until child number 7, when she decided she needed to establish a more stable environment fro her growing family.
She then settled in New Reno, attracted by the city's bright lights and potential for underhanded business dealings. After firmly establishing roots there with her most recent husband Shawn Cutting, she set out to expand their trade suppliers. Shawn knew that with his wife's stunning good looks and silver-tongue, she would be the best possible ambassador and the face of their growing "business." They began dealing mainly in drugs and traditional weaponry, but as weapons (and ammunition especially) became somewhat scarce in the surrounding areas, Shawn made the decision that they had to expand into energy weapons and leave the drug trade to the Wright family syndicate. The only way to achieve this feat at that time was to venture out and initiate dealings with contacts either in the Brotherhood of Steel or The Enclave. Shawn knew of a Brotherhood station located in San Francisco's Chinatown. Only, there was a slight catch that he had not been privy to. The Brotherhood only worked with people who would, in turn, assist their cause in some way. And the only way the Brotherhood would be willing to work with Shawn was if he gave up the location and information about the group he was getting his narcotics shipments from, which were the Great Khans. Somehow, the Khans heard wind of this betrayal and had him murdered.
After mourning her loss (and giving her then two-year-old son the surname "Cutting," in honor of her late husband) and then beefing up her security, she set out for San Francisco. Upon arrival, she nearly ended up choking the life out of the man who owned the Flying Dragon 8 general store in town, Lao Chou. He was pretentious, enigmatic, and greedy... And also the most breathtakingly handsome man she had seen in a very long time. Instead of choking him, she ended up sleeping with him. Repeatedly. She arrived back home to New Reno, only to discover her tryst had resulted in her becoming pregnant with Lao Chou's child.
In the end, Tiaret was able to use the pregnancy to an advantage, establishing another source and supplier route for goods and materials with her "baby daddy," but she never made any attempt to marry the father of her newborn daughter. She named her Jaime. Mainly because Tiaret had hoped for a boy, and Jamie was closest to "James," the name she would have been given had she been the son her mother desired.
Jamie had it especially rough growing up. Mainly due to the fact that she was the only illegitimate child born into the Van Graff family. Her siblings considered her somewhat "beneath" them, and teased her relentlessly for her funny-looking "slanty eyes" and lighter skin tone. As she grew older and her loveliness began to emerge, it tended to make her sisters quite jealous. But regardless, she was still a Van Graff and deep down, her siblings did love her.
Being the black sheep of the family suited Jamie just fine. She never felt like she fit in with them anyway. The rest of her siblings took to the family business like fish to water, while she preferred sneaking out to downtown New Reno to hang out with her best (and only) friend, Craig Boone. They did everything together, even drinking, trying jet for the first time, getting tattoos (Craig stopped, Jamie didn't) and just causing general mischief about town. Craig was always there for her anytime Jaime needed to vent about her family, as she always did most of the talking anyway. He was the best of listeners, mainly because he never really had much to say. But he didn't need to, because Jaime was always able to understand him through his body language and nuances alone. They shared more then just words, they shared a deep-seeded understanding for one another.
As they grew older, their relationship blossomed into more then just friends. They eventually became each others "first," and fast remained devoted lovers. They quickly planned their escape, to start the life and have the family they always wanted. They decided that they would run away together and escape the depravity and desperation of New Reno, as well as the Van Graff's ever-rising corruption, power and control over the city itself. Craig had planned to enlist in the New California Republic Army. He promised to take care or her forever, and Jamie trusted in him and knew that he would old fast to his word. She had grown to love him immensely, and would have followed him to the ends of the earth if he had asked it of her.
Unbeknownst to either star-crossed lover, Tiaret had other, more strategic plans for her beautiful daughter.
On the night of their planned escape, Craig Boone waited for Jamie at the agreed spot, but she never showed. By morning, he woefully realized that his love, his light, his everything... Would not be joining him. Heartbroken, he had to make the hard decision to leave on his own.
God, I miss him so much sometimes. Jaime thought as a sad, far away look crossed her face. If he had only known why I never showed up... If I could just see him one more time, I could explain... Explain everything to him.
"DING"
She shook her head and blinked away her thoughts as the reflective doors of the elevator opened, and she stepped out into the hallway and walked swiftly to her room.
"SOOOO over this night..." she thought as she opened the door to her modest hotel room. She immediately flipped on the light and began taking the pins out that held up her pre-war style hair-do. It was actually much longer then people knew, mainly because she liked to keep it up and out of the way. Much easier to see down the barrel of a gun or into the scope on a sniper rifle without it blowing all over the place.
Plus, it was one less thing for someone to grab in a fight. Although, attempting to grab her hair was almost always a last-ditch effort on the part of some poor sap who assumed they could take some "prissy little bitch." Just because she was slender and looked younger then her 26 years afforded her didn't necessarily mean she was weak. Not by a long shot.
That's usually what fucks 'em up in the first place... "Oh really, you didn't know? My Indian name is 'Stabs-A-Ho.'" She laughed out loud to herself, brushing out the few tangled knots in her inky black hair.
She slipped out of her dress, and while naked began her nightly workout routine. Some crunches, some lunges, a ton of push-ups and to finish of she worked on some agility. The agility and balance mainly came from her few visits with her father in Chinatown, during which her uncle had taught her some kung fu. She also remembered a lot from the workouts that had been drilled into her head by her brothers.
"Who knew any of that shit my jerky brothers tortured me with would come in handy?" she said out-loud, finishing her workout. Yawning lightly and stretching her arms, she then moved towards the bathroom. But not before grabbing the bottle of vodka she had on the dresser.
Nothin' like drinkin' while taking a shower!
Stepping into the gleaming white shower, she noticed a little elegant bottle placed directly in the middle of the soap shelf. She picked it up and read aloud, "Shampoo... FUCK YES."
She opened it and dumped a large amount into her palms and worked it though her hair, whistling and doing a tiny little happy dance as she scrubbed her scalp clean and took multiple swigs from the liquor she had brought in. She rinsed, then used the provided bar of soap to wash the rest of her body. As she moved the bar up and down her arms, she could hardly believe her luck. Soap and shampoo were often times hard to come by. Well, pre-war stuff, that is. You could always get the homemade junk made in some old lady's bathtub, but it never quite got ALL of the grime off.
That last scouting job she had to do afforded her some R&R in her opinion. This mini vacation in a snazzy hotel was turning out to be SO worth it.
"Prospector." She knew it was just a fancy term for "junk collector'" but she really didn't care. It was perfect for her because she got to be dirty, make her own hours, take vacations, live underneath the radar and go wherever she pleased. Plus, she was really good at finding random, cool things from the pre-war days. She did love her job, but it was a tough life. And you were always risking your neck. Every time she walked into an abandoned building, she knew she could run into raiders, slavers, rapists and crazy wacked-out fiends.
That's why I keep my laser pistol, scoped .44 magnum and my rebar club with me at all times. She was suddenly reminded that she had checked all her weapons at the doors to the casino.
Hmph. Gotta remember to always keep a bobby pin stashed in my hair, at the very least.
She reached over to turn off the water and then grabbed her towel. After drying off she slipped into her baby pink silk robe she had recently found while prospecting. Over the years, she had found so many great things while working that she eventually had to begin renting a tiny, shithole room in Casa Madrid Apartments on the Westside just to have someplace to put everything she owned.
After wringing out her wet hair and stepping out of the shower, she shuffled over to the bed, swaying a slight bit from too much vodka.
"HICK"
Whoopsee!... I always get the hiccups when I drink! Well, I needed my nightcap...
She slipped into her light-green capri babydoll pajama set, and crept into the large, comfy bed. Pulling the comforter over her face, she anticipated a good night's sleep... But it never came. Tossing and shifting in bed, she felt unsettled. Empty. Like something was missing, but what could it be? Jamie's sleep lingered in-between the area of half-dreaming and half-awake. As the void in her subconscious threatened to swallow her whole, she could hear the far away voices. They sweetly they called to her.
"Jass... Jass honey, it's time... Wake up, it's time for us leave now... You have to meet me down by the Drunk Cupid Chapel, remember?... ...Jamie, where are you?... ... I'm still waiting here for you-"
THUMP THUMP THUMP
She jumped a little as the hazy voice faded from her mind and was replaced with a slow-burning rage.
Fuck me. Who the HELL is banging on my damn door at 4 in the morning? She got up from the bed and huffed her way over to the door's peephole and took a peek into the hallway.
Great, it's one of those creepy masked dudes from the hotel staff. Sooooo tacky, 'be-tee-dub'... "Perverted Loud Jacket" guy better not be behind this...
"Yeah, what is it?"
"Sorry to bother you miss, but it seems there has been a mistake on your bill. Our front desk manager would like to speak with you in his office as soon as possible."
"Uh, yeah... Sure. I'll be down in a bit, I guess." She reached over to her suitcase to grab the fine silk robe she had brought especially for her visit to the strip. Something seemed slightly weird about this late night office meeting. She wasn't exactly sure what these guys were up to, but if she had to go down she was going down in style.
"Can you please tell me the meaning of all this? Honestly, it's pretty embarrassing for you guys, considering that it's not like I don't have PLENTY of caps to stay here or anything," Jamie said as her arms folded across her chest and lips pursed tightly, which she often did when irritated. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, mainly because of the creepo sitting behind the desk in front of her.
He reminded her of sort of old-timey magician in that funny looking high hat of his. She couldn't for the life of her remember the names of all the pre-war articles of clothing she had learned over the years.
Chimney hat?... Stacked hat?... Circus hat? Top ha-
"Ma'am? Did you hear what I just said?"
"Oh! Uh, sorry. What was that?"
He cleared his throat with an annoyed look on his face.
"It's not your caps or lack thereof I am concerned with. You see, we have a very important dinner coming up here soon, just a few of us to start with. And Philippe has just revived his brand new recipe as well! It's based off of an old French countryside dish he discovered. Quite delightful, no?"
She blinked a few times before she spoke.
"LOOK, Mr.?..."
"Mortimer."
"Mortimer," she repeated, agitation rising in her tone. "I really have absolutely no clue what the hell you're even talking about, but if my money is not the issue here then I would really like to go back to my room that I PAID FOR and go back to sleep. Frankly, I should get a nightcap on the house for all my troubles." She longed for a lowball glass of their finest bourbon, maybe even mixed into an old fashioned. At least a girl could dream.
Mortimer sighed. "I don't believe I can allow that. You must be subdued and transferred to the basement storage clos- er, holding cell. Immediately." He then snapped two gloved fingers twice.
"Hahaha... You can't snap with gloves on man. It's not gonna even make any noi-" Before she could even finish her sarcastic comment, she hard a shuffle behind her. She turned her head slightly toward the noise, but it was a little too late. Because the next thing she felt was the blunt force from the handle of a gun against the back of her head. She felt a flash of pain, like her brain was rattling from the inside of her skull out. For a brief moment she saw red, and then everything went black.
Jamie shot upright, then hissed in pain as the blood rushed directly to the huge lump forming behind her ear.
Oww... The heat is rushing to it at the same pace as my heartbeat... That part's kinda cool. But the rest kinda sucks. Ohhh-keeee-taaay, where am I?... Wait, Mortimer. I know where I am. SHIT!... SHIT SHIT SHIT, this is NOT happening right now!
She tried the door, trying to see if there was any way she could pick the lock. Except for the fact that when she reached for the bobby pin stashed in her hair, it was gone. Along with the pocket knife she had also stashed in her robe.
"Geat. Just flippin' great. Ok, ok. Think, Jass. THINK..." Her eyes traveled upwards then stopped on small ventilation shaft. Bingo.
"Looks like my luck hasn't run out completely."
She proceeded to drag the one rickety metal shelf to the middle of the room. Hoisting herself up proved quite difficult considering her recent trauma, but after about fifteen minutes of teetering and almost falling off the shelf a few times, she was able to use her palm and some well-timed smacks to break the rusting pre-war vent cover and jump up and grasp onto the edge it. Then it was only a matter of pulling herself up.
Thanks pushups, for all your upper-body conditioning. Way to be worth my time!
The first thing she noticed was the dust. OLD, thick dust and grime that had never been cleaned. Crawling slowly through the muck (and trying hard not to sneeze), she made her way through the other ventilation shafts, not wishing to draw any attention or make too much noise. So much for that shower I just took.
With narrowed eyes, she scanned the darkness of the metal surrounding her. Once they adjusted, she noticed a faint light and voices coming from around the corner. She knew she should get out of there, but she needed to try and find out why they had tried to kidnap her in the first place. She needed to know who else besides "fancy hat guy" was going to be getting the shit kicked out of them as soon as she found her weapons.
Ok, almost there. I can make out most of the conversion now.
She reached the precipice between the continuation of the vent shaft and the grated opening into the ceiling of the room below. She could make out the distinctive voice of Mortimer, and also two other people, a man and a woman.
"Oh come now. No need for hysterics, dear. She's just another piece of Wasteland trash that no one will ever even notice missing."
"You have gone and done it now, Mortimer. I have STRICTLY forbidden the act of eating human flesh. Period. I will see fit to have you thrown out of the White Glove Society. Worse then that, if I am able. All this... Cannibalism... Is a thing of the past. And I'm going to keep it that way. Besides, have you seen her?... Well-fed, well-groomed, extraordinary attractive? She even a full set of teeth! I'm sure she has a family, and if not that, benefactors and suitors galore that I'm sure will ALL be on a manhunt looking for her. Did you ever consider that, hmm? You have truly gone mad, Mort." the female voice muttered.
"I told you woman, please refrain from calling me Mort. Regardless, whoever the female is acquainted with or not, they will never be able to trace it back to us. Besides, this isn't about you or me. This is about the preservation of our history and heritage. Upholding the tradition and honoring our humble, yet meaningful beginnings." Mortimer retorted.
"Well, ya know... Maybe Marjorie is right Mort. I mean-" another male voice chimed in.
"Don't call me that, underling. And just so you understand, 'honorary members' aren't allowed input into our official affairs. You just so happened to become a witness to what occurred, so you are only being involved by default. It would behoove you to remain quiet."
"R-right, sorry. But maybe she's right. I mean, frankly... The girl is ahhh... Pretty hot. It just wouldn't be kosher to eat her, sir."
Hmph. I'd almost be flattered by their compliments, if they weren't talking about FUCKING EATING ME and all. She grimaced. God, the whole fucking strip is going to shit apparently. I'll know to bring reinforcements next time I visit.
Jamie wanted to get away but some morbid curiosity held her steadfast, trapped inside the calamity that was her life at the moment.
"Just think about this for one second, you imbeciles. If we just let her go, then what? What do you think is going to happen? She will run straightaway to the authorities with this. They will wonder we lock our paying customers down inside the basement storage closet. An investigation is the last thing we need right now. Not before I have had time to cover my tracks..." Mortimer's voice wavered for a split second with genuine worry.
"I don't give a care if you get caught Mortimer! You brought this on yourself!"
"Oh my dear, but you should. If I get caught, the blame falls on you as well. Being a fellow leader of the White Glove Society and all, I could implicate you in all of this as a co-conspirator."
"But... You wouldn't!... I... I hate you Mortimer. I hope you rot in hell. But despite how I feel about you, I value my own life and freedom more then I do fighting you on this one. She doesn't know what your plans for her were, right?"
"No."
"Then let me speak to her. Maybe I can convince her this was all some huge mistake. We can offer her a large cap sum compensation, a free night in the penthouse suite and a free meal at The Gormand as well. That should do it..."
"Are you sure that will work?" the random male voice asked.
"ENOUGH, it has been deiced. Now..." Marjorie shrieked, obvious stress and fear emanating from her voice. "If you gentlemen will excuse me."
She turned smartly on her heels and strode off, leaving the room in silence for a minute or so.
Jamie shook her head. These people have issues. That Marjorie chick is gonna get to the closet and find out I'm not in it. All I gotta do is pretend I know absolutely nothing, and then as soon as I get a chance, that Mortimer's a fucking dead man. Gotta get back to the closet...
She couldn't turn around inside the small crevice, and going all the way back in reverse seemed like a bad idea.
Ok, I'll just crawl over the next room and try to jump down from that vent. Hopefully I can make it back to the closet before Marjorie does.
She hurriedly began army-crawling her way over the large vent opening she had just been listening through. She had almost made it halfway over when it suddenly began to loosen. Something squeaked then quickly unhinged, which sent her ass-first plummeting to the floor into some empty Sunset Sarsaparilla crates.
"WAAHH!"
CRASH
The two people in the room turned just in time to see a flash of pink silk robe, black hair and tan skin drop like a stone to the floor. Immediately after, the person hopped back up like nothing happened, grinning sheepishly, cheeks flushing bright red.
"IMMM OK! I'm ok everyone! It's cool, man, it's cool. I'm good." Jamie said just a little too loudly, waving her arms back and forth, her shame-induced smirk widening across her face.
Both men stared at her like Mr. House himself had magically appeared right before them. Mortimer's eyes suddenly bored into hers. After an awkward silence, He finally yelled, "SEIZE HER!" raising one long, pointy finger in Jamie's direction.
The other man in the room obeyed and bounded forward toward her. He snatched both of her shoulders in his large, rough hands. Even in the midst of being assaulted, for a split second she thought it rather odd that a member of the prissy and pampered White Glove Society would have such a weathered and rugged pair.
She had one eye open, and one squinted closed, bracing for impact when suddenly and rather unexpectedly, the man hastily leaned down and whispered in her ear.
"Uh, hey... I know this sounds weird right now, but you gotta trust me, alright? I'm not really a member of the 'Crazy-Let's-Eat-People Society.' I was sent here to infiltrate their group. Alright, so I'm gonna grab your hand very tightly and count to three. You are then going to run as fast as you can, and you have to keep up with me, got it? I'll get us out of here. Promise me you won't let go."
He gave her a quick nod while interlocking their fingers together. Jamie nodded back, looking into his eyes for the first time.
In that very moment, it was almost as if everything was moving in slow motion. All she could do was stare back, doe-eyed and slack jawed. She was slowly, carefully nodding in unison with him, not even realizing that she was doing it. It was just that he was so calm in the face of danger. It was almost abnormal, since most people either responded to danger with extreme aggression or cowering in fear.
In his eyes there was a stillness, but also a kindness that she felt. It was not really something she had ever really experienced before in her lifetime.
Everything in the wastes was always so intense, and in several ways, extreme. In many a man's eyes she had seen fear, evil, lust and suffering. Even the surprise that had always come right before a few of them were killed by a "mere woman."
But never calm, and hardly ever any kindness.
But in these blue eyes, she could swim forever, lost in their tranquil depths.
"One..."
"Hey," Mortimer's horse voice shouted, "I told you to seize her, not sweet talk her!"
"Two..."
All of a sudden, the spell-like daze faded and Jamie's pupils suddenly dilated. Clarity and awareness had come rushing back. She closed her eyes for a few seconds. When she blinked her eyes open, they went wide.
"THREE!" she yelled before he could, moving alongside the man as she positioned herself into "haul ass" mode. The rest was mostly a blur after that. The man pulled out a sawed-off shotgun from it's holster beneath his suit jacket and fired at Mortimer, right before they both dove behind a supply container. They ran as fast as they could, although Jamie was mostly dragged, due to the man's extreme height and stride. Even with her long legs, she struggled to keep up and tried her damnedest not to trip, all the while shotgun bast after shotgun bast kept exploding in her ears, making them ring. They ran through hallway after hallway, while an innumerable amount of lackey henchmen in creepy masks continued coming after them, wielding their dress canes with deadly force.
"Oh, SHIT," she cried, covering her face with her arm, right before one of Adam's well-timed shotgun blasts sent a masked henchman right through a huge window.
"Come on, this way! Watch the glass!" Adam yelled, kicking out leftover glass shards and continuing to drag her out into the street. There was a slight drop but she conveniently landed atop the shotgun blast victim, breaking her fall.
Allllll Riiiiiiiight, Cool... Gross, but cool... Jaime grinned.
As the man continued to bast a way further and further away from the casino, she remembered that all her weapons were still in the casino. Just as soon as it came, her grin turned into a scowl.
Crap on a crap cracker. Ah well. She could get new ones. She did put a lot of work beefing up her magnum, though. Boy, was she gonna miss that magnum.
"Let's just... Keep running... Eh?..." she asked him while full-on sprinting, the question coming out in gasps. "Where the hell... Huff.. Are we going? We gotta get.. Huff huff.. Off the strip for a while... Huff.. This shit is nuts!"
"I know this place where we can hide out at for a while..." the man replied, firing off another blast. "My friend, she's cool. She can keep us hidden until we fix this mess."
"Alright, lead the way. So, who's your friend?"
"You might know her. Her name's Lucy. They call her Red Lucy. I've known her for a very long time She sort of runs The Thorn."
"No, ahh... Nope. Doesn't ring a bell."
Jamie felt a twinge in her gut. She could tell by the tonal switch in his voice that at one time they had probably been more then friends.
They stopped and quickly ducked behind a dumpster as a few henchmen ran by.
Maybe not. Maybe they just grew up together. I mean, he doesn't even seem like he's from around here at all. It's just that I totally notice the voice change thing afte- LOOK AT ME! I'm already getting jealous. I don't even know this guy, let alone his situation. I've been goin' all cray-cray lately... Gotta lay off the super late nights and drinkin' in the shower for a while.
Once off the strip, they soon realized they weren't being chased anymore. Eventually, they allowed their pace to slow to a walk. After about an hour, they reached a shabby little neighborhood that was even worse off then Freeside. Groups of haggard-looking people milled about. Most of them reeked of liquor and that special kind of "stank" that only comes from an excessive lack of hygiene.
"See the sign over there?" the man asked as he pointed it out. "That's The Thorn. Quite the name, right?. There's a manhole directly underneath it."
"Sooooo, we're kickin' it with the mole people, ehh..."
"Heh, yeah," he answered. "There is a higher concentration of creeps that live down there I guess. Trust me, I lived in the sewers for six months and I must admit, I'm pretty we-"
"Well, so have I..." Jamie retorted, a little to quickly. "I already know it's not the safest place for a girl. The dark creepy corners, the alcoholics, molesters, druggies and all that... Yup. I, uhh... Lost a bet. Had to lay low for a while..." she frowned, eyes shifting sideways and then downwards.
"Hmph. I see. But now that I think about it, I guess it does seem like it would be an especially horrible place for woman such as yourself to live..." the man replied thoughtfully.
"Such as myself? What the hell is THAT supposed to mean?"
The man exhaled, but said nothing else.
Jamie wan not having it. She continued. "... Pretty or not, it doesn't matter... They would rape anything with a vagina if they got the chance. Tranquilized female Deathclaws included..." She shuddered as bad memories crept back in. "Men never really consider anyone else anyway. Always saving their own asses and putting themselves... AND their dicks, first."
The man was not amused. "Uh, I never said you were pretty. And last time I checked, I'm pretty sure it was THIS GUY who saved some ungrateful girl's life, compromising his five-month-long investigation mission. And by the way, if you think men have it easier out here then women, think again. NO ONE has it easy out here... Period."
Jaime's eyes narrowed. Jeez, he's articulate. I wonder if he's had an education as well. Where in hell is this guy from anyway?... He did say he was a secret spy or some shit. Pssh, yeah. Right. And I'm a fine art and antiques dealer.
They reached the manhole cover to the North Sewers, and the man reached down to open it, releasing a smorgasbord of smells that assaulted their noses. They both turned their faces away till it subsided. When he turned back, he looked over at Jaime's face. It had scrunched up into a mangled mask of disgust. He grinned and shook his head, a low chuckle escaping his lips.
Jamie quite suddenly and unexpectedly realized that she really, really liked his laugh.
"Ah, there's that delicious smell I remember," He said curtly. He then turned to her and smiled.
She damn near almost swooned. Almost. Snap out of it, Jass.
"Oh, so ummm... I don't believe I was able to get your name in all the mayhem, Miss?..." the man asked her, leaning slightly forward at the waist.
"Jamie."
"Jaaammiieeee...?..." he waited for a last name.
"Why do you need to know my last name?"
"Well, formality for one." People out here in this wasteland are so uncouth. He thought. "Look JAIMIE, if you really don't want me to know your last na-"
"Van Graff." she bit out. She wasn't even sure why she just told him. That just kinda happened. Damn those blue eyes.
He laughed without the humor. "Sooooooo, let me get this straight. You're a Van Graff? Like, of THE Van Graff family? Great. Just fucking perfect. Seriously, am I going to have to worry about about a bunch of your crazy-ass family members wielding their laser rifles coming after me now or something?"
"No! No, it's not like that. Trust me. My family, ahhh," her eyes suddenly averted his. "... My family doesn't really care about me anymore. I'm pretty much disowned, as a matter of fact." she said softly as she crossed her arms.
He sensed there was much more to this, but figured he better not press the issue. "Ok, Jaime. It's cool. No worries. Um, so yeah. The name's Adam Larsen. And your welcome about saving your life."
Pompous asshole!
"Yeah, so?" Jamie stiffened. "Look Adam, I don't want you to go getting a huge head or anything about that, because you really didn't save me at all. For your information I could have got myself out of that situation, just so you and I have an understanding."
"Hey, look, I don't want to argue alright? I just think we should focus on getting out of sight right now. Truce?" He stuck out a large hand for her to shake. She slowly put her hand into his. He swiftly covered her hand with his other free hand and shook vigorously, which in turn then shook Jaime's whole body.
"Whoaaaa, easy there trigger."
He abruptly stopped, then rubbed the back of his neck. "S-sorry. People tell me I don't know my own strength sometimes... So, shall we?" He then gestured to the open manhole.
Jaime exhaled with irritation, then began her decent. She could hear the crowd from The Thorn cheering, the roar of their voices reaching a fever pitch.
Here we go.
Into what, she really wasn't even sure.