"Okay, so you might not believe this but, my dad is the one who took out Mr. House and Caesar's Legion at Hoover Dam, twenty years ago!" I had declared for the hundredth time to a napkin dispenser as I struggled to lift my beer. Thankfully the bar was empty except for my best friend Panda. She was busy cleaning up tables so she could close the bar.

The Courier's Whistle. Just one of the few places named after dad in the wasteland. It used to be Michael Angelo's Workshop until he was crushed by one of his projects.

Now me, I was a borderline alcoholic but, besides playing Caravan for keeps or singing to the old beat up jukebox; this was the best way to make the days go by without getting the local authorities on her ass. The force had become outcasts from the Powder Gangers and the "oh so beautiful impersonators - The Kings.

A long straight piece of blonde hair caressed my face as I lifted it from the counter. "You're such a mess Scarlett." Panda said in a playful tone. "Day after day you sit in here winning money off people while singing The Ink Spots and get hammered." She laughed as she grabbed her a beer from the refrigerator and fashioned herself on the stool beside me.

"Well," I proclaimed, "it's more suitable here than anywhere else. Kenny and his pigs have no jurisdiction on this side of those doors." Kenny was the son of The King. With short wavy jet black hair and the looks of the old age greaser and a rigid wartime veteran. Ever since his parents got killed on a trip to the dam by rogue members of the legion four years ago, he's been drowning in responsibility for The Kings. He's become hard, and cold, with the personality of a stick.

"Its not like he can actually do anything to you. I mean you have The Families on your side, and not to mention the Brotherhood of Steel." Panda replied, " Oh! And we can't forget Bassie!" She giggled as she pulled that curly blood red hair of hers intolerable a ponytail. Bassie was short for Sebastian. A childhood friend of mine and Panda's.

Bassie was an ex member of the New California Republic got discharged out due to "minor misdemeanors," when actually he wouldn't give it up for Adrianna, daughter of the NCR leader. He had caramel colored skin, always claiming Italian heritage, some wonderful pre-war ethnic group. Nobody cared for that these days but he felt it made him unique. He had dark brown hair styled into a mohawk and looked like a young Sherlock but quite weathered by our harsh environment.

I looked into Panda's face, surprisingly pale with startling blue eyes. She was searching for an expression on my face with the side smirk she loves to give me. "What's that supposed to mean?" I murmur. Her expression changed from an exhausted bartender to a little kid who downed an entire box of Sugar Bombs and washed it down with a case of Sunset Sarsaparilla. "Oh come on Scarlett!" she yells, "You know just as well as everyone else in New Vegas that he is crushing on you!" Panda throws her head back with dissatisfaction. "So what?' I respond coldly. "I don't need some boy protecting me. Hell, I don't even need the families protecting me! I'm perfectly capable of ripping throats and sending bullets through heads.

" She grunts at me then looks down at her beer sadly. Ever since we found these holodisk with a soap opera series on it, she's become hung up over the concept of love. Either way I try and examine it. Love makes you stupid.

I learned that from my dad. Whenever I was eleven years old mom packed up and left without a following day he climbed to the top of our home, The Lucky 38 Casino and shot himself in the head. This time though - He was dead. I blame myself. For a week straight he kept telling me how I resembled her. How we had the same sparkling hazel eyes and a beautiful smile. We carried the same posture and had identical attitudes. We even both had a birthmark on the bottom left of our necks that looked like a clover.

After his death, I went under the care of the families in the Chairmen, The Omertas, and The White Glove Society. The Chairmen taught me how to shoot like an ace. The Omertas, how to play caravan like a god. The White Glove Society...well they taught me some interesting life skills. They may be very unethical, but they can drink you till your kidneys fail.

I grab Panda by the hand and with hope and just a dash of sarcasm says, "You'll find love one day." She smiles as she tilt her head to the side. "I already found mine!" I say laughing as I pull out a bottle of whiskey. Panda hits me jokingly and squeals "Whiskey can't love you back!" I laugh harder as I dance my way to the elevator near the bar. "Sweet dreams Panda." I sing to her as I head up to my room to maybe try to get some sleep. As she comes to her bed she notices a letter on her desk. She unfolds it to read:

Dear Scarlett,

You might not remember me and if you do it can't be fondly.
This might not be easy for you to believe but, I'm your mother.
I really want to meet you but certain circumstances have left
me unable to return to New Vegas. I want to see if you learned
anything from your dad.

Find me.

With hope, Mom.

I drop the letter startled. There is no way this is from my mother! No absolute possible way! Thoughts begin swarming my mind. What if it is? Is she really still alive? Why after all this time? I hold the letter close to my face and when it hits me tears start rolling down my face. Apples and Agave. That's the perfume she would wear. I collapse on my bed. Pain courses through my body and everything starts to go back. The last things able to escape my lips, "She's really alive."