I don't even... This is so. Stupid.

I was browsing the kinkmeme's wares last night and came across a beaut of a prompt, and I MURDERED IT. In the bad way.

There will be more of these... I guess. A series of weird, one-shots that I birth out from twisted plot bunnies.

I apologize, in advance.


Video footage 00423, marked July 19th 2281.

Outtakes from companion interviews with Mr. New Vegas as required promotion for Independent New Vegas.

Interview 001, Rose of Sharon Cassidy, "Cass".

"Okay, we're ready!"

Cass squints suspiciously into the camera lens, her lips pinching a burning cigarette as her cowboy boots tap idly on the desktop in front of her.

The room is dimly lit, to provide a certain mood obviously, with a grey cloud of cigar smoke clinging to the ceiling. A shot glass holding an amber liquid slides along the desktop and nudges her knee, a smile lighting the woman's face before she nods to an unseen man across the desk from her.

"Thanks." She downs it with ease, a faint pink already lighting her freckled cheeks. "Just what I needed."

"You're very welcome, Miss Cassidy." The trademark drawl seems to smile without the need for facial expressions, the hand of Mr. New Vegas appearing briefly to tap the debris from his cigar into an ashtray. "So, you seem to be very close with Courier Six, I'm assuming you support her aims to make New Vegas independent?"

Cass made a face, though she seemed to think over her answer carefully as she downed another shot like it was mere water. "All you need to know is that I support her. She's a good kid, alright?"

"Of course, of course." Mr. New Vegas soothes, visibly winding the woman down a notch with the calm of his tone. "That isn't the reason you're here though. The people of the Mojave admire you Miss Cassidy, and we'd all like to know more about you."

"Me?" She snorts skeptically, grinning into the camera as if sharing some private joke with the viewer. "What kinda stuff?"

"Well… What are your favorite hobbies? Do you have any special skills? What do you do for fun, Miss Cassidy?"

Cass seems to suppress a belch behind a closed fist, shrugging apologetically into the camera before leaning back into the weathered chair. "For fun? I'm all about havin' fun."

"What about an example?"

She paused, squinting up at the ceiling as she thought.

"Get a couple whiskey's in me, start a fire in someone's Brahmin pen… Maybe go to The Tops and take my pants off." Another shot, cheeks brightening with each passing second. "Sometimes it gets out of hand, but hey, what the fuck else am I supposed to do with my time when Six isn't draggin' me around?"

"Uhh…" Mr. New Vegas trails off, the camera giving a slight shift, almost like a nervous tick.

"In fact, one morning-," She breaks off with an unladylike giggle-snort, shaking her head as she downs another shot. "One morning, I woke up and I shit a baby mole rat—like, a fetus. But what I can't get is the damn thing is still alive."

Mr. New Vegas gives a nervous chuckle and the camera begins to shake as it's taken off the tripod.

"So now, I've got a shit covered mole rat fetus running around the suite and I don't know what to name it, and of course Arcade is havin' a bitch-fit-,"


Interview 002, Craig Boone.

The tape roll starts in on what seems to be a conversation mid-way through the interview.

Boone is leaning back in his chair; however he looks anything but relaxed, his large arms crossed tightly across his chest. The lights provide a glare over his sunglasses, making it hard to see his true expression, besides the thinly set line of his lips.

"So we know about your past with the NCR's prestigious First Recon, and that's quite the story, but now the listeners, and myself of course, would very much like to hear about you, Craig."

Boone seems to stiffen even more then previously thought possible, his head briefly turning towards a door off camera, as if thinking of leaving mid-interview.

"Oh nothing too private, simply tell us a little bit about your personal likes separate from Courier Six and why everyone seems to be so infatuated with Craig Boone."

Boone shifted rigidly in his chair, sighing loudly through his nose before scratching the back of his neck nervously.

"Well… I guess people like me 'cause I'm… quiet. And I rarely miss. That's why Six likes me, I think…"

"Try not to think about Courier Six. We want to know about you, Craig." Mr. New Vegas prompted gently.

Boone looked up sharply, as if in a panic at the notion of separating his thoughts from the Courier. He looked around him, as if thinking he would be punished if he spoke out of turn.

His jaw tightened visibly as he took another deep breath, this time however he seemed to be trying to remember a line, as if on stage.

"I like… to eat Mutfruit icecream… And I really enjoy a nice pair of cargo pants." He began monotonously, frequently glancing into the camera, visibly sweating. "Arcade told me last week that I have the intelligence level of three, and am what some people call mentally retarded…"

"Okay, I can't work with this…" Mr. New Vegas sighs apologetically, his arm appearing as he pats Boone on the shoulder. "I'm sorry son, I don't know if you're ready for this."

"I like…" Boone trails off as the camera begins to fade off, the eyes behind the sunglasses desperately searching the room. "Desk."

...