Eastern Desperadoes

6 months after the destruction of the Legion. . .

In a non-descript saloon housed within an equally non-descript town (Town being a relative term) two figures sat at a table specifically created for those trying to stay hidden in the crowd. The saloon was only partly full, the inhabitants being disfigured and disgusting tribals, garbed in baggy, dirtied, and torn clothing that barely served the purpose of covering the people wearing them. Most of them didn't spare a look beyond a single glance at the two men, before promptly ignoring them. The lights on the ceiling flickered, casting a black shadow on the interior of the saloon.

The two were completely different in physique and clothing. The one on the left of the table was wearing simple drifter's clothing, modified with some light armor pieces as extra protection, with the fur coat of a fox wrapped around his neck in the style of a cape. A short machete made of scrap metal hung off his waist, opposite a nine millimeter pistol that also hung off his waist. His sunglasses concealed his cold eyes from any of the spectators that dared look at the two men.

Meanwhile, the man on the right was clothed in heavy combat armor, while the armor on his right arm looked to have been taken from an advanced set of power armor. Around his face, were long strips of cloth that covered his gaunt and scarred face from view, save for his piercingly black eyes that were focused entirely on the man in front of him. On his back was a massive blade while two sawed off shotguns hung off the belt on his waist. The two were mostly silent as they stared down at the table where two shots of liquor sat.

Mr. Fox looked up and stared at his partner, "I hate this place," He muttered lowly, so that the locals didn't hear him and encite a drunken conflict, "It is very. . . disgusting," Pointedly, Mr. Fox twitched his head to the left as a tribal feasted on a rotting bloatfly.

Antonio rolled his sharp eyes at his companion, "Quit your whining," He rumbled, then pulled his bandages down to reveal gray lips. Without hesitation, he downed the full shot in front of him, "No one ever said this wandering buisness would be easy."

"Unfortunately," Mr. Fox sneered. He had always been a bit condescending of tribes outside of the Legion, and that hadn't changed even after its destruction, "Where do we go from here, then? We've been straying from town to town for six months now, barely scraping by."

Antonio reclined in his chair, "Well, according to our map, New Vegas is only three weeks travel from here. . ."

"No," Mr. Fox interrupted flatly.

Antonio arched a brow at his companion, "Any particular reason why?"

"The NCR is there. I thought our plan was to avoid the NCR forces."

"Plans change," Antonio growled, "Vegas is a place to restock and get information, it's worth the risk. Chances are the NCR, if they've even reached New Vegas yet, won't even recognize us, especially without our signature Legion armor."

Mr. Fox frowned cautiously and lightly tapped his machete on its handle thoughtfully, "It's risky."

"You know, that's the fifty seventh time you've said that in one month. You would be the worst general ever."

"Their is nothing wrong with being a little cautious, in lieu of pointless risk."

Antonio idly watched the drunken patrons stumble out of the saloon, "Then what do you suggest? Where else can we go other than drift from village to village looking for our place in this ruined lands of ours."

Fox smirked, "Zion."

Antonio gave the other man a flat stare, "From our current position, Zion is over two months journey from here, even if we follow the trade caravan routes."

Fox nodded, "That is true. But past Zion is the newly established New Canaan, where it is far safer than New Vegas."

"It's a long ways from here," Antonio said softly, "Two months of traveling could stretch our supplies very thin."

"Their should be small caravans along the roads we could trade with. How many caps do we have now?"

Antonio counted off his fingers for a moment, "three hundred and nineteen, enough to buy food so long as the prices aren't to bloated."

Suddenly they both went silent as a group of five tribals approached their table, bristling with sharp melee weapons, knives and spears along with a pistol or two. The lead one, clothed in torn mercenary clothes from days obviously long past, lead the pack wth his fire arm already drawn. Threateningly, the tribal leader laid his pistol down on the table in clear sight of both Antonio and Fox, a dark smile on his face, "I couldn't help but overhear ya," He croaked hoarsely, "Three hundred caps is a lot of money, and we need some food. So why don't you just hand it over why'll you've still got your heads on your shoulders."

Fox glared at the tribal coldly, "Go away profligate, we don't want any trouble with the likes of you." Antonio let out a bark of laughter as the tribal leader snarled in rage and raised his pistol at larger man's head. His cronies all drew their own weapons.

"Why do you even bother?" Antonio asked after his outburst of laughter, surprisingly calm despite having a gun pointed at his head, "These idiots probably didn't understand a word you just said." Then he lashed out with his arms and swatted the pistol from the tribal leader's shaky grip without even looking at the man.

The leader shrieked as Fox sighed with slight exasperation, "We should save our ammunition," He replied.

In response, Antonio struck out with his left fist with such speed that his arm was a mere blur. The blow connected with the leader's jaw and knocked him out almost immediately. The man collapsed against his fellows. Antonio looked back at his companion with a smirk in his eyes. In response, Fox scowled and then unsheathed his machete. Without further banter with his partner, the lightly armored man lunged from his seat and buried the scrap metal blade into the chest of one of the cronies. The man twitched and died as he sunk to the ground.

The other cronies howled angrily and threw themselves at Fox. Suddenly, Antonio was out of his chair and smashed his shoulder into two of the tribals, knocking them to the ground with bone shattering force, that left two to go after Fox. The smaller man ducked a swing from one of the tribal's knife and swung up with his machete, forcing his blade up into the man's neck and upper jaw. Fox kicked the man away and cracked the butt of his weapon down onto the remaining cronie's head. The tribal fell to one knee, which then allowed Fox to split his head in two.

Antonio finished his opponents just as easily. With a sneer, he brought his foot down on the one of his still writhing opponent's skull, fracturing it severely. The second tribal stumbled up dazedly, only to be skewered on the end of Antonio's massive blade. The fight lasted forty five seconds.

Slowly, Fox looked over at Antonio with a heated glare, "I could have handled that with far less violence," He growled while Antonio simply shrugged.

"Too late, now," He glanced at the traumatized looking bartender and the few other people still in the bar, "We'll be leaving now." The two of them left the bar quietly after that.

Soon, they had left the town far behind and were trudging along the road, when Antonio piped up, "So where are we going?"

"Zion," Fox said, his tone not allowing any argument.

Antonio crossed his arms, "Fine," He muttered, "Atleast we actually have a plan now."

"Yes," Fox agreed.

They kept on walking, leaving their personas, Vulpes and Lanius, farther back east as they trudged further west.