Author's Note: So this is my first published piece. I would highly appreciate reviews and constructive criticism. If you guys like, I'll post more stories :) I've been playing 3 for a while now, so this might be the first and last New Vegas story you'll see for a while, but you can look forward to stories of 3. Well, here ya go :)
The man in the red beret glanced down at his whiskey, swirling it around in a small shot glass held by his mere fingertips. In the reflection he could see the dancing flames of the campfire in front of him against the jet black sky. He found himself drinking down the rest, feeling the old familiar burn at the back of his throat. It wasn't all that uncomfortable of a feeling. Every time he drank, which he didn't do all that often, it took him back. It reminded him of the good times he use to have with his best friend, before Carla, the women he once loved, tore them apart. He would laugh, joke around, and drink with his fellow sniper buddy Manny while on leave. They were the best memories he's ever had, before the whole Carla incident.
He looked up to see Nova and Arcade, deep in a conversation. Something lighthearted, he could tell by the tones of their voices. He didn't care enough to really listen though. His mind was on something else entirely, so perhaps his mind wouldn't let him pay attention anyway. He sat there for a moment and sighed, then hung his head to look down at the dirt and dead grass between his boots. A thought hit him, then he reached into his right pocket and pulled out a worn note. A small part of him wanted to open it one last time, just to see it once again. With care he unfolded it with his callused fingers, although the seams were flimsy from handling it so much. It was a paragraph of smeared words of sloppy cursive, and his first name signed at the bottom. It's been on his person for over a year now, yet when he was with the courier, when he was in her company, it made him forget it even existed. He resisted reading any of it. Almost immediately he quickly folded it back up, trying hard not to tear open old wounds. He looked at it in his palm, and clenched his fist, balling it up tight. He raised his head to look at Nova and Arcade again, who were sitting on the other side of the fire, still talking about god knows what.
"That still isn't how you say it." Arcade said in irritation, as if it wasn't the first time he'd said it that night. He proceeded to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"You're going to fast." She frowned. "Say it slower please." A note of doubt hung in her voice.
"Victrix causa diis placuit sed victa causa placuisse Cat." He he spoke a latin phrase, translating roughly to, "The conquering cause pleased the gods, but the conquered cause pleased Cat." pronouncing each word slowly. He was making small hand motions, moving his fingers according to the syllables. After that, the courier mimicked his words, but mumbled at the parts she wasn't sure she would pronounce correctly, and said other parts wrong entirely. Arcade sighed with disappointment, and took off his thick framed, black glasses to rub his face. Nova smiled weakly at Arcade, a feeble attempt to change his expression.
The man in the red beret took the balled up note into his fingers and examined it, like he wanted to keep the image of it in his head in the case that it disappeared forever. Without another thought, he tossed it into the flickering flames. As he watched it burn, a knot of regret immediately sprung in his stomach, as he knew it was over. It was too late to save. But after a moment, he accepted it. It was done. He threw the remaining piece of his past away. The shackles of the past he wanted to escape. When he looked up at the courier, he felt like he'd been set free. A new beginning, he thought to himself.
The courier exceeded his wife in so many ways. He felt ashamed it took so long to realize, four months traveling with her. Her looks were one thing. She had skin like ivory, honey brown hair, and eyes the color of crystal clear sea he's only seen in pictures. Although she never wore makeup, she had the natural beauty Carla could just never pull off. Whenever asked, the courier always thought of makeup as, for one, hard to find, and two, just impractical, for obvious reasons. She also has a bit of a pixie hairstyle, from letting her hair grow out. Her head was shaven bald for some kind of brain surgery she never liked talking about.
Another thing, was that the courier was friendly. She loved helping everyone she met on her travels. Every once in a while, her generosity even got her into trouble, when she sometimes bit off more than she can chew. Carla hardly wanted to associate herself with the people of Novac. She was never willing to take a bullet for anyone, except the sniper in the red beret. Maybe.
Carla could make him forget about his past, but right by his side, the courier made him face his past head on, and made him deal with it. It helped him think more clearly, more rationally. And more importantly, she made the nightmares go away, both of his wife, and The Massacre. They were becoming too much for him before her arrival. Now that he thought about it, thoughts of the Bitter Springs Massacre never bother him as much as they did when she was still a stranger. After a while, the courier made the him realize that his life was salvageable. He no longer looked for any chance to end it.
"Victrix causa diis placuit sed victa causa placuisse Cat." The courier pronounced confidently with a smile. Arcade's brows rose in surprise. The look from the doctor led her to believe she'd succeeded, as her bright sapphire eyes lit up.
"I pronounced it all right?" She smiled widely, and Arcade replied with a nod. "Yay! Boone I—" She snapped her head to look at where the man in the red beret was sitting, excited to tell him what just happened. He wasn't there, as the excited expression left her face.
"Where's Boone?" She turned back to Arcade, who shrugged in genuine confusion.
"You see him leave?" He pushed up his glasses. She shook her head with a frown.
Boone was leaning against a concrete highway barrier not too far away. He was facing away from the camp, with his feet crossed, and his elbow resting on the palm of his hand with a lit cigarette in the other. In front of him, his eyes fell on an elongated shadow of a figure walking toward him from the camp. The slender figure, and the sway of it's hips told him it had to be Nova. Expecting her to lean next to him, he scooted a bit to the left, a welcoming gesture.
"Boone. I finally pronounced that quote Arcade taught me right." She grinned.
"Finally? Wonderful." He replied halfheartedly. Seeing his lack of enthusiasm, she pursed her lips, wanting to change the subject.
"I got a can of pork n' beans I just heated—"
"Not that hungry."
"You sure?"
"Yeah," he sighed. "I'll eat in the morning." He told her before putting the cigarette to his lips. The two were quiet for a moment.
"What's wrong?" She spoke calmly, but it barely sounded like a question coming out. She spoke like she really wanted to know what was troubling him. He stopped, and turned his head to face her. He looked at the worry in her eyes, her furrowed brows, and the smile that was absent from her face. He turned back away, to avoid blowing smoke in her direction.
"It's can be difficult sometimes, but it has to happen in order to survive. You have to to enjoy the present, and look forward to the future, like I want to."
"What can be difficult?"
He blew smoke from his lips again; his face expressionless. "Letting go."