MOJAVE DESERT: DIANA
This.
Is.
Revolting.
The hotel stood with nothing less of failing civility, a sore sight for even the most weary of travelers. Diana wasn't picky; she had forced herself to sleep in the worst of places when in dire need... But this. This was just repulsive. Mildewed carpet floors, lined with dirt and grime that had caked over for years, and peeling walls with stains of ungodly proportions. The hotel unfolded to reveal a small lounge, couches on both sides of the door, and a large counter with a oddly pristine bell on its surface. There was just enough lighting to cast a dim yellow glare down on her welcoming host, a shriveled old man with shaky hands and teeth even more putrid a color than the lights in the inn. Diana shuttered as his gaze fled over her.
Her army bag hit the floor hard as she threw it from her shoulder in a huff; clothing to which she refused to part from, and a rather heavy sub-machine gun tucked neatly beneath them. Her own dress snagged at loose splinters and nails from the crooked boards beneath her. Her appearance was shocking; nothing less of New Vegas royalty, and it showed in the way she dressed. The few patrons that huddled inside took no discretion to hide their stare. Scavengers, Chem Pushers, Mechanics; men and woman with little to nothing to their name who wandered the Mohave in packs to survive. Like dogs.
Diana would never lower herself to such standards.
Flicking her hair, and being careful not to touch anything, she approached the smiling elder and did her best not to grimace.
He cackled. "City folk ain't ya."
Her voice was blunt. "Excuse me."
"Don't mean nothin' by it. Just don't see many travelers that ain't neck deep in dirt," he gave another chuckle, followed by a less than healthy wheeze, "hope you don't mind the lack of soap!" he chortled harder.
Diana sniffed. "I'll live."
She presented a very small lump of caps, to which the man was all but too eager to take, leaning over his shambled desk to claw them from her grip. With a final grin at her dismay, he hobbled out of his chair and out of his station, still snorting under his breath he walked. Diana, livid and unamused, followed, taking a small path that lead behind the desk. As they ventured down the hall, she had to slow her pace considerably to keep the man in front of her. And when they'd pass any small frame on the wall, the elder felt obliged to stop and explain, a glint of wonder in his eyes. Diana tuned him out almost instantly, her own eyes trailing the faded papers and parchment that lined the walls of the hotel. Most were poorly written reviews on recycled paper, giving credit to the hotel and it's "management". Something she found to be humorous, given the state of both. But farther down the wall lay the faded remains of newspapers, sealed tightly behind glass, as if preserving the memory.
The old man continued to babble.
"Yes, and this here, this goes back years. Back before that damn Deathclaw took my left big toe! Met my darlin' Patricia right there in town. Now let me tell you the story of how we youngins got hitched-"
Diana strolled past him. He was oblivious to her inattention.
Her eyes flickered to each headline behind the frame, brown curls sliding downwards across her brow. Each page had its own agenda, strange and peculiar, and with nothing that seemed to tie it to the hotel. Brow creased, she looked to the man with a peculiar gaze.
"What are these?"
"Whaa.. Oh. Those clippings," he adjusted his pants unceremoniously, "They were here with the hotel. My pa had 'em, and now I have 'em. Been around since we took up the building."
Diana lifted her brow, "You mean Pre-War."
"Yes ma'am. The only thing that was left in the building. The whole place was in ruins when my pa found it. Nothin' but dirt. But these newspapers were all still here, behind glass like they are now. Don't have a single clue why. Felt wrong to take 'em down."
His voice was alight with curiosity, nodding along as if he were passing the story down to grandchildren. Diana ran her fingers along the frame, dust clinging to her skin as she moved them away. Squinting, she tried to read the descriptions.
A NEW SCIENCE: SEE THE FUTURE FIRSTHAND
A SOLUTION FOR DEATH: HOW TO OUTRUN AGE
The third was the most worn of all, just a few sentences still legible.
DEVASTATION: THE INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY'S NEWEST MACHINE
Diana shook her head, stepping back. They were serious claims, headlines that would no doubt stand on their own in the entertainment world. Bold and eerie... a shame she couldn't make out the smaller words. But nonetheless, the titles stayed engraved into her vision. Something peculiar in the words.
"The Institute..."
A shaky hand gripped onto her shoulder. She gasped, slipping out of the grasp of the old man as he stared her down, reaching for the small blade he kept strapped to her side under her dress. But his face was of nothing but concern.
"You shouldn't speak that name. Bad omen," he waved his finger lightly, and then put it across his lips, as if to signify silence. His voice lowered to that of a whisper. "I think it's best time you head to your room."
And that was that. The elder wished to speak no more. They walked the rest of the hall in silence, nothing but echoed steps to fill the gap. Diana didn't speak. And the friendly banter of the man had become a simple hummed tune.
The last door of the hotel swung open, revealing a chipped room and exactly what Diana had expected to see. The bed stood in the back corner, torn blanket covering a straw pillow. A small nightstand stood beside it, and a terminal on a desk was adjacent to it, screen still green with activity. Nothing else adorned the room but a small framed painting of a kitten from a tree. How classy.
"Well, here we are!" the elder chirped, "best room in the house if ya want my opinion!" He cackled as she lightly placed her army bag onto the floor. Diana grimaced as she saw the back hit the floor with a light fluff of a dust cloud. Holding herself tight, she gave a simple nod towards the computer.
"Was someone here?"
"Ah. We had a guest a few days ago. Strange fellow he was. Left without a trace. Musta left the computer on." He gave a lazy wave, "Well you can just shut it off on your own." he smiled, shutting the door behind him.
Diana glared, slipping her heels off gently, shivering as her feet touched the wooden planks beneath her. She'd sooner die than spend more than a day here, but it was preferable to the alternative of sleeping outside. The sooner she was out of the Mojave, the better.
Lightly touching a hand to the shredded blanket, she contemplated sleeping away the disgust of her current living. But her attention was drawn to the terminal she had nearly forgotten about, still glowing with activity. Diana pushed herself away from the bed, scanning the screen before sliding into the chair in front of it. Letters and numbers sped downwards, small bouts of red intertwined with certain words. They disappeared too quickly to interpret sentences, but Diana could see words. Humans, Eden, Vaults...
Institute.
She gave a small gasp, leaning heavily against the desk, the word fading so quickly it seemed to be a trick. But Diana had seen it. She knew. There was a connection with this place, and the man who'd stayed before her. What the hell was hidden in that word...
Desperately, she typed words, hoping for another reaction from the screen. But as soon as Diana issued a response, the screen flashed furiously, and then shut off completely, leaving her to stare at the memory.