(For a prompt involving the courier regaining a pre-game memory of Benny in mid-sex.)
When Elisabeth returned from her honeymoon, she was radiant. She gushed about the lights, the sounds, and the decadence that would ruin a man anywhere else. Even when the newlywed glow faded and her vitality ebbed in the wake of raising a family in the desert, her face still lit up like the neon displays she spoke of when the subject came up. The Strip is magical, baby sister.
So Eloise did her chores and dreamt of dancing with a handsome Brahmin rancher. She fixed up holes in shirts and scrapes on knees and imagined the jingle of caps she received was the sound of chips clinking out of a slot machine. She became the town nurse and dropped any spare caps into the drawer of her dresser and couldn't wait until there was enough for her to leave.
But the town was small and the caps were scarce; tiny little emergencies demanding immediate action made them scarcer. And then, one day, the town was done. Just like that. The older folk had ambled off to live with family or retire in sturdier communities, while their children ran off to seek fortune or marry strangers or make a name for themselves in the big cities. One day there was nobody left to tend to, and Eloise took her dreams and her caps and quietly left her empty home.
She became the Mojave Express' Courier #6 at the age of 26, and for first time in her life felt that she was making steps toward the Strip, even though none of her assignments took her in that direction. She caught herself envying her sister's smile that seemed to never wear out, and was daydreaming again of a faceless (but still handsome) rancher who was rich, rugged, and took her dancing at the Tops.
At 28, she had her chance. With a wink and a smile, her boss assigned her a delivery to Vault 21, adding a couple days off to "get out of the sun".
Benny Gecko wasn't a rancher, but he was certainly rich, and the fine clothes and smooth talking and pomade couldn't hide his tribal roots. It was in the way he stood, and the way others listened. He was proud and fierce and commanding in the face of rowdy patrons and high stakes. He captured her attention from across the crowded room with just the look in his eyes. He made her believe in the magic Elisabeth still sighed over now and again. And he took her dancing.
And he took her to his room.
And in the morning he stroked her hair, told her he was sad to see her go.
The next time they met, he shot her in the face.
She can hear his heartbeat slowing, with her head resting on his chest. She's still lying on top of him, still has her legs on either side of his, can still feel him softening. She hasn't responded, hasn't said a word since it hit her, and he'd mistaken her sudden rigidity for something completely different.
He sighs, content. He strokes her hair.
Eloise stares at a Virgin painted on pearl, peeking out from beneath his jacket on the floor.