It was a Thursday. A slow night for the heavy drinkers, but a busy night for the entertainment. The casino was giving out 20 free chips to those who played ten games or more, and following stand-up comedy was a new musical act tonight. Ladies in their scavenged pre-war gowns hung off the arms of NCR soldiers in uniform, or maybe the arms of their own men dressed as nicely as they afford. It was a night for good impressions, ones to be made for the first time on strangers, ones to be made again on friends, and ones to be made to feel free from the slums and crumbling concrete structures all around them for a night. But one patron didn't care who the hell she impressed.
At the corner of the bar, an exhausted woman sat by herself, the shot of whiskey in front of her, her only companion. Her red hair was tied into a tight bun that was pinned just under the brim of her hat, and speckled with dirt and dust from the wasteland roads. She donned her favorite casual wear to the bar tonight: a red plaid shirt that was worn so often that it had faded under the ruthless Mojave sun into a shade of Chantilly, a leather vest, and a pair of ripped, washed-out blue jeans. Her desperado hat looked as if it had seen better days, but then again, so did the woman wearing it. It was just her and her thoughts tonight, joined with the company of her old friend whiskey. She downed the shot just as she had done with hundreds before.
"Another." She ordered the bartender, pointing to her empty glass. The bartender eyed her cautiously, unsure if he wanted to deal with a sloppy sad drunk that night. He would have enough of those tomorrow night at happy hour. Come to think of it, why was she here tonight? She had to have pretty sad story to be here tonight, because she wasn't a regular. That and the fact that she already had two shots. He figured that one more wouldn't hurt her, and filled her glass to the brim.
"Actually, just leave the bottle." She insisted, tapping the side of her glass with her finger. He hesitated, stepping back from the edge of the counter, bottle still in hand. "Trust me," she snickered, looking at his face for the first time all night, "I know what I'm getting into."
When he saw her face, something triggered in his mind that said he should know this face. Had she been here before? Had he seen her around town? He couldn't put his finger on how he knew her, but she seemed confident in her abilities. He placed the bottle on the counter, his hand still holding the bottle's neck.
"Just don't cause any trouble." He warned her.
"I won't be a problem. Not a big one at least." She grinned, grabbing the base of the bottle. The bartender gave her one last cautious look, and let go, returning to his other customers. When she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her own bottle of whiskey to wash the first one down, he sighed. It was going to be a long night.
Cass wondered exactly how drunk she was going to get tonight. There weren't many other heavy drinkers tonight, so she didn't have to worry too much about getting in a fight. Too bad, she thought. She could really use something living and breathing to punch right now.
She wanted to drink until she forgot everything. But this was her secret place to drink, and she didn't want to run the risk of being discovered by one of her fellow residents of the Lucky 38. Luckily, the Courier stayed away from this side of town for the most part, mostly because she couldn't stand the thought of killing any more thugs that tried to shake her down every time she stepped outside of a building. They were no match for her of course, but by killing them, the Courier knew that she was ending their chance to start a new life as something more.
But the Courier would not hesitate to go pick up Cass and escort her back to that horrible ghost casino if she found that she had been causing trouble. Nor would most of her friends. Only one other person knew about this secret place to drown her sorrows in whiskey, and that was Veronica. The Scribe was peppy enough to make you want to take off her displacer glove and give her one of her own signature punches, but she was young, naïve, and more lost in looking for her place in the world than even the Courier, so Cass took pity on her. Veronica never drank with Cass, but would opt for a Nuka-Cola every time instead, and simply sit by Cass as an ear to listen. Sometimes that's all Cass needed.
"Fuck it." She muttered, tossing back another shot. Even tonight's problems that were on her mind couldn't be told to Veronica. She was going to drink until she remembered nothing.
Even if she completely blacked out tonight, she knew that Veronica would pull her back to the hotel. And she wouldn't just set her in the bathtub and leave her there for the night either. The Scribe would stay by her side at the edge of the bed that she gave up for the night and make sure she didn't choke on her own vomit. In the morning, she would wash her face, leave a bottle of water and a pack of Mentats by her side, and make her breakfast without saying a word. Cass smirked. It was funny how the most naive and the youngest woman in this assemble was also the most motherly. If Veronica was the mother, did that make her the delinquent daughter? She shrugged, and downed another shot of whiskey.
Out of the corner of her eye, Cass spotted a person dressed in filthy rags. She turned her head around to get a better look at the vagrant when she realized that it was Veronica, who was making her way towards Cass's table.
"Speak of the devil, and she will appear." The redhead grinned, "When are you gonna wash these things, Ronnie?" Cass mumbled, pinching a fold of Veronica's Scribe robes, "I'm surprised that they still let you in."
"This is the Atomic Wrangler, Rosie, not the Ultra Luxe." Veronica retorted with a smile. She knew from experience that Cass didn't mean anything by the insult. She just wanted to be left alone. Regardless, she knew that the end of the night would still consist of her dragging her unconscious friend back to the presidential suite. It was annoying, but she figured that different people had different ways of dealing with their problems. If she could punch, Cass could drink, she guessed.
"Do you need anything?" Veronica asked her, knowing that a snide remark was on its way out of the redhead's mouth.
"I'm as fine as fine can be," Cass coughed, "but I think Harian needs a little company tonight. Now that would be a show that people enjoy! A Steel and a ghoul, on the same stage!" she howled.
"I don't need stand-up," Veronica said sternly, "Putting up with you is plenty entertainment for the night for me."
"Don't worry, Vee," A voice from the main entrance's doorway said. A woman in a deep brown trench coat walked towards the bar.
"Shit." Cass muttered. The Courier found her. Was no place sacred?
"I've got her." She said quietly to the Scribe, waving her fingers towards the tables and chairs around the stage. The Scribe gave her a discreet thumbs-up, and walked to the other side of the entertainment floor where the crowd was gathering for the next act.
"Mind if I join you?" the Courier asked. Why she bothered to ask, Cass didn't know. She knew that she wasn't leaving as long as she was there.
"Pick your poison" Cass sighed, gesturing to the two bottles of whiskey in front of her.
"That's alright," the Courier nervously laughed, sat down, and ordered a bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla.
After a few moments of quiet between the two, Cass finally broke the silence in her own fashion.
"So what the hell do you want?" she sneered.
"You know that we're going after Violetta tomorrow, right? I'm sure those hounds jacked up on chems could catch you sober pretty easily, even if you got a head start." the Courier said, pointing to her shot glass.
"Ugh. You can't help but feel bad for them." Cass sighed. "The Fiends I mean. Sure they seem like a bunch of jet-jacked crazies who are a step down from tribals- and they are, but they were people once, ya know?" She stammered. Despite the number of drinks she had already consumed, the Courier knew that this was the real Cass talking, and she admired her sensitive side that she often hid.
"But why are you here? Why are you doing this? You could die tomorrow." She said, without a hint of humor in her voice.
"There's a new one." Cass laughed, "Shit, after all the adventures you've dragged me along on, it's like a surprise party every morning that I wake up."
The Courier shrugged, knowing that it was true. "Fair enough," she said. Cass drank another shot, and filled her glass to the brim again.
"So…" The Courier asked, knowing that something was wrong, "What's going on?"
"What's it look like?" Cass spat, "I'm tired, thirsty, and I don't want to remember anything that happened today." She poured herself another shot and took a sip.
"But… you never left the Lucky 38 today." She said, "What happened today?"
Cass sighed. She knew that the Courier wasn't going to give up,
"Goddammit, Six! You really want to know? Fine. I got a letter today. About my dad."
"Your dad? That's good, isn't it? You haven't seen him in-"
"Twenty-four years." Cass finished. "He left in '57, and haven't seen his sorry ass since. And it's good, in a sense, I guess. He's dead. He started a bar somewhere up north, and they said they found him on the floor one morning. He was cleaning up. Heart attack."
"Cass, I didn't realize-" the Courier started, in shock of the strange news and slightly disturbed by Cass's lack of emotion, "I'm so sorry."
"Don't be." She said blankly, "I don't have to worry about whatever would happen if I saw him. I'm not sure what I would have done. It's almost a relief, really."
"Were you close?" the Courier asked, placing a hand on Cass's shoulder.
"We were- until he left his wife and his thirteen year old daughter to fend for themselves in the middle of the fucking apocalypse." Cass sneered, "Didn't tell us that he was leaving, just got up and left us in the middle of the night. Left me nothing but this pendant and my goddamn name. And my heart problems, too, don't forget those. Thanks Pops." She quickly downed another shot, clenching the glass with a hardened fist, and trying to fight the heartache.
The Courier paused. She knew that Cass was hiding her emotion. If her father's death didn't upset her, then she would be here to celebrate, not to forget.
"Rose of Sharon." Six whispered to herself.
"Don't call me that." Cass spat, "My dad was probably as drunk a Freeside junkie when he gave me that awful excuse for a name."
"Do you know what it means?" The Courier asked.
"It came from some Old World book about dirt pilgrims." Cass shrugged.
"I know, but do you know what it means?" The Courier pressed.
"No. And after all of the cozy, daddy- daughter bonding we've had together, I don't think I want to. I'm sure it's a tribal symbol for 'wasted' or something. That would give tribute to my ma at least."
"It's a Bible reference." The Courier said with a faint smile. Cass almost choked on her current sip of whiskey before turning to face her.
"A Bible reference? You're joking, right? That sonofabitch would never be seen in a church." Cass swore. "And how do you know this? Does this have anything to do with Zion?" she asked, rolling her eyes.
"That's how I know it, I'll admit," Six began, "But really, it's in there. It's beautiful stuff, Cass. You should take a look at what it says about-"
"So a random cowboy from Utah gives you a set of books in exchange for his safety, and suddenly you believe in everything he tells you?" Cass interrupted.
"It seemed a little strange to me to at first, I'll admit," said the Courier bashfully, "but now I know how Daniel and the New Canaanites thrived as they did on so little. They were under God's watch."
"God." Cass sneered, "If there was a God, He wouldn't have made a little girl grow up without a father. He wouldn't have made my caravan, the last family I had left, into an ash pile on the side of the interstate. He wouldn't have destroyed Nelson, He wouldn't have destroyed Nipton, and he sure as hell wouldn't have destroyed the world!" Cass roared, slamming her empty shotglass on the counter. Other patrons began to look back at the bar towards the two women. Veronica, in a corner of the room at a table by herself, shot the Courier a worried look, and began to stand up. The Courier motioned for her to sit back down.
"Cass," Six sighed, "have you ever thought about what perfect love feels like?"
"Haven't we all?" she laughed, "We've all been there as kids, we've dreamed of the perfect man to sweep us off our feet like princesses. But eventually it happens. Maybe it's over time, or maybe you wake up one day and just realize: there is no Prince Charming. There is no one perfect. You just suck it up and deal with the hand you're played."
"What does perfect love mean to you though?" The Courier asked her.
"Shit… I don't know. I guess it would be someone who would accept me for the rough person that I am. Someone who would love me no matter what."
"Can I read you something?" the Courier asked her friend.
Cass shrugged. She respected the Courier enough to let her show her point of view, but the second she began enforcing it on her, well, maybe there would be a bar fight tonight.
Six reached into her pack for her Bible, flipped to a bookmarked passage, and began reading:
"I am a rose of Sharon,
a lily of the valleys.
Like a lily among thorns
is my darling among the young women…
Let him lead me to the banquet hall,
and let his banner over me be love.
Strengthen me with raisins,
refresh me with apples,
for I am faint with love."
When she said nothing, the Courier placed the book beside her friend on the bar. Cass slid it in front of her, and studied the poem that Six had just read to her. Finally, Cass looked up from her drink for the first time since the Courier sat down. "Wow," she stammered, placing two fingers on her temple and looking down. "That's not what I was expecting."
"That's the love of the Father. Your heavenly Father. And I know that even though your earthly father wasn't there to tell you how much you really meant to him, I know he meant it Cass. I don't know why he left, but I know that he loved you." The Courier said, stroking the rose pendant that hung around her companion's neck.
"Or maybe he just wanted to stick me with such a ridiculous name." Cass said, trying to shake off the emotion of the moment with sarcasm, "But that still doesn't explain why 'God' would do this to me- or to anyone."
The Courier thought for a moment, picked her words carefully, then responded.
"How many lilies have you seen out in the Mojave throughout your caravan career?" she asked the redhead.
"Few. And that's an overstatement." Cass replied.
"Exactly. A lily in the desert will produce seeds; dozens of them actually. But it's best hope is that one of its offspring can survive. The lily has to endure the sun, the dry ground, and the creatures that want to eat it, which makes it even more difficult to survive, because it was made to thrive in an atmosphere where it doesn't have to worry about any of those things. That's why almost every lily seed in the Mojave never turns into a blossom: it couldn't survive the hand life dealt it. But when a lily can blossom in the worst of circumstances, like the Mojave, it turns it into something truly strong, and truly beautiful." Six smiled.
Cass sat silent again, staring straight at the brim of her shot glass, like the hundreds that she had held before. Her 'circumstances' began to replay as memories in her mind.
...
She awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of the front door squeaking. Slowly arising from her pillow, she looked out of the window in her room of her family's humble log cabin. She could make out the outline of her father making his way from their home, towards the road with rifle in hand. Thirteen year-old Rose of Sharon Cassidy figured that he was chasing off another pack of rats that had gotten into the hen house. Or maybe he was chasing off a boy that was coming to her window to woo her in the dead of the night. Cass didn't think much of it, knowing that either option didn't stand a chance with her father's aim, and went back to sleep. It was too dark to see where he was truly going. It was too dark to see the satchel across his back filled to the brim as well.
She woke up to her mother pacing the dirt floor. Not suspecting anything unusual, Cass asked casually, "Where's Papa?"
The unusual silence should have given her an indication of her mother's answer. Cass didn't want to hear the response, but then again, nothing could have prepared her for the imminent answer:
"He's gone."
"He's on a hunting trip," Cass kept telling herself. "He went to trade with some caravans passing through for supplies. He'll be back soon."
But days turned into months, and likewise, Cass turned from a girl to a woman. She was just old enough to start causing trouble with boys, and she was an easy target with no father to protect her. Her mother could only do so much to stop her, and Cass's shenanigans took quite a toll on her age. By the time Cass was eighteen, she was in frail health, and passed away. There was nothing left for Cass in the place she once called home, so she took anything of value in their home, loaded up the family's bramin, and set off into the wasteland, unsure of her future, but knowing that her past would have nothing to do with it.
Nineteen years later, she sat at the corner of a bar in the Southern Mojave, doing the only thing that she truly received from her father: drinking whiskey. Her caravan company was bankrupt, her caravan was dead, and she didn't have a hundred caps to her name. The life that she had worked so hard to build was gone.
But in came a stranger from the northern Mojave, with her open extended hand.
"Follow me. We'll find who did this to you." She promised.
Cass had nothing better to do with her life than follow her, so she left her life of misery. She began to know the stranger as 'Six', and she had almost had more adventures with her in the past ten months than in nineteen years as a caravan master. For once, she felt as if she was doing good in the world, and that the world was grateful for it in return. She was destroying the organizations of the coldhearted corporations that destroyed businesses like the one she used to own and love. Around her rough edges, Cass was more for equality than anyone in the Mojave, and with the Courier, now she could do something about it. She knew that she was supposed to be here, and that her past was what made her into what she was today. This was what Cass had been waiting to do all of her life.
...
Maybe the Courier's 'God' knew what He was doing after all.
"It fits you too, you know."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Cass questioned.
"You are the lily in the desert. You stand for honesty and fairness when nothing else in this wasteland does. I mean it. It takes a special kind of woman to turn away from killing the people who murdered her caravan."
"You were the one who talked me into giving that up." Cass pointed out.
"But I was a stranger! You didn't have to listen to me." The Courier laughed. "It was you who made the decision in the end. And it's given your heart peace. I can tell." She smiled.
"It really has, now that I sit back and think about it." Cass said, "But damn, I miss them." She took another shot, downing this one a little more slowly.
"Why do you do this to yourself?" The Courier asked, worried.
"I do it to forget the life I never had." She smiled, and filled up her glass again. There was only a small amount left in the first whiskey bottle now; just enough to fill up a shotglass. Cass tried to push the bottle in her friend's hand.
"What are you doing?" the Courier giggled, trying to keep the redhead from prying her fingers open.
"It's about time you try some of the big girl stuff!" Cass laughed. She had never seen the Courier drink, and now was just as good of a time as any. With any luck, maybe Six wouldn't remember this conversation in the morning.
"No!" she protested, but all while smiling and trying not to make a scene at the bar.
"Just this once! Just this once!" Cass hollered.
"Fine," The Courier sighed, "But I bet that's what you said once too. And just look at you now." She teased.
"Oh no, darlin'," Cass grinned, "That one came from Pops too."
"To honesty, to unconditional love, and to lilies in the thorns?" Six raised the bottle.
"I was going to say to tearing the heads off of some motherfucking Fiends tomorrow, but that works too." The redhead shrugged, completely serious, tapped her glass with the Courier's bottle, and downed her drink with her.
Six put her bottle on the bar and immediately following, her hand on her head. "What the-" She said, holding on to her stool for support, "Did a monorail just hit me in the head?"
"You'll get used to it." Cass smirked.
"Never again…" the Courier gasped, sliding the bottle down the bar for the bartender to take.
"C'mon ladies," said a perky voice behind them. Veronica had grabbed the necks of both their jackets, and pointed them in the direction of the door, "You've got a long day tomorrow."
"Yes, Ma." The redhead replied, threw a couple of caps on the bar, and began walking to the door. The Courier grabbed Cass's extra bottle of whiskey, and followed closely. Six held her head, groaning in pain while Cass made no hesitation to laugh at her.
The two ran down the streets, unafraid of the Freeside dangers that lurked behind every building and down every ally. They sang 'Lone Star' at the top of their lungs, and the occasional junkie sitting on the sidewalk would join them as they passed by. As they walked by the door for Mick & Ralph's, Ralph walked out, after what looked like a long day for the store.
"I owe him a favor. Just a second, Cass." The Courier said, and made her way towards the shopkeeper.
Ralph turned around. "Six!" He said, a smile lighting up his face, "How have you been?"
"I've been fantastic," she smiled, "But you look like you've had a hard day. Why don't you take this?" she said, handing the bottle of whiskey to him.
"You mean it?" Ralph laughed.
"Trust me," The Courier insisted. She looked back behind her at Cass before she whispered, "You're doing us both a favor."
"All right," Ralph smiled, "If you insist." The two parted ways, and Six made her way back to Cass.
"What the hell was that for?" the redhead asked her.
"He looked like he needed to know that someone cares about him at the end of the day." Six shrugged.
"You're just ashamed that you can't handle any more!" Cass hollered. And for the first time in too long, Rose of Sharon Cassidy truly laughed, her pendant on her necklace bouncing with each breath she took.
She felt drunk, content, and happy to be alive. Which to her, was the whole point of it all.
Footnotes:
-Cass mentions being abandoned by her father several times during the game's course, so I wondered what her reaction would be if she received word that he was dead.
-"I'm sure it's a tribal symbol for 'wasted' or something." I realized that after I had just typed this, it sounded almost identical to the 'Bridesmaids' quote, and being a huge fan of that character as well, I had to keep it in ;)
-Sorry if the Christianity portion became a little too preachy for the internet, but it's what I know well! On a side note, the Bible quote used in the story was from Song of Songs 2:1-5.
Comments and critique are appreciated, as I am pretty new to fanfiction. Thank you for reading!