Luck Be A Lady Tonight by Cally777
I will make the usual disclaimer of not owning Fallout New Vegas etc, even though I've read it has no legal validity. But any lawyers out there should appreciate we're having fun not making money (assuming they can get their heads around such a concept!)
This is my first bite at NV, and I'm looking forward to using my favourite characters. The story is roughly at the stage which my current game has reached, for whatever that's worth. It should be obvious that its unlikely to reach epic status like the last one, and will probably be a two to three-parter at most.
Contrary to my previous practice, I've turned aside from writing another story (for Fable2) to begin this one. I felt I had to go with the inspiration while it was there. However this could cause both stories to suffer in terms of update times. Indeed it already has (any Fable fans will at least know I wasn't metaphorically sitting on my arse!). Its a step into unknown territory, which some might consider exciting. Let's see how well I can juggle!
The Fable story is a T, but this is definitely an M, and you know what that means.
The illustration (cropped) is by lilibombe on deviant art (rights and ownership acknowledged). Especially when viewed full-size, it looks like she drew it for this story, but its pure coincidence.
Ch 1 Whisky Talking
"What's up with you, Santangelo," Cass drawled, "is that you need to get laid."
Veronica bit her lip. Since it was only mid afternoon, there was a chance Cass wasn't very drunk. They were on their own in the pool room of the Lucky 38's Presidential Suite, so if she kept her mouth shut, the ex-caravanner might lay off. As with most bullies, a response from her favourite mark was fuel for her to become even more obnoxious. Silence, on the other hand, might be enough to cut off the fiery redhead's verbal flow. Unless she was drinking heavily, in which case whisky was the high octane that would keep her keeping on. Or if she had an audience.
Unfortunately Boone chose that moment to walk in, closely followed by Arcade.
"Hey guys," Cass slurred. "Veronica needs a fuck. Which of you gentleman is gonna oblige?"
"I'm not really up for that." Arcade gave Veronica a sympathetic look. "And I think I can speak for both of us on this occasion." Predictably Boone said nothing, merely maintaining a contemptuous stare from behind his sniper's sunglasses.
"Well ain't that a disappointment." The redhead tilted up her black Stetson, and leaned back in her chair. "I guess we're gonna have to find some other way to get your cherry popped, Santangelo."
Veronica felt her cheeks beginning to burn, wished that she had the luxury of hiding her face within her hood. But with Robert House, the Lucky 38's former owner, dead, they couldn't rely on its talismanic status, or even its robot guardians, to keep NCR and Legion assassins away. They were playing for high stakes now, and armouring up most of the time seemed like a wise precaution. Veronica's reinforced metal helmet was a natural accompaniment to the Mk2 combat armour the Courier had provided her with. Her Brotherhood training made her accustomed to wearing heavy gear, but right now the tribal-style helm merely served to frame her blushing countenance. She knew Cass scented blood, and was ready to move in for the kill.
"See how the little virgin's getting all flushed and excited." Cass removed her hat and fanned it in Veronica's direction. With typical bravado, she'd put style ahead of bullet-stopping potential, matching the Stetson with her black and silver combat gear. "She's clearly ready for a seriously heavy pounding."
Avoiding her sadistically amused glance, Veronica looked in desperation to Arcade. Please, please save me! With the Courier away, the blonde, bespectacled Followers' doctor was her one and only hope. And her only real friend. His sarcastic wit was the perfect complement to her own, a defence they both employed to cover for a lack of inner confidence. In Arcade's case, this mostly stemmed from the demons of guilt in his past, and the impression that, alone amongst the Courier's Companions, he was not a natural warrior. They'd shared enough inner turmoil to become close, with the added advantage of knowing it would never become sexual between them. Veronica was ready to believe that, without each other, too long a stay at the Lucky 38 would drive them completely insane.
But while Arcade undoubtedly understood her embarrassment, and cared enough to rescue her from it, he wasn't usually strong enough to take on Cass in her current mood.
"Can we ease down the testosterone levels here?" It was a weak plea, and Cass threw it off without an effort.
"Jees, Arcade, we are talking about pleasuring Veronica's pussy. If that ain't a cause for raging hormones, I don't know what is."
"Not for me, sister." Arcade made a final gallant effort on Veronica's behalf. Glancing at Boone, he suggested, "Rack 'em up?" The sniper shrugged, and reached under the pool table for the wooden triangle and balls.
"Yeah, not for you, Gannon, you fag." Cass reached for her half-empty whisky bottle. After taking a gulp, she added. "Still with the straight part of Vegas lusting for V's pootang, we ought to be able to fix her up one way or another."
Arcade sighed, and took up a pool cue, bending over the table to take aim at the freshly racked balls. Abandoning me to Cass's tender mercies, thanks compadre! Veronica decided she'd best come out fighting. At least she might go down in a blaze of glory.
"So c'mon, Whisky Rose." She tried to sound offhand and challenging at the same time. "Tell me what genius plans you've got in mind."
Cass grinned to show that she wasn't riled by Veronica's use of her nickname, swigging at the bottle while she waited for the crack of Arcade breaking off to punctuate her next remark.
"I'm thinking a little visit to the Wrangler." Her eyes sparkled wickedly. "Losing your virginity to a sex-bot or ghoul ought to ensure you'll never forget that magical first time!"
Arcade angrily expelled air, which Veronica was sure wasn't because he'd fluffed the break. He was suffering with her, which was nice, at least. But he'd probably figured that Cass had her snookered, and there was nothing he could do about it.
She knew that the ragging being directed at her wasn't only the result of the redhead's sadistic tendencies, though those couldn't be underestimated. Cass was pissed because she hated staying at the Lucky 38. Hated the deadening feel of the thick pile carpet, the permanently dimmed lighting, the blandness of the décor, the luxurious but anonymous furnishing. Hated the frigid sigh of the air conditioning, which haunted the ex-casino like the ghosts of its former past. Even the ghost of House himself. Dead and gone he might be, but he'd left his mark on the place. A cold, empty, soulless one.
It seemed to have that effect on everyone, except perhaps Boone, whose mood and thoughts were generally as obscure as his permanently worn shades. But Veronica did her best to battle against it. She tried making the most of the luxuries provided: the well-stocked refrigerators, fresh running water, soft bedding and springy mattresses. Those at least were a welcome respite from the hot, dry post-apocalyptic wastes of the Mojave. Or from running errands for the Brotherhood to the 188 trading post. She'd joked to the Courier that the room service was great, if you didn't mind it being delivered by vicious, killer robots.
Cass's method of coping with the soul-destroying tedium usually consisted of getting drunk, ranting and, when the opportunity arose, teasing Veronica. Or if she was in a particular strop, outright bullying her. Her present behaviour certainly fell into the latter category.
Well this time she wasn't going to be bullied. No hiding behind self-deprecating humour, no bright, witty, pretty Veronica. Yes, she was pretty, she'd heard it enough times from lecherous prospectors and drunken gamblers. But how important was that really? The arrangement of two perfectly normal brown eyes … perhaps with the hint of a mysteriously exotic slant … around a nose of unremarkable length, though with a delicately narrow width. And a mouth of average size, albeit with a sensuously full bottom lip. True, some people cared a lot about those things. But then Cass was pretty too, and she could be a total …
In fact Rose of Sharon Cassidy was actually quite beautiful, in a saturnine kind of way. Those sharply arched brows above intense blue-grey eyes, pluckily straight nose, sexily pursed lips and elegantly pointed chin, could have drawn as many infatuated sighs and suggestive comments. Except that Cass usually discouraged them with an attitude that challenged the onlooker: go on, make my day if you think you're hard enough. Cass's face, like her manner, was sharp and angular; in contrast to Veronica's softer, rounded features and wide, classical forehead. A perfect illustration, some might say, of their differences in character.
Fuck all that! She could be as tough as Cass when she wanted to be, and she, Veronica, was about to hit back.
"Really, Cass, you disappoint me! Is that the best you can come up with?"
The older woman gave a twisted smile. "Oh, sorry, was I being too imaginative for you?"
"No, quite the opposite. I mean any two-bit pimp could find me a prostitute for the night. I thought you could top that, but looks like I mistook you for someone smart."
Yeah, suck on that, bitch! Veronica goes for the KO blow!
She was aware of the immediate attention of the two males in the room. Boone actually glanced up from his shot, his mouth stretching and contracting as the briefest of grins broke the severity of his granite features; he still maintained enough concentration to plant the ball firmly into the corner pocket. Arcade gave a slow and satisfied nod in Veronica's direction. You go, girl! Her spirits soared, though tempered somewhat by the knowledge that she'd thrown down a challenge which Cass was unlikely to resist rising to.
It was not the way the Courier would have handled it. But then the Courier was a woman like no other. It was unusual enough for someone to have survived a close range shot to the head, and then to make a near full recovery. To have done so, and then risen to become a major player amongst the competing factions of the Mojave, power-brokering between them like some kind of latter-day king-maker: that went off any scale of peculiarity; that was totally unique.
Veronica had often speculated that this was made possible by the very trauma of the event which changed the Courier forever. The total amnesia which had wiped out any trace of her former life. A woman with no past, and no expectations of what the future might hold. For the Courier seemed to fear nothing and no one, considering no task short of impossible too difficult. By sheer force of personality, and a knack of getting things done, she had established a network of contacts across the Mojave, gathered to herself a devoted band of companions. She spoke now in the highest councils of Caesar's Legion, had influence with all the key movers and shakers within the New California Republic. And she was forging her own grand alliance amongst the minor factions and tribals. Her current trip into the mountains was to secure the allegiance of the Great Khans, who, like many others, owed her a favour.
If she was here now … Veronica recalled a previous occasion when a drunken Cass had been viciously goading her about her Brotherhood connections. "Fucking has-beens in tin suits with liquid helium in their veins." Veronica had been weak enough at the time to let a tear trickle down her cheek.
"That's enough, Cass." The Courier had spoken only three words, very quietly. And Cass had fallen silent, and was not heard from for the rest of the evening.
As always the memory brought Veronica a sense of warmth, but also of her own limitations. She could not match that invincible charisma. Reliance on her native wits was her only way of outmaneuvering Cass. Unfortunately the ex-caravanner had plenty of tricks of her own up her sleeve. She was rocking her chair back and forth, and smiling, showing no apparent signs of anger at Veronica's answering taunt. But I bet you're burning up inside. You're not going to lose face in front of the others without wanting revenge.
"Of course, I'm forgetting." She grinned broadly. "Naive little Veronica, always in search of true love. Well, I can't promise that. But I'm willing to bet I can come up with someone raring to shaft you senseless without wanting money for the privilege."
For a moment Veronica was nearly thrown, like a cricketer expecting a tricky spinner to the off-stump, who has instead been delivered a tame, medium pace ball, just begging to be clobbered for a six.
"Yeah, and I could round-up a whole crowd of Freeside beggars ready to gang-bang you any time of the day or night!" The unexpected way things had turned in her favour had been almost too easy. Was Cass trying to lure her into a false sense of security? She gave a quick glance in Arcade's direction, and he returned her a reassuring wink.
Cass gave the whisky bottle another loving suck. "Whoa there, hold your damn horses, and let me finish! You want me to find someone who'll sweep you off your feet and plug you so good you'll be begging and screaming for more? Sure I can try. But that kinda challenge has to have something in it for me. Like a little wager, let's say."
Veronica again flicked her eyes to Arcade. What was Cass up to here?
She asked cautiously, "What kind of wager?"
"Well, its one you can't really lose. If I deliver the goods, you get a mind-blowing fuck."
"And what about if you don't?"
Cass whistled through her teeth. "Lemme see now. This oughta be some gargantuan size bet. Okay … if I come up short, you can ask me to do anything. Anything at all. You can ask me to strip butt naked and run the length of the Vegas Strip showing off my titties and arse if you want. Or … well, anything that's not physically impossible, I'll do it for you."
"And if you win?"
Cass grinned maliciously. "Then its only fair if I get the same satisfaction. You have to do whatever I say."
Veronica considered. The bet as it stood was one that she could hardly fail to win as it depended on her consent. Cass seemed on a hiding to nothing. But perhaps the crafty ex-caravanner might try to mangle things up in a way she hadn't thought of. She'd better make sure to allow her no wriggle room.
"Let's get this straight. If I don't like the date you've found me, I can just say no. In which case you lose."
"Exactly. Well, I guess there's gotta be one condition."
"Oh, I thought there would be!"
"Keep your hair on! Only that you've gotta give whoever it is a fair hearing, and at least allow them to proposition you. Then you get to decide."
Again Veronica was baffled by the absence of apparent risk. Cass's proposal seemed eminently reasonable. If there was any trickery, it was too subtle for her to see through. Her instinct suggested she should steer a wide berth around the whole quagmire, but to do so would be to back down and leave Cass with some kind of moral victory. That she, Veronica, had not dared to take up a fairly offered bet.
Then there was simple curiosity. What exactly was Cass planning? Could she have some idea of a potential beau she felt Veronica would be unable to resist? If so who? Her mind flicked through some of the possibilities, likely or unlikely. The King? The leader of Freeside's foremost gang was certainly good looking and charismatic, as well as a sharp dresser, even if that style was borrowed from some idolised singer from the distant past. She just couldn't see Cass persuading someone with his responsibilities and reputation into leaving his turf for a romantic liaison. What about Swank, the smooth as silk Tops Floor Manager? He'd taken over as head of the Chairmen after his traitorous predecessor, Benny, had fallen victim to the Courier's revenge. But for all his prestige and convenient presence in the heart of Vegas, Cass seldom showed patience with smarmy bastards who talked like they were in the movies. She might instead prefer a man of genuine passion and panache, such as the Vault 21 artist, Michael Angelo. Much creativity would be needed, however, to arrange a date with someone suffering from rampant agoraphobia, due to living underground for most of his life.
She attempted a careful probe. "What makes you think you can pull this off?"
Cass wagged a finger. "The Lady of Many Secrets asks me to reveal one of mine? Forgive me if I play my cards closer to my chest. But maybe I'm relying on your inner slut to help me out. Like I said, I know you're dying for a good going over."
My inner slut! That did it! She had to prove Cass wrong. And there seemed no reason why she shouldn't because the redhead surely couldn't know where Veronica had hidden her heart.
"Okay, you're on! So how do we do this?"
"My daddy used to tell me 'gather roses while you may'. How 'bout we hit the Strip this evening?"
Despite herself, Veronica was a little shocked. She'd thought Cass would want longer to get things together. How could she get herself and her potential date dolled up and ready for a night out in such a short time? Even if she had a suitable suitor in mind.
Still if Cass was determined to make things hard for herself, she wasn't about to raise any objections. "No problem! I just need a few hours to take a nap, shower and change."
Cass rose from her chair, and approached Veronica. When she'd encroached enough on her personal space to be looking right into her face, she gave her a little pat on the cheek. "Good! You'll need to as you're gonna be up all night getting down and dirty!"
Veronica gazed back with the fascination of a bird watching a snake. There was a sly glint in Cass's eyes that was out of chime with her hard, direct look, and her lips had a mocking curl to them. Observing their full ripeness, and the soft rosiness matching the colour of her cheeks, Veronica could almost feel the fire of her underlying passion, could almost catch the smell of whisky-induced excitement. She's not a woman who does things by halves, for sure!
She schooled herself to keep her voice firm and her lips from trembling. "Make sure your own butt's clean as a whistle. You may have to show it off to everyone pretty soon!"
Cass's eyes crinkled with mirth, but stayed fixed on Veronica's. "You keep dreaming, girl."
From behind her, Arcade said excitedly, "This I've got to see! We'll be tagging along with you for sure."
Boone had just finished rolling in the final eight ball. Standing ramrod straight, with the cue butt resting on the floor, he looked, in his First Recon red beret and earth-brown Ranger Patrol Armour, somewhat like a soldier on parade. He gave a curt nod.
Cass tilted back the whisky bottle to drain the last golden drop. Smacking her lips in a satisfied fashion, she said, "Great! Looks like the whole gang's gonna be on board. Vegas here we come!"
A natural accompaniment: in fact a Mark 2 combat helmet is the perfect match, but then Veronica's pretty face would be hidden behind the black visor, which wouldn't work in this particular scene. As for Cass, a Desperado Stetson's just natural for her, and is sartorially appropriate for almost any armour, but especially black and silver/grey, such as reinforced leather or Mark 1 combat gear. Style's important!
With the straight part of Vegas lusting: Veronica has lesbian tendencies at least, because she tells the Courier about her previous relationship with a Brotherhood of Steel female. However her sexuality is not necessarily common knowledge amongst the Courier's other companions.
Like a cricketer: I'd like to have used a more appropriate comparison with baseball, but it didn't seem to translate very well. A slower or change-up ball is meant to deceive the batter. The idea here is its just a bad delivery that's easy to hit.
Gather roses while you may: originally I was thinking of carpe diem (seize the day) but this phrase is also derived from the Latin, collige, virgo, rosas, (gather, girl, the roses) and is obviously particularly appropriate for Cass!
Next time: where and with whom will Veronica go on her date? What has Cass got under her shirt, and will Boone finally get to speak? And what about the Courier? Do I even know the answers to these questions myself? I'm kidding – I know. Still if anyone wants to place any bets ... now's your chance. You might even change my mind!