They set out early the next morning, much to Dean's displeasure. Flora insisted that it would be best for only Bruce to see them in town.

"Told them I was a reporter, I'd prefer they continue to think that."

Compared to the Madre, taking down the occasional group of raiders or wasteland monsters seemed vacation-like to Dean. Humans were so predictable compared to Ghosts. And they ran away if they began to think they were losing…Ghosts kept coming until their legs get lopped off. And even then they just crawled.

"For the love of God, can we take a break now? I may never get the dust off my suit…"

"Don't wear a fucking suit then. How are you not sweating your balls off in that get-up, anyway?" she replied, hardly concerned with his discomfort.

"I don't see how you can say that to me in leather. I shudder to think what's brewing down there for you…"

Flora smirked despite herself. "We took a long enough break with that lonely drifter guy, but…" She checked her map. "We can stop at the next trading post we see."

Of course, she said this before spying NCR patrols in the distance. No, not patrols…they were circling what looked like the shell of an old world town bombed to rubble.

"Actually…we can stop here. I'll do the talking, just agree with everything I say."

Flora suddenly ran up to the nearest NCR soldier. "Howdy! I'm Flo', I—I did some spare jobs around the South West Mojave outpost, maybe I can help…What's going on here?"

Dean watched from a distance, seeing the opportunity for a smoke. It really was like a switch with her, he observed bitterly. How many different characters did she have to pull from at a moment's notice? And how exactly did this serve her? Putting herself in harm's way for some punk-rock reject gang?

He choked on his tobacco when she actually walked past the solders and through the city gates. "Fucking hell…"

One of the men walked up to Dean, glancing suspiciously towards the door Flora had disappeared through. "Uh…sir? I was wondering if I could ask you about your traveling companion."

Dean knew an opportunity to con when he saw one. Maybe it was his turn to put on a character.

"Sorry, but I'm just dying of thirst here old sport, I doubt I could croak out a word without a little bit of water," he smirked.

The NCR soldier groaned, but tossed him a bottle. Dean sneered when he noticed the sand swirling around inside, but took a few sips regardless.

"I met her on my way from Novac while trading with a caravan. Seems nice enough." He shrugged.

"Right…and where are you two headed?"

"I'm afraid I'm going to need some cleaner water to remember that little tidbit."

The way the soldier kept grumbling about giving him more water made Dean even more satisfied with each new lie. In the end, he was five bottles richer and the NCR trooper only learned that "Flo" was a reporter from Vegas who got into a bar fight with a crazed old man named Bruce.

"That scar may look bad on her, but you should see the other guy. Ugly motherfucker will have to do it doggy style from now on, if you catch my meaning," he chuckled before noticing Flora return with the Khans in tow. "You'll have to excuse me."

Twiddling a fancy looking lighter, she was immediately intercepted by a giant robot on wheels.

"We really must stop meeting like this, people are going to talk."

She looked up, plucking the cigarette from her full lips and blowing a thick cloud of smoke onto the screen.

"Long time no see, Victor. And I agree, except…didn't I see you asleep back in Novac?"

Victor's screen flickered as she had come to expect it to every time she asked about something he didn't expect. "Well sweetheart, my broadcasting signal's gotten a bit stronger since last we met. Turns out, if I get close enough, my consciousness can just leap to the nearest Securetron."

"And the nearest Securetron just so happened to be here in Boulder City, and you just so happened to be jumping to this bot as I'm passing through?"

The silence between them was palpable while Victor's screen flickered.

"My, my…the Mojave does work in mysterious ways!" Flora grinned jovially, patting the robot's front.

"Ha-ha, it sure does. But enough about me. Where have you been this whole time? You disappear for several days, then return out of the blue…with a new voice."

"That is an interesting story, Victor, but I'm afraid it's a story for another time. Maybe I can tell you over some drinks once we're both in Vegas?"

"That sounds lovely…Miss Keyes."


"How did you know that…thing?" Dean asked as they settled on a bench at the 188 Trading Post. He winced at what was on his plate. The performer wasn't exactly used to gourmet meals, but lizard wasn't high on his list of favorite foods. He passed her one of the bottles he had conned off the NCR soldier earlier.

"Aren't you the pot calling the kettle black?" she quipped, indicating his ghoulishness while waving off the water, opting instead to light a cigarette with her new toy. She ran her thumb across the Latin inscription that wrapped the body of the lighter. Nos non habemus ad somnia. But it was the logo on the base that read, The Tops.

'Bingo.'

"He's more than just a robot…in fact I think there's more to Victor than he lets on."

She really did smoke like a chimney, Dean observed. He didn't know why she bothered; Flora always seemed to get a bitter look on her face when she did.

"Who is he then?" he pressed, settling for eating yucca and prickly pear.

"I'm not sure…but I'm fairly certain the cowboy persona is an act…"

Looking over the edge of the overpass, Flora noticed a young boy. He was all alone. Didn't even have a shed, just a battered flag and some toys laying around…and a weird metal contraption under one arm. One of the caravan men were talking to him, writing down what he said, as well as what looked like a map with routes scratched all over it.

"Stay here, I'm going to stretch my legs," she said when she saw the man pass him a rather large bag of caps.

The child stood up as Flora approached, the headband secured back on his head now. "Hello miss, penny for my thoughts?" he asked, smiling slightly at his own inside joke.

"And what if I did?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

His smile fell a bit. "Well, it's actually a hundred caps, and they aren't my thoughts so much as I tell you about the world…or your present, or you."

"How could you do that?"

"Well I can always see it, when my medicine is off…but if I take my medicine off for too long, I get headaches mighty fierce."

After a moment Flora pulled out a roll of bills. "Who am I?"

"Thanks. Okay…Two in the head but you keep walking…Heart beating like clockwork, even when you looked Maria in the eye…You lost more than your memories…your entire life has been more losses than gains. Comforts only confuse because what joys you had left are lost to the wind and sand. No wonder you wanted to forget—"

Flora grabbed the child, shaking him violently. "Shut-up," she muttered, teeth clenched. "Shut-up, no more. I said fucking can it, kid!"

The contact of steel against concrete had her ears ringing before someone dragged her off of the child.

"What is your problem?" A woman in a bulky hemp robe practically screamed at her, throwing Flora to the side where she crumpled like a rag doll against the wall of the underpass, not bothering to get up while the boy babbled incoherently. She rushed to pick up the head gear, fixing it onto his head. The child's eyes cleared, looking about before noticing the red crescents on his arms left by Flora's nails.

"More bad news, huh? Thanks, Veronica."

"No problem, little guy. I'll take this lady back upstairs," Veronica said, before turning to give Flora a dirty look.

Grabbing her by the collar, Veronica brought Flora shuffling upstairs back to Dean, who had watched the entire event transpire in complete shock.

In the distance, they heard the boy call, "No hard feelings, miss. I have no idea what I'm saying when I'm not wearing my medicine!"

"Anthony, quit apologizing to assholes!" Veronica yelled over the rail before turning to glare at Flora once more. "Look, fight and kill whoever you want; it's the Mojave. But leave the poor kid out of it, he barely gets by as it is."

Flora didn't acknowledge the demand, sitting back down on the bench and taking a sip of her sarsaparilla before asking, "Are you the knight in shining armor around these parts?" she nodded to the metal plating sticking out from under Veronica's robes.

The woman in question immediately looked embarrassed. "What? No! I-just...what are you, the bully around these parts?"

Shrugging, Flora replied, "I could be for enough caps."

"Oh great, one of those." Veronica sat next to them. "Can I ask why you chose to take out whatever deep rooted insecurities you must have on a ten-year-old?"

"I made the mistake of asking about myself. I don't like being reminded about how young I am," she said, impatiently lighting up yet another cigarette.

Once again, the smoke that filled her lungs tugged at her brain, as if something were trying to say, "Hey, remember me?" But no. She couldn't.

"Young?" Dean exclaimed, suddenly remembering he had never asked her about her scars—at least, the two he wasn't the cause of.

"Technically I'm only a couple weeks old, memory wise," she smiled wryly with a wink, trying to ease the tension. The last thing Flora wanted was to get thrown over the underpass by this woman. "Does that make you feel even more like a dirty old man, Deano?"

"Wait, what? Are you some sort of robot?" Veronica asked. She had heard stories of synthetic humans from caravans that traveled in all the way from the Boston commonwealth, but if any made it all the way west, they certainly weren't making themselves known.

"Maybe," Flora smirked, waggling her eyebrows at the two. "How am I supposed to know who I am? Go ask the kid, if you're really curious."

Veronica only scoffed. For whatever reason, she couldn't stay mad at this strange person with her strange smiles.

"So if you aren't a 'bot, how did you survive two shots? Whoever got you didn't exactly miss."

"I must be luckier than most. But none of that really matters to me now. It's not like I would shake his hand if I met him again. Whatever he wanted from me, he got." She pulled out the small stack of courier receipts from her pocket, laying them across the table for the others to read.

After a few minutes of silence, Veronica said, "Let's say we got off on the wrong foot…where are you two headed?"

"Oh we are going to be the biggest stars in Vegas aren't we, Deano?" Flora was all winks and smiles now, eager to move the conversation to something she knew. That is, anything but her past.

"That does seem to be our trajectory," he agreed. "Step two: Take the entertainment scene by storm. Step three: profit."

"And what's step one?" Veronica asked, despite herself. She had dreamed of going to Vegas for years. Catchy music, fancy clothes, and old world riches behind a ramshackle wall.

"Getting there," he replied dryly. What little he had heard from caravans and trading posts, the place was harder to get into than a nun; not that that had stopped Mister Domino before.

Flora was still in a bad mood from talking to that forecaster boy, and the cigarettes weren't helping. Once more she had that itching sensation in the back of her head that there was something missing. That she was forgetting something, and it was distracting her from the conversation.

'Well of course you're forgetting something, idiot…'

Flora suddenly looked like she had eaten a bad prickly pear, finishing off the rest of her smoke and putting it out on the palm of her hand. The pain was excruciating, and yet she only continued to turn the roll of tobacco, pushing it harder against her searing skin.

'It's all your fault…' She glared at the embers that still sparked at the end. 'You make me feel this way, and yet I can't quit you…'

"Uh…partner? What do you say?" Dean asked, pulling Flora out of her apparent trance. "What do you think of a little muscle?"

"Ah, hired muscle, of course," Veronica added, but it was clear by how eagerly she spoke of Vegas, that she was in no place to negotiate. "I do a lot of wandering too. Why not wander together?"

"Don't we have E-DE? Why do we need more tin?" Flora once again nodded to the armor peeking out from Veronica's robes.

"This isn't tin! This is—" she stopped herself, speaking barely above a whisper as she leaned in confidingly, "This is power armor with my own modifications. Better than what most of the BOS has to offer. This power fist? Also mine, also modified. If you had actually killed Anthony back there, they wouldn't've been able to scrape your face off the concrete after I was done with you," she added menacingly.

Flora laughed, more sincerely than she had in some time. "Fine, you can come for fifty caps a day, paid in pre-war money. But I think we are all interested to know just where you got that armor of yours."

Veronica had a terrible poker face, clearly unsure whether she should tell them. But it wasn't like either of them didn't know exactly who she was aligned with.

"Well…I guess that depends on how you feel about the Brotherhood."

Dean snorted. "Well Flora, at least there's one honest person among us. Don't worry sweetheart, neither of us has anything against those tin men—no offense. To be quite frank I don't think I've actually met one in person before."

Flora nodded nonchalantly. "Welcome aboard."

The three shook on it. After Veronica turned to gush over E-DE, Dean nodded to Flora.

What happened in the Madre, stayed in the Madre.


Cass woke up to the smell of something cooking. "Meat…" she said groggily, trying to get up only for a wave of nausea to put her right back down.

"Good to know your nose works, ma'am, even if the rest of you doesn't," she could hear a voice grumble. Or it sounded like a grumble. Who was that, anyway?

Cass peeked out from her hat that had been shading her eyes from the glaring sun. They were in the bombed out shell of a building. Some shade was provided by a rusted metal sheet, but just enough sun beams made it through, determined to get her right in the eyes. Getting a better look at the ghoul who was cooking molerat bacon over a camp fire, she asked,

"Who the fuck are you?"

With a slight sneer, Raul put his hand over his heart. "You wound this poor damsel in distress, ma'am. And here I was preparing myself to service my savior however she wished."

The blank stare Raul got from that comment made him worry she thought he was actually serious until Cassidy threw her head back and cackled like a coyote. He smiled a little despite himself.

"So I actually lived through that one, huh?" She wiped a tear away before asking, "So why are you still here then? Where ever here is."

He shrugged. "What can I say, years and years of only talking to mutants left me a bit starved for good conversation. Plus I owed you a meal, and you passed out before I could even start a fire last night."

Raul grabbed a strip of meat right out of the pan, cursing a bit under his breath as he shook the hot oil off of it before passing it to her.

"Eat up. I told you I owed you breakfast, didn't I?"

Cass took a bite, resisting the urge to groan at the taste. It was delicious, especially to a body that for the past week had been sustained mostly by whiskey or any other boozy liquid within reach. She noticed her gun lying at his side and suspicion immediately filled her. Cass certainly wasn't carrying much in the way of gear these days, but she did have a sizable bag of caps. But why not just shoot her in her sleep if that was his intention? Raul noticed her staring.

"Noticed the trigger was a little stiff. You really should clean out the barrel more; I almost scratched the inside trying to get all the caked soot out."

Passing her the gun, he explained, "I spent some time in Arizona a while back, made a Petro-Chico refinery my home. They had plenty of these jumpsuits there, and I figured I might as well learn how to fit the part."

"Oh yeah, Ghouls don't age, do they?"

"Not if we can help it," he said with a sarcastic shrug, passing the gun back to put her mind at ease.

"Must be nice being immortal. Maybe once I hit sixty, I wouldn't mind giving that look a try."

"Trust me, you would."

Raul seemed more serious now. He had heard plenty of ghoul jokes before, but at least they all seemed to acknowledge it wasn't easy being one.

'De nuevo, esta chica realmente no parece importarle lo que le suceda...'

Cass hardly registered his tone change, shrugging. "Yeah yeah, I wasn't serious...so where are you headed after breakfast?"

Raul licked his fingers, eyeing the sarsaparilla peeking out from her bag. He could really go for something sweet right now—hell, he could have gone for something sweet for the last five years.

"Don't really know. I figure they might have some work for me with the caravans."

His eyebrow cocked when a glob of phlegm hit the dry Mojave sand.

"Don't mess with those cheating bastards. They only care about the bottom line. They'll run you dry then beat you dead." Cassidy spit in disgust.

"So what would you recommend, then, ma'am?" he asked tiredly. He didn't mind her company— even though most of her company had been spent asleep—but he preferred not to stay in one place for too long. He'd had enough of that.

"For one thing, you can not call me ma'am for starters. I told you, the name's Cass." Now that her eyes were properly adjusted to the light, Cass looked over the horizon. She could still see Black Rock and the Quarry in the distance. They weren't very far away from Vegas. Hell, they could get there in a few days if they started out now. The outpost may have run her out, but even Freeside would welcome her with open arms.

"Why not Freeside?" she asked. "That dump is so run down, you could probably make a good living with the Followers or maybe the Kings."

"And what about you?" he asked, getting up to stretch his legs. They were sore from disuse, only serving to remind Raul just how old he was.

"Well the muties didn't kill me, so maybe the booze in Freeside will."

"I must say you have a rather morbid fixation, Cass, not that it's any of my business. Does this mean we will continue to be a savior and damsel duo until we see those tacky gates?"

Cass nodded, finishing her food and grabbing the sarsaparilla bottle from her bag.

"Let's see what's out there for us, Raul."

She popped the cap off, pocketing it and taking the first swig before passing the rest to Raul.

Watching her get a head start on him, Raul sighed as the first sugary sweet hit his tongue. After the bottle was half empty, his eyes began to drift to her ass. It swayed like she was still drunk, even though she hadn't had much except for water since they escaped Black Rock. Nope, he would certainly not mind being the damsel in this duo. He was an old man, after all; why not let the young ones do the work for a while?

He shook his head, pushing that thought out of his mind. 'Hombre viejo y sucio...'


Siri wiped her brow. Vulpes kept his promise. She had a tent all to herself to give medical care. It felt so good to be out of that cramped tent, and stay busy, even if staying busy was helping the enemy. The past few days had been filled with cleaning infections and poorly tended gashes. She swore, these legionaries did more harm to each other in that damn arena than the entire NCR. Sadly however, the soldiers weren't her biggest concern. The women here, while for the most part infection-free, were horribly treated. Siri didn't know what she expected. All the wives had a brand of some sort on their bodies, usually the name of the legionary who owned them. And no slave, male or female, was without scars littering their bodies from whippings or more gruesome punishments. Often she had to pry small rocks or scraps of metal out of the skin that had been healed over.

But the women more than the men seemed to take the brunt of the punishments, especially the wives of high ranking legionaries. Often the Legate's wives would come in simply to have a joint popped back into place, or something to calm the swelling on a particularly harsh welt caused by his bear-like hands. Siri, as much as she hated the man she was forced to bed with nightly, was almost grateful that he was gentle. Or at least, not rough in the way that Legate Lanuis was. None of the NCR's rumors lived up to the man himself. He was a beast, standing at least two feet taller than the tallest soldier. Even in the short time that she had been enslaved, Siri had already seen him order a decimation. Vulpes insisted she go to the arena with him, likely so he could prove that he wasn't so violently unreasonable as his peers—that she could trust him because at least he didn't do those things in front of her.

As if he was called by her very thoughts, Vulpes stepped through the tent flap.

"Welcome back, Vulpes," she said. He smiled faintly when she said his name.

Even after excursions, he never returned dirty, always going to his tent first to clean up. Usually he had Siri bathe him, but the amount of injured today had been higher than usual. He silently paced the small tent, examining the bags of powder, salves, and potions she had spent hours painstakingly crafting. At last he turned to Siri and she lowered her head, placing both hands on the counter before her.

"It looks to be a few more hours until the sun goes down, husband...do you wish for me to leave my post early?"

"There will be no need of that..." he said, taking one of the vials of black drink off the shelf. "Curious...as I'm sure you know, many profligate women use more potent mixtures of this as a method to avoid their designated purpose of child rearing. Strange how such a healing mixture can also kill in such strong doses."

Vulpes looked up to her, and Siri met his eyes, wearing her usual blank yet compliant mask. "Often when I am sent to gather Intel on the strip, I find pills of this offered to female guests, but the whores of Gomorrah especially have huge stockpiles of this, taking them after a day spent spreading their legs for the other degenerates.

The Caesar, in his mighty wisdom, has outlawed such practices. The women here are kept clean by only attending to one man as their wife. We do not have whores in our lands."

Siri blinked, and that was the only tell he needed. She cursed herself for letting the mask fall. Vulpes came closer, but left the counter as a barrier between them.

"It is most fortunate for you that Caesar is not familiar with these particular practices of contraception, otherwise even I would not be able to protect you from his wrath." He placed a single black pill on the counter.

Leaning in, Vulpes whispered, "I told him I would ask you for clarification on what it was. I intend to tell him later that it is to ease the monthly pain of his wives, but that it would be best for them to endure the pain as a show that Legion women are stronger than the profligates. It would be in your best interest to stop distributing this, wife. I personally don't know what I would do if I found one of these in my own tent."

His tone was quite serious, and there was no doubt in Siri's mind what would become of her if she defied him. Biting her cheek, she nodded.

Suddenly she felt a hand on the top of her head, feeling the short curls that had already begun to grow. She stiffened, disgust welling up inside of her as he petted her like a favored dog.

"I would like to see a great mane of soft curls on you someday, my wife. Truly you have beauty to enrage Venus...and I would hope the wisdom to match."

With that he left her, knowing the pills would be crushed and burned before she returned to him that night.


"I thought we were going to Vegas," Veronica said, looking wistfully to the tall buildings in the distance. Not even a half a day's travel away, she could practically taste the gourmet Brahmin steak and two hundred year old wine. No, instead they were being waved into Camp McCarran.

She didn't exactly care to be among the NCR, either—especially if any of them noticed who she was truly aligned with. Veronica hadn't fought in the Battle at Helios One, but many she knew had died there.

"It never hurts to be neighborly. Besides, surely you noticed the monorail that goes directly into the Strip from here," Flora explained under her breath, turning to smile seductively at the soldiers they passed. They smiled back, puffing out their chests, some attacking the combat dummies with added vigor.

"Yeah, but that's strictly for NCR citizens. Even Mojave locals have to pay a passport fee in Freeside to get in," Veronica said as she lowered her hood to hide her face.

"Everything is negotiable. You don't have to join me, I work better alone anyway, but if you don't, I might not be able to secure us three seats on that monorail."

Dean held Veronica back as Flora and E-DE went into the concourse. "She's all talk. Let that woman work her magic, and we might as well be dancing down the streets by nightfall."

"How did you meet her again?" Veronica grumbled, leaning against the wall and enjoying the rare shade from the glaring Mojave sun. "Not that you two don't make an excellent couple, but well...I mean...it's not every day that you see a woman like that with a-well..."

'Oh for fuck's...' "With a ghoul?" Dean asked, glaring at her from behind his shades.

"That's not!—well...it is, but..." Veronica was really sticking her foot in it now, struggling to find the right words but only digging her grave deeper.

"Looks like you really hit rock bottom, Deano..." he grumbled to himself. Before the war no one would have questioned him if the bloody Queen was on his arm. "Not that it should matter, but Flora and I aren't together. We are just partners. We met in Novac while trading with a passing caravan." He repeated the line they had agreed on. "Turns out, she and I were both going to Vegas for the same reason, now we are partners in crime…as it were."

Veronica nodded, still a bit uncomfortable from her earlier blunder. As they waited in the cool shade, a muscular woman walked up to them, her eyes trained on Veronica like a hawk. She was tall, but not as tall as Veronica by a few inches. She seemed to ignore Dean when her arm shot out, walling Veronica in with a smirk and a wink.

"Honey, you are some Grade-A poon...haven't seen you around these parts...you must be a local, hmm?"

Veronica lit up like a thermometer. "I ah-yes! Um what's it to you?"

Dean slapped a palm to his forehead. Seems like all he ever did was spectate these days, and now he had to watch this pathetic attempt at flirting.

Oh wait, no he didn't!

Dean gave them privacy, opting to go chat with some of the other personnel on break, maybe catch up on what had been going on the past couple centuries in his absence. But it was only after a few minutes of making conversation with a stuttering chap that Veronica came running for him again.

"S-she was really intense! I—I knew things were more relaxed out here, but—wow!"

"Need to go change?" Dean asked dryly, handing her some water so she could cool off.

"B-B-Betsy at it again?" Ten of Spades sighed, looking up apologetically. "Sssorry about her, she's been g-g-getting worse lately. Dhatri doesn't knnow what to do with her."

"I though the NCR was okay with 'these sorts of things'?" Veronica asked guardedly.

Ten threw his hands up defensively. "Oh w-w-we are! I-It's just...She only ssstarted acting really aggressive...recently. Sssorry, it's not my place to say a-anything."

Dean was already getting bored. Honestly, he was constantly annoyed with Veronica's bubbly personality, opting to ignore her whenever possible. Veronica looked concerned and stayed with Ten while Dean decided to go look for Flora.