The concourse was so poorly lit that Dean actually took off his shades. Hearing a heated conversation upstairs, he decided to investigate, only to find Flora behind the glass of an interrogation room, staring down a man in what looked like a Roman soldier costume bound to a chair. By the looks of it, they were getting nowhere, but the soldier's face looked a little red. He was eyeing her with doubt.
She got closer, leaning in to whisper something into the man's ear. It was on the side away from the glass so no one could read her lips. As Flora spoke, the legionary became more and more nervous, when suddenly she flicked open a straight razor and the man began to holler, struggling against his bindings.
"Caesar doesn't tell us anything! I've done everything he commanded, I'm too important to fall on my sword! Curse the fool's paranoia—he's gone mad! I would have followed him into the flames of hell, and an assassination is my gift?!"
Flora immediately withdrew, exiting the small room only to be confronted with a furious woman in uniform.
"I thought I told you, you couldn't bring in any weapons!"
"He doesn't have a scratch on him. You got what you wanted, didn't you? He talked." Flora didn't bat an eye, ignoring the curses that came from inside the interrogation room. "Anything else I can help you with around here?"
"I thought you said you were a reporter for Mister New Vegas…" the woman grumbled, fishing out a paper and pen. She wrote out a rather large sum of caps owed before handing it to Flora. "You can refund that with Contreras."
"What can I say? I have a way with words." Flora gave her that signature smile.
"What did you say to him?" Dean asked once they were out of earshot.
Looking around to make sure they weren't overheard, Flora leaned in to whisper into his ear, "Caesaris ira ad te venit. The Legion has a real flare for the dramatic."
"How do you…know that?"
"We've crossed paths on more than one occasion." There was that same strange smile of hers. The one that said 'Stop asking questions. This explanation should be enough for you.'
But as Dean continued to get smiles and not much else, they had less and less of an effect. Veronica was so new to Flora's charm that she readily went along with anything the woman said, despite the rocky first meeting. Noticing his discontent, Flora sighed, pulling him into the nearest supply closet. It was only when she started undoing his trousers that Dean got over his surprise enough to stutter out,
"Wh-what the damn are you up to now?"
"You looked a little put out, Deano," she muttered, tracing her lips along his shaft in a way that made him shudder. "Thought I could lighten your mood. Are you really going to try and stop me?" Flora asked with a wink. "Last time I checked, you weren't that sort of gentleman."
Of course he wasn't, and she knew that. Dean leaned his head against the wall, letting his eyes fall shut as his hand tangled in her hair. Digging her nails into his ass to keep him from bucking his hips too fast, Flora felt another sudden wave of nostalgia.
'Damn...' She tried to distract herself, focus on the task at hand. The cigarettes she could understand—perhaps in her past life she smoked like a chimney, but this? Flora had been under the impression that she was a courier, not a whore.
Dean was beginning to make too much noise, grunting and whispering nonsense about Vera. Flora pulled back, looking up at him in mild annoyance. "Quite the romantic, Mister Domino."
"Ah, sorry," he said, clearly not meaning it. After all, they used each other; why was now suddenly different?
Flora sighed. "Fine, go on then," and she continued to suck his ragged cock. Whatever heat that had stirred in her core was already dissipating as Dean went on to growl about Vera some more, hips rocking harder and harder until he was spilling himself down her throat.
He didn't taste as bad as she expected, the radiation of his cum tingling on her tongue.
"What is Veronica up to?" she asked, wiping her chin.
"Helping one of the soldiers, I think." Dean fixed his pants and opened the door for her.
"Good. I'd like for you to do the same."
"You're really trying to get them to like you, it seems."
"And why not? What good is it to me if people have no opinion of me? Come now, Dean. You were a star, surely you know the danger of neutral attitudes."
"I'm a star right now," he insisted bitterly. "People just haven't been looking my way in recent years, is all." But he knew what she meant, watching her head deeper into the concourse to buy more supplies and refund the I.O.U. while he caught his breath.
Veronica was smirking at him when he found her. "Just partners, hmm?"
Apparently, they were even louder than Dean had assumed—or rather, he was louder—and word travelled fast. Or perhaps it was the fact that his tie and zipper were both undone.
"Fuck off," he growled. "What happened to that Betsy girl?"
"On her way to a medical clinic for some counselling. Ten is going too for support, but I think he needs help too."
"You don't seem too pleased with yourself," he observed, trying to move conversation away from his personal matters.
"It's...not about that..." Veronica said, looking down. "It's just...I've been seeing a lot more of the Mojave now than I used to and I thought I might see...never mind, it doesn't matter."
Dean decided not to push, but there was something about what she said that piqued his interest for once. Was she looking for someone?
"Let's see if they need a little more help around here. Come on, there's a mess hall inside."
"Rafaela? Rafaela! Dónde estás?!" Raul felt himself running through the pitch black of the night. His body became heavier and heavier, and realization dawned on him as a tiny figure came into view.
He spied the tiny scar on her leg, almost completely hidden among the blood, gore, and other bodily fluids that were most certainly not hers. His body fell, but he could not feel any pain in his knees, his shoulders shaking as gravity seemed to weigh even more heavily on his form.
They would pay. Every last one of them. To their dying breath, he swore they would know his name, his fury, and the demons of hell would shudder to think of the pain he inflicted on the bastards in life.
His eyes flew open.
"Rafaela..." He whispered, feeling a tear prick the corner of his eye as he surveyed the dark hotel room he and Cassidy had taken refuge in the night before.
His eyes fell on the sleeping red head, a half full bottle in her hand dripping whiskey on the old rug. He had insisted she take the bed. Well, insisted implied she actually put up a fight, but by that point in the night, Cass was already quite drunk, falling to the mattress and snoring like a storm. With a slight grunt, he got up from the couch, taking the bottle from her and setting it on the nightstand. For her sake, he didn't open the curtains, instead heading to the bathroom to freshen up. It had been so long since he had an actual bathroom to get clean in. Usually Raul had to make due with a bucket of already dirty water and a spoon. Here, he had a whole mirror, even if it was cracked in some places. Before his capture, Raul had always maintained a strict hygienic routine, even in the bombed out desert. Careful around the edges of exposed muscle, Raul scrubbed hard at the dirt and sand that seemed to embed itself in every crack and crevice—of which he had many since becoming a ghoul. Finding a toothbrush in the cabinet, he rinsed it thoroughly in vodka before brushing his teeth. Raul Tejada prided himself on having exceptional teeth, for a wastelander, ghoul, or otherwise. It wasn't like toothbrushes had been wiped out in the war, so it was your own damn fault if your molars fell out and you starved to death.
Raul cleaned the dirt from under his nails, eyes sharp for even the smallest speck. Next, he pulled out some agave paste he had bought from one of the caravans they passed. He grimaced at himself in the mirror. The sight never quite lost its effect on him. Raul remembered when he had hair in more places than just his upper lip. His mother used to harp on him endlessly for how much he spent on hair gel. Now he considered himself lucky that the mutants hadn't pulled out what little mustache he had. The scent of the paste helped to ease his mood as he spread it through the course black hairs, sticking them into place.
Cass was up by the time he left the bathroom, chugging water and stretching her sore muscles. She winked at him as he got dressed. "Oh, don't cover up on my account!"
She whistled, smirking at him when he made a fig with his hand at her.
"Why bother airing out those clothes if you're just going to sweat all over them again today?"
"So that I don't end up smelling like you, ma'am. Who's the ghoul here?"
"I told you to call me Cass, and I thought we weren't supposed to make fun of your 'ghoulish nature'?"
"You aren't. I can say whatever I want about it." There was a bit of bite to his tone, so Cass backed off. Raul had bought a magnum with the same caravan—well, technically she bought it, but who counted caps?—but now he actually looked like he wanted to shoot something.
"You know...I heard from some patrols that the NCR was having a lot of trouble with the fiend ring leaders. These caps of mine won't last forever, and you still owe me for the gun."
"So I should earn my keep, is that it, Cass?" he teased, but he was already zipping up his clothes and loading his gun.
She followed him out, pointing in the direction of the west Vegas ruins. Cass kept the fiends off his back, but as she watched him work, Cass found herself firing off fewer and fewer bullets. Raul rarely missed a shot, but when he did, he would scream curses in Spanish. Anger emanated from him, rage that felt all too familiar to her. He had been trapped for so long, was it just letting off steam, or something else? Whatever it was, it resonated with her.
Who had he lost?
She stopped herself. It didn't matter who he lost or even if he lost anyone. It was none of her business. Suddenly she felt herself thrown roughly to the ground. One of the fiends had managed to surprise her. Holding a gun to her head and laughing desperately. His gun clicked. It was stuck. The next second, his head was blown clean off and the rest of him was pulled off of her by Raul.
There was the fire in his eyes, but it was different, now. There was a sadness there, and something close to relief to see she was alright.
"Are you alright?" he asked, holding out his hand for her.
"Yeah, yeah, just caught me off guard, is all," she said, taking his hand.
"Not to make light of or encourage your crippling addiction, but maybe a little less whiskey and you won't be caught unawares like that."
"Har har," she punched him on the shoulder, a little surprised that his apparent killing spree up to this point hadn't bathed him in blood by now. Was he a professional of sorts? Couldn't be—otherwise how would he have gotten caught by those muties in the first place?
Raul kept a better eye on her this time, and they watched each other's backs. The pair was already causing too much of a commotion, the ones called Driver Nephi and Cook-Cook looking their way, signaling for more of their fiends to dive into the fray. But they were all just cannon fodder against the fiery caravaner and her gun slinging ghoul. Raul took care of them from a distance, but if they got too close, Cass was there to get them in the gut.
"You're catching up there, boss! And here I thought I would be earning my keep," Raul called, over the sound of plasma rifles and gunshots.
"Hell no! I'll be keeping you in my debt until I've got my own mountain!" she called back, laughing despite herself. She watched out of the corner of her eye…Nephi and Cook-Cook were watching them from a distance, whispering to each other and planning the next attack, surely.
Suddenly there was a howl, no—a whole pack!
"Shit, look out!" Cass screamed, turning in the direction of the piled-up trailer hitches and taking down two of the mad dogs. "Violet's joining in!"
Raul swore under his breath, cursing his knees as he belted for the two men. One shot, miss. Another and Nephi was down. He turned to help Cass, but she seemed to be handling herself with the dogs, so he rushed for Violet.
"Come on, miss," he almost begged tiredly, already very out of breath. "I really don't care for killing women.
Violet only laughed, taking a giant huff of jet before diving at him with her knife. Raul side stepped her, clipping her in the back of the head.
Raul stared at her body incredulously. "You had your gun right here…why bring a knife to a gun fight?"
Hearing a scream, his head shot up, and his blood ran cold. Cook-Cook had gotten the best of Cass, tackling her to the ground with her gun tossed to the side. She was putting up a good fight, but when the sound of tearing fabric reached Raul's ears, all he saw was red.
Now he could understand why Violet chose a knife. Sometimes, a gun was just too impersonal. Her blade in hand, Raul grabbed Cook-Cook by his greasy mullet, pulling him back and slicing his neck open. Cass rolled out of the way before the blood could rain down on her. She coughed, Cook-Cook had damn near choked the life out of her. When she looked back, Raul was still stabbing at his lifeless body.
"Y nunca se atreven a herir a otra alma! Espero cerberus te folla y lava derrite su pene en el infierno! Pagarás por lo que le hiciste a Rafaela!"
"Raul!" Cass pulled him away. "He's dead, let it go! Let's just take the heads and leave!"
His jumpsuit was ruined. Panting hard, he dropped the knife. Raul stared into nothing, but at least he was done with the body. Cassidy took up the knife. Most of the fiends were gone now, or too scared to approach the two.
"Go back to El Ray…I'll collect the bounties, go clean up…"
Raul finally looked up at her, then back down on his clothes. He thought these days were behind him…Black Rock had made him restless. Nodding quietly, Raul turned to head back but stopped at Cook-Cook's shelves. He grabbed a bottle of sarsaparilla before leaving.
Colonel Hsu kneaded his temple as lieutenant Boyd gave her report on the successful interrogation. Of course, Boyd was suspicious of all new faces; times like these, you'd be a fool not to be. But you couldn't just turn away every helpful volunteer just because they weren't NCR citizens born and raised. Sure, people of the Mojave were taking longer than expected to warm up to the NCR intrusion, but here were good folks willing to help. Suddenly a woman walks through the door with skills they need, willing to do jobs that wouldn't look good on paper, and Carrie was trying to push her out.
"For cripes sake, Lieutenant, she's a courier from the Mojave—an odd job man. She's probably pimped in Freeside for all I care."
"She said something to Silus yesterday. Something she refused to repeat, that had him so shaken up, he's singing like a bird—and this morning I find him with a bloody halo! It looked like suicide, but we both know he didn't just find a gun. Especially a gun that only leaves a .22 bullet and runs off," Boyd insisted, slamming her hand against his desk in frustration
Hsu got up to close his door, speaking quietly now. "We both know there's a mole in here. Now it could be Flo…or it could be the symptom of a pre-existing condition. So far Flo and her little troop have done more good than harm, so I'm liable to trust them. Besides, they have a ghoul with them. The Legion hates ghouls even more than they hate women."
Boyd was still uncertain, but nodded reluctantly. As if on cue, there was a knock on the door.
"Come in."
It was 'Flo' smiling like sunshine and sipping from a warm mug of coffee—or rather the wasteland equivalent—as she nodded to the both of them.
"It's about time I headed back to Vegas if you don't have another job for me? Don't worry, I'll have nothing but the best to report to Mister New Vegas about what I've seen here. Although, I was hoping I might get to take the monorail directly to the strip instead of a day's walk…"
Boyd and Hsu exchanged a glance, before the lieutenant sighed.
"We have been having some trouble with information leaks…if you could look into that, we might be able to get you three seats."
Flora's face lit up. "Of course! I'd be happy to. It won't take too long though, will it? I'm afraid I was hoping to use one of my last travel days to spend a night in the Tops. The performances there really can't be missed!"
The more she talked to the caravans and soldiers, the easier it became to lie through her teeth about a place she'd never actually been before. Well, maybe she had…after all, what she said didn't sound wrong.
"It shouldn't take long at all..." Hsu proceeded to explain to her that they had a mole, someone leaking info about their patrols.
"And it doesn't help that the radio control tower has been used for some late night rendezvous," Boyd added with a sneer.
"…And you didn't think those two things were connected?" Flora asked, hiding her disbelief well.
"Look, we have a lot of soldiers here who haven't seen shore-leave in months. I'm not going to fault then for finding some time for stress relief during off hours."
"Right…well I'll see what I can do then, sir."
Flora stepped out, going through the list of suspects, knowing that Boyd and Hsu would be watching her. But she already knew there would be nothing to do until nightfall.
ED-E chirped at Flora as they chilled in one of the fighter jets stationed near the radio control tower. The eye bot was nestled between her knees while she fiddled with his wiring, checking again to make sure Elijah hadn't tampered with him.
"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to…besides, we both know Domino isn't my strangest bed fellow," she muttered, peeking out the window, but still seeing no one. "And don't worry, I'm not replacing you. Besides, your radio beats my pip-boy anyway!" she added with a chuckle.
ED-E tittered, and Flora shook her head. "No, no that's not true! Even if you weren't filled to the brim with my things, I would have looked for you. I would have never left you with that mad man."
Sometimes…if felt like she connected with ED-E more than people. Flora didn't get it, maybe just because ED-E didn't talk back—not really. She never questioned why she could understand it, and she couldn't…but she always got the gist, as it were.
Retrieving a vial of blue liquid from her pocket, Flora smiled. That lab assistant—Angela—had let her borrow some equipment, showing her how to create more potent chem doses.
"It's my partner, you see. He's a ghoul, and he's been suffering chronic joint pain for years now. Regular doses don't cut it, and he hasn't gotten a good night's rest in so long…"
Angela smiled. She knew what it was like to see someone you cared about in pain. "Kee—I have a friend who had the same problem…but she never stopped working. Here, if you slow boil reduce the solution while adding five milliliters every minute, you should be able to get a strong enough dose. Just make sure not to confuse them with your own chems—ghoul levels of potency can be lethal for the rest of us."
Flora looked up when the radio tower light went on. "Show time," she smiled, clambering out of the fighter jet. ED-E followed close.
Flora slipped into the tower using the key Boyd had reluctantly given her. Signaling for ED-E to stay behind, she crept up the stairs of the towers as a familiar voice drifted to her ears.
"Go ahead, Picus, over." The voice was smooth, never quite able to drop its sinister tone, even when conversing with allies. Flora could not believe her luck.
"Some freelance assassins have taken out Violet, Cook-Cook, and Nephi."
"Damn…what of the remaining fiends?"
"Some are leaving the vaults in an attempt to resist against future NCR attacks, but an afternoon patrol is scheduled to enter their territory again at thirteen hundred hours—likely to wipe the rest out for good."
"…I will send a squad of prime legionaries to assist and lay out mines. What is the status of your primary mission?"
"Charges are set. In just a few minutes, the next train is scheduled to leave. But it will not make it to Vegas."
"Too bad, I was hoping to catch a morning train," Flora sighed wistfully, causing the legion mole to whirl around to face her in shock.
She pushed him against the desk, straight razor pressed to his neck as the med-x needle stabbed through his uniform and into his heart. Shock and adrenaline only made the chemical spread through his body faster until the man collapsed to the ground, eyes bugging out as his heart slowed to a near stop.
"Ave, Vincent," she purred, taking the mouthpiece and whispering into it like the ear of a lover. Leaning against the desk, Flora watched the man before her slowly die.
"So it was Curtis this whole time…"
"Flora?" Vulpes said over the radio, whatever surprise he might have been feeling was hidden well. Even with a different voice, her tone was unmistakable. "…Am I to assume the Frumentarius Picus is dead?"
"Soon enough. But don't worry, I won't get in the way of your schemes. I'm just a little disappointed that I'll have to walk all the way to the Strip is all…"
"That is a realm of degenerates. You would do well to stay away."
"And go where? I must live, Vulpes. And from what I've heard, a woman of the Legion does not live a life of comfort. You cannot tell me otherwise."
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
"Where do we stand now?"
Flore picked at the polish of her nails. It was a dark blood-like red—one of the ones stolen from Boone.
"There is one last loose end over here, but after that I'm leaving McCarran. Even if I didn't tell you, I'm sure a man like you could find whoever he seeks. Goodbye for now, Vincent." And she switched off the radio and set to work dragging the half dead body back to the concourse.
Dean was waiting for her by the doors. The concourse was fast asleep at this hour; even the guards usually posted outside the entrance of the concourse were gone, seeing no point in keeping watch when the train was on their end. Flora hadn't told him why to wait, but here he was.
'Ever the obedient pup…' He sneered at himself in disgust before noticing her dragging a man through the doors.
"Who the hell is that?"
"Captain Ronald Curtis. Legion spy, murderer of war prisoner Centurion Silus, and reason for the monorail exploding," she replied, motioning for him to help her carry him.
Dean had seen this before, knowing not to correct her, or ask what she meant. Flora found the bomb easy enough, laying Curtis down near it and putting her own silenced .22 pistol in his hand. She had no fear of him shooting her. Even if he had the strength to pull the trigger, he had seen Flora talk with Vulpes. She was protected by that association alone.
"Say hello to Silus when you get to hell," she smirked. "After all, now you will have something more in common than just being traitors to your factions."
Dean watched her tap something into the monorail's controls, starting up the engine.
Stepping off the monorail, she turned to Dean. "Try to brace yourself."
He was going to ask, hell he had plenty of questions. But before he could, the train began its departure, getting a good fifty feet out before Flora signaled to ED-E, who shot the explosive like a bullseye. They were thrown back by the blast, shielding themselves with their arms when burning metal shrapnel shot their way. Flora's fall was cushioned by Dean who crumbled against the wall, groaning in pain.
Vulpes was tingling in excitement after she hung up. She was back…his desert rose was back, and sounding even lovelier than before. Would she also appear lovelier? What metamorphosis had his muse gone through? For she was his muse. In her mysterious absence, Flora had never left the Frumentarius' mind. All he had heard before her disappearance was that she was passing though Legion conquered lands, only to be freed on standing orders from Vulpes. He had questioned Dead Sea endlessly on what she had said, laughing to himself about her clearly false story. The idea that she was a tribal was so absurd to him. Surely she must be a former NCR citizen who, displeased with their methods, wished to live in freedom in the Mojave. But even that theory had no weight to it as his spies in California reported no record of her. Did she have many false names?
Picus had been a loyal servant, but the thought of her tearing the life from him in vicious glory…he could not be angry. And what harm was one Frumentarius? He had been working within the NCR for so long, he had little use outside of it. After this latest job it would have been unlikely that he could stay a spy for long.
Yes…yes it was his time. He died like a warrior in Caesar's name.
Vulpes turned when Siri came through the door. He looked so intense, she almost made up some excuse to work late in the medical tent.
"My wife," he whispered raptly, though his mind was clearly somewhere else.
Vulpes grabbed her shoulders, kissing Siri with a passion she had not yet known from him in their short 'marriage.'
She still hated to think of it that way. She was a slave; not just for labor, but even her body was his to use as he pleased. As sick as it made her, Siri relaxed her muscles, letting him pick her up and set her on his desk. Vulpes' books clattered to the floor but he didn't seem to care, so overcome with his fantasy of the red haired muse. In his mind she was adorned in pure white robes of silk, gold on her arms and filling her hair. Her lips were stained and sweet like berries when he kissed her, her skin smooth and warm like sunlight beneath his fingers as Vulpes strove to grasp and stroke every part of her. His muse spread her legs eagerly for him, and Vulpes sunk into her heat. His mind's eye was filled with sunlight and wheat fields, gold everywhere in the rays of the sun, the bleached grains, and the riches of his muse.
"W-Who are you?" he shuddered a whisper, hand cupping the back off her neck as he lavished her shaking shoulders with urgent, open-mouthed kisses.
"Your wife, my husband…" Siri gasped, brow furrowing as she felt an orgasm loom despite herself. She always hated this the most, the betrayal of her body as Vulpes pounded relentlessly into her. But to not give into her bodily needs would only lead to more of the same until Vulpes was satisfied that she had been adequately pleasured against her will.
Her words only made him groan desperately, eyes shut tight as he imagined her flaming hair and rosy cheeks, moaning his praises, and holding his body ever closer.
Vulpes stilled himself inside her with one final snap of his hips. The Mojave heat was especially harsh that night, quickly turning their sweat slicked bodies sticky. Opening his eyes, Vulpes was brought back to reality. His wife was beautiful, but she was not his muse. He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips before withdrawing to undress.
"Bring in some buckets for us to wash up, Siri. Don't bother to heat them up."
Despite her shaky legs, Siri was quick to obey him, seeing that Vulpes was once again lost in thought.
As she scrubbed his back, Vulpes pored over one of his many ancient tomes, avidly reading the old Latin that was beyond even her expertise. Siri noticed his knuckles go white as he held the papers tighter, almost tearing them. Had he found what he was looking for, or did whatever plague his mind still elude true understanding?
