Luck be a lady with me

A lady never leaves her escort;

It isn't fair, it isn't nice

A lady doesn't walk all over the room,

And blow on some other guy's dice

Let's keep this party polite,

Never get out of my sight

Stick with me baby, I'm the guy that you came in with

Luck be a lady tonight…

Anatolius rouses from his fitful sleep, the radio he forgot to turn off earlier still playing loudly on the bedstand. Vaguely he remembers leaving it on to drown out the sexual outbursts coming from the adjacent rooms, and with a heavy hand cuts off the musical crescendo. Too much noise.

He blinks several times, taking in his surroundings, recollections of last night hitting him before the ache in his muscles. He'd been too tired to make it all the way back to his safehouse so instead he crashed in his room at the Wrangler. Not the smartest idea; but after starting a war in the southwest ruins, blowing up a house, and travelling all the way to Westside just to lose his only lead, Anatolius didn't really care.

And there was still the matter of the ghoul incident.

Rising out of bed, the Legionary walks over to the sink by the window and cleans up. The journey back to Freeside had been an uneventful one; he took the northern outskirts of New Vegas eastward in the hopes he would find some sort of trail again. Nothing. The last thing he wanted to do was start all over again… but if he wanted answers- and more importantly, revenge- he would do whatever it took to find her.

After gathering up his gear and stowing away anything he doesn't want 'housekeeping' to see, he goes downstairs.

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Aside from a few early gamblers and the occasional drunk hunched at the bar, the Atomic Wrangler is dead. A good place to think and clear his head. James is tending bar while Francine cooks on a hotplate in the back, the smell of searing meat drifting into the main room.

"There he is," James greets him with bored enthusiasm as Anatolius puts an elbow down on the counter, "My favorite ex-Legionary. What'll it be?"

He orders a brahmin steak and yucca fruit, then picks a booth and sits down. The food is surprisingly good, if a little overcooked, but the man barely tastes it as he chews. He didn't know what to do. She was out there, somewhere, but short of sitting in front of the Lucky 38 until she made an appearance, he didn't have a real way to find her. It would take all his resources and contacts to pick up on her trail again. By then, the mission would be over and he'd have to return to Caesar for his final posting.

It seemed his luck had finally run out with her. He kept reminding himself that there were bigger things on the horizon; bigger things for the Legion, for himself, but it didn't make him feel any better. Everything was connected. If Anatolius wanted his vision to become reality he needed the platinum chip, and she wouldn't simply give it up. He would have to kill her either way.

All's fair in love and war...

As the man stands up, leaving a few caps on the table next to his half-eaten meal, another man enters. Anatolius doesn't recognize him; tall, well-built, clad in a three piece business suit with a fedora tilted forward enough to cover his eyes. He carries a leather briefcase in his right hand. Gusting wind from outside blows in with him and dies when the door shuts.

A stranger, just like himself.

Thinking nothing of it Anatolius starts toward the door, passing by him. All of a sudden the man bumps into him. In a blur of motion he stumbles and their worlds collide- the stranger seizes his wrist and pulls him close-

"The Tops. 9pm. Come alone."

And as fast as it happens the stranger pushes him away. He continues to stagger through the casino, muttering out loud about 'townies' and 'classless idiots' in a way that made him seem completely drunk, yet the Legionary didn't smell alcohol on his breath. Realizing he's still standing there he heads outside.

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Out on the main drag, things are just as quiet. A sullen sky hangs over the slums, thick clouds of gray and black churn and roil in a never ending overcast. Almost like it could rain- but he knows better.

His mind is still reeling from the implications of what just happened. Something felt off about the whole thing, but he wasn't quite sure what. The man seemed well-travelled; wrapped in an air of faraway places, and that's what worried him. It wasn't so much who he was as much as what interests he potentially represented. Out east, Anatolius knew a lot of people, a lot of groups… and had as many friends as he did enemies. As he walked the broken streets he hoped it wasn't the latter. There was enough on his plate already.

Judging by the pale patch of light trying to poke its way through the clouds, hovering halfway above the horizon where the sun should be, it's about noon. Enough time to get his thoughts squared away before his second shift. Anatolius begins his preliminary benchmarking of Freeside's resources, starting with the food supply at the various co-ops and handout shelters. Careful not to rouse suspicion he makes a purchase at nearly every stop; just a Local buying food for his family, and after tallying the water supply and taking several notes he checks the gates for defensibility.

Pitiful. Freeside would fall easily during the second Battle for Hoover Dam as long as Lanius did his part and the inside agents did theirs- it was a key staging area, and if they held it early on then any resistance would be crushed before it had the chance to take root.

On his way back from the south gate the stranger crept into his thoughts again. Anato hadn't seen him since the Wrangler, even though he'd been across the city more than once. No matter how he looked at it he couldn't avoid it. Couldn't stop weighing things in his head.

He made a mental checklist of factions that might want to find him for any reason but came up short. The NCR were out of the question- it wasn't their style, even for the Rangers. The Yakuza could've followed him here after that little problem in New Reno, but he kept in close contact with his people there, and knew that wasn't the case. It wasn't the Brotherhood, either. Or any of the families. They respected him.

The Frumentarii's train of thought went east, drudged up distant memories he did not want to come face to face with.

The Enclave had all but been destroyed. He'd heard rumors of similar defeats from most parts of the United States; but Anatolius was there at Desolation, before he was a Legionary, and what he saw was still burned into his memory. The war that started it all. Avoiding those memories he kept thinking, knowing the Enclave remnant wouldn't use valuable resources to track down a single man- especially after the dissolution of the Secret Service.

But the Watchers would.

Up in their high-tech fortresses at the summit of the Rocky Mountains; the Watchers had eyes and ears in every town from California to the Missouri River and beyond. Mysterious and reclusive, he had dealings with them several times after the Enclave invaded Utah, and was even an honored guest at Mount Elbert. If they were trying to contact him then he was in no danger.

That left him with few options, and the only one that stuck out were the Red Foxes. But that was a different life, a different time…

Anatolius realized then that he was being paranoid. Too paranoid. He wouldn't know anything until he met with him, whether it was somehow a trap or much needed intel, or Inculta playing some cruel joke on him.. so he dropped it altogether.

As he returns to the drag, the wind whipping his duster behind him, only one thing is certain-

He will meet with this man…

And whatever the future holds, he will face it head on.

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A/N: Hey everyone, as you can probably see I've changed the 'style' or whatever you want to call it a little bit, I tried cleaning up the format and making things smoother. I hope the transition hasn't been too rough and that you continue to keep reading! I'll be updating just about every thursday until further notice :)