Chapter Eleven – The Way It's Gotta Be

"You sure you've thought about this, pussycat?" In truth? No, she hadn't thought about it at all. In fact, the last thing Lola remembered doing was throwing up in the bathroom, and then hastily retreating under the sheets. She had the strangest feeling it was going to happen every time, for quite a while, and could also assume why; it was one of those annoying things she had to put behind her, or would have to eventually, and the best way she knew was to distract herself.

"I've thought about it for a while. Okay, sure, most of that thinking was done with a couple bottles of whiskey, but I think I know where this is going." While Benny seemed to feel the need to pack multiple items in a battered suitcase, Lola had no such need. Ideally, she wanted to get in and get out swiftly enough ... truthfully, she would probably need a pulse gun at the very least. How had he so delicately put it in his note to her? That she had forced his hand? Well, she certainly sympathized with that perspective now; perhaps the run-in with the Legion had forced her hand, too, because she was eager to do this ... but if there was one thing that Arcade had quietly slipped her as they had staggered back across harsh ground, then it was the most important item, the thing that had started it all for her.

"You planning on doing this drunk, too, baby?" She rolled her eyes as she listened to the clasps snap shut on the suitcase.

"I plan on doing this my way," She crossed her arms across her chest, marveling at how good it felt to be wearing her own clothes once again. "Because it's the only way we really have. Nobody's allowed up into the Penthouse but me ... so either I do what's gotta be done, or it never happens." She could tell by the somewhat stymied look upon his face that she had exceeded his expectations – an eternity away from the woman who had been hugging herself in a thin, silk gown the night before, and she had to take control. It was not that she did not trust his words, though questioned why she should, but she thought of this as insurance rather than anything else, and if anything at all went wrong, she still had the Chip, that little element of control that meant he was not free to do as he pleased just yet. She raised an eyebrow as he gathered up the suitcase, every inch the businessman ... one who would probably have to hide under a bed or something until this phase of the plan was complete. She wasn't going to tell him that just yet.

"Well, baby doll ... I can't say I don't like it when you take control." She nodded, noting how she was the one making the way out of the room this time, leading, unsure of how she would take the open expanse of corridor when it was set against the safety of four walls. She also realized how little she felt like she could truly depend on anything he said, still, after what she regarded as all they had been through. She always had had a penchant for being in complicated relationships, of the few committed ones she had actually been in ...

"Pretty sure I can show you how well I do that later on tonight," She grinned, tying her hair in a rough knot at the back of her head as they walked. Best not to give too much away ... although there was something she was still eager to find out. "You know what? Who was it that actually finished off Caesar?" They were barely into the elevator as she asked, but it gave him ample opportunity to pause. This time, she actually felt the need to look at him when he answered her, as though he was willing to withhold something, or claim false heroism.

"You think I wasn't busy enough, doll?" Again, she raised her eyebrows, leaning against the far wall of the elevator as it descended the floors, one at a time, not stopping between the thirteenth and the first.

"I think word might have gotten out. So who did it? Boone?"

"Kind of quiet cat? With the shades and the beret?"

"The one with the rifle and the real thirst for Legion blood, yeah," She didn't pause to consider the look in his eyes, as though he was trying to select a suitable assassin because he did not know the answer. She was not that stupid ... he would have known who came to the Fort alongside him, and he would have known who was missing as the gunshot was fired. It was easy enough to deduce the killer from there. "Cass, then?"

"Redhead broad with the temper?"

"That's the one," He shook his head. Lola already knew that it could not have been Veronica, she had been the one to fix her collar, but then that only left ... "Holy shit."

"I forget his name, doll, but-"

"I got it," It made perfect sense. The one to slip her the Chip had been the one to deliver the final blow. Ironic, strange, and not the kind of thing she would have expected from him at all; this aside, she was sure that Boone was arguing it out as much as he wanted right now, how his kill ... had gone to someone else. "Arcade ... who woulda thought it?" She grinned to herself, satisfied with the conclusion as the elevator ground to a halt. She was trying to imagine it, but somewhere, it did not seem to fit, or at least not so much as it might have had Boone been the one to deliver the fatal shot. It was amusing, though; the thought of him charging in there with his plasma pistol at the ready was an image she was not going to forget anytime soon.

"Hold up, doll." Not now. She didn't have time for stupid games now, not when they were so close to the exit it was … Lola sighed heavily and turned on her heel, figuring that if she could shut him up quickly, it would be that much better for her.

"What?"

"Didn't you think for a second that I'd be the one to rough him up?" Apparently, the involuntary grin that appeared on her face said it all for her. She watched him shake his head, looking as though he was going to reach for Maria, but he seemed to forget the gesture as soon as he made it. "I'm a decent enough scrapper, you know, baby." Another grin. It was not exactly as though it was something she could help.

"No offense, Ben-man, but a lot of the things I've seen you do suggest otherwise." She was, of course, talking about the fact that he had failed to kill her. The fact that he had hired the Khans to beat her into submission for him first. The fact that he had not even been able to infiltrate the Fort without getting caught. She didn't want to deny him the fact that he could aim and shoot a pistol when he needed to, but she had only seen him do it on two separate occasions. She made to continue walking, hoping to get out onto the Strip this time, but he caught her wrist before she could.

"I'm no fink, pussycat. How else d'you think I got to being the boss?" True … and she was not so dumb as to have forgotten that charming tale he had told her about ramming a knife into the former tribe leader's neck. He had gone on about it enough times for it to last her a lifetime by now, and she was not really willing to hear it again.

"I get it. You're pretty decent in a fight, but … well, the Strip softened me up in just a few weeks. The gambling, the drinking, and yes the fucking because I figure you probably know about it. So what d'you think it did to you, I mean … you've been here longer than I have." She gave him a meaningful glance, not really sure of what she intended the meaning behind it to be, but hoping it would either communicate her point, or else just distract him long enough for her to be able to wrench her wrist free. It worked well enough. Of course he would think himself much better at fighting than he actually was – she had met his type before, and while none of them had been quite as memorable, the arrogance didn't bother her much. Arrogance was something she could look past. Hell, she was ready to believe she was willing to look past just about anything because most of it did not even come close to being shot. I really gotta let go of that …

"Sorry, pardner, boss doesn't like visitors." Lola rolled her eyes as Victor motioned to Benny.

"He's my guest, Victor. My buddies, up in the Presidential, they'll make sure he doesn't get too out of hand."

"Strict orders, I'm afraid, pardner. He's welcome to mosey on out here 'til you're done, though." Lola knew that no amount of huffing and sighing would appeal to the robot, this time, but like a spoiled brat who could not get her way, she crossed her arms and turned to Benny, keeping her voice low.

"If he says you'll have to wait, you'll have to wait … I don't want to cause any waves before we're even in there. If I'm not out within the hour then feel free to charge in to my rescue but … how hard can it be?" It was his time to laugh in her face, so obviously payback for what she had said in the Tops that Lola had no choice but to take it.

"Pussycat, rest assured House'll only have the craziest tech in there. You sure you can hack it?"

"In more ways than one." She smirked in return, as she proceeded up the steps, not bothering to look back at him. Lovers would have exchanged tender words at the prospect of being separated forever, but Lola had never really thought of she and Benny as lovers. She had always thought of their relationship as something mutually beneficial, an agreement that got them both what they wanted. Love was not worth her time, even if she secretly worried about him; in private, she hoped that he was a much better fighter than she thought he was, that he had more smarts than he projected. But those thoughts were private. It did not mean they were lovers.

Of all the times she could have started to get nervous, it had to be now, when she was walking through those automatic doors, into the casino where a stillness, born of hundreds of years of emptiness, fell upon her, just like it always did. She couldn't bring herself to say anything as she marched in, trying to keep her head held high, because it was something she had taught herself to do; when in doubt, make sure you never look as though you're in doubt. The more that she thought about it, traveling up in an elevator that was almost pristine if still as cold and steely as the rest of the place, the more it sounded like another stupid motto.

She knew that she would have to make a stop first, not seeing fit to carry around her pulse gun and always tending to leave it in the Lucky 38. She wasn't looking forward to this stop, given how she and her companions had parted ways – the fact that she was putting Benny's needs in front of theirs had ruffled a few feathers to say the least.

"Grandma doesn't like you hanging around with that Benny, dear. He's not a very nice man." Lola forced a smile. In some, odd way that she could not understand, she disliked keeping things from the elderly Nightkin; she put it down to the strange fact that Lily could be so warm, in spite of looking as though she was ready to smash inanimate objects with a super sledge at all times. That, and Lola wasn't so sure what it was like to have a grandmother ... as much as she hated to admit it, it was a welcome change.

"Don't worry, Lily. I know how to handle Benny." Exactly how, however, Lily did not need to know. Lola edged past the Nightkin, a frozen smile still on her face as she made it into the master bedroom. Soon enough, she was rifling through the wardrobes where she kept boxes full of ammo, weaponry, and any outfits or disguises she could ever think of. Unfortunately, her habit of storing relevant and irrelevant items alike meant that finding what she actually needed was never an easy task, and so, there she was, rear sticking out of one of the wardrobes while she shoved aside empty 9mm casing and small jars of lead; any debris from the junk she had collected, always thinking it would come in handy in the most menial of ways. Needless to say, it hadn't.

She cursed herself for leaving it here, really, or at least for not separating out the contents she was putting into storage first. It should have gone something like energy weapons, pistols and broken weapons, followed by the ammunition boxes and then the jars of lead, with the clothes falling deftly from spare hangers. She had never really prided herself on her organizational skills, though, so here she was, trying to extract a pulse gun that she could barely even see from months of collective debris.

"Are you okay in there?" She could recognize his tone anywhere, sounding half amused and half concerned. Lola waved a hand back at him, signaling that she was coping, but she knew that this was not enough. Not at all looking forward to the conversation she knew would follow, she backed out of the wardrobe, careful not to hit her head on the way out.

"I was just looking for something," Arcade raised his brows, before pulling a familiar looking pistol from his pocket. "Yeah, that something. How did you-"

"I couldn't help overhearing the conversation you and Benny were holding on our way back from the Fort. I still don't understand why you insist on trusting him." She made to grab the gun, but he withdrew it surprisingly quickly.

"Who said I trust him?" She said it so quickly she almost convinced herself. "Just ... I have my reasons for wanting to go through with this. But to get through it alive, I'm going to need that pulse gun," She held out her hand, as though she was a child pleading with her parent for a toy that had been confiscated, but Arcade seemed reluctant. Once again, he showed her the gun, but did not hand it to her right away, even as she took a step towards him, doing her best to look as though she was pleading with him. Acting ... maybe she should have taken it up full time. "Arcade, please." She felt the cold metal, but his hand was still upon it.

"I want you to make sure that you're doing this for the right reasons. It's easy enough to see that you're a woman who finds power a difficult thing to resist and ... well, if you let it run away with you, I think we'll all be in trouble." Lola nodded, looking as though she understood, but it was not so easy to give her word. Ultimately, she didn't want much out of the situation, but she could not put her finger on exactly why she wanted House out of the way, either, and this should have concerned her. She ignored it.

"I like to think my heart's in the right place," She smiled, tucking the pulse gun into the back of her jeans and folding her arms, just below her chest. "And congratulations on taking Caesar out, by the way. I didn't think it was your style, but if he had to go ..." The smile turned instantly into a grin, and this time, she saw a glimmer of warmth in Arcade's bespectacled eyes.

"Let's just say it's lucky I know my way around and AutoDoc ... but, I daresay you need to be pressing on, right?" Lola nodded, turning away without closing the wardrobe door. It was not so much an awkwardness as the fact that she did not feel as though she could really conceal any more from Arcade – he was perceptive, smart, and she guessed that he could see through her little act already, he was just too polite to say anything. Nonetheless, she was not one to bother with a sentimental goodbye, given that she did not plan to die today.

Even as she looked out over the Securitrons, humming and rolling about like they always did, and examined the console on the wall from the balcony, she did not plan on dying today. Too much to live for, now. She sometimes liked to think that it was willpower that had seen her rise from the grave, and willpower that had made sure she hadn't quite turned into a quivering wreck at the Fort. She didn't much care for it, though. She descended the stairs without trying to cause a riot, although noted how sweaty her palms were getting, how suddenly, she felt much more aware of herself than she ever had been. It wasn't that she was having second thoughts ... but she did not like the look of all those robots, all of them armed with ... something. She hadn't really been paying much attention, and couldn't even recall seeing them attack – at the time, she had gotten lazy enough to rely upon her repute with the NCR to get her intro the Strip.

She descended the stairs. She closed her eyes for a moment as she did so, imagining herself in a gown and heels, not her usual attire or even something she would prefer, but it soothed her a little ... envisioning herself as some mistress with long gloves and beads around her neck, blonde hair curled and face all made up, the way that women looked in posters. The fantasy lasted for only a second as she came to a halt, ignoring House's address, because it would only make things worse.

She felt around in her pocket for the Chip, and withdrew the pulse gun from her jeans ... now, there was no going back.