Chapter 12: Smooth Talker

(Do not own Fallout, I wish I did. Just the OCs.)

Luna woke up in her penthouse room in the Lucky 38, sun shining on her and giving her a joyful sight to wake up to. As the short woman slipped into her "city clothes" she hummed a spanish tune, like mama taught her. Keeping her police revolver from the Sierra Madre strapped to the small of her back, and her gift .45 from Joshua holstered on her hip, she made her rounds of the Lucky 38. Boon and Cass were out hunting, Rex was with King, and Lily was doing tests with Dr. Henry, she knew all this.

She found Arcade and Veronica tinkering with ED-E, and left the two to their work. They've busied themselves with tech and each other's company. It was kind of ironic to think of how good of a match the two could have been, if it wasn't for the fact that neither preferred the opposite sex. Beside's, she had something of a falling out with Veronica, who was once her closest friend, when they learned that Luna met her lover, Christine, and never mentioned it. That was a while ago, and Luna figured...hoped...things would go back to how they were.

As she settled herself in her office in the presidential suite, she noticed Raul walk in the room with his fancy Vaquero outfit. Both being from Mexico, they often talked about their home and such. As he unslung his brush rifle to lean it against the chair he sat in, she handed him a cigar.

"Buenos diaz, abuelo," she said, smirking at the age joke. ¿Qué tal?" Good morning grandfather. How are you?

"Bien," he shrugged. "¿Y tu?" Fine. And you?

"¡Igualmente!" Same. In each other's company, they often spoke español to keep up. They already lost a large part of their accents, and the old man enjoyed brushing up on his natural tongue.

"So boss, I found a book for you, right up your alley," he said, passing her the book. It was pre-war, and mint condition. She gasped when she saw the author: Ayn Rand. She heard of the woman's books, but never found one, till now. It was Atlas Shrug.

"Got all that librarianism you like, if I ain't wrong," the old ghoul said.

"Libertarianism," she absentmindedly corrected him. She was always looking for advice from the past on governing her city. She placed the book next to one just as interesting, but more cautionary than this one: 1984.

"Boss...I have a request," he said in a tone totally different from his dry humorous one. "Don't go to D.C. The place isn't as stable as here, except for the immediate vicinity of the Citadel. What will we do if you go belly up? Cass keeps the place running whenever you're gone, but she can't handle the stress like you. Vegas can't afford to lose you."

"Relax, we decided long ago that we would me on neutral ground," she said, flipping trough NCR ball invitations. He seemed at ease and left wordlessly to allow here to finish her work.

She sat back, then began examining herself in the mirror. At 5'4, with boxy glasses and long, raven black hair tied back in a feminine fashion, she looked nothing like one would expect the most powerful person in the Mojave would expect. Her tanned skin and dark brown eyes were beautiful features she often used to her advantage: she always preferred talking to fighting. If a little seduction were to be involved...so be it. She was a practical woman after all. She did what was needed. She then came across a letter with only a paw print on it, then tore into it.

All of his letters were short. This one was no exception.

"Meet me at The Dome in Orleans in three months."

(Ok guy, one more chapter then we back to Fire for a bit. Hang in, and watch out for the Enclave. XD Till next time.)