Hope you got your things together
Hope you are quite prepared to die
Looks like we're in for nasty weather
One eye taken for an eye
- Creedence Clearwater Revival, "Bad Moon Rising"
"Say that again," Caesar demanded, frost encasing every syllable.
The young Legionary before him almost began to tremble. If he were in a better mood, Caesar might have laughed. He had killed the messenger on several occasions, giving the kid plenty of reasons to be nervous about delivering bad news.
"Two veterans have returned from the Utah. They say the White Legs have been butchered by the Courier and the Burned Man."
Caesar's snarled lip quivered in rage. "Bring them to me."
Seeing the recruit scuttle from his presence, the Son of Mars sat motionless and seething. If the Courier had, in fact, helped Joshua defeat Legion allies, he would have her head on a pike within the week. He had sent her, without escort, as an emissary to the Boomers weeks ago. Had she made a fool of him?
The faint sound of wood creaking gave way to an emphatic snap. The small collection of Legionaries and slaves that worked in Caesar's tent stilled and it was then that he realized he had broken the armrest of his throne. "Felina!"
Desperate not to enrage him further, she scurried to his side. "Yes, my Lord?"
"Find me a slave to fix this piece of shit!"
As she hastened out of the tent, the recruit from before returned with two hobbling veterans. The long hike back into the Mojave had left them sore and in need of rest. They did their best to salute their emperor, but he ignored it in his rush for answers.
"Tell. Me. Everything."
He listened with growing fury as the two recounted how the campaign against the Dead Horses and Sorrows had been going well until it quite painfully wasn't. Rumors had begun to swirl through the White Legs camps of a pale woman with fiery hair disrupting their missions. Taking months-old intelligence reports of the Courier into account, they had all proceeded with caution. Then came the evening when all of the White Legs' revered war totems had gone missing and one of their camps was left a smoking carcass. The following morning the woman with the hair, with the Burned Man at her side, led the Sorrows and Dead Horses in the complete annihilation of the two centuries of White Legs that had been in the Three Marys canyon. Only Salt-Upon-Wounds had been left alive.
"Fuck!" Caesar roared and again his staff stilled. "Where is Vulpes?"
"He has not returned yet, my Lord," Lucius said from his side.
"Fucking shit." Typical. When he needed someone they were already away serving him. "Get every available contubernium out in the wastes and find her ass. I want her alive!"
/
There was a part of Jordan that hated herself for not bringing Cass with her. She was all but duck walking through the Great Khan longhouse, Rex at her side, as she snuck her way towards Karl's bedroom. With Cass's bravado and penchant for fighting, she could have kept the settlement entertained for hours. Or, at the very least, kept Karl entertained. Her aching knees would have thanked her for that.
She paused as she reached the door to the Legion emissary's quarters and stole a glance over her shoulder. It was the early morning and most Khans weren't awake yet, but she knew Karl was. Jordan had seen him leave for a run some 20 minutes prior, keeping with the Legion's fitness standards while away from the Fort. She worried she would not have long before he returned and the last thing she wanted was for him to catch her with a red, empty hand. She could at least dance her way out of danger if she had possession of his journal, creating a scene and waking Papa.
Working her bobby pin and screwdriver through the pins of the lock, she was only somewhat perplexed to find how little time it took to break in. Jordan suspected Karl would not have been thrilled having such a low level lock on his door, but knew that Papa Khan was distrusting of anyone outside his tribe. He would have wanted easy access to the diplomat's quarters at all times and for once, she was thankful for his skepticism.
Stealing one last look behind her, Jordan ushered Rex into the bedroom and shut the door. Annoyed but unsurprised that Karl would keep his trunk locked, she worked her way into it with a speed bordering on reckless, swearing at the three bobby pins she lost in the process. When the last pin had shifted and the lock's plug finished its turn, she almost squealed in glee.
"Here we go," she murmured to herself as she caught sight of the journal sitting atop Karl's Legion armor. A smile formed on her lips as she flipped through its pages.
/
Jordan sat comfortably in a chair normally reserved for the emissary at Papa's makeshift dinner table and throne. She had spent the last hour reading through the Legionary's journal and was pleased. He would probably be dead by day's end.
The settlement in Red Rock Canyon had begun to stir to life while she read. Khans were entering the longhouse, preparing breakfast and washing up while Rex lay in the floor by Jordan, his tail thumping against the hardwood. As she had begun to wonder how much longer Karl was going to be, Papa exited his room.
Approaching the table, he regarded her with a curious look. "So, the cub enters the wolf's den once more. What can I do for you, Courier?"
Before Jordan could answer, a shout came from the other end of the longhouse. Karl had returned, sweating and panting, to find both his bedroom door and footlocker standing wide open. His string of Latin curses brought the Khans to a standstill, all eyes watching as his outburst moved into the main area.
"Who did this?" he demanded.
"What's wrong, Karl? Someone steal your precious skirt?" Papa asked with a laugh. No one else joined in.
"Someone has broken into my room and stolen something quite personal to me. I want-"
"It's truly some interesting reading, Karl," Jordan stated. Focus shifted to her as the Legionary moved to see who was speaking. When he found the Courier sitting in his chair, his angered expression began to pale. "What I find most impressive is the number of ways you manage to call them savages. I had no idea the word had so many synonyms."
Jordan rose to her feet with an easy grace and strolled her way towards Papa. Handing over the offending journal, she continued, "I think you will find this to be most fascinating, Papa. Particularly the part about the executions."
As the elder Khan skimmed through the little book, reading passages here and there as he went, Jordan addressed the group before her. "The great and mighty Caesar has sent you a liar. The Legion has conquered and assimilated 87 tribes, stripping all of them of their rights, their traditions, and their identities. Caesar has never had any intention of letting you be an exception."
The air in the room grew frigid as everyone waited for their chieftain's word. Jordan could see the outrage and flush growing on the man's face and wondered if he was about to suffer from a heart attack.
"Great Khans!" he barked at last. "Drive Caesar's dog out of our camp! If he's too slow to flee, kill him!"
Jordan smiled as Karl fled the longhouse, swearing revenge at the top of his lungs as he went. "Papa, I would like to speak with you about our relationship. May we speak in private?"
He replied with a curt tone and stiff nod. "After breakfast."
/
"Whatever your motivation was, I think we owe you a debt," Papa said as he straddled his chair.
Rex leaned against Jordan, begging for a scratch as she rubbed her hands on her knees. It was awkward to be sitting on the man's bed, but there was nowhere else for her to park at the moment. "Papa, I won't do you the disservice of empty flattery. I know the Mojave has not been kind to your tribe and I heard you talk earlier of leaving after the hostilities are over, but I would ask you to stay."
"To what end? There is no glory to be had for us here."
"I beg to differ. What New Vegas needs is to be independent, free from both the Legion and the NCR. Help me fight for that and you won't ever have to hide in a canyon again." Jordan hoped she looked earnest and not desperate.
Papa scratched at his beard and shifted in his chair. "What do you purpose?"
"I'm going to be leading an army of upgraded securitrons when the dam goes to hell again, but I would be forever grateful to have the help of your Khans. After everything settles, the Gomorrah will be experiencing a…change in management. I'd like you for you to run it. You can keep the prostitutes, but I want them well taken care of and for the chems to stop. I'd also like for Jack and Dianne to work with the Followers in producing more medical supplies."
"And what of our traditions?"
Jordan gave an impish smile. "Beating the shit out of each other? You can keep doing that." Papa's laugh was hearty and pure. Knowing she had won him over, she extended her hand. "So what do you say, Papa? Ready to come in out of the cold?"
/
If Crispus were to admit it to himself, he would not savor what was about to happen. The contubernium he had been sent out with had caught sight of the Courier leaving Bonnie Springs and managed to keep themselves out of sight, choosing to double back and set up in the abandoned rock crushing plant on the southwestern end of New Vegas. She was going to come passing by, unaware of the bounty on her head, and fall right into their dusty, sweaty hands. He knew it was an unacceptable opinion, but the woman had impressed him at Nipton and he did not wish her or her dog harm.
He was squatting at the top of a conveyor belt, just within the shadows of the structure's opening when he heard the Courier's cheerful humming. Turn around. Head north, he pleaded in silence with her. Get out of here.
To the Frumentarius's dismay, she cut through the center of the plant's campus, her cyberdog becoming more alert and tense as they snaked through the production lines and discarded boulders. As the Courier crossed the midway point, Fabius, a fellow recruit he had only met that day, stepped from behind an office building, blocking her intended path. She stilled, and as she turned to take in the others emerging from their own dark corners, Crispus could see the tension build in her shoulders. At her side, the dog lowered itself and began to emit a deep growl that grew louder with each passing second.
As the contubernium closed in on the woman, Crispus watched with anticipation as her fingers twitched, itching for the .45 strapped to her thigh. Someone was about to die, he was sure of it. She waited until the decanus was drawing near before ripping the pistol from its holster and dashing forward, gracing Fabius with a new hole in his head as she went. Slipping between buildings, she and the cyberdog bolted out into the open, headed towards the remnants of a small bridge.
The pair was almost there when another recruit grew close enough to shove the Courier forward, forcing her to lose her footing and tumble to the earth, her gun skittering out of reach. Spinning around in a whirlwind of dust, the dog launched himself at the Legionary but was sent careening into unconsciousness with a blow to the head. Crispus could hear the decanus laugh, assuming that the struggle was over and their victory at hand. Fool, he thought. In a flash, the woman rolled onto her back, teeth bared in anger, and kicked out repeatedly at an advancing prime. The decanus let out a whoop in his amusement and moved to strike her in the ribs.
What followed was a quick and decisive judgement that Crispus felt the commander deserved for his arrogance. As his foot descended, the woman grabbed onto him and twisted her body between his legs, forcing him to trip. Landing face first in the dirt, the Courier wasted no time pinning him from behind and ripped his head back. A rough jerk and she sliced through his neck with a knife no one had realized she possessed. The decanus died with confusion in his eyes.
Rising to her feet, the woman prepared herself for the next round, knife still at the ready while the rest of the Legionaries attempted to process what they had witnessed. Again she impressed Crispus, allowing neither fear nor panic to creep into her face as she waited. Instead, a violence glinted in her eyes like blades made of emeralds.
The prime, now the most senior Legionary, hurled himself forward, attempting to bring her into a headlock. To his misfortune, the Courier moved without hestitation, holding onto his arm as she swung herself out and delivered a deathblow, sinking her knife into his femoral artery.
Before she could release him from her grip, the Legionary had grabbed hold of her braid and wrenched her head backwards. It was then that Crispus stepped forward and struck her with the handle of his machete. There had been enough killing for one day.
/
Vulpes sunk into his chair and sighed. It had been a long day and a half back to the Fort. Without Jordan, he would have woken before sunrise, eaten a quick meal, and been on his way. With her, however, it had proven to be altogether different.
His eyes drifted open, the early morning sunlight creating a welcoming glow to the day. The expanse beside him lay empty, prompting him to feel for clues as to how long it had been that way. Finding the sheets still held warmth, he sighed. She was close by, probably in the kitchen.
Untangling himself, he slipped into a pair of pajama pants from a nearby shelf and padded his way down the stairs. The floor was cool beneath his feet and the air in the penthouse hinted at the crisp weather waiting outside, all but sending a chill through him as it moved across his bare chest.
Halfway to the kitchen, he was stopped in his tracks, heat jolting through his body at the sight before him. Jordan paused in her own path, wearing nothing but his tunica. With the curves of her body distorting its length, the crimson fabric skimmed the tops of her thighs, accenting her alabaster skin.
Mistaking his expression for anger, she glanced at the tunica and rasped, "I'm sorry. It was the first thing I found when I woke up."
"You should be," he growled. "The things I'm going to do to you."
It had been frenzied hands and gasping breaths that ended in a sweat-slicked pile of limbs on the floor. The sluggish shower afterwards and accompanying mid-morning meal meant it was around noon by the time he left. He had no regrets, but his progress had been further slowed by run-ins with cazadores and Vipers. Taking care to avoid NCR troops passing by the 188 had also put a dent in his time. Though he had been dressed in mercenary armor at the time, Jordan's souring reputation with the Republic kept him from pushing his luck. There was no doubt in his mind that Boone had gone back to embassy and regaled them all with how the Frumentarius from the posters had thwarted their mission and saved the Courier's life.
When he had reached the Fort, instead of enjoying dinner with Lucius and the others, he had been summoned to Caesar's tent. From what Vulpes could gather from his commander's raving, the man had finally learned about Zion.
"Where is that bastard's head?" he shouted.
"I left it in Zion, my Lord," Vulpes said. "The smell would have attracted too much attention on the trek back."
Caesar smacked his cup off the conference table and demanded to have a head to display the next time someone was assassinated. "I don't give a shit if it attracts every deathclaw from Shady Sands to Flagstaff!"
It was an unfortunate, heated reminder of how little Caesar valued anyone around him. Feeling frustrated and worn, Vulpes stopped a slave on his way back to his tent and arranged for his meal to be brought to him. When Siri delivered a steaming plate of coyote steak, carrots, and honey mesquite pods along with a bottle of sarsaparilla, he was delighted.
It wasn't until Vulpes stood from his desk sometime later that he realized something was wrong. His vision unfocused and the room felt as though it would take a roll to the side at any moment. Trying to reach his bed, he stumbled forward and braced himself on his bookshelf.
"You really should keep your things locked up when you're away from the Fort."
Vulpes gave a sluggish turn of his head, alarmed to see Felina standing in his tent.
"Mother Darkness," she explained.
"What the fuck have you done?" he slurred. Vulpes had been drugged often enough in training that, now knowing what was being used against him, he knew precisely what was happening in his body. Keeping a mental count of how long he had until he passed out, he forced himself to focus as Felina slinked towards him, every bit as predatory as her namesake.
"Caesar has yet to provide me with an heir to his throne and he barely survived the surgery while you were gone. Who's to say the tumor won't come back?"
Vulpes snarled at her exaggerated sense of importance. She might have been the imperator's favorite, but she wasn't his only.
"The best way I figure I can secure my place is if you give me a son."
"Why?" Vulpes could feel his consciousness beginning to erode around the edges.
Felina stepped forward and placed her hand at his hip. "You get me pregnant and you'll have to marry me. I know too much for you not to."
He wasn't certain what she meant by her last comment, but as her hand slid to the buckle of his belt, he threw an arm back. She stumbled and latching onto the front of her slave's rags, he yanked her forward. "You disgust me," he spat.
Drugged or not, Vulpes was still a powerful opponent and Felina stood no chance. He shoved her away, towards the entrance of the tent, and followed her clumsy steps. Without hesitation, he planted his foot in her torso and ejected her from his quarters. Unwilling to take any more chances, but knowing that he was about to black out, he trailed after her and grabbed a passing recruit.
"Take her back to Caesar and find someone to guard my tent." He did not have much time to explain further.
The recruit lifted the heaving girl and scampered away. Vulpes would talk to Caesar in the morning, after the poison had passed from his system and he could function again. His last thoughts before the blackness enveloped him were of the slave girl on a cross.
A/N: Damn it, Felina.