Dear Diary,

Looks like it's the end of sand in my leggings and poking for water from rusty faucets - I'm getting a lift to New Vegas!

I managed to find an abandoned shack halfway on my trip to REPCONN HQ. Which, I might add, stands for something I do not yet know. REPCONN. Huh. Probably a good reason as to why it's all in big letters. Not that I'd ever know, since I don't need to, since, refer to first line, but, well.

After barricading myself in with an assortment of chairs and wadrobes, I went to sleep. I had a dream. I was in Goodsprings, sitting on the hill where Doc Mitchell's house was, shooting at hordes of Rhondas charging at me. Then the Doc came over and started injecting me with stimpaks and I hit him with the butt of my rifle, and then he took out his own pistol and started firing at the Rhondas...

It was still dark when I woke up, and the reason for me waking up was Morgodore hissing and spitting at something, and the door getting pounded on, as if somebody were hitting at it with a slab of meat. The blows were slow and heavy and squishy. Needless to say, I jumped out of bed, switched on the Pip-Boy light and grabbed my gun immediately, just in time as the wood splintered and the feeble barricade gave way to reveal a sick, disgusting monster. It was something with a head vaguely human, with tendrils crawling out of its mouth. Its body was also vaguely human, and supported by some abdomen that extended along its back like a tail, and its legs looked like arms... The faint illumination from the little bulb on my wrist was enough to reveal how grotesque it was. I was torn between puking and screaming as it barged in. Morgodore whimpered and tried to scrabble up my leg, leaving a few scratches in the process. I activated VATS mode and let the Pip-Boy direct my aim. Time seemed to slow down as the beast's movements went from a crawl to an inch. Yellow labels drew themselves across my vision, pointing to its various parts, but I was too shocked to pick and choose; in a flurry, I slotted all of my shots to the head. My finger squeezed around the trigger. I was about to pull it back when a jingle rang in my ears, and there was the sound of a revolver barrel clicking right next to my head.

The next moment, time rushed back into its pace, VATS had timed out, and the beast erupted into a smoking heap. I would have vomited for sure if it had blew up, but all I heard was a low rumble and an only slightly less sickening slosh, before the beast collapsed on to the floor with a squish.

I spun around quickly. Standing behind me was a woman, dressed in not very many clothes - a veil, some elaborate headpiece with feathers, an extremely revealing vest thing that left her shoulders bare, and a jutting piece of metal on her right shoulder, which seemed to serve absolutely no purpose whatsoever. She flinched as the light shone into her eyes, and she waved irritably at me.

"Cut it out," she said, in a wispy voice that made me think of those thinned out clouds after a day of rain.

As soon as my brain made the connection between voice and memory, I got to my feet. "It's you. You helped me before."

"So I have," she replied, "so I have. And I am here to help you again."

I never did thank her properly for back then, even if the memories of that time were unpleasant. I soon fixed that.

"Don't mention it. It's what I do," she replied, "and besides, I like you."

"Okay," I said. I added for good measure, "Wait, what?"

"I like you," she said again. She sat down on the bed and crossed her exposed legs, in a way that irked me more than it should have. "You may call me the Lady, although Miss Fortune is popular in these parts and goes just as well. Calling upon my real name would result in my disappearance, and trust me, you would stand to be worse off should that happen."

"But I don't know your real name," I frowned.

"Then it will be the best for both of us," she said, her tone suggesting that she was smiling. Not that I'd know for sure, because she was wearing a veil... I seem to be repeating myself more and more often. "But tell me about yourself."

Something inside of me clicked just then. It was probably the reason why I ended up saying so much to her: for the past few days, I had spoken and been spoken to amazingly little. I've written dutifully, but it's just so different from actually speaking out aloud. And this Miss Fortune was the first human to cross paths with after leaving Goodsprings, lowlife scum aside. Not to mention the fact that she was an ally overshadowed whatever mysterious circumstances surrounding her, as well as the fact that she somehow managed to get into the barricaded shack...

I told her nearly everything - who I was, and where I was from. What I did as a housecarl. My role as the Dragonborn's companion. Select excerpts from our adventures. The events leading to my arrival on Earth. All the while, she egged me on with nods and harmless questions, and the more I talked, the more I started to truly remember - not quite remember, rather, feel - that Skyrim was my home. Up until now, all I had been doing was trying to leave Earth. But recalling everything made me realize that I actually wanted to return to Skyrim.

I also realized that I hadn't seen the Dragonborn in ages. That, and I do kinda miss him.

Damn.

Maybe it's because running for my life has been a convenient preoccupation up until now, but I think I'm getting homesick.

I spilled quite a bit of that to her, too. At the end of my little speech, she folded her arms and let out a long "Hmm?"

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Well," she said slowly, "the thing is, I rather wanted you to stay. You see, like I said, I like you. You have amazingly good fortune, and you have a strong spirit and sense of justice. Me, you could call me a vigilante who helps out the underdog. It's fulfilling and all, but I want to put down the reins." She took her pistol and swung it on a finger. "The problem is that I have to find someone to pick them back up. And I was hoping it'd be you."

"I'm honoured," I replied, "but I don't belong here. Obsidian said so."

"Obsidian?" She shook her head and laughed, a crisp burst like a chilly draft on a summer's night. "You must be talking about the robot. That was hardly Obsidian. I am more part Obsidian than that hunk of metal will ever be."

"Wait, so you're -" I started, but she laid a finger on my lips with the same twinkle in her eyes.

"I am not Obsidian. It and I are partners of a sort," she said. "We work together, but we're independent of each other. I mean... I don't want to go too deep into the details. Tell me, do you understand what are the administrator deities?"

Is that what Bethesda and friends were called? "No," I answered, "not really," which was the honest truth, despite, I would suppose, all the effort of people in trying to educate me about them.

"Then you're not going to be able to understand what I am," she replied, laughing again. "But look, we're getting carried away. Don't you enjoy the wanderer's life at all? Not even a bit? Think about it." She got up and began pacing the floor, continuing in a sing-song voice. "You'd be living with immense power. You wouldn't need to worry about food or drink. You wouldn't need to worry about radiation. You get to travel the wasteland, rugged, vast, and beautiful in its own, wild way."

She turned to me and pushed her face up close to mine, to the point that I could feel her faint breathing on me. She smelled surprisingly good, for some desert dweller - the scent of something like flowers clung to her skin. Her eyes were narrowed, and that look in her eyes, almost as if she were seducing me... which was totally wrong and off-putting. Just so you don't get any ideas, you hear?

"You'd get to deliver justice," she whispered. I suddenly felt warm and fuzzy. For some reason, I missed my quilt terribly, the red-and-blue patched one in my room. Note: remember to beat the dust out of it when I got back. Her voice was so very calming, like hot tea during midnight. It made me want to hug her, as odd as that sounds. "You'd get to help the weak and make your world a better place. Isn't that your dream, Lydia?"

"But my world isn't here," I recall saying in my muddle-headedness, "it's Skryim."

"Ah." She stepped back, a strange, not unhappy look on her face (or what I could see of it). "So that's how it's going to be." She sighed and added, "I won't lie, I'm rather disappointed. But I still like you. Tell me, do you really hate this place that much?"

Did I? That snapped me awake. What, was there another option aside from "hell yes"? This place was swarming with monsters that made dragons look like pets, and perverts and weirdos and death at every corner! There was the poison in everything, and the severe lack of necessities, and it was blisteringly hot all day...

"Yes," she said, waving me off, "but don't you enjoy the freedom? The choice to be whoever you want to be, good or bad? That there are no options barred against you, unlike in Skyrim, where everything is weighted down by consequences?"

"First off," I replied, "I have never wanted to be bad. That's not going to change wherever I am. Secondly, consequences are important. That's why they matter. Someone who can't take the consequences of their actions is weak, and I don't think I'm that sort of person. Not that I'm implying you are," I added quickly. "Because I'm sure you're not."

"I have never had to deal with consequences," she said with a shrug. "Luck has always been on my side. As it has been on yours. Forgive me, but I find those words to be rather big, coming from the mouth of one such as yourself. Why don't you prove it?"

"The way things are, I'm guessing I don't have a choice," I replied, getting up.

"Oh? But you do," she replied. "It's just that you stand to gain greatly. If you win, I will send you to New Vegas within the span of an hour. You won't need to make your way through Freeside, and deal with the Securitrons and the passport nor the credit checks." She looked at my face. I gave her the Look. "Let me guess, you didn't know about those?"

I didn't. She explained to me what those were. To enter New Vegas, she said, I had to have a passport, which is basically an identification document - which I didn't have - or five thousand bottle caps - which I definitely didn't have.

"So it would seem you have no choice but to accept after all, if you wish to get to New Vegas," she crowed.

"Just tell me what happens if I lose," I muttered.

"If you lose, I get to retire and you take my place immediately," she said.

"Do I have to wear that?" I asked, pointing in her general direction, making a face that adequately expressed what I thought of it.

"What's wrong with it?" she asked. She even shifted her feet a little to sway her hips.

"It's indecent," I replied.

"Oh, you. So old-fashioned. Very cute," she replied.

She took out a silver coin and pressed it into my palm. I examined it. One side had "50" inscribed on it. The other side was blank.

"This is a fair coin," she replied, taking it back. "Surely even you must know how this goes. Heads is the side with the number; tails is not. So, heads or tails?"

I don't really know what gripped me to actually agree to it, but before I knew it, I had blurted out, "Heads."

"You're rather confident, aren't you?" replied Miss Fortune, cocking her head to one side.

"I have ten Luck," I replied, for no good reason.

"But I am the embodiment of fortune itself," she said, and flipped the coin. It landed on her palm and she cupped it over her other hand. "You are foolish to try your chances against me."

She lifted her hand to reveal the blank face of the coin.

"Uh. Best two out of three?" I asked.

She stared at me and broke into chortling laughter. Her sides shook as she stumbled, giggling, nodding. After an uncomfortable five counts, she got up, saying, "Very well. Very well, dear Lydia. Two out of three. Will that be final? Not that it'll matter, but..."

"Go on and flip the coin," I said, clenching my fists.

She did. It was heads. She looked up at me, with those grinning eyes.

"Lucky lucky," she replied, and flipped again.

Heads.

Rather than going into a furious rampage as I half-expected her to, she actually took it pretty well. She looked at the coin and blinked several times, looked at me, and looked back at the coin. She shook her head, put away the coin, and nodded. That was all.

"You've won," she simply said.

"I won," I said. "So..."

"I will take you to New Vegas." She did not sound disappointed or angry; in fact, she almost sounded satisfied, which worried me a little.

I had to say something. I stretched out a hand. "No hard feelings, right?"

She took it and gave it a shake, adding a wink to go along with it. "Not at all. I was... cocky. You were lucky. And I will take the consequences of my actions. If anything, our little bet has made me like you even more."

And then I wrote this entry. Now that I'm finished, I'm going to go off with her. Here's to hoping that this'll be the last chapter written on Earth, eh?

Love,

Lydia