A pale silver moon shone in the deep blue ocean above, the brightest beacon among the endless sea of stars dotting the night sky. A gentle breeze whispered across the dunes and hills, hardly strong enough to be heard. The desert was deadly quiet and still, empty, save for the cracked asphalt of the road beneath their feet and the upturned, rusted husks of cars and trucks littering the roadside. The only sounds to grace their ears, aside from the voiceless wind, were the harsh thuds of their boots, and the scraping of talons against the road.

Keram-Rei ruined the almost magical atmosphere with a snort and looked over his shoulder. He was in the leading position of the motley crew he'd managed to arrange, flanked by Phoenix in her leather armor, hunting rifle and backpack to his right and by the tribal boy Follows-Chalk to his left, who was currently busy shooting furtive glances towards the black-haired girl. That didn't surprise him, of course, there couldn't have been two years of difference between them... no, it was the tribal himself that caused him to frown. Was that guy impervious to cold? They were out in the desert, at night, and he only wore a loincloth, a baseball cap, and his own tattoos. Barefooted, to top it all. Was he a Nord or something? No, Nords didn't go to war with a wooden club shaped like a horse's head and a Colt pistol. Not to mention, he could bother talking every once in a while, they weren't going to eat him for that. Well, the deathclaw might, come to think of it.

Behind them followed Eyes-Of-Silver in what remained of his Dragonbone armor, more craters than actual bone after his last little adventure, axes crossed behind his back and flamethrower slung over his shoulder. At his side came... well, that albino... thing. It was easily bigger than the werewolf himself, if only a bit shorter – but that was only because it was hunched over by nature and it walked on all fours. How that damn wolf had tamed the beast was a complete mystery. Keram-Rei only knew that he didn't like the way it cocked its head, licked its teeth and cooed when their eyes met. He shuddered and went back to gazing ahead of him. He would never have thought to lead this expedition, hadn't the situation been so dire.

Screaming-Eagle was out there, somewhere, all alone... or worse yet, not alone at all. He didn't know which of the two alternatives scared him the most.

Two days. Two fucking days had passed, counting the morning Screaming-Eagle had snapped and run off into the desert. He had decided to start his search before lunchtime that same day; he'd been ready in the early afternoon. Once Yes Man had transmitted the last coordinates sent by Screaming-Eagle's Pip-Boy to his own device, he had been about to set off. Last known location before her signal had disappeared within a mile-wide radius of an area thirty or so miles Southeast of Vegas, not far from a few small settlements, a Legion camp and an NCR base.

By the time he'd entered the elevator, Eyes-Of-Silver, Phoenix and that tribal boy had joined for virtue of being a natural hunter, knowing someone who might be of help (and wanting to get away from some trouble with Veronica, he suspected), and... wishing to travel the world while going all puppy-eyed over a girl his age, respectively. Well, he'd originally wanted it to be a quick thing, but having more people tag along could only hearten him.

At that point, since the implications of leaving that creature alone in Vegas were best not contemplated, Eyes-Of-Silver had decided to bring the deathclaw with them. Taking it out of the basement had been easy. To say sneaking it out of town had been problematic would have been the understatement of the century. Things had gone well for... perhaps five feet, definitely no more than ten. Then everything had gone to shit. People running and screaming left and right, whole squads of NCR military police threatening to open fire, Securitrons flashing their sirens and asking the crowd to remain calm while they readied shoulder-mounted rockets, Eyes-Of-Silver bellowing everyone into silence in some outlandish accent... damn, 'problematic'? Who was he kidding, it had been a fucking nightmare just to get that beast out to the Old Vegas ruins.

Maria had been left home to be safely watched over by Naeera, who had made it abundantly clear she had no intention to join. A bitch move on her part, sure, but understandable. She and the Archmage had never seen eye-to-eye on anything, and if the thief were the first thing to make contact with Screaming-Eagle when they found her... no, actually, it was a fairly smart move, nobody would like being glared literal daggers at while they were flayed alive. The doctor, Arcade, had decided to stay, if only to monitor the comatose redhead cowgirl Eyes-Of-Silver had brought in and keep an eye on Naeera before she did anything stupid. And then, well...

Then there was Graham.

Joshua motherfucking Graham. Best buds with Caesar up until four years ago, when his former boss had been so disappointed with the result of the Battle of Hoover Dam and the Boulder City fiasco as to cover his friend in pitch, light him on fire, and throw him into the Grand Canyon to show his armies nobody fucked with him. Akatosh knew how in the name of fuck Eyes-Of-Silver had stumbled upon him and offered him hospitality, along with some tribals, a vaguely Asian-looking guy with a broad hat named Daniel and that gods-damn albino demon. He could deal with some tribesmen, or even a deathclaw... but the repentant former Legate of the entire Legion? Really?

Okay, he had to say that guy was pretty calm and not the hateful prick he'd imagined, maybe horrendous agony and third-degree burns all over his body had changed him in some way. He wasn't a big fan of the Legion now, that much was sure. Still, something didn't sit right with the battlemage. Joshua Graham had been the cause of a good half of the problems plaguing Nevada and California, and had basically helped create the Legion itself as one of its most ruthless leaders – he couldn't have just been sorry about the whole deal, snapped his fingers and decided to abandon everything about his past self while going all religious one Sundas morning. Or Sunday on this world, whatever.

At any rate, the only people who trusted him were the ones who had come with him to the Lucky 38 – and now that was only the boy, Follows-Chalk, who considered him to be some kind of warrior-prophet. Daniel and one of the women (Waking... something) had heard of Arcade's group and had chosen to give a hand with the sick and wounded in Freeside, while the Followers would teach the other woman and the two kids some proper English, maybe help them with whatever they might need. All six of them only had respect for him, saw him as a wise leader.

As for everyone else... well, they avoided Graham like the plague. Maria was scared out of her mind, Arcade had refused to live on the same floor as he, Phoenix had almost had a seizure, Veronica had slammed her door in his face, Eyes-Of-Silver had begun to regret his decision, and he wasn't too sure Naeera hadn't already threatened or outright killed him while they were away. Not to mention, those fifteen seconds they had met, Screaming-Eagle had flung him into a solid metal railing so hard his body had bent it. Divines knew how that guy hadn't broken his back, or a few ribs. Then again, he'd survived being set on fire and falling into the Grand Canyon. Wouldn't be surprising if he were bulletproof and that vest was there just for show.

Keram-Rei blew out a grudging sigh at the thought of having to deal with that man again, or with how everyone else wanted to be rid of him, or with Treads-In-Gloom simply existing...

Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's mutual when it comes to your rants, you little whiny bitch. Are you done giving context to the scene, so we can move the story forward?

Precisely.

Back to more immediate matters before he popped a vein or started headbutting the nearest wreckage.

He turned to Phoenix with something very vaguely reminiscent of nonchalance, and much closer to worry and a bit of paranoia. No thinking about the mummy tutting at the mention of magic and Gods or that white monster behind his back chewing on his leg for the time being, that only made things worse. "Are you sure this guy's not going to kill us the moment he sees us?"

"Relax, he knows me." She waved him off. She flashed him a smirk, her green eyes sparkling with a hope he wasn't quite sure he shared. "He owes me, he won't shoot."

Oh, now that is reassuring.

He ran a resigned hand through his red feathers. Sure, if a sixteen year old told him so, then there was nothing to worry about. After all, it wasn't like only two people out of five in that party were actual humans, while the other two were reptiles considered to untrustworthy by the NCR and mortal enemies by the Legion... oh, right, and the last member of the party was a gods-damn deathclaw, deadliest creature this side of the fucking world. "I hope you're right..."

"She is right, 'twould be an utterly idiotic move to even consider opening fire on us." Eyes-Of-Silver assured him with a pat of his huge hand on the shoulder. Okay, coming from him, that actually sounded believable. The werewolf was about as blunt as a sledgehammer when it came to anything. "The only weapons that may prove of any use in readily despatching our group would be the sort usually mounted on military vehicles and aircraft, or perhaps a rather large Fat Man." He gave them a smirk that he'd probably intended as reassuring; it just came off as grim. "We are well-spaced, the wrecks around us provide plenty of cover, and our deathclaw's hide is quite possibly thicker than that of a Dragon – our attacker would get away with eliminating one, perhaps two of us before being overwhelmed and brutally slaughtered. So, unless Phoenix's mysterious friend is either a Fiend or a legionary, we should receive no offense." He hummed thoughtfully. "That is, if he is not leading a garrison comprised of several armed men complete with sniper nests, fire support from mortars, vehicles and-"

"Thanks, Eyes-Of-Silver." Keram-Rei cut him off, stalling him and his increasingly worrying predictions. That had stopped being reassuring after the second sentence – the bit about mortars made his scales crawl. He turned around and gave him a nervous smile to make sure he stopped stroking his jaw and listing every possible death that may be waiting for them. "That was really... helpful. And detailed."

"Come on, don't listen to him and just stop worrying already." Phoenix snickered in a tone that reminded him way too much of Naeera. She punched him on the arm, and grinned at the way he furrowed his spiked brows. "It's not a damn Pre-War U.S. Army base, it's a village! There's fifty people living there, tops, and two thirds are really old folk anyway." She playfully pushed him away. "We meet my friend, I convince him, and he takes us to Screaming-Eagle, easy as that."

"Whatever you say." Keram-Rei huffed. He should have just shut up, would have kept him more at ease. She was right, though. Why would this village be so special as to leave him speechless?

Okay, I'm... officially at a loss. I don't know what to say.

This was one of the few times he could actually agree with Treads-In-Gloom on any given thing. He could understand everything. The ancient motel repurposed into a sort of apartment building, the series of old Pre-War prefabs supposedly inhabited by old people, the diseased two-headed cows he had started to see pretty much everywhere – even the putrid corpse of a headless old lady left to rot by the side of the road. He could deal with all of that. Even waiting for Phoenix to return from her persuasion attempt while they stood on a highway overpass that felt like the most unsafe place in the world was fine with him. So long as they got to Screaming-Eagle quicker that way, he could accept almost everything.

But why the fuck was a sixty feet tall T-Rex holding a thermometer with the word 'MOTEL' written on it?

Beats me, and I've seen a lot of weird shit in my day.

For the first time in well over a day, Follows-Chalk made a noise. It was a choked little sound, a mixture of admiration and accomplishment. His eyes lit up with awe as he stared at the rusty statue. "Is... is that... a giant thunder lizard?"

"No, 'tis the most inaccurate bloody thing I have ever seen." Eyes-Of-Silver scoffed, arms folded across his chest and scarred thin lips set in a grimace, as though the statue's very existence were a personal affront. "The Tyrannosaurus Rex was an apex predator in North America during the Cretaceous Period. Most important of all, 'twas feathered. It certainly did not resemble a toy for toddlers." He waved a hand in the direction of the deathclaw to his right, who was currently... regarding the T-Rex thing with scorn, growls bubbling in the back of its throat. "Bloody Oblivion, look! Even Sirris understands this thing is atrocious!"

"Can't we all just agree it looks ugly and... wait a second, what?" Keram-Rei spluttered, his wide eyes focused on the werewolf. He gestured towards the creature at his side, then towards him. Sirris... he took hold of his horns and groaned in exasperation. "Oh, by Kynareth's holy... you gave it a name?"

Reminds me of a knightess I met someplace else...

"First of all, Keram-Rei, I would rather you referred to Sirris as a her, not an it." Eyes-Of-Silver corrected him, the leftovers of his annoyance still audible as he explained his insane decision to the battlemage. "Secondly, yes, of course I did. I could not possibly keep on calling her 'deathclaw' or 'stupid slag' for the rest of eternity now, could I? 'Tis better this way. Sirris is a rather prepossessive name for a creature I met in the moonlight, it has a... 'nice ring to it', as you would say." He chuckled, glancing back at... her and grinning. "Besides, now that she is not in heat any longer and she has stopped harassing me, I have to say she makes for a fine pet. Hunting is a much more enjoyable experience when shared with another beast, and her senses are as acute as mine, if not more. She has also shown me new hunting grounds, teeming with wildlife upon which we may prey. She is quite useful."

Keram-Rei's jaw felt like it could come unhinged. He... he honestly had no way to reply to what he had just heard. He had to work his mouth and prod his brain for a few seconds before he could actually come up with an answer to it, and do so without screaming it. "Okay... let me get this straight." He pointed an accusing finger towards the deathclaw, Sirris; in response, she trilled in curiosity at her mention. He suppressed a shiver. "You're telling me that thing is a... good pet, and now she has a woman's name because it sounds nice. That is what you're telling me right now with a straight face."

Please don't throw a fit...

Eyes-Of-Silver blinked. He shrugged, obviously not understanding the reason for his hanging jaw. "That is correct."

… You're totally throwing a fit.

"I... you... it's a fucking deathclaw!" Keram-Rei blurted out, unsure whether to rip his feathers out or punch the werewolf in the teeth (or himself to silence the vampire). "It's the most dangerous predator ever!This makes no gods-damn sense, it's... we live in Vegas! What kind of lunatic keeps a fucking deathclaw in a casino's basement, where it could get out and kill everyone outside?!" He spread his arms out in bewilderment. "What's next, we're gonna have a half-robot dog that drives army trucks and got here through teleporter?" He bared his fangs and narrowed his eyes on the werewolf, no matter if both he and his 'pet' were frowning at him in what appeared to be puzzlement. He had no intention of stopping from speaking his mind about the whole deal. He'd had enough."That thing is one of the reasons we're looking for Screaming-Eagle in the first place, Eyes-Of-Silver! AND YOU GAVE IT A FUCKING NAME! YOU NAMED A MOTHERFUCKING-"

"DEATHCLAW!"

"I KNOW WHAT THE FUCK IT IS, I'M NOT AN IDIOT!" Keram-Rei snarled in reply, his head snapping around to meet the idiot who'd interrupted him. He glared daggers at the bald black man in pajamas gawping at them from behind the town's chain-link gate. "OF COURSE IT'S A FUCKING DEATHCLAW, JUST LOOK AT THAT UGLY BITCH! LOOK AT IT! THAT THING IS ONE OF THE REASONS I'M GOING INSANE, AND YOU'RE NOT HELPING IN THE SLIGHTEST, BUDDY!" He directed his rage to the heavens with a wordless shout, arms raised as if to rip the stars down and stomp them shut one by one. "GODS-FUCKING-DAMMIT, THE ONLY SANE PERSON I EVER FUCKING KNEW WAS SO FED UP WITH THIS BULLSHIT SHE LEFT! WHEN THE FUCK HAS MY LIFE GONE SO WRONG?! I WAS SO HAPPY BACK IN SKYRIM, BUT NOOOOO, I JUST HAD TO PULL THAT FUCKING LEVER AND MAGICALLY WAKE UP IN THIS SHITHOLE! I HATE THIS WORLD!"

His arms fell down his sides, his shoulders slumped along with them. His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath he took, his throat ached from all the shouting, his heart's pounding started to slow back to normal when his rage began to dissipate. He clacked his tongue and swallowed. This... that weight he had been feeling, somewhere between his throat and his sternum, was gone. He'd needed it, a way to express what he felt, explode now so that he didn't do so later and eviscerate someone with a teaspoon. The little crowd gathering behind the gate, staring at their freak show and at him recovering... worth it. Yes, sure, everyone was looking at him like he'd gone insane in addition to the usual rubbernecking he got outside of Vegas for simply being Argonian. He was sure Follows-Chalk was adding his own dumbfounded look behind his back, too.

A fit of hysteric giggles broke out inside of his mind.

An enormous hand covered his right shoulder, weighing him down. It remained there for a moment or two, in silence, up until the moment a mountain cleared his throat. "Are you... feeling quite all right, Keram-Rei?"

"Yeah." Keram-Rei breathed. He closed his eyes and let out a long, quiet breath, setting aside everything around him save for the werewolf's words and hand. "All better."

Heh, I... ha-ha, I'm better alright...

"That is most certainly good to hear, yet, ah..." Eyes-Of-Silver trailed off, obviously unsure of what to say. He liked to think he wasn't barely holding back laughter. "Could your next breakdown please wait until we are a good kilometre or two away from any and all forms of civilization?" He paused to draw in a shivering breath. He definitely did not titter. "That was rather embarrassing to witness. You were as powerlessly raging as an overturned tortoise about to-"

"Don't." Keram-Rei deadpanned, facing about to stare into his quicksilver eyes. He ignored the two feet and the hundreds of pounds he had on him. He simply raised his index finger, and held it in front of the werewolf's nigh-scaleless snout. "Just don't. Stop it. Please. Everyone."

Finally. Some silence, peace, quiet, and time to-

"I'm gone for five minutes, and this happens?"

Keram-Rei did his best not to take Phoenix's words to heart. It was all cool, he'd vented everything he had to vent, no reason to get even angrier now. He slowly, slowly turned around to meet the girl's puzzled eyes and her even more puzzled slack jaw from all the way across the road. She pinched the bridge of her nose and drew her head back to stare into the night sky, then let out a tired huff and scurried over to them, her eyes never leaving the ground out of... embarrassment, most likely. Like she was the one who'd lost it and everyone was looking at in the first place.

The man to her right was, in turn, the exact opposite of her in... everything. Dressed in khaki pants, black combat boots, a white t-shirt and a tan leather jacket, his step was more akin to a military march, his posture proud, almost stiff. His expression was set in stone, squared jaw locked in place, features immobile in their blankness, eyes covered by a pair of mirrored sunglasses. He wasn't particularly imposing, nor too tall, but he had all the air of a man who meant business. With the scoped rifle held at ease across his chest and the crimson 1st Recon beret donned over his shaved head added to the picture, he seemed like the sort of guy nobody wanted to mess with... unless they were feeling particularly stupid or suicidal, that was.

"Okay, right, presentations are gonna be real quick because I wanna get out of here before anyone starts talking about what just happened." Phoenix explained in one breath as soon as she reached them, always careful not to turn towards the now-murmuring crowd. She gestured quickly towards her new companion. "Guys, this is my friend, Boone."

"We're not friends." The man growled. It wasn't hostile or anything, his voice just had the sound of gravel being ground under a tank's treads. If he was surprised in any way by the unlikely quartet before his concealed eyes, he didn't show it in the slightest. "You helped me, I'm returning the favor."

"Yeah, anyway... Boone, these are my friends." Phoenix continued in a hushed voice. She pointed at each of them and then went back to 'Boone'. Didn't really sound like a name, more like a surname... whatever. "They're Follows-Chalk, Keram-Rei, Eyes-Of-Silver, and our deathclaw."

"You've already told me." Boone grunted impassively. He looked at each of them – even the deathclaw – and considered them all for a moment. His greatest display of emotion was raising his left eyebrow for an instant before he turned back to the girl. "I still think you're insane. What do you need?"

"I'm the one who put this all together, so..." Keram-Rei grumbled, unsure on what expression to show. He had mixed feelings about this guy. On one hand, he wasn't asking any obvious questions or going 'whoa, dude, deathclaws/aliens' all the time, and that was a sweet relief... but on the other, he was about as emotionless as a Securitron, and just as interested in the matter as one of the cursed robots.

He suppressed a smirk. Well, time to put that to the test. "Look, we wouldn't be here if there had been any trail for our deathclaw and werewolf to follow, so we're asking you. Have you seen a woman that looks like me, but with red scales and without a tail, dressed in gray robes, riding the burning skeleton of a black horse on the way here?"

Well, that was... believable.

Boone tilted his head and lowered his glasses just enough to scowl at Phoenix, who started giggling like crazy. He then put them back in place, turned towards him with a quiet sigh, and gave him a minuscule shake of his head. "No."

Keram-Rei waited for him to go on. When it was clear he had nothing else to say, he frowned, hard. "That's it?"

"Yes." Boone answered, nodding slightly. "Haven't seen her."

Keram-Rei blinked. He... no, okay, he was too confused to actually get mad this time. Was this Phoenix's idea of 'a guy who could help'? A man who talked in simple sentences and monosyllables and seemed to have virtually no desire to give a hand whatsoever? This guy? "And... any idea where we might, I dunno, start looking?" He shrugged, unsure of what else to do. "Know anyone who might be of help?"

Boone nodded again. This time, it wasn't as clipped as before, it held more... unspoken regret to it. His posture tensed, and the muscles on his jaw bulged ever so slightly, making it clear he didn't like where this was going. "Yes, but you're going to need me." He turned towards the girl one more time to scowl. "I hate you, Phoenix."

"DEATHCLAWS!"

Gods-fucking-dammit.

Well, to be fair, none of this would be happening if the dog hadn't brought that... little receptacle of beauty along.

Keram-Rei strangely found himself in agreement, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He put his hands in the air when he heard the unmistakable clacks of rifles being cocked ready, followed by everyone else with him – save for the deathclaw herself, Sirris. The creature merely stayed behind her owner... master... Eyes-Of-Silver and limited herself to mimicking whatever he did. The battlemage pretended to ignore the blinding glare of the flashlights being shoved in his face for the sake of keeping this civil and not getting anyone killed. Their relationships with the NCR were rickety enough already, no need for another incident to ruin them forever.

It had taken them an hour or two of awkward silence to get to this place Boone had led them to, a forward base called 'Camp Forlorn Hope'. It wasn't particularly large, nor did it remind him of any other camp he had ever seen. Camp McCarran was recognizable, it was huge despite its ugliness – a whole fucking airport repurposed into a military base, for Talos's sake. Camps within the Imperial Legion were large, organized in neat rows, extremely efficient, even more so than Caesar's Legion endless seas of red.

This one was... just a mass of rusty metal shacks and olive green tents huddled on top of big crags and boulders, surrounded by chain link fence. There wasn't even an entrance to the thing, what they stood before were two sandbag emplacements on either side of an empty space on a road roughly as wide as a flatbed truck. How did all those soldiers threatening them even fit into that outpost?

When they lowered their flashlights, he realized the answer was easier than he would've ever thought.

There were hardly any.

He grimaced at the sight. He wasn't quite sure what he was feeling; he'd never been able to stand the sight of a garrison decimated like that, be it because of low funding, low supplies, high casualties, or all of the above. Those could have been the men of his legion against a stronger Stormcloak rebellion or a harsher winter, a few months ago. Here, instead of the elite sniper outfit escorting them and the platoon waiting for them by the motor pool of Camp McCarran, the welcome committee for his party consisted of five scrawny troopers. They were either very young or in their mid-forties, their uniforms clearly too large for their gaunt frames. The rifles all but shook in the hands of the youngest, while the oldest regarded them with the eyes of people who, despite all the shit they'd seen, were still capable of shaking with fear. Unlike all those who had held them at gunpoint until then, though, they didn't appear to be particularly eager to shoot.

Oh, stop being an emotional little pussy and focus on the essentials: they're armed, and they're in your way. Don't pity them just yet.

"Halt!" A man in his late thirties called, apparently unfazed – though not as much as Boone had been. It was plain to see he was feigning calm (and quite poorly at that) for sake of looking like the soldier he was supposed to be. He scanned each of them with wide eyes, visage hidden by his thick beard. Must have been their leader. "This... this area is off-limits. Provide your IDs and state your business, or we will-"

Sirris prowled forward and growled. It... she took no more than three steps towards the entry checkpoint, enough for her to put the party behind herself and stare down the guns' barrels. Her sword-long talons dug gouges in the dirt as she sat down, straightened her spine, and blew out a snort in challenge.

While the troopers were too concentrated keeping their rifles pointed and not curling up on the ground and crying, Boone decided it was the perfect time to walk past the deathclaw as though it were nothing more than a stray cat and sketch an almost informal salute. "Sergeant Craig Boone, First Reconnaissance Battalion, Alpha Team." His sunglasses (why the fuck was he wearing them this late at night?) fell down to the tip of his nose, allowing him to stare directly at the sentries. One of them yelped at the sound of his gravelly voice. "Enough to let us through?"

"Sir, I... y-yes, sir." The man sputtered, answering with a hesitant salute – the only one to let go of his weapon with one arm to do that. He gave one last look to the deathclaw, and his voice fell to a whisper. "S-sir, but, ah... about that thing... do we let it through, or..."

"Completely harmless, I assure you." Eyes-Of-Silver interjected, casually waving him off with his mechanical arm. The ebony shoulder creaked loudly; it had been doing so ever since the werewolf had repaired it, after the run-in with the Legion he said he'd had in the ruins. "I have trained her myself, and now Sirris is quite the model deathclaw." He laughed at the look on their faces. "Worry not, we shall not be staying long, merely the time necessary to gather the information we require."

The NCO gave him a slow, numb nod, more to convince himself that this was only some twisted fantasy than to tell them they were good to go. None of his men lowered their guns. The sentries merely shuffled back behind their sandbags, never let the unlikely quintet out of their sights and... that meant their group was allowed passage, apparently.

Keram-Rei raised a brow at the dumbstruck and tense soldiers, but ultimately dismissed them with a shrug. Whatever got them into the base and past those starved watch dogs was good for him. At least the deathclaw was turning out to be of some use. She was definitely going to be a problem the moment the other troopers saw her, no doubt about that, but still... worst-case scenario, she was a bigger target than him when shit hit the fan. That would give them time to take cover somewhere or fight back with a slightly smaller number of bullets being hurled their way, if things really did go awful. Hopefully, Boone would be able to prove his 'help' extended past convincing five scared men to let them through a non-existent gate.

Give stone cold veteran some credit, he doesn't look that useless. He's not you.

When they got into the encampment proper, he could feel there was something off about it. He didn't see anyone there, no other sentry or patrol, just... nobody. Was everyone seriously sleeping? No, that made no sense, there was supposed to be someone standing guard inside. There was no way in Oblivion he could only hear the wind rustling through the tents' rough fabric and shaking the shacks' metal sheets in a base so close to the Legion, with no marching step to break the silence. The lit barrels were few and far between, the other sources of light being oil lamps on sporadic wooden posts. An old generator buzzed along somewhere out of sight, the only hint of electrical power in the otherwise unpowered base. Boone appeared to be sure of where he was going, though, navigating the chaos and confusion of the camp's layout with immense ease.

Before the battlemage could even ask where exactly they were going, Boone chose a seemingly random big tent and vanished into it. Phoenix blindly followed him inside, joined swiftly by Follows-Chalk. Hushed voices marked their entrance. Although only the werewolf could know for sure what they were saying, the tone implied someone was pleasantly surprised with... something. Or not angry, at any rate. If a tribal, a teenager and a former NCR sniper didn't cause a stir, then perhaps they really had a chance to convince the command staff on their own. Still...

Keram-Rei hesitated for a moment. On one hand, he really, really didn't want to ruin everything just because the officer in there might recognize him from some radio transmission as the guy who'd told a colonel, a major and an ambassador to fuck off – and on what occasion such a thing had happened. On the other, what would he accomplish by just staying out there? Virtually anyone could see him, Eyes-Of-Silver and a deathclaw standing outside like idiots. Not to mention, the base's commander was bound to ask of them if Boone or Phoenix mentioned the fact they had some 'friends' outside.

Well... a verbal middle finger and a few murders he wasn't accountable for didn't have the same weight as having protected the most important military base of the New California Republic in Nevada and having taken two bullets intended for another soldier, right? Even if an albino deathclaw and an eight feet tall werewolf looked more like a coercion attempt than anything?

It's gonna work just fine, trust me. Helps if you go in there naked as a worm and start dancing like a Khajiit high on moon sugar, too.

The parasite sort of had a point there though... ah, screw it, this was Screaming-Eagle they were talking about. It was worth a shot. Eyes-Of-Silver and his pet could go for a hike around the base if they were an issue.

He didn't wait for the werewolf to enter. He gripped at the drab entrance flap, ducked his head, and found himself in what had to be the largest tent he'd ever seen. The floor was made of metal panels ripped from an older building's pavement, the walls and roof of greenish tarp interrupted by the metal pipes of the supporting structure upon which industrial lights had been placed. Wires trailed and tangled to his left, all ending up into a piece of radio equipment or another: small tables and folding chairs on the brink of collapsing under the weight of bulky terminals, microphones, ham radios and yet more techno gizmos he wasn't sure he could identify. To his right were a trio of desks, pencils and pens, documents, pages and booklets of all shapes and sizes littering their surface and the closest square feet of floor, while the wall beyond was hidden by a continuous row of rusted shelves filled to the brim with folders. A long hardwood table and a pair of blackboards dominated the middle of the command center, tactical maps, troop movements and military codes scrabbled or spread out on them.

The amount of space would have allowed for roughly a score of NCR personnel to work there, two dozens tops. Instead, the only people beside Follows-Chalk and Phoenix were a middle-aged mustachioed man talking with the two, a red-haired woman sitting by the radios (and who may have very well been in another room entirely, judging by the headset covering her ears), and another soldier standing guard by the desks.

Needless to say, every single head turned to him at once – save for the woman in the corner, who was copying the contents of some old notebook onto a scrap of paper. She humphed triumphantly, took her headphones off and pushed herself up from the chair, waving the note towards the main table. "Major Polatli, I've got the..." She trailed off when she saw him. "The... ah..."

"I get that a lot." Keram-Rei smiled nervously at the woman. One false move, and... well, actually, this battle he could win. There were three of them, and five on his side. Still, massacring the base's Major and what little remained of his entourage wasn't good for diplomacy, was it? Especially if he wanted to know something about where Screaming-Eagle was. Better keep it cool. "Yes, I'm-"

"You're the man... thing who told Colonel Hsu, Major Dhatri and Ambassador Crocker to fuck off." The red-haired woman completed, both brows lost behind tufts as bright scarlet as his feathers. That couldn't have been a natural color. "I didn't think those reports... wow. You're taller than I thought."

Boone snorted. Might have been in amusement.

Keram-Rei was just about to blink and nod his thanks – really, what else could he say to that? – when he heard the unmistakable screech of daggers dragging on metal. He hid his eyes behind his hand, similarly to how Phoenix did that exact same moment, and heard Eyes-Of-Silver's distinctive, thoughtful hum. As if things couldn't have been any worse and as if the Major and the other two weren't already gaping at him, Sirris squawked along.

"Yes, rather shabby, I have to say." The werewolf thought out loud, almost certainly stroking at his jaw if he knew him well enough and the soft sound of grinding sandpaper was anything to go by. "Do you not receive reinforcements or supplies? It appears as though you may be in need of relief."

Yup. You're fucked.

"Okay, so, I'm glad to see nobody's shooting, let's try to keep it that way, huh?" Phoenix wheezed timorously, stepping between the NCR officer and the two Argonians, arms spread out as if to stop eventual bullets. "Yeah, I... know this is the most random and unexpected thing that could've ever happened, sir, but lemme explain." She gestured woodenly behind her back. "Major Polatli, these are Eyes-Of-Silver and Keram-Rei. And the deathclaw's Eyes-Of-Silver's pet." Her shoulders sagged a little. "And, as I said, we were kinda hoping you could... help us find a friend?"

Sirris cawed and took a less predatory stance, pleased to be mentioned no doubt. Eyes-Of-Silver gave a nonchalant bow, while Keram-Rei merely swallowed. There were so, so many ways this could go wrong... at least the soldier in the back was frozen solid in fright and in no way able to shoot, and the woman was unarmed save for the microphone she'd grabbed and held in both hands.

The Major ran his thumb and forefinger down his dark chestnut mustache to calm himself – while his other hand rested on the grip of the pistol at his hip. His brown eyes rapidly darted between the Argonians, the deathclaw and the girl for several seconds before he found the courage to speak. "You... the reports from McCarran and the Strip..." He stopped caressing his mustache and glared greatswords in their direction. "Wait a minute, the Freeside reports say you're terrorists!"

Boone raised a quizzical brow at that, showing clear interest in something for the first time since they had met him. "You're terrorists?"

Keram-Rei let out a stunned snort. What the fuck was this guy talking about? Terrorists? Was Ambassador Crocker's head so far up his ass that nobody had understood his words? While Eyes-Of-Silver's growls were about to be turned into action, he snapped first. "No we're not, that's-"

Bullshit?

"Complicated." Phoenix took over from him, throwing a scowl over her shoulder that shouted 'just shut up and let me smooth things over'. He bit down on his next words and kept on fuming silently. Terrorists... "It's a damn mess, so how do we start... okay, first off, we saved First Recon from the Fiends. Then, one way or another, we all defended Camp McCarran when the Fiends attacked, either by actually staying there and fighting or hunting down a Fiend leader." She paused to clack her tongue, most likely to choose her next words with care. "What happened in Freeside... we're not really responsible for it, actually. Well, nobody here is. You see, one of us started helping around Freeside, and... she got in good terms with the Kings and the Followers, and when an NCR platoon slau- attacked civilians there, she... sort of lost it." She raised her hands in surrender before both Keram-Rei and Polatli could bark in outrage at her. "I know it's not an excuse, sir, but when it comes to this sort of things she's as emotional as a deathclaw on her period, and-"

"Deathclaws are reptiles." Eyes-Of-Silver grumbled crossly, arms folded across his chest. "Menstruation only occurs in mammals."

Keram-Rei couldn't help but turn his head and stare at him. How- no, wait. That wasn't a... normal thing to know. Whatever a 'menstruation cycle' was, he wasn't too sure anyone really needed to possess that sort of knowledge in their lives. "How... how in Oblivion do you even know that?"

"I study the functioning and inner workings of everything, Keram-Rei, that's what I do as bloody pastime activity." Eyes-Of-Silver huffed out sottovoce, as to not further disturb the girl's tale. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, and started giggling. "Ah, pardon the pun, that was entirely-"

Phoenix coughed out loud to wrest their attention again. "Anyway, point is, we're not gonna hurt you because we... don't do that kind of stuff, we're cool with NCR most of the time, sir." She explained, shrugging. She must have been smiling persuasively as a puppy as she sucked air in through her teeth. "We can, uhm... help around the base if you need anything, so you can trust us again and hand over that intel we've asked for so nicely five minutes ago and you were just about to give us? Please?"

He could tell from the look on his face that the Major had been dizzied by... well, every single word they had said. Couldn't blame him, to be honest: first two kids accompanied by a veteran popped up at his secluded military base asking for absurd information, then two Argonians and a deathclaw swung by and one of the kids was forced to tell their tale so that everything clicked together in the most absurd way possible. By Akatosh, no wonder he was that dazed. The redhead wasn't faring much better; she'd dropped the microphone she was holding, letting it clang loudly to the ground. The lone trooper had given up any hope of understanding, and merely limited himself to leaning against a desk and watching.

"I... see." Major Polatli ultimately deadpanned as his brain refused to cope with the volume and kind of information it had received. He shifted his weight on his feet and took on a defensive stance. "What if I'm still unconvinced and I don't want to help you?"

"Well, there's five of us and three or four of you, and aside from Boone... you've got no bullets, the place is undermanned, and the rest of the base's morale is rock-bottom." Phoenix provided. She accompanied the words with a gesture that plainly said she could've gone on, and she definitely would have. "We've got a deathclaw, a bloodthirsty son of a bitch big as one and twice as mean who's got a pair of axes and a flamethrower, a very skilled and verydetermined swordsman with a shotgun, a girl who's not bragging when she says she's a pretty good shot with this here rifle, and a..." She glanced over at Follows-Chalk for a moment or two. "A guy with a club. That'd be a pretty dumb move, sir."

The tribal boy puffed his chest and set his jaw. "Hey, I am a warrior!"

Phoenix rolled her eyes. "Alright, a touchy guy with a club."

Polatli pursed his lips. He shot the redhead a glance; he received a fierce nod as a reply. Slapping a palm on his face in utter defeat, he waved them off with his free hand, and sighed. "Fine, we're too desperate to refuse help, and I'm not stupid enough to get us all killed over a piece of paper... there's one thing you could help with." His hand dropped with another exhalation. "We lost track of a shipment a few days back, and it's two weeks until the next one. We don't have that long: we're starving and we've hardly got any bullets to fire. Talk to Quartermaster Mayes for details – straight outside, fifth shack on the right... but we're keeping an eye on you." His eyes went for the soldier by the desk. "Jenkins! You're with the deathclaw and the... other deathclaw, get Williams and Alenko to help you. Now quit slacking and move your ass!"

The trooper jumped to his feet, hands fumbling to both get his rifle and salute at the same time. He began to gingerly walk towards Eyes-Of-Silver, but one coo from Sirris was more than enough to stop him dead in his tracks. She sniffed his face as she leaned forwards, and blew his hair back with a snort. She faced Eyes-Of-Silver, her head tilted curiously, and questioned him with a whine.

"Ah, 'tis all right, Sirris, he shall accompany us on our endeavour..." Eyes-Of-Silver told his deathclaw – who cawed an affirmative in return. In the meantime, he shielded Jenkins from his pet with his ebony arm, and pulled the tent's flap open with the flesh and bone one. He smiled down on the terrified young man. "Worry not, neither of us shall bite you! She knows you are not to be eaten... and besides, you are far too skinny for my liking."

He's in for a ride, isn't he?

Yeah, he is. Keram-Rei couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor guy. Trapped between Eyes-Of-Silver and Sirris and squeaking in horror as he was taken out of the tent... he somehow doubted the other two could've been of any help whatsoever. They weren't going to be eaten of course, the werewolf was sort of picky in that regard, but the thought of someone being forced to stay with Eyes-Of-Silver and his pint-sized wingless Dragon for any length of time... oh boy. He didn't envy them in the slightest, that was for damn sure.

"They're gonna be back in no time, trust me on that, sir." Phoenix reassured... everyone, basically. While he could tell the big guy's awful jokes apart, none of the others in there knew him well enough to. "Meanwhile, is there any way I could... you know, give a hand around here?"

"Well, you could try with the medical quarters, Dr. Richards could use some help." The redhead answered. Now that the biggest threats to the base's safety were gone, she relaxed visibly. "It's the one with the red cross by the entrance, can't miss it."

Phoenix nodded her thanks and went for the exit, shadowed by Follows-Chalk as always. Man, that guy was as subtle as a troll... and the girl was as blind as a Falmer if she didn't notice any of it. They were both clumsier than him, and that was saying something. They set out to meet with this Dr. Richards, see what he may need and possibly make his life easier. Couldn't have taken much effort to join them, maybe employ his magic and potions to ease the wounded and dying's pain. He wasn't the best, but his Restoration skills put him on par with any well-equipped field medic; if he'd gotten the shtick of Forlorn Hope right, though, he somehow doubted this guy was anywhere near well-equipped. He could go there, save lives...

The NCR doesn't know you've got motherfucking magic, and those troopers are gonna start talking. Think about it.

... And also blow their cover and get another interrogation from Camp McCarran's high command. Yeah, right. Nah, Boone was a good enough replacement, he was sure. At a subtle motion from the Major, the sniper followed the two kids without uttering a single word.

As much as it pained him to think so, Phoenix, Follows-Chalk and Boone were going to be all the medical assistance those soldiers would be seeing. Keram-Rei walked back to one of the desks, shook the pile of documents off of the chair, and sat down on it. Sure, a bit of maneuvering was required in order to make his tail, sword and shotgun fit without breaking a bone or shooting his horns off, but he ultimately managed to succeed.

Arms folded and legs crossed, he smirked at the remaining NCR personnel. "While they're out there doing something for you, I'm here showing you it's all in good faith. You don't trust my friends, plain as day, so I might as well act as insurance and stay here." He gestured at himself. "They fuck up, you've got me. Sounds like a fair deal, right?"

Major Polatli and the woman of unspecified rank exchanged a glance. In the end, they both shrugged and took a seat, their eyes never leaving him. It was as though they were afraid he could pull off some magic trick they could do nothing to prevent. Which was true, but they didn't need to know that. Now, if only they stopped staring at him, then maybe his time there would be less unnerving.

Come on, you've got me! We're gonna have a lot of fun together.

He all but groaned out loud. Fuck, he hoped Eyes-Of-Silver was quick...

Fifteen minutes. Not even remotely close to quick.

Fifteen minutes had passed before the damned werewolf returned. After the first thirty seconds, the redhead – who had revealed herself to be a certain 'Tech Sergeant Reyes' – had returned to her position, headset and all. At the five minutes mark, the Major had given up and gone to the grand table to plan out some strategy or another, muttering negatives to himself every once in a while.

Keram-Rei had absolutely no way of killing time that didn't involve those two asking a lot of questions. He might have tried to engage in conversation, but that too would have prompted an interrogation after the first... three sentences. Reading a book? Out of the question, he should've pulled it out of a satchel half as long as a normal tome, and that was bound to attract unwanted attention. Drinking? Same as before, and he couldn't even get drunk, no point in that. Magical training? Out of the fucking question. Singing or listening to music? Too shy for that. Treads-In-Gloom...? Oh, not in a million years.

Hey, fuck you.

So he'd sat there, staring at the waving ceiling, until someone threw the entrance flap open.

"The supplies have been successfully recovered and delivered to Quartermaster Mayes, whereas the original retrieval team had been eliminated by a band of legionaries." Eyes-Of-Silver panted out his announcement, his tongue lolling out between his teeth, disturbingly similar to a dog's. To no one's surprise, what was left of his chestplate, his hands and his mouth were drenched in blood, as were Sirris's teeth and snout. "I have personally carried the three soldiers to the medical tent as, while not injured, they appear to be in shock."

He guessed whatever had shocked those troopers must have been roughly as tall and broad as the werewolf, roaring in righteous fury and in an incomprehensible accent as he splintered bones and feasted on the flesh of the fallen. He didn't say it out loud. Wouldn't want to scar the Major for life.

Not ten seconds passed before Phoenix, Follows-Chalk and Boone returned. The sniper was as impassive as always, but the girl and the boy definitely looked a bit green around the gills, almost nauseously swaying on their feet. Well, they had chosen to help in a medical tent, what had they been expecting? All three of them had their hands stained a dark shade of crimson, and none of them said anything – either by taciturn nature, or to avoid puking their guts out. Judging by Boone's satisfied smirk, though, things must have gone rather well.

Keram-Rei rose to his feet with a relieved sigh. Oh, thank all fuck he could finally go out and look for Screaming-Eagle with precise information. He ignored Major Polatli's disgusted expression and walked up to him by the table, both of his hands held behind his back. "Well, Major, we've been of help and we've kept our word." He extended his palm and tapped his fingers on it. "Time to cash up."

Polatli's diffident sneer suggested he might have wanted to further delay them, but one scowl from Reyes and a look to the bloodied Eyes-Of-Silver and Sirris were more than enough to change his mind. He grabbed a piece of paper from the edge of the table and handed it to Keram-Rei with a nod. "The Republic thanks you for your service..." He narrowed his eyes on him. "Now, if you would be so kind as to leave Camp Forlorn Hope, I have a base to run."

"With pleasure." Keram-Rei grinned wryly. Ripping the scrap of paper from the man's hand, he went back to the exit and motioned for his companions to get out. Once they were all outside of the command tent, he looked down at the prized intel, and...

Frowned.

Phoenix excitedly peeked over his shoulder, her previous queasiness gone at the sight of their reward. "What's it say? What's it say? What's- wait, what does that mean?"

Okay, even I don't know what that's supposed to mean. Must be a... code, or... something.

"It's... random numbers." Keram-Rei reflected, much to everyone's disappointment. He stared at the endless twin streaks of numbers, one starting with 'X' and the other with 'Y', interspersed with a few apostrophes and a couple of small circles. He glowered at the note scrabbled beneath them in the messiest handwriting he had ever seen.

Here Pvt. Stone saw a humanoid figure riding a flaming ghost after a woman shouted something and the sandstorm fell. Said she'd entered a ravine and vanished inside; he came back running for his life. He stopped doing drugs ever since. Shouldn't be hard to find on the girl's Pip-Boy.

Boone unceremoniously stole the piece of paper and his left forearm. He rifled through the menus, ended up on the satellite display and, staring at the numbers as though they were a treasure map to decipher, he started turning the knobs. Too surprised to interrupt him, the battlemage allowed him to keep doing... whatever it was he was doing. It seemed like meticulous work.

"Coordinates." The sniper grunted out to the unspoken question hanging in the air, a hint of smugness tinging his voice. Once he was done, he tapped his index finger in the middle of the screen. "Whoever you're looking for is there."

Keram-Rei tried to make any sense of what had just happened – then noticed the numbers on the message and those on the bottom right corner of his map matched perfectly. He wasn't going to question whatever magic Boone had worked, there were far more important matters to attend to.

The pointer on his Pip-Boy's screen hovered somewhere in the middle of nowhere, roughly South-East of their current position. Precisely halfway between Camp Forlorn Hope and what his map identified as a small town called Nelson.

Well, now the rough estimate had gone down from a few square miles to search to a precise location, a ravine at... those numbers. It wasn't an uncommon sight that side of the Mojave, but that narrowed the field considerably. They had gained one man on the way here, more accurate coordinates, and the confirmation Screaming-Eagle had indeed been there. A feminine shout that had dispelled a sandstorm (possibly the one the Greybeards called 'Clear Skies'), a figure riding what sounded suspiciously like Arvak... it couldn't be anyone else.

Wherever she was, he was coming for her.