A/N: So here is the final chapter of part one. I apologize for leaving this story untouched for a few months. I'd run out of inspiration to continue writing it. I'm someone who prefers quality over quantity, and I think readers deserve that. So, I'd rather leave a story unwritten for awhile then write uninteresting filler chapters just to update.
Some progression in the relationship between Eris and Mr. House occurs in this chapter, and I so adore writing scenes between these two self-proclaimed "geniuses". I'm sure he enjoys being challenged by someone who is as intellectually driven as he is, but he's not willing to admit that anytime soon, or probably ever (?...).
Anyways, thank you for being patient and thank you to anyone who has read, reviewed, or criticized. I enjoy writing and I enjoy giving others enjoyment from my writing.
Finally found a fella, almost completely divine!
But his vocabulary is killing this romance of mine
We get into an intimate situation, and then begins this character's conversation:
He says 'murder!', he says every time we kiss!
Is this the language of love?
-"Murder He Says", by Dinah Shore
Was there a humanity without humor? Surely not. Humor was the foundation of play of nearly all kind, and play was an integral part of man's development. Without play in his years of underdevelopment, he lacks the problem solving skills and finesse he will need in his later life. It is often said that children are purer than their developed counterparts, and perhaps this rings true, for the humor of children was much broader and more abstract than the adult man's. This is, in part, due to the unification of ego and self, to which there is no separation in children. In our adult lives, amusement is only allowed to manifest if the ego allows it to, and furthermore, certain kinds of comedy can only be accepted as amusing by the temperament of said ego. Humor, in the adult life, is recurrent because it allows for normally socially unaccepted ideas or behaviors to be relevant, and spoken about.
Or, so said Sigmund Freud, whose logic was almost infallible.
Eris had her doubts that Mr. House was too amused right now, which must mean his ego is of the supremely harsh variety, since he almost always suppressed humor of any kind in his discussions. She'd made it back to his casino, with radiation sickness the first half of her trip, and he was now yelling about her punctuality! What hypocrisy, for his punctuality had been severely lacking when she got shot in the head back in Goodsprings. Though, he would've had a good excuse for it, considering it was many against one lone securitron..
"I took care of your bunker - practically bought a house and moved in. The house was irradiated, though, no wonder it took me this long to make it back!" She argued back.
"And so you use this as an excuse to stall, to lose yourself in the decadence of Vegas? Marvelous work ethic. Bravo." Came his retort.
"You know what? I'm starting a union, like I said before. It's going to be me and Victor. First of all, I need a raise and insurance for having an employer who forces me to go into extremely dangerous work environments, where I practically slave my ass away just so I can come back and get yelled at by an angry monitor. Second, said employer sends me to a war camp where I become eye candy for a bunch of sex-starved soldiers. What's next?" She asks herself more than him.
"Weren't you listening? I've already informed you what your next task is." Was that House's attempt at humor again? Answering a rhetorical question? She'd laugh but it would ruin the performance, even if his humor was drier than the Mojave in summer. "'Slaving away'. You sound like many of the employees I had before the Great War. Employees that, might I add, were given numerous benefits for their sometimes harmful work environments. You're no different, though you seem to think that your situation somehow garners special treatment. You were shot in the head - I didn't strap a collar onto you."
"Wait, are you seriously comparing the old world to this world? Look around you! Your employees didn't have to walk around puddles of radioactive goo, they didn't have to fight nightkin and feral ghouls, and they didn't have to deal with a war tribe that enslaves and consumes everything it touches. You're living in the past, you know? Comparing everything to your decadent life before. Well, sorry to put an end to your reminiscing, but I thought you were supposed to be a long-range thinker, you said it yourself when listing benefits to your regime over Kimball and Caesar's."
Really, she was just trying to keep some kind of control over this discussion. House had made a good point when he mentioned giving benefits to his more endangered employees, and he did give her a rather luxurious place to stay in Vegas. The confidence he had in his plans and in himself was excruciatingly confusing to Eris, and she wanted to see if his proverbial bubble could be busted, but he kept such a tight grip on his cards! Everyone had some kind of weak spot. And despite Mr. House being a computer messiah, he was no different than other men in this regard.
She just wanted to understand him and his agenda better, and the only way she knew how she could, was to openly disagree with and refute everything he said, even if it was in vain, since he was older and had a wealth of more knowledge and experience than her. But even if she lost this argument, she could still learn - which, technically, was still winning.
"Why move on to this issue yet again, unless you are making an attempt to distract me from your obviously poorly constructed reason for disagreeing with my methods? We've been over this before, and it's a waste of time to go over it again. Time is a precious commodity, wouldn't you agree?" He remarked.
"Calling time a commodity would be implying that it is in some way replaceable. A commodity is a good that is traded, and can be replaced at any time by something more valuable. Therefore-" He interrupted her impatiently then.
"Therefore, I have given you the task of subverting the Boomers by any means available to you. That is the task I've given to you - the only task. Afterwards, we can argue over semantics, which you seem to make a habit of doing, perhaps because you can't refute any other points I have made?"
"C'mon, House! Give me a break here, I'm trying to learn from you. Stop taking yourself so damn seriously."
That much was valid - he took himself way too seriously for someone as old as he was. One might think he would've developed some kind of humility over the past two centuries, since he's observed the futility of man's earthly whims, but there was none of that. She wondered if he even saw himself as human at all, and was trying his hardest to be anything but human.
"I'll stop taking this seriously when the future of humankind is no longer on the edge of devouring itself - yet again." He said dismissively.
It was hard to argue against that, and she was somewhat thankful that there were people willing to take anything at all seriously, because she certainly couldn't. So far, everything that had happened since she'd woke up back in Goodsprings had been writing itself like the absurdist tragedies attributed to Shakespeare.
"That's all fine and good, the last thing I want to do is take away your freedom to micromanage everything around you. I need a break, though, and since you've pretty much surrendered in the last conversation, we can move on." She baited.
"Mark my words, Miss, this is not surrender, this is prioritization. Securing my victory at Hoover Dam is a higher priority than indulging your adolescent need for conflict." He said.
"Whatever, if it makes you feel better in the face of defeat, that's all that matters, I suppose." She shrugged her shoulders in the illusion of nonchalance, though truth be told, she was having more fun than she'd had in days. "Now, back to the real important topic here. I had a question about inventory here at the '38."
"What did you have in mind?" He asked, returning to that disinterested tone that she imagined he would've used when talking about the weather, which was something she couldn't imagine him talking about.
"By any chance, would you have any books on or by Hegel?"
"Why?" Ugh. It was always going to be some kind of business deal with him, wasn't it?
"Aching curiosity and an insatiable hunger to learn, that's why. Do I need any other reasons? I'll treat your books with the utmost respect, like I do to you." She snarked.
"Very well, I suppose after what you accomplished for me in the Fort, I'll allow you to indulge scholarly curiosity. Go and find Jane, she'll retrieve any books you need from my study. As a forewarning, however, if you vandalize my property in any way, you will pay for it. I have a rather large and priceless collection of volumes here, and to bring harm to any of them, is a violation of my property. Return any books you have to Jane, and in exchange, you can request more." He said.
That sounded fair. She had no intention of destroying any books though, what did he take her for? A barbarian? He was so fun to annoy though, that she considered bending some of the corners of his book's pages just enough to irritate him, though not enough to earn his ire.
She found Jane, the 'girl' bot that had creeped her out when she first came here. What exactly was its purpose? How did House justify this robot's existence? Surely, he didn't need to build robots in the images of women, unless he was a huger nerd than she first imagined. In fact, she could imagine that. He was in no way conventionally charming and he didn't seem to notice that his employer was a woman at all. She could see in her mind's eye an image of his intellect and wealth attracting countless women, and as soon as they got a whiff of his caustic and demanding side, they'd run for the hills.
Thinking even deeper now, she decided that, that must've been a lonely existence. Though really, it was no one's fault but his if he was going to be so uncompromising. It made her wonder if he had even had friends at all. Surely, even if they were only there for his billions and the cotillions that pre-war tycoons threw.
"House said to come to you for any books I needed." Was all she said to the 'girl' bot, Jane.
"Certainly, sugar! Don't tell Mr. House I told you, but he was pleased as punch after what you did for him in that awful bunker!" Its accented voice sounded, causing Eris' stomach to roll a little.
"I'm sure he was. He's a ray of sunshine from what I've seen so far." Eris said, her voice now void of emotion. She didn't know exactly why, but this bot made her uncomfortable in a way that no other securitron had, to which she usually blissfully ignored them. "Now, can you get me those books or not? Preferably anything by Hegel, or that mentions Hegel. Think you can do that?"
"Of course! Mr. House has instructed my programming to do this for you. I'll be back in three shakes of a lamb's tail!"
She watched as its little metal body rolled away into one of the other sections of the Penthouse. When Jane returned, Eris was given a stack of well-kept books all centered around one topic: Hegel. Except there was one book that had nothing to do with Hegel at all. It was instead a manual on interpersonal relations between employers and employees. She sifted through the contents of the book and decided it was definitely not random that Jane selected this book from House's study.
The first thing she did was laugh at the absurdity of it. It was dense, extremely pedantic on gestures and postures that should be emulated while an employee speaks to his or her boss. Ultimately, she decided she'd read it - if only to do the exact opposite when dealing with her employer. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know that Mr. House had instructed Jane to give the manual to Eris, whether as a cleverly disguised, albeit corporate joke, or in seriousness, she left it up to the fates to decide.
"House, you should really open up a joke shop, because I'm not sure if you wanted this to be funny or not, but it's fucking hilarious. Absolutely priceless!" She announced, waving the manual around over her head.
All around her, the speakers where his voice usually sounded were silent, though she knew he'd heard her. For a moment, she wondered if he was being serious, and if so, had he done the same for all his employees on the Strip? It was hard to imagine some smooth talking scoundrel like Benny reading a thick book on employer-employee relations and etiquette. Yes, she decided, it must be a joke on his end.
So she went back up to the suite, where she spent the next week lounging about, reading between the different books House had allowed her to read. Every 100 pages or so, she'd switch to another book, just to keep it stimulating. And every day, she would try, and usually fail, to discuss them with House. She needed his pre-war knowledge! She had to have it at some point.
But already, she could almost feel the tension dying a bit, his caustic tone still there, but more willing to have discussions with her. However, it really depended on the topic of the discussion. For instance, he would talk about economics, pre-war America, robotics (which was a snoozer), and political strategy. What he wouldn't talk about were as follows: the White Gloves, his family, his wealth (he said it was private and inconsiderate to ask that), and the reason why he became a roboticist.
Oh, and he particularly hated when she brought up the good things about General Atomics, and played devil's advocate for Legion ideals. Right now was one of these moments.
"Caesar uses Hegelian dialectics to excuse nearly everything he does. But is he wrong, really? As the foremost scholar on Hegel, I-"
"One week of reading Hegel, and you consider yourself a Hegelian scholar already? We have already gone over this, just yesterday, and I proved you incorrect then and I will prove that you are incorrect now! A society that is brought up with the acknowledgement that they are a slave, a utility of the state and nothing more, will only bring forward a generation of dimwits, who will accomplish nothing for humanity except stagnancy. Humanity relies far too much on evolution and progress to willfully resist such things and be successful!" He retorted.
"Just because your definition of success is progress doesn't mean everyone else's is. Suppose you are a simple farmer in the Mojave, and your definition of success is finding a wife and children. If you get both of these things, then according to your inner values, you are successful. All values are subjectively interpreted, and if a man's greatest ambition is to father children, then the Legion can provide that. Furthermore, in a society which devalues higher learning and technological know-how, the few geniuses, like Caesar, will stand out and be the most 'successful'. It's very probable that they'd be the idols of that civilization. Now, on the other hand, if you are a genius in NCR territory, which places an emphasis on freedom, individuality, and better education, the more intelligent will stand out less, and be less 'successful'. In fact, because there is so much information available to the public in a society like the NCR's, there's going to be unintelligent people with just as much knowledge as the intelligent, meaning they can easily masquerade as being clever, when they aren't." She said, her hands wildly gesturing around her, attempting to convey her point.
"While you make a sound point concerning education of the unintelligent, you also make the unwise assumption, which I believe is in part due to your knowledge that I am pre-war, that I believe in any of the ideals of the NCR at all. You are right to assume the NCR threatens intelligent minds, because democracy encourages intellectual stagnation instead of erudition."
"Then, what is your political beliefs? You're not exactly transparent about that, maybe that's why so many people distrust you. Maybe they think you're just another Caesar. And, really, history has had too many Caesar's for that to be special anymore." Her question was meant to cleverly mask the fact that she'd, much to her embarrassment, wrongly assumed he was a believer in democracy simply because he was old world. If he was as intelligent as she knew him to be, he'd see right through it.
"I am sure you are aware that I support the free market and its power to aid the ambitious and capable. What happens to the incapable, is none of my concern. That they are alive and protected is all that concerns me, their prosperity is out of my hands. Unlike the NCR, I do not believe in educating the imbecile, for he will never properly exploit his knowledge, and will instead parrot it uselessly, under the impression that he is intelligent because he has been told something and is capable of repeating it. And further, unlike Caesar's Legion, I do not believe in whipping them into submission, such a thing is barbaric and has no place in my vision of the future. They are free to be useless as they please, they will not be paving the road to the future, however."
"You mean to say, they will not even have an opportunity to prove their mettle?" She asked with conviction, though she felt undecided on the matter. House couldn't tell the difference between curiosity and attack, anyhow. She wondered briefly why he was always ready to rush to a defensive stance.
"By which means? If by 'proving their mettle', you mean shoveling dirt and providing menial labor, then of course. But if you should indicate their rights to operate my businesses and property, then they have none." Eris laughed, and afterwards, she could practically hear his eyebrow raising indignantly on the other side of the monitor.
"You already allowed an imbecile to run one of your businesses, or have we already forgotten about Benny? You have a frighteningly short memory, House. Or, you're so dismissive and selfish, that you don't even acknowledge that other people exist. Before you get on the defense, I'm not criticizing you, I have my own problems with working and playing well with others. But at least I'm aware of it." Truthfully, Eris wasn't sure why she was baiting him right now, maybe she felt a small amount of spite at the idea that when this conflict in the Mojave was settled, she would just be another name on his long list of employees. How boring, inconsiderate, and... conventional.
"Benny was a minor miscalculation, which I had several solutions for. Fortunately, you presented yourself at the most opportune time, a superbly mysterious card whom no one knew or suspected was in the palm of my hand. Nonetheless, I am not infallible nor have I ever proclaimed to be. Actually, I do not know why I am wasting time producing an excuse for you, I shouldn't have to do this, when you are my paid employee."
"Maybe I like the sound of your voice, or mine." She said, half-jokingly. The first part was untrue, the second part was also untrue, or so she suspected. She was never that self-aware, or at least she thought she wasn't. Either way, it would be a cold day in hell before she admitted seriously that she enjoyed talking to her employer.
"I think you have nothing better to do than waste my time, when you should be persuading the Boomers to join our cause. Miss, I believe you are stalling, a common occurrence with my employees of the past. Under the guise of being interested in my findings, they would attempt to avoid their duties.
"Oh, look at who's jumping to conclusions now! Do we need some padding to protect your fragile, old world limbs?" She chided, allowing a coy smile to grace her lips, her hands involuntarily landing on her hips.
"Enough!" For some unknowable reason, and oh, she would know if it was the last thing she knew, her last statement struck a nerve. So, the invisible hand of New Vegas was conscious of his physique? It sounded petty to her, for she thought the truly wisest of elderly individuals, like Robert House, would have accepted old age and its physical shortcomings. "I am terminating this conversation, and will attend to something vastly more important than your futile attempts at prodding my mind. Do your job, courier, or I will find someone more obedient who will."
"Impossible!" Two could play this game, but only one of them was seriously offended, and it was House. "You are aware, that I am aware, of what game you're trying to play with the Mojave. And no one else is privy to what we're doing, Caesar is somehow under the impression that I'm going to go through with killing you, Swank is a useful idiot, and from what I hear, you couldn't trust the Omertas as far as you could throw them. You said it yourself, as far as anyone knows, I come from nowhere and have no discernible or reasonable motive to help you, which is why you couldn't find anyone better to do this. Your threats are kind of baseless, just saying. Admit it, baby, you need me."
She lit a cigarette to hide the minor frustration she got from how easy it seemed for him to dismiss her. It was a painful reminder of how small she really was, and frankly, she didn't enjoy it one bit. Also, there was no small amount of fear at the thought of losing the opportunities she'd been given here by House. He had plenty of books, hot water, and occasionally stimulating conversation, when he wasn't being a grump like now. She'd detected a pattern in their interactions.
Nearly always, it went something like this: she approaches him, usually after reading the bare minimum of information to understand an idea, then engages him in a baiting question - usually about himself, which he answers as primly and straightforward as possible; then, she asks him why, and when he answers, she gives her 'opinion'. Afterwards, he becomes slightly defensive and attempts to deflect her questions with professionally veiled insults and condescension, and she waves it off and pretends not to care (usually, she doesn't care at all). They go back and forth for a few more minutes, and then she asks him something which he perceives to be a personal attack, and dismisses her promptly.
Normally, she'd get tired of the predictability, but there were barely any other predictable variables concerning House. Sometimes, he made attempts at humor that he knew only he would appreciate, and other times, he really did teach her something with no strings attached. Most definitely, he had the potential to be a good teacher if he wasn't so snarky and condescending. The passion that danced in his aristocratic voice when he spoke about a topic he was interested in was inspiring, if not a bit disappointing, because she could not understand that kind of passion and drive.
Suffice to say, he never answered her, and she would rather go back to the Fort than beg him to talk with her. He'd likely forget about it in the morning, or pretend he forgot about it. Surprisingly enough, most especially considering his near-daily threats to 'fire' her, he was quite forgiving. She had her doubts that this was from the bottom of his heart, more like it was a good business decision to forgive so that he didn't need to invest more time in tutoring a new protege. She liked to think she was beginning to understand him, but each time she was getting closer, he doubled the fortifications in his proverbial castle.
According to Hegel, though, she was the slave in this situation, which meant she was soon to be more knowledgeable than him, and he would depend on her rather than vice versa. She had it all figured out, see.
Eris had some errands to run before she left to risk her life at Nellis. She never carried too many caps on her, as she was sure the grimy denizens of Freeside were looking her up and down for the valuables, and she knew she'd be doing the same if she were in their place. A hundred caps, give or take a few, was around the maximum amount of caps she usually carried. It would be a rookie move to clang around with hundreds of caps like so many of these clowns do, they might as well write 'please mug me' on their foreheads. She was, of course, thinking about the King, and roughly the majority of the tourists and gamblers in New Vegas.
With a grimace at the rancid smell of Freeside, she stepped out of Mick & Ralph's, content with her smarmy bargaining skills. She was convinced that in at least one of her previous lives, she was a used car salesman, and in another, she was a philosopher, and lastly, in perhaps the most recent previous life, she was a circus clown.
Thoroughly accustomed to the lowlife, her grimace passed and soon the smell of jet canisters and urine melted into the background. That, combined with the sound of hookers selling their 'goods' and rats squeaking as they were chased by two boys, created an altogether singular and unique ambience. Her eyes roamed, looking for the guitar man she'd seen passing through here a few days ago, but he was nowhere to be found. He was probably shacked up in a different pile of garbage somewhere else, or maybe he found his forever home - the hard way.
After purchasing provisions for the week ahead on the road, she decided she'd pass the rest of the evening at The Tops after a bath at the '38. Her light hair was barely dry when she began searching for some evening wear, eager to surround herself with interesting people. The Presidential Suite had an abundance of prestigious evening gowns, all of which had tags on the neck with names that were probably well-known two centuries ago.
It was not her vanity that kept her searching, it was the many options available. Obviously, she'd need something short because she wasn't confident enough in her gracefulness for a long gown. After twenty minutes of deducing the most novel gown, she decided on the red velvet halter dress, which fell to a few inches below her thighs. It looked particularly tacky, but she doubted anyone else would have a dress like this in New Vegas. No, that brand of tackiness was rare and died with the poor souls who stayed in the Presidential Suite.
Donning Benny's suit jacket, her newest and most useful accessory (it had deep pockets and it was a flamboyant pattern), she pocketed her cigarettes and flip lighter, leaving her Pip-Boy on the nightstand next to the bed she'd been living in. That piece of tech made her a target, and worst of all, made her look like a green vaultie.
"Ring-a-ding-ding, baby." She said, assessing herself in the mirror. She ignored that voice in the back of her head telling her it was creepy to emulate Benny, opting for stealing his phrases instead, because they were cool and unfamiliar, at least that's what she told herself.
She left the Lucky 38 without uttering another word to House, not that it was any of his business where she was going anyway. She'd let him lick his wounds, and leave him with some snarky remark that he could roll around in his mind while she was on the road. He seemed like the type to overthink.
Eris lit a cigarette as she entered The Tops, the air conditioning welcome after walking through the sweltering heat of the city, made worse by the multitude of crowds loitering in the streets. The sound of sleazy jazz met her ears, and she half-expected some dame in black to approach her like the noir genre cliche.
The crowd was gathered around a blackjack table, and slowly Eris slithered in between their bodies - clothed in faded cocktail dresses and dirty suits. They smelt strongly of liquor, defeat, and regret. It was a surprisingly pungent odor. The man playing was tall and dark-skinned, his hair braided in several cornrows. Immediately, she knew he was a slick talker, chatting up the ladies while beating the dealer at his own game. The ladies swooned at the attention they received from his shifting, dark eyes. Eris scoffed at the act they were putting up, as if this clown wasn't the ever-changing flavor of the day.
Swank shimmied up to her then, and she wondered who was watching the front desk. He leaned towards her and started speaking in hushed tones, drowned out by the crowd around them hollering at the stranger.
"An Omerta goon. On occasion, those finky snakes like to come up here and try to show the house up, try to assert their dominance like. There's another one too, that shady fink hanging around that table over there - the one wearin' sunglasses. If the Chairmen weren't so good at what we do, he'd'a swiped our tables clean."
"Oh yeah, he looks like a real piece of work. I'll go rub him out for you. Wait there and behold my handiwork." She whispered back, not sticking around to have someone's breath on her neck. She liked people, but she didn't like them that much.
For the dramatic entrance and to keep herself busy while she thought of some kind of solution, she pulled out her flip lighter and lit another cigarette, tossing the butt of her old one in a tray nearby, then she approached the shady Omerta. He was tall, though lesser so than the guy with the crowd around him. She noticed that when he thought no one was looking, he picked at his teeth. A real charmer from way back, no doubt.
Learning the ropes of New Vegas was kind of a priority, and just then she realized she had lots of priorities all of a sudden. Understanding the dynamics of Vegas would be a cake walk, though, because she had an itching intuition that she was used to sordid politics and moneygrubbing. It came as naturally as breathing to her, though she had some inner conflict of the philosophical variety about it. So far, what she did know was the Chairmen were the most popular among the families who came to Vegas, probably because they didn't have hookers soliciting in front of their casino, and the Omertas were popular among sex tourists and desperate NCR troopers. She knew very little about the White Gloves, however.
"Come here often?" She began, startling the man, though it could've been for show.
"I.. might start coming now." He answered carefully, his eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses.
"Oh, and why's that, hotshot?" She asked coyly, inhaling deeply from her cigarette.
Normally, she might be only a little disgusted by someone's advances, but he was bluffing, and he knew she was too, for his eyes never softened and his voice did not deepen as men's usually did when their 'primate' needs were aroused. Like Benny. This guy held his cards a little closer than Benny did. But it didn't stop her from finding the inconsistency in the stitching of his suit jacket, something only a woman could find, likely. It was large enough to pack a bit of heat, there were probably some pins inside of the stitching to close it up, and for ease of access, he could easily rip it open with the need arose.
Fortunately, he didn't notice her eyeing it, and made an attempt at idle conversation.
"So, you're new in town? I've never seen your face before, and I deal in the profession of knowing faces. What's your name, miss?" He asked, taking a sip from his glass.
"You've never seen me before because, well, I'm not from here. I've never heard you talk before, and I deal in the profession of talking - wordsmithing and the like, see? From what I'm told, I bring important merchandise from point A to point B and get paid for it. Can you guess my name?"
"You're Eris, the courier who finished Benny, which I compliment you on. He's not popular with my people. But from what I hear, you've been doing more than courier work these days for Not-At-Home. I think I'm hearing the bell ring, but correct me if I'm wrong, miss."
"Yeah me and House are like two peas in a pod now. He falls, I bend over backwards. I get a cigarette out, he rushes to light it. See? I bet if I got angry at any of these cats in here, he'd call the securitrons on them. Just a snap of my fingers, that's how close House and I are, see." She said, knowing he couldn't call her bluff because no one in the city had eyes in the Lucky 38.
"That's pretty handy in a tight spot, and there's a lot of tight spots in Vegas, miss. But the point of a tight spot is its small size, and a securitron is too large to fit in most of them."
That was pretty bold, and the scoff that escaped her couldn't hold itself back. The man was surrounded by people who despised his tribe, not that she'd know anything of tribal warfare, though.
"Well, the point of a securitron's titanium casing is that it is impervious to little crevices, because it can turn little crevices into large craters. You picking up what I'm laying down right now, Rick?"
"My name isn't Rick."
"I know."
"How could you have known that?"
"You don't look like a Rick. Rick's are smart enough to tailor their clothes properly."
As she was finishing that, she reached for the little, hidden pocket in his suit jacket and ripped it open, handling the 9mm that was inside.
"If you want to be like Rick, you'll come with me. Or you'll end up like Benny. Now, c'mon, don't make me live up to my namesake." She said, pointing the gun at his back. The Omerta sighed audibly, and she noticed that he gulped when he saw she was directing him toward the crowd that had gathered around his accomplice.
The crowd looked up when they saw the gun that was pointed at the man, their gazes and the Omerta playing blackjack lifting as she pushed the cat closer. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Swank cackling and whispering to another Chairman. Afterwards, she saw him spread out his arms in a faux welcoming gesture. The gesture didn't fit him, but maybe that was because she knew him to be soft and kind, a stark contrast to his predecessor.
"I hope there's a good reason you're flashin' that piece out on the floor, dollface. But from the look o' this fink, I'm guessing you do."
"I fancied a walk through the casino, and came upon this deadly creature prowling for the possessions of the good people around us. Good people, how do you feel about men like this? Creeps, thugs, thieves, there's a thousand names for them. But this one's got a special name before the others. He's an Omerta. An armed Omerta in The Tops. Why, you ask? Well, why don't we ask him?" She announced, handing off the goon to Swank, letting the Chairmen take care of it.
If there is nothing interesting happening, then we must make it happen, she thought as she dragged from her newly lit cigarette, watching the scene play out before her.