Some of these days and it won't be long
Gonna drive back down where you once belonged
In the back of a dream car twenty feet long
Don't cry my sweet, don't break my heart
Doing alright but gotta get smart
Wish upon wish upon day upon day
-"Golden Years", David Bowie
What was the point of life if not to find satisfaction? It was the objective of all, really, considering humans continued to endure even when surrounded by tragedies that lesser creatures would've surely collapsed under. Only, lesser creatures never collapsed under the menial, mental struggles that humans contended with. And if humans evolved from the lesser creatures, then surely man's aims were an evolved form of whatever base instincts animals had.
That made sense to Eris, but she so despised the simplicity of it. Human nature was more nuanced than that, after all. She would know because she was watching it unfold before her eyes, here in the Tops' casino. Dancers, of the female variety no less, shook their bodies to the sound of the live jazz show unfolding on stage. Never before had she seen something of substance here at the Tops, especially good music.
In less than two days, she'd finished three books, one of them large, two of them somewhat small, but her eyes had been looking at enough words for now, and they burned with a need to see the faces of other humans for a change. Humans, who were the best sources of learning in her experience thus far.
Arcade, the man she'd met some time ago, and hadn't seen since, sat across from her at the blanketed tables in the showroom. He'd blushed when she invited him to sit with her, but she hadn't forgotten their vague plans to drink together one night. Only, 'drinking together' was normally a turn of phrase, but she was taking it quite literal. Her fingers picked at a bowl of spiced corn chips as she watched the performance on stage with her company.
"Do you think this interlude has been rehashed from prewar numbers?" She found herself asking, having a feeling that Arcade would answer honestly.
Said man's brows furrowed and he stared thoughtfully at the performers on stage, and oddly, his gaze hadn't wandered to the beautiful women attending the other guests. No, he was serious, but not in the way her benefactor was. From her first and last experience with him, he had a scholarly air, one that was profoundly different yet similar to hers.
"Oh, undoubtedly." He answered. The way he spoke was monotonous, flat, but not lifeless. "It isn't common for anyone out here to read sheet music, much less know how to write their own. Myself included, I don't know how it works either."
"Wow. Big of you to admit, I would've pretended I knew how to read and write sheet music – honest." She commented, lighting a cigarette and offering him one. He declined, and she smiled at his bizarre behavior. "What, you don't want to have black lungs by the age of 30? Assuming you'll make it to 30, that is.. my sympathies are with you."
Eris sent him a look of pity at the uncomfortably strict body positioning he had, and convinced herself that he was not loosened up enough. It spoke volumes about how little of an effort she was putting into entertaining him, and she needed to get her act together fast. She had a reputation to maintain, after all.
"So, tell me a little bit about the work you do. I've been interested in it since we met, you know." The fact was, actually, that she had forgotten he even existed until thirty minutes ago, but that wasn't a personal attack against him. He'd had quite the mind on him, and now she remembered that.
He looked at her skeptically then, one blond, quizzical brow raised at her doublespeak that just about anyone else would be flattered by. Her arms crossed and she now stared openly at him, preparing for some clever retort when he waved away her interest.
"I told you I work with the Followers, doing mostly menial research. Mostly. Although, sometimes I do find a lead on potentially medicinal herbs in the surrounding area, and that's where my research gets interesting. I wouldn't say it's particularly glamorous.. what do you do, besides pick on others for their opinions?" He questioned sardonically, but it took some social observation to really know that the flat tone was humored.
"I work for a supervillain, he even has his own tower and everything. Isn't that glamorous?" She raised her hand and dramatically counter her fingers, "I have a robot army, a collection of snow globes, the entire surviving volumes of Proust, and yet none of them belong to me. Simple enough?"
They laughed together at her, not lie, but untruth. Though if she thought about it long enough, House definitely did have a robotic army, a collection of snow globes, and more than likely did have Proust somewhere in his library, because how could anyone hope to cultivate the image of a learned individual without any of those three? So, really, none of it was a lie, nor was it an untruth.
It was an art, she decided, to take the truth and warp it so to make it sound like a lie.
"Ah, I wasn't aware that Mr. House would hoard snow globes, that's very innocuous of him." It was her turn to be surprised now, but she worked to not let her face betray it. "Yes, you work for Mr. House, don't you? My associates can't talk about anything else these days, at the chance to speak with someone who knows the enigmatic, immortal ruler of Vegas. Of course, they're interested in how he's stayed alive all these years, and if those same techniques could be applied to the common man."
Hmm, the thought of being well-known did splendid things to her need for human attention, but the idea of never being able to converse with others without a clean slate was only somewhat unnerving. She wondered if it was her performance at Gomorrah, or her head trauma, that sealed her fate for publicity. Deciding to let it slide for now, she picked on something else in his explanation.
"Oh, I see. You only sat down with me so that you could cozy on up to the man, the myth, the legend, am I right? Well, yes, he does many innocuous things, I'll have you know. Snow globes are just the beginning." She winked at him, but he only blinked back at her, apparently interested in House. "Why? Are you interested in House? If so, that's too bad. If I told you anything, I'd have to kill you afterward."
Sitting back in her chair, she crossed her legs and took a hit from her cigarette. A smug smile had taken to at either corner of her lips as she watched the tall blond struggle with a response. She quite liked him, actually. Though not particularly loquacious, he probably had a vast amount of knowledge of the Mojave, and she didn't.
"And that's no lie, actually. My work for him is top secret." Her lips popped comically at the 'p'.
"I'm sure you can understand my curiosity regarding the er… person, you work for. But no, that isn't the reason I sat down with you. I had.. little choice about where else to sit, and you're a familiar face." He said candidly, though differently than she was used to. It was soft, not grating. Straight, not chalked with ulterior motives. It made for a less interesting character study, but it was a reprieve nonetheless. "Contrary to the rest of your character, I do believe you about your work being secret, so I won't push you on that. What's he like? He runs this city, but no one has ever spoken to him. No one knows anything about the content of his character, and yet we're expected to trust his decisions."
A fair point, one she'd have to agree with, without any complaint. House was distant, and she suspected that most of his 'management issues' were due to this simple fact, or weakness, in his character. So scantly did he know his people that he hadn't known the Omertas, the shadiest people in the entire area, were plotting against him. But she couldn't poke at him for this, he did have a lot to manage, but she'd never openly defend him like that if he was listening.
And it was good and right to be curious about everything, and to question every body in power, no matter how outwardly virtuous they were. To question them did not necessarily mean to oppose them, and she's of the mind that Arcade would agree.
"Yeah, you could say I understand, I'm still trying to figure him out myself, funnily enough." Eris took a swig from her glass, and licked her lips before going on to speak. "But, I'll have you know that I'm a good judge of other people, and I think he's alright enough for a leadership role. Definitely, he's a bit bourgeois and overly formal, and he has very little understanding of how the common man thinks. However, he has a decent understanding of the common man's needs, and in this regard, he thinks beyond the most basic necessities, and almost.. overestimates the capabilities of the common man, if you will. Like, he understands they need clothing and food, but he believes they need even more than this, if that makes sense. Does that make sense?"
Arcade nodded, and the flat emotion of his face was overturned by the same scholastic nosiness that was her closest companion. There was some smug triumph that she held all the cards in this discussion whose contents only she was privy to. But on that note, she decided she was spending too much time talking with House, because his smugness was one of his least redeeming qualities. It would be so easy to lie to Arcade and portray her benefactor in either an overly benevolent light or in a dark, villainous shadow, but that kind of lie would speak for itself with House's future actions. But if she did lie to him, maybe her lying would shift his perception enough to perceive actually good actions by House as malevolent. Eris thought it was interesting how confirmation bias worked like that.
Altogether though? Horrible, horrible idea, because Arcade could in fact be a decent human being, and she was leaning towards that read of him.
"He's a financier, though, through and through. And prewar too, that's not a myth. With the amount of knowledge he has, I can see why your people would be tentatively interested. Why don't the Followers ever just.. you know, approach him? He's not a fucking boogeyman, despite popular opinion." She knew why the Followers never approached him, she knew why no one approached him, but she wanted to know what Arcade's response would be.
Surrounding locals were becoming progressively more drunk, and she was secure in the knowledge that none of them would be cognizant enough to listen to their conversation, which was teetering on dangerous for others to listen in on. Not everyone liked to think, a truly baffling notion to her.
"Asking that we approach him would be implying that it's possible to approach him in the first place, and it might be, but if it is, I'm not aware of it. And because I'm not aware of it, then that means his rule is fundamentally flawed." She smirked at his answer, and her tongue swept over her canines.
"Are you implying that you are entitled, in anyway, to the ear of someone who's succeeded at the 'game'? Because if so, then merit demands you prove it for such a privilege." She actually agreed with Arcade that it was flawed that none of House's civilians could have his ear, but she's absolutely sure she understands his perspective also. Why should Arcade not be given leave to voice his opinions to his ruler in a society that prides itself on individualism and freedom? But furthermore, why should House have to suffer the complaints of others in a city he built, where its inhabitants live by the grace of him? No simple solution, there.
"Then by that line of thinking, he too should prove his worth as this city-state's leader." There were so many angles she could refute him on, but she'd start with the most obvious and work her way upward. "Can you seriously defend him with a straight face?"
"My friend, I can do very little with a straight face. But, the stakes are high, and I will and I shall tonight." She schooled her features as best she could, "From House's perspective, he has proven his worth to the people, through providing amenities like water and electricity. In addition to that, a city can't protect itself, and he enforces its founding principles through his securitrons. But that's not the icing on the cake. The icing, is that not any one of these clowns sitting in this room could ever, not only envision a place like New Vegas, but see it brought to life. And because of that, it's easy to see why he would think he owes no one anything, not that that is strictly speaking, true."
She watched the gears shift in his mind, a wrinkle appearing above his brow and she wondered how old he was. Appearances were deceiving out here, she'd noticed. A lot of the Legion boys had looked much older than their real age, and the same could apply to anyone else out here. Cachino and the rest of the Omertas looked like they belonged in a retirement home, but they moved with the agility and vitality of any strapping wastelander.
"I'll concede that you have a fair point, though you'll have to try much harder than that to convince me that leading like he does is good for the people, beyond relativity to his own experience." Her smile deepened, and she thanked her luck for bringing yet another interesting person into her circle.
"Define 'good'." She replied, fastening the bait to her proverbial hook. "Very many people have very different definitions of good. By good, do you mean effective, or do you mean generally upstanding?"
Arcade gave her a disbelieving look, and she smirked his way, before tossing the rest of her drink down the hatch, and taking a moment to watch the performers on stage while he thought of an answer that wouldn't make him look either overly altruistic, or overly utilitarian. The band on stage were performing a rendition of I've Got You Under My Skin, a prewar tune she's heard only in passing.
A waitress, who was seconding as a dancer, approached their lonely little table in the back, which she wouldn't have picked if it weren't for her shy company. The woman looked older than Eris, though everyone looked older than Eris. She suspected that her own age was below twenty, and when comparing her aging to everyone else around her, all evidence suggested that she'd lived a relatively privileged life before, not that it mattered now, though. The Incident was integral for her personal development, at least, that's what she told herself to cope at night.
"Can I get you a refill, honeys?" She asked, her voice smokier than Eris', who truly was an apprentice at smoking when compared to the woman before her. She really needed to step up her game, it seemed.
"Sure, sure, as long as it isn't beer. Neither of us like it. I'm only assuming he doesn't like it, of course, but if I guess it right, I'm assuming he'll go on another date with me. So, you're at liberty to serve whatever you think is best, as long as it isn't beer." Eris raised her brows at the confused look on the other woman's face, "Comprender?"
"As you say…" The other woman sent her a tentative smile, which she returned. Society needed more humans that could take some light teasing, "I'll be along shortly with your, ahem, not-beer."
"Very good!" Eris exclaimed, and winked at Arcade, whose analytical expression betrayed his opinion on her behavior. "See something you like?"
"We're not on a 'date', you know." He stated, and she wondered if she'd just traded one very serious discourse partner for another.
"Oh, is that so? All I know is that I am a woman, and you are a man, and we met in a bar, quite literally may I add. These things are usually called dates by most people." She said, totally dissonant to the fact that she prided herself on being contrary to most people.
He snorted, and adjusted his glasses in a very egghead-ish way, in such an egghead-ish way that she wished that she had glasses, so she could look even half the part that he did. Fortunately for her, though, the largest part of her enjoyed that she in no way projected the image of an egghead until she opened her mouth, and even then, she had control over it. Relative control.
"Calm yourself. Un-ruffle your feathers. Untwist your knickers." She could go on with euphemisms, but her intention wasn't to scare him away. "I do have some standards, believe it or not." She told him, looking him up and down in a teasingly condescending fashion, a caricature of the assessing look women gave men.
The tips of his cheekbones flushed then, but she didn't think it was because of any attraction towards her. No, this was a tough nut to crack, but she didn't care to crack it for that purpose. She wanted to crack it just to prove that she was able to. She liked to think she was pretty charming.
"Don't take it too personally. Attacking the self esteem of others is a good bonding experience, I'm sure you'll agree. You have a decent mind on you, you know." She said, shrugging nonchalantly.
"You're laboring under the delusion that I have a self esteem that you can attack." He shrugged back, reflecting her mood of generally not taking offense to anything. Within reason.
"I'd drink to that, if I had a drink.." Her eyes searched the room for the waitress, who was heading back to their table with drinks.
With their drinks on the table, the peace didn't last, for Swank and a couple of other Chairmen oozed up to them. A chance to talk with Swank may not be an opportunity to waste, she thought. She did have an appearance to maintain, after all. Having a good rapport with the only real upstanding family in Vegas would do wonders for her, and since she'd relieved them of their tall, checkered-suited problem, she was off to a good start.
"Fancy seeing you here, gentlemen." She inclined her head toward them, only recognizing Swank but pretending she recognized the others.
"Always a pleasure to see ya around here, especially after what ya did to those finks over at Gomorrah. You did this city a damn good service, getting rid of them like you did." Swank said, and she knew he wouldn't be sticking around for very long.
He looked a lot 'cooler' these days, if that made any sense. Swank held himself in a caricature of Benny, only… it dimmed in comparison to the real thing. Unfortunately, Eris didn't think anyone would outshine that solar eclipse of a man. Sure, he'd shot her, but she probably would have shot her too. Why not? Idly, she wondered what House, Caesar, and everyone else she knew, who was in power, was like before they acquired power. Caesar may have changed, but she doubted House changed much, mostly because he didn't get off to his own power. No, he only got off to his own genius.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." She winked at Swank, deciding to play it coy, even though she was dying to spill all the seedy details. "When I find out who did it.. you can be sure you'll be the first I'll tell."
"Sure, only a fink kisses and tells, I dig." Swank looked around at the rest of the enraptured, and inebriated, audience, and must've decided that he had something extremely important to do. "Don't have much time on my hands tonight, but tell you what, little doll. How about your drinks on the house tonight? And your friend's too."
Hmm, it looked as if that was legitimately genuine generosity on his part. No matter how cool he played himself up to be, he was too nice to ever, in anyway, be like his predecessor. That was all fine and good for him, but what kind of leader did that make? Her musings shifted at a thousand miles an hour, and she kept her eyes on Swank to at least pretend that she was interested in him.
"My, my, if I knew talking to your handsome, charming self.." Lies, lies, lies, "would get me a bunch of free things, I might convince the boss to move my suite over here. But… I'd never want to burden you." The sharpness of her smile might've cut glass, but that was neither here nor there.
A few mild-mannered flirtations back and forth, and he was back attending to the other guests, occasionally shooting her a look whose substance she knew from some past life of hers. And, because humans weren't exactly subtle about their desires for the opposite sex.
"Wow, you really have a way with words.." Arcade said in an observational tone, though he didn't seem as impressed as she would like.
"You bet. I'm kind of a big deal around here, you know."
"Big talk like that isn't going to impress me. You'll have to equal to it if you want me to be swayed." She quirked a brow at that, and immediately rose to the challenge.
"Alright, you got me. What can I do to prove to you that I'm the most brilliant person, outside of Swank, in the entire Mojave Desert?" She asked with fabricated cockiness, lighting another cigarette.
"So there's this project I'm working on. It's a side project, not in anyway funded by the Followers, as they said it wasn't significant enough of a lead to look into, for the health of the public. There's an herb in the area that people in the Utah call 'Mormon Tea', but I have no idea what its scientific name is, or what it could possibly look like. I've only heard that it grows out here, from what remains of the Happy Trails Caravan." Definitely not what she would call too interesting, but that would depend on the properties of the herb, and how uncommon it was.
"And this Mormon Tea does, what, make you elope with twenty women at once?" She laughed at her own joke, but sobered when he didn't join her, "Okay, okay." She lifted her hands in surrender, cigarette held high in the air. "I'll have you know that I work for a living dictionary on all things Mojave. And if I find something out, I'll look you up at… the Mormon Fort, right?"
Eris' pattern recognition was going off the charts now. It was funny that he lived in Mormon Fort, and that he was searching for Mormon Tea, but she doubted he'd see the humor in it as she did.
"Yes, that's right. I-uh, I suppose I'll see you then?" He left the question up in the air, as if he didn't want to commit because he feared she wouldn't commit.
He was smart, at least. Her lack of commitment was rarely ever personal, she just had a bad memory, and she could admit to being easily distracted. That wasn't even a secret, and if it was, it wasn't well kept. But she wanted to reassure him.
"I'll get right on that." She smiled at him, and watched him leave her side, the interaction leaving her confused.
They'd sat together for not even an hour, and he'd stared at her like she was some sort of insect. Not that she minded, of course, not all insects were of the bad sort, and she certainly hoped she wasn't. And even though he'd stared at her like a scientist does a new species of insects, it was clear that he didn't have a poor opinion of said, proverbial insect.
"What is 'Mormon Tea'?" She asked, getting a bot to pour her a drink in the bar of the Penthouse.
"Why do you ask?" Came the sharp response of House, who sounded more irksome than usual. Cachino wasn't working out too well, and she knew he was too proud to admit it aloud. More than likely, he'd silently replace him with some other fool, then she'd give her unwanted opinion, and he'd still disagree with her and act as if nothing out of the ordinary occurred.
Not that she was personally invested in this research project of Arcade's, because she wasn't. At least, not yet. She wasn't a medical woman, despite liking psychology of most kinds. She tried not to scoff at her associate, wanting to provoke him, but their partnership was doing too well to poke at for now. Later down the line, when he really couldn't afford to get rid of her, she'd test his patience a little more.
"Asking for a friend." She said, fully aware that anytime that line was used, it was implicitly not for a friend. Lying with the truth was a rare treat.
He then made good on the scoff she'd felt bubbling up. Only, he had the authority here, as Hegel ordained, and he could get away with it. She half-expected him to just refuse her question altogether. He was in a right, foul mood.
In classic, dramatic fashion, she waved her hands about around her head, and made a gesture of surrendering.
"Fine!" She huffed, and turned to face the ceiling, where she was sure was hidden several cameras. Truthfully, his voice reverberated throughout the entire 38, and it was difficult to ascertain from which direction it came. "I'm really just curious. Are you going to make me go to the library just to find an answer to a question I'm sure you know the answer to? No need to make me feel like a fucking criminal for asking questions..."
Two birds with one stone, really. Not only did she appeal to his ego by suggesting that he knew the answer to it, but she also knew he carried a sentiment for curiosity. More than likely, he'd shared it with her at one time, before he became… whatever he is now. She still hasn't dismissed the notion that he's in sweatpants somewhere in the bowels of the 38. Eris keeps her options open, thank you very much.
Unconsciously, her feet had already touched the floor and were moving toward the elevator, even though she'd been banking on him telling her immediately, as her own personal encyclopedia of everything Mojave-related. Anything that wasn't his own people, that is. His silence and judgmental tone when she'd asked her question made her curious as to the content of the mysterious herb, because now it was nice and forbidden.
"Just a moment, Eris." He called out to her, and her nose crinkled upon hearing… remorse? That gave her something to consider, even if it was only the bare minimum of remorse required for someone as cold and principled as House. "There will be no need for you to visit my library to find it, but your determination is useful, therefore admirable. If only you'd approach the tasks I give you with an equal measure of voracity."
Smirking, she opened her mouth to speak, but unsurprisingly, he interrupted her right before any sound left her lips. This only deepened her smirk, and her arm found the wall to support herself on, leaning into it.
"Mormon Tea is the colloquial term for the ephedra plant, found all over the southwestern lands of what used to be the United States. Its use nowadays is confined to the production of counterfeit pre-war stimulant drugs, I believe. My examination of the surrounding area leads me to deduce that the Mojave is no longer suitable for its habitation, though undoubtedly, it still grows in what used to be Utah."
"I assume a doctor of holistic medicine would be interested in it for its stimulant effects, preferring it to Mentats, or, God forbid, Jet?"
"A fine assumption. Although I do hope you're not making friends with the wrong sort, I'll need you for future endeavors, after all." Was he fishing? Fishing for what?
Normally, he showed next to no interest in her private affairs, something she appreciated, but on the other hand, loathed – it meant she had no one to confide in about the things that mattered. Not that she had much to confide, however. Having that option would be golden, though.
"For a moment, I thought you were showing proper care for your ever loyal and submissive employee. I almost thawed, immediately, would've melted on the floor if you weren't so curmudgeonly about how you show concern." Her flirtations were never serious, and while they could warm most of the fools out there, House was impervious to it. Impervious, or unaware. Maybe a bit of both.
"That is precisely why I don't show concern. Your mouth speaks for the both of us, doesn't it? You should consider yourself fortunate I even concern myself with your safety. There are many other things that beg my attention." Her cheeks flushed at that, but she didn't surrender just yet.
She laughed cheekily, throwing her head back in a moment of honest humor. Funny, how the most humorless man in the entire Mojave was one of few people who could actually manage to catch her off guard with his ice-cold, backhanded humor.
"Oh yes, and what a catch you are, Mr. House! Very lucky, indeed." The sarcasm might've been lost on him, sometimes, it was. But he was anything but dim. "On a more serious note, I am thankful for all that you provide. Being criticized and belittled constantly is much more palatable when you've got air conditioning blowing down your neck."
Nothing else was said for a moment, and she got on the elevator despite being told she didn't have to go to the library. It had become her new haunt, when she wasn't down in the city, taking advantage of Swank's fabricated generosity. He didn't like her, but he did schmooze. She didn't rightly blame him, either, Benny was his leader, and that tribal affinity never truly dies. She imagines that Mr. House fills the daddy role that Swank and the Chairmen need, now that Benny is gone.
"What are you studying today?" Came the inquisitive reply on the speaker above her head. She lit a cigarette as soon as she stepped off the platform, and considered what she'd say.
Eris played most things as they came, she was no master schemer like House. Today, since there was little else to do and it was getting so late, she would retire early after studying something new. Mojave plants didn't sound riveting to her, but it would give her something to talk about with Arcade. Besides, all she needed to have were a few well-placed facts about obscure plants, and the rest would work in her favor. Her skill at academic fraud was matched by none.
"Plants and the like.." She trailed off, purposefully attempting to hook his determination to know all.
"Not computer science? We did discuss its uses in your line of work, and you work for me. Haven't you any care as to my most successful capital, which you will be working alongside often?" She snorted at that, her eyes scanning the shelves for the biology and medicine section, which was rather larger than she might've guessed.
"But I can just deflect to your superior understanding and knowledge, see. I don't need to learn computer science when I have you." That was her second appeal to ego and authority in one day, and she found that once she started, she just couldn't stop.
"It is your choice, either way. You can choose to study something utterly useless, or you can make the smart choice and allow me to tutor you in robotics and computer science. You'll find no greater tutor of said disciplines in all of what remains of the world, I'm afraid." Maybe one day, when she was literally paralyzed and unable to leave her suite. Or, maybe sooner. "Speaking of all that remains of the world, in a month's time, I have a job for you, that will be integral to the vision we are working towards. In the meantime, I will need you here, to monitor Vegas in ways that I cannot."
How their partnership had changed since the hell she'd created for the Omertas, was endlessly enjoyable to dissect. Truthfully, she had no idea what her sincere sentiments on House were, if there were any. In fact, anytime she tried to find out, there came about this inexplicable confusion that led her to believe that her ego was dissolved, much like glass shards on a broken window, and unable to form a cohesive pane again. It was easy to laugh at this, because it was undoubtedly due to brain damage, however 'minor' it might be.
"Is that your way of asking me to stick around?" She asked, cocking one blonde brow upwards.
"Perhaps. That's my way of telling you what's needed of you, since you need reminding."
"Is that your way of saying that I'm scatterbrained for good, or for bad?" A sigh on the other end came, and she picked up the book she was searching for, humming to the jukebox playing softly in the corner.