While life soon will fade, I'll meet you at the masquerade
While our hearts swinging to violins singing til dawn
Ladies dressed in jade, hold me tight at the masquerade
If the music halts here, then my heart will waltz, dear, right on.
-"Masquerade", by Jack Hylton and his Orchestra
Out of the crooked timber of humanity, no straight thing was ever made.
It was unimaginative, but applicable to most things concerning humanity. Still, on principle, Eris must disagree. Humanity must have some unshakable qualities, and if not qualities, then members. Surely, she was variable and had no strict alignments hinging her to the doorway most were confined to. But people like Caesar? Or House? They were as straight and invariable as the universe could craft them. And if they could be exceptions, then it was feasible there were plenty more.
She wasn't one of them.
The Ultra-Luxe was a fine place, paved in a kind of luxury that reminded her of the snowglobes House liked to collect. It reminded her that Vegas was like that, almost completely untouched by the outside world, if not for the tourists that came to escape it. It inspired a sense of wonder, wonder about what Vegas looked like before. House spoke often of its glory days, of how splendorous it was, and how it was now a shell of its former self. Having been a wastelander most of her life (or, so she assumes), it invokes a sense of refinement that leaves little else that could be desired. If only she could settle with contentment in what was, then perhaps she'd see Vegas as the veritable pinnacle of mankind's genius.
As it was, she too saw a shell of its former self, and she wasn't sure if it was because of the critical fabric the universe had cut her from, or if it was because she was biased from long lectures by House.
Her rather vague orders had been to monitor activity on the Strip, which she suspected was a scheme to keep her here, though he had no valid reason to, other than she was supposedly unpredictable. Eris thought she was actually very predictable, but her appearances were few and far between for most, and there were barely any on the Strip who saw her more than once or twice a week.
There were no happenings as of late, only strange stares from Vulpes, and other 'tourists', whom she was certain were Legion spies. Thus far, they'd not tried to approach her, but seldom was she ever alone out in public. Their leader, Vulpes, was too sharp to watch her with vitriol, though she knew the others had. After all, their ploy to use the Omertas, the unlucky bastards, had been foiled – and clumsily, too. Word had spread of the Omertas' disloyalty, and worse, their alignment with the Legion. Paranoia was rife among the tourists who stayed here for great lengths, and the NCR soldiers. Any chance of a proxy war for Vegas was snuffed out for the Legion.
Now, anytime she saw the frumentarii, it was in the Ultra-Luxe, and she had to assume they had a connection to the White Gloves – those creeps in masks. Or, Gomorrah was still too hot, or, they were just watching her. It made sense. She'd be watching her too if she was in their place, and an incredibly important ally had been eliminated in their quest to conquer the jewel of the region.
"Can I refill your glass?" Asked one of the servers, a tall, masked figure in a tuxedo.
How she loathed it. It wasn't the masking of faces that bothered her, but it was being able to see the whites of their eyes though the rest was still and static, like a statue. The purposes for such an air of enigma were not lost on her, she assumed it was to provide customers with a sense of awe, mystery, and refinement. It did little to impress her, however. House was a voice, with nothing but a monitor. At least, that's what she experienced. Mystery for the sake of mystery was nothing if not pretentious, and she was aware that ten years ago, all of these attendants were wallowing in the dirt somewhere, feasting on the flesh of man. Perhaps that was the only thing she's encountered so far out here, that actually managed to move her upper lip to curl in revulsion. If anything, she was consistently strong of stomach, but that, the act of cannibalism, drew disgust even from her.
"No, you may not." Came her snarky reply, covering the rim of the glass, drawing a twitch from the man's eyelid. She tilted her head in mock curiosity, waiting for him to leave her in peace.
Over the past few weeks, she's come to recognize most of the workers here. Unlike in Gomorrah, there was no sense of familiarity, no sense of comfort, but instead a total absence of it. Eris supposed this was attractive to most, since the standards of high living were presumed to be beauty at the cost of discomfort.
She disliked this server, because his eyes wandered, and not in a comely, flattering way. In her mind, she always referred to him as 'Liver', since he seemed the type to enjoy said organ.
"As you wish." Liver remained composed and conceded, bowing deeply, maintaining his hold on the fine tray he carried – memorabilia from a lost time he knew nothing about.
Marjorie was just about the only pleasant one of the bunch, and her airs were that of formality, that of a reformed woman – cannibal – who absolutely did not miss the old ways. Perhaps she was the only one who didn't. Liver most definitely missed it, and so did Chop, another server who lingered just a little longer than was necessary anytime she ordered gecko. And she ordered gecko, because the texture was particular enough that it could never pass as anything else. Chop was shorter than Liver, and he must have been the baby of the bunch, for he was nearly always on duty, and could often be found cleaning the tables after nightfall.
The pocket watch she kept on her, a little piece that she'd found in the library, read 9:45, which was around the time dessert would be served. But she wasn't staying for tonight's serving.
At around this time, was when tourists arrived in bunches, dressed in their finest – which didn't say much. They were tattered in many places, or where they weren't tattered, they were stained. Not that Eris cared much. The extent to which she cared about fashion was that it was impressive to people, and she was in the business of impressing others.
A man was the first to come for the desserts, a sharply dressed man whose posture reminded her of Vulpes. Legion. Observing posture did not come naturally to her, but it was becoming a telltale sign of much, in her eyes. If ever there was a cue to leave, that much was it. Marjorie's face lit up at her approach, her short, mousy curls permed to the closest thing to perfection one could find in the Strip. Eris loathed being the one people schmoozed with, which was quickly becoming her role, as per her questionable authority in Vegas. In truth, she had very little authority, but she never told them that. The people needed to at least believe that their leader was approachable, even if it was only through her.
Eris disliked it, because she could no longer be one of them. Her access to the dirty secrets and lucrative business of the commoners was taken away from her every time someone saw her waltz into the 38. Unfortunately, that's what she lived for. Or, at least, that's what she told herself.
"Heading out for the night, madam?" Marjorie addressed her. 'Madam' was rather fancy of a name, Eris thought, but who was she to judge if this woman needed authority to maintain her sanity? Eris let it fly.
"I'm afraid I'll have to leave your company, but as always… I'll be back tomorrow, if only to see you. Everyone else is dreadful." Eris said, automatically, and as easy as breathing. Part of the ease was that it wasn't altogether untrue.
The patterns didn't slip by her. She was creating a habit of befriending one person from every tribe and turning them against the others. She's sure this is called 'planting', though she doesn't know how she knows that. In a few short months, she's been turned into a veritable spy for House, and less of the gunman he'd needed. Even then, she was less of a spy, and more of a 'go-to'. No longer was she really discomfited by the thought of working for him, he was plenty fair to her when she didn't aggravate him so. She could even dare to say she was beginning to like him, and if she wanted to dig the proverbial hole even deeper, she could venture to say that he liked her too, albeit begrudgingly.
"If you, by any chance, happen to have the ear of Mr. House soon, please inform him that we are planning on expanding our list of accepted guests, as per the influx of refugees from south of here." Marjorie requested. Eris knew that she was laying it on thick, but despite that, she didn't sense any betrayal in the woman's air. The game was that Marjorie wanted to keep the appearance that her people were running all major and minor decision by House, and perhaps that was true. Or, perhaps it wasn't. Either way, she's sure Marjorie knows nothing about it if that last bit was true.
"About that, can you give me the word on those refugees? Mr. House and I have spoken about it, but I always like to know the thoughts of those of you on the ground out here." That was a lie. She'd heard nothing about the refugees from the south, and she would have words with House about this soon. Not that she minded lying on her feet, it was basically her career path at this point, but she hated not knowing the gossip in the area.
"That's kind of you, madam. I hope this isn't overstepping, but I think Mr. House made an excellent choice having a diplomat such as you who has his ear on these things." Marjorie smiled coldly and properly at the guests entering the dining room past her counter, and Eris stared after them, wishing she could light a cigarette but knowing it would be improper. The first time she lit one in here, she was, if not verbally admonished by Chop, stared at with no small measure of condescension and impropriety. "I'm sure you're aware of the raider wars south of here, in Spanish country. Civilians have been migrating northward for sometime, whether it be from the Legion or the raiders. Revolting that it should happen anyhow, though we are an opportunistic family and seek to be more inclusive to those tourists who can afford our tastes."
"Mr. House will agree with that business decision, I'm sure. The more caps that run through Vegas, the closer we come to representing a standard for mankind, that many will try to emulate, and fail." She wanted to continue that philosophical rant, but knew it would be lost on Marjorie, not that she was judging. She's spent enough time being grilled on economic theory by now, that she understands its importance in upholding culture and the hearts of the people. If Vegas wasn't rich, then the people would not be as fanatically proud of it as they often were. "We'll see each other again soon, lush. I'll run your family's decision by Mr. House, and see what he thinks, yeah?"
Eris smiled at the older woman, and her soft steps led her to the cool night outside, and she immediately lit a cigarette. It was dark save for the brilliant lights of the Strip at night, and when she passed through one of the small gates, her eyes searched for the prostitute she knew wouldn't be dancing tonight. She tried not to think of Layla, tried to see him as a necessary sacrifice, and really, he'd volunteered, and was freer in death anyhow. But she'd grown to like Layla, and he'd been a damn good informant of nearly everything going on in the Strip.
When her cigarette was spent, she flicked it down on the metal steps leading up to the 38, which would be picked up by a securitron within the hour. Their efficiency was manifold, as much as she hated to admit. In Vegas, there was no need for janitors or any other unsavory jobs like that, the robots took care of nearly everything House deemed too lowly for humans to be doing. Unfortunately, this left very few jobs for those in Freeside or Westside, and though she saw this as a flaw, House saw it differently. He thought any job should require skill above the rudimentary, but Eris disagreed. While she held very little empathy for anyone, she held very little judgment either, and she didn't think being stupid should be a capital offense.
The buzz of life grew fainter and fainter as the thick, metallic doors closed with a loud thud behind, and silence greeted her.
"Turn on a radio, will you?" She asked of the bot manning the empty casino's bar.
The obscure, vintage music kept in the 38 was her near-constant company here, besides its owner and his many bots. She's sure that's Sarah Vaughn on the speakers, one of her fast favorites, to be sure. Perdido. For good measure, Eris lit another cigarette, because it was a crime to listen to Sarah Vaughn without lighting up. And because she spent hours being deprived of them while at the Ultra-Luxe, having to settle for the disappointing and pretentious locale instead.
"When you're ready, come up to the penthouse. We have something to discuss." Sounded House's brisk voice.
She was tired, and her patience was spent for today.
Months ago, that would've likely spooked her. Now, any loud sound is filtered out and largely ignored.
"Can't we just talk here? My feet hurt…" She joked pathetically, sitting down on one of the chaise lounges scattered around the back of the casino, near the bar.
"No. I need you in the Penthouse for this discussion." And, it was as if he remembered some kind of rule of etiquette between employer and employee. "And no, you are not in any danger of my wrath. Now, would you come up here?"
"Well since you ask so nicely, I guess I have no other choice I could possibly make in good conscience." Eris left her cigarette in the large ashtray next to the chaise, and walked to the elevator, her muscle memory immediately pressing the correct button for the penthouse.
The leather chair she'd had Jane place in front of House's monitor remained as it was a week ago. Eris wasn't entirely sure why he had to conduct the more serious affairs in the penthouse, but she thinks it's because of some unspoken pre-war rule about discussing difficult things in person. And this was as face-to-face as he'd allow them to be. She took a seat in the chair, the sound of leather squelching below her bottom as she did so.
"How's your night going?" He didn't respond quick enough for her tastes, so she began speaking, as was her prerogative, "I'll have you know my night has gone… if not well, then informative, somewhat. Marjorie told me about these refugees coming up from the south, and supposedly they are going to stay in Vegas. It really makes one wonder where, exactly, they'll be staying. By my calculations, Freeside is populous enough and can barely feed all the mouths it has. And Westside is scraping by even worse, so what is your plan?"
"There is no plan, except for those who are talented enough, or can afford, to come to the Strip. In their case, I'm sure there is vacancy enough in the various hotels in my city. They come of their own volition, and they are not mine to care for unless they have something to contribute." He explained, clearly irritated by her questioning, when he had something else in mind.
"Right. Except you decide the fate of most in Vegas, including those outside of the Strip. They live by the grace of you, so you must carry some kind of responsibility for them." She argued, but House wasn't in the mood for it. She could tell.
"We'll discuss this at a later time. I'm afraid what I'm about to tell you can't wait any longer, or else I would take as much time as needed to refute every fallacious sentence you just uttered." He grumbled, but she could hear there was some anticipation in his voice, and she very much looked forward to that discussion. "Since 2278, I've lost five roaming securitrons near Hidden Valley."
Oh, dear…
She was certain there was rampant NCR activity in that area, from what she's overheard in the casinos and in the streets. Her reputation with the NCR was nonexistent, and she didn't care about nursing it, but if this mission involved harassing them in anyway, there was no justification for House demeaning her for ruining any chance of diplomacy.
"And…?" She said, in mock impatience.
"I didn't receive any clear video from the incidents, but telemetry from the units destroyed indicates that they were attacked with energy weapons." He paused for a moment, and she wasn't sure if it was for effect, or if he'd had to surveillance on the Strip. "It's obvious that the Brotherhood of Steel has a base in Hidden Valley or thereabouts. Finding it won't be easy, but getting inside will be the real trick."
Eris' eyes went as wide as saucers for a moment, and she stared at the monitor in confusion, despite his sensors being far from it. All that stared back at her was the same, static, black and green image of a handsome aristocrat, with a sardonically quizzical brow lifted.
"Hold on. First, have you considered that anyone can use energy weapons? I used one for sometime during my first week here, and a good deal of others do also. What makes you think it's the Brotherhood of Steel doing it? That's a lofty accusation, and I've heard nothing about any of their activity. And, furthermore, why would you want me to go inside of their purely hypothetical headquarters if so?"
"Are you covering for the Brotherhood of Steel?" Was the first thing he asked, rather than refuting her as she expected him to.
First, she did a doubletake at the implication that she would ever defend an organization she's sure she's never seen with her own eyes. And second, she lit another cigarette because this was one of those conversations that would require one. She wasn't intimidated by the territory they were about to go into, and if she had her way, they'd be going deep and long. Very rarely these days, did they ever throw personal jabs at one another, and she was surprised that he would even dare to imply that she was working for anyone else, when she's been here now for months and only stole to Freeside once every week or so.
"I'd forgotten they'd even existed until you just brought their existence to the forefront. No, I'm not 'covering' for the Brotherhood of Steel, I think slowly vegetating in Vegas should tell you enough of my whereabouts for the past five months. Or, do you need a list of names and locations of witnesses?" She asked, drawing from her cigarette and exhaling the smoke to the left of her, "All I'm asking for right now is proof that they have a bunker in Hidden Valley, before anything else. Remember how you wouldn't accept anything from my time casing the Omertas until that creep tried to turn me into flesh sculpture? All I ask, is for the same courtesy."
"Fair enough, I can respect your hesitancy to accept anything without evidence." He said, in a lighter tone. "As I said before, the telemetry showed damage by energy weapons, and as you rightly put it, anyone can use energy weapons in the Mojave. That much is true. But the Brotherhood of Steel's energy weapons aren't of the same make as the common energy weapons used by a minority, might I add, of the Mojave. It's a special model of laser pistol, not native to the area, and its damage is peculiar to it, and for the discerning eye, it's not likely to be mistaken for anything else. Fortunately for both of us, I have a discerning eye."
He then continued what she expected would amount to a tirade, and for once, she wasn't sure where it was going, or she didn't like where it was going.
"Given the Brotherhood of Steel's fanatical views of technology, they can be counted on to oppose my regime." Eris stilled, and considered where this conversation might be going.
It was fair to go to war with open opposition, indeed it was a fact of warfare and governance. Eris was not like the Followers, not like Arcade, she did not wear rose-colored glasses, or any glasses at all. There could be no freedom without war, and there could be no war without a violation of freedom. But it begged the question of what 'freedom' truly was, yet again. If House's lands extended to Hidden Valley, wherever that was, then she might be persuaded to say that he was justified in his hypothetical war against the Brotherhood of Steel. But if not…
"Are you asking me what I think you're asking me?" She asked, rather dumbly. But she was nothing if not thorough, it's why she asked as many questions as she did.
"If you're trying to get to the bottom of it, then I'll assume you can stomach the orders I'm about to give you. I'll need you to infiltrate their base in Hidden Valley, and just, wipe them out, won't you?" He uttered the last bit with exasperation thick in his bourgeois voice.
For once, she was bewildered at the orders he gave her, and… a little bewildered that she was bewildered. For sometime now, she's been playing this by ear, and she can't help but think the real politicking had just begun.
The crux of the inner conflict (for which there were always many in her experience, but this time, she could identify it), was that she knew next to nothing of the Brotherhood of Steel, but most importantly, she knew they were one of the only major powers in the region not vying for Vegas. That made them an exceptional case, and forced her to temporarily sift through the fragments of what was left of her moral compass, if there even was one, deep within. Sure, she acknowledged that this was a part of war, but was she willing to take such a… large step?
Like always, she wondered what a normal civilian would do or say when faced with present circumstance. Despite coveting the lofty words of bygone thinkers, she did have an appreciation for the worldly wisdom of common civilians.
The word heinous came to mind, as did genocide.
"Why would the Brotherhood of Steel attack you? I have my doubts that it was unprecedented. You have quite a way with words." She said, trying to sound as unbothered as possible. Because truthfully, she was weirdly bothered by this mission. And when she was bothered, the solution was almost always to ascertain that she had the correct facts, and use her own logic to find the fact that applied most accurately to the situation at hand.
"Does it matter if it was unprecedented?" She turned to glare at the monitor in awe, and wondered, just for a split second, what she'd signed up for. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Eris. You've been working for me for sometime now, and in close proximity, too. Do you think I managed an entire corporation without dealing with employees who tried to stall a deadline?"
With her cigarette abandoned, she stared up at his monitor in outrage. Maybe she was trying to stall, but her intentions didn't occur to her when there was more information to be had, especially about a solution as permanent as he was suggesting. Taking out Nero and Sal had been easy, easy because they were all degenerate former tribals who'd gotten in her way, and a people whom it was easy to be morally opposed to. They had been worthless, entertaining – to be sure – but worthless, nonetheless. They contributed very little to the progression of human society, or indeed the city of Vegas. Any rehabilitated tribe could run that casino, it didn't need to be the Omertas. As tribals, they knew the law of the land, lived by its grace, and thus signed a waiver to be destroyed by any superior force.
But the Brotherhood of Steel had not. They played by different rules. Rules she'd learn, but different rules nevertheless. When there were no rules, it was fair game for Eris. The Omertas had operated under the general terms of lawlessness, and were asking to be fucked over. Though she knew very little about the Brotherhood of Steel, she knew that they treated the general populace with distrust and condescension, but were content to live in isolation with their gadgets away from said people.
"Stalling or not, I think you can agree that I deserve to know more about an entire group you're asking me to massacre. I don't make a living off of genocide, you know." She exhaled, waving her hand in a gesture as to say 'see?' "So, spill it, kindly. Tell me why the Brotherhood of Steel deserves your wrath and condemnation. I'll listen and withhold judgment until you're finished. Promise."
This time, she really did mean it.
"We're talking about a coterie of bulging-eyed fanatics who think all prewar technology belongs to them. They'll never accept my using an army of robots to defend Vegas. While it would be a fight I can win, I'd rather sidestep it altogether. Taking them out of the board early, so to speak, will be a minor preventative measure." He explained, as confidently as though he were relating to her the weather, which should've surprised her, but it didn't. "They're a terrorist group, in every possible way your favorite dictionaries could define it. Militant, quasi-religious fanatics obsessed with hoarding prewar technology.
"Not all technology, mind you. You don't see them raiding hospitals to cart away Auto-Docs or armfuls of prosthetic organs." And a beat of affected silence, "No, they greatly prefer the sort of technology that puts people in hospitals. Or graves, rather, since hospitals went the way of the Dodo."
The questions flew past her at blinding speed, and she picked the one that would be most telling.
"Aren't you also a hoarder of prewar technology? Forgive me, but it sounds somewhat hypocritical that you might criticize a people's interest in tech when you're quite literally surrounded by it. Why hate them, when their actions don't seem so different from your own?" She could imagine some jaw dropping going on. If someone had their mind set on hating another, it should be for good reasons. As for Eris, she hated no one, of that she was sure, and she liked to think it was because she didn't have good enough reasons to back said hatred.
Uh-oh , her mind warned. Over ten seconds spent in silence, and she knew he wasn't managing anything else on the Strip – he was far too focused on this, and he was pissed. It might have brought a smile to her face, a couple of months ago. But now, she thinks they were past unveiled insults, and had moved onto the safer territory of mostly harmless, academical jabs at the other.
Only, if he was bothered by this question, she was unsure how else she could weasel out information. This was her brand, after all. Questions asked as a means to gain better understanding, interpreted as personal attacks by those who had a real ego, unlike her. Eris wished she knew what it was like to get offended by something as inane as questions. As of now, she only knew why they did. House was no different, after all, except he nurtured no such self-doubt like the rest, whose doubts could be brought to surface by something as innocuous as a question. In that way, he made for her first real challenge, unshakable and undoubtedly the most quietly headstrong person she's ever met.
She's almost envious. Almost. But that's not her role.
"The people of Vegas have every right to hoard their own gadgets of war, away from my property. Comparing my regime to the Brotherhood of Steel is a disservice to your own intelligence. I don't invade the homes of citizens to infringe on their right to own a Gatling, 'for their own good'. Why do I hate the Brotherhood of Steel, you ask? Because they're ridiculous! Because they gallivant across the Mojave pretending to be Knights of Yore." He defended, and she had to admit, he did defend his case rather well. There was very little she could poke at there, without grasping at straws. "Or did, until the NCR showed them that ideological purity and shiny power armor don't count for much when you're outnumbered 15 to 1. The world has no use for emotionally unstable techno-fetishists. Just put them out of my misery, will you?"
"I'll consider it." She replied, looking at nothing in particular as she went through the logistics of such a mission. No doubt, she would be allowed the same creative freedoms as usual.
"You'll 'consider it'? Consider it? There is nothing to consider! The Brotherhood of Steel's chapter in the Hidden Valley will be taken apart, with you finishing the job. No more questions asked. This is a non-negotiable task, Eris." He told her, like she was trying to negotiate, which she wasn't sure of the validity of. Maybe she was trying to negotiate, but she's certain that there are better alternatives.
Abruptly, she stood up and left the leather chair, pacing around the room, veering nearer to the elevator every time she makes a complete circle. Intermittently, she takes a moment to stare between the monitor and the cameras above the monitor, revolted at herself for agreeing with him that the Brotherhood of Steel were indeed clownish technological thieves masquerading under the code of chivalry. She wishes she had a clever argument for their innocence, but he would accept none of that, and she had none to offer besides. They weren't dissimilar from the Legion, but unlike the Legion, they masked their insidious intentions under an ideology whose ideals did not extend to those who were not a member of their group. At least the Legion assimilated all, and did not deny the people a chance to take part in their leader's equally stunning, but different, brand of idealism.
"It's difficult to take anyone seriously when they bark orders at you. By no means am I calling you a tyrant, well, you are a tyrant under the Latin tradition, but you are aware that what you're asking me to do is something I will need time to process and form at least a cohesive plan around, don't you?" He did understand, of course, but he was far too big-pictured a person to place himself in the shoes of someone as scrupulous as she. "I don't want to do this." She admitted aloud, and invariably, she'd regret that.
"Need I remind you of our contract, which has remained intact ever since your willingness to continue to work for me?" He asked crossly, and she rolled her eyes at the first mention of their contract in nearly two months. They were past that, she'd thought.
If ever there was a time to tell him, it was now. She had her doubts that he'd play along with the pity card she was about to lay down. She was all too aware that she wouldn't change his mind, she never had before, so why now? But if she died out in Hidden Valley, she did want at least one person besides the whole of isolated Goodsprings to know the detail.
"Are you dim? Haven't you put it together in that brilliant mind of yours, nearly every time you've brought the contract to attention? I don't remember the goddamn contract. Never have, and I likely never will. That bullet did more than disable me for a week. It made me forget who I was, and," She laughed to herself then, "Indeed, also, who you are. Only by word of mouth did I ever know anything about you when I first came here. I don't even remember my name, and before you ask, no, I don't particularly care either, so now that this is out of the way, you can be content in the knowledge that every time you've brought up the contract during our time together, it's gone completely over my head."
He said nothing, and so she continued, completely oblivious as to why she felt compelled to do it. It's the first time she's spoken of herself honestly, without putting up any front, ever since she's been here.
"Everything I was, completely gone. Every covenant we made before, is completely null by the reality that only one of us remembers enough to hold their end of the agreement. Talk about the contract, if you want. It's null and void as far as I'm concerned, and frankly, I'm not all that concerned." She dug, unsure just exactly of what she was doing. This was profoundly uncharacteristic of her, but this job was profoundly uncharacteristic of anything she's ever done, also. "I'll go and conquer the Brotherhood of Steel for you, dear leader. My brain may have been scrambled back to factory settings by Benny's works, but I still know how to follow orders, like a good soldier."
Eris left the room, aware that this was the first time she's turned her back on him, and not vise versa. So often, it was the other way around. Oh, she'd regret this come the morning, but poking the sleeping bear, as it was, had been a favorite pastime of hers. This time, however, was different. She had a valid reason to berate him in the only way she knew how.