"Number Nine"
Ch. 05: Say it right.
Warning: sensitive material ahead. This chapter contains graphic descriptions of gore, violence, animal mistreatment, and hints of suicidal behavior.
If you're sensitive to these topics, either don't read or proceed with caution.
"Oh, you don't mean nothing at all to me
No, you don't mean nothing at all to me
But you got what it takes to set me free
Oh, you could mean everything to me."
- Nelly Furtado, "Say It Right"
As Vulpes Inculta, leader and the greatest of Caesar's Frumentarii, was bracing himself to be crushed - his hyperactive imagination already depicting in a very graphic fashion how his eyes would be popping from his skull and his bones would turn to ashes under a huge supermutant's tidal love he hadn't asked for the life of him -, he felt supreme relief the instant a smaller figure got in-between him and his impending doom.
"Granny!" – the 'Vero' woman's voice in front of him exclaimed a bit too cheerfully, trying to disguise her nervousness – "Jimmy and Six have been playing around all night, and now they're hungry and tired. Right?" – she asked, both to Vulpes and Courier Six, who had gotten by the Frumentarius' side just in case she had to pull him off Lily's reach.
"Yes." – the two youngsters answered in unison, crossing fingers that Lily would abandon her plan to crush the life out of him.
The Nightkin blinked, taking on both Vulpes' and Six's sleep-deprived visages carefully. She bought it.
"Awwwww, grandma has been missing her little munchkins so much that she has forgotten to bake some cookies." – she said apologetically – "But don't you worry, children. Grandma will start preparing them as soon as we get home. That, and a nice meal! You poor dears look starved!"
Vulpes directed a sidelong look towards Six, who mouthed "Don't fight it" and signaled to him with her eyes to slide along with her aside so he could get out of the supermutant's reach.
And the Frumentarius didn't know how he had gotten into this colossal mess in the first place, but he ended up flanked by Six, the redhead, and the dog - which was still sniffing him - while 'Vero' distracted the huge Nightkin by chatting her ear off. The other two men - the NCR sniper and the Followers' doctor - followed them silently while exchanging glances.
Boone was unusually silent, and his frown was extra hard over his aviator sunglasses, piercing the newcomer's nape as if he were pointing his rifle at him. Arcade could tell by a single look that it wasn't just that he didn't trust him - Boone was, on principle, distrustful towards EVERY single soul unless they proved him wrong over time - but that he also resented the young man for Six's disappearance.
Since the group's early formation, Boone had always been overprotective with Six, and that wasn't news for anybody. He had this fatherly/big brother instinct that only applied to the girl like she really was his family, and this evening had proven a stressful one for the ex-sniper as he hadn't been able to find her, relying on Rex's nose and directing dirty glares to all The Tops' staff, eager for them to give him cause to start shooting.
Boone was a very private person who rarely shared his thoughts outside mere practical issues or tactics when they had found themselves charging into trouble. Still, Arcade could only imagine how much Six's temporal disappearance had affected him.
Boone was all steely front. Never giving a piece of his mind and always looking you in the eye to catch you lying… But, underneath all those protective layers that completed an almost impenetrable armor of discipline and no-nonsense demeanor, Arcade had known from minute one since he had incorporated into the group that Boone still had wounds that bled inside that armor. Primarily because, from time to time, the blood of those very wounds seeped through its tiny slits in various forms that always derived from watching Six getting one of her headaches and the man looking utterly miserable because he couldn't do a thing to help her; to see her wounded and/or poisoned, with him losing his cool completely.
Arcade still recalled that time on Black Mountain, when the entire group had tried to sneak under Tabitha's nose. The detours they had taken had gotten Six far too close to a nexus full of broken radioactive barrels that had gotten, through inhalation, right to her bloodstream.
Once they'd found a way to secure Tabitha's Mister Handy, Rhonda, into Raul's jail/workshop, Six had managed to find some critical mechanical pieces to aid in the robot's reparations. Then she, in collaboration with the cranky ghoul, had brought Rhonda to life again.
With Tabitha happy leaving her 'State of Utobitha' on Black Mountain accompanied by her robot 'friend', as soon as the odd pair had disappeared from sight, Six's tiny frame had ended up between Raul's arms the very moment the radiation in her bloodstream had knocked her off.
Six and her damned stubbornness, as in being silent when something wasn't right, was still an issue nobody had managed to get out of her yet despite being a constant source of trouble for the teen. Her poisoning had been grave, and everyone had covered their faces with their hands as soon as Arcade had given her a scan with her Pip-Boy.
Everyone… but Boone.
Boone had merely stared at her unconscious face as if he couldn't bring himself to believe that she could die. And so, two days later, after Arcade had managed to clean her system employing loads and loads of RadAway they, fortunately, had been storing away on their packs… she had opened her eyes and, after muttering some weak apology, Boone's arms had encircled her. He had not released her for a good hour. Both had remained silent, him embracing her weakened form, her rubbing his hands and forearms as if she were trying to comfort him.
Neither of them had spoken a word about the incident. Still, from that day on, every time the Pip-Boy's Geiger Counter beeped from Six's left wrist, Boone was always adamant that they turned around to search for other ways to reach whatever location they would be looking for. And Six always gave in just for the sake of not worrying him.
Given all these precedents, Arcade could even understand why Boone now would likely be fuming over Six's new companion and why the man, right now, hated his guts more than any other thing in this world.
Besides, said new companion, aside from being albino, a condition he wasn't to blame for, had an odd air around him that didn't sit quite right with Arcade.
The way he carried himself, even with the due stiffness his encounter with Lily had left on his posture, had something unnatural. No young man, and even less being as tall as this one was, walked so damn straight, so poised. Arcade himself was way taller than the average human male, and he always caught himself slouching towards people so he could make eye contact and understand what they said.
However, this stranger worked more with his eyes than with his body language. He was used to getting full attention from his interlocutors, so he didn't need to slouch to communicate.
Arcade already had a sketched pattern about the young man's attitude by simply observing how he walked between Six and Cass.
And there was something about him that made the doctor nervous.
He couldn't put his finger on what it was exactly, but he silently agreed with Boone that the newcomer wasn't to be trusted. Not until he proved them otherwise.
Nonetheless, Six seemed happy walking beside the new arrival, tinkering with her Pip-Boy a bit as they were walking.
"Hey, Six." – the blonde doctor called while eyeing the unfamiliar new device in wonder – "What happened with your Pip-Boy?"
She turned around while still walking backward playfully, a toothy smile upon her lips.
"He helped me to recover it." – she stated, signaling her new companion with her head – "This is my original Pip-Boy. He got the other in exchange for his help."
"I see." – Arcade replied while eyeing the young man's left forearm, Six's old device wrapped around it.
Meanwhile, the albino's cerulean eyes landed first on his hard-earned price, then briefly on Arcade, his gaze saying "Mine" without having to utter a word. So mercenary of him, Arcade mused, but what could one expect from people outside the Followers? Six was a rare exception, and the rest of the group only abided by her decisions because they liked and cared about her, not because they were particularly charitable.
However, Six usually had a good nose for people. Until now, all the disparate members of their ragtag group had proven to be, if not good Samaritans, decent people in search of a cause greater than themselves. Perhaps this new guy would be sticking around for a while?
Six seemed to be under the impression that he should because, once they reached the doors of the Lucky 38, the pale young man was the only one who went to a halt instead of coming with them, uncertainty showing on his blue eyes until the girl signaled him to follow.
Surprise flickered briefly on his pupils, still eyeing the building as if not knowing whether to accept the invitation or not until Lily's raspy voice called.
"Come in, sweetheart! Grandma promises it's safe!"
The Nightkin's statement would have chased them away immediately to any other person.
But this guy, apparently, wasn't any other person.
The instant he got inside the bicentenary casino and his eyes adapted to the gloom while following the flicks of dust permeating the air, Six's smile had reached Cheshire Cat proportions.
After five scarce hours of disquiet sleep, Sunny Smiles was making her usual rounds on Goodsprings' outskirts. Basically, to clean the yard of the old schoolhouse from unwanted giant mantis nymphs building a nest in there and to keep an eye on the small Powder Ganger group that had taken residence inside one of the old abandoned houses a few weeks ago.
Since the sudden apparition of that fella Ringo out of nowhere saying that his caravan had been attacked and bad men were after him, the town's usual placidness had gotten on a tight leash.
One evening after the incident, a dude who had introduced himself as Joe Cobb had stood at the Saloon's bar counter, first asking, then threatening Trudy that he wanted to know about Ringo's whereabouts… or else.
Trudy, who had been the one giving the caravanner asylum at the old gas station, had been unfazed by his threats. Still, Sunny knew a dangerous man when she saw one, so she had intervened with Cheyenne baring her fangs at Cobb, inviting him to keep his hands where both woman and dog could see them. The man had barked that "he'd done being nice and that if they didn't hand Ringo over soon, he was gathering some friends to burn this town to the ground".
After that, he had disappeared into the night to reappear the following day, backed by other six or seven Powder Gangers.
They hadn't made a move on the town yet, but Sunny wasn't taking any chances. She had already consulted with most of the townspeople, and, even if Chet agreed that they should hand over the man, Trudy wasn't as convinced. Half the settlers wanted to sit the situation out, but they also didn't want to be raided by a group of NCR ex-convicts if they showed weakness or cowardice.
Doc Mitchell had agreed to lend some medical supplies in case the town ended up opposing the criminals, and Easy Pete, while not keen on sharing his dynamite stock, said that they were bad people and bad people should be dealt with just one way.
However, nobody was moving a finger unless they decided to attack the town, so Sunny had self-imposed the task of watching them should they start acting fishy.
That was why at seven in the morning, with little sleep on her account, big eye bags, and a small campfire roasting some nice gecko steak both for her and her dog as breakfast, she immediately pointed her gun to a tall silhouette that had stopped in front of her, casting a menacing shadow that blocked her sight from keeping watching Cobb and his men.
"I don't know what you've missed here, stranger, but I am not the person you should be asking about anything." – she warned, not liking a bit what her eyes saw and what her nose was catching the more the stranger got in her field of view – "Try Trudy at the Saloon if you are thirsty, or Chet at the General Store if you need some supplies. Otherwise, hit the road."
Milky blue eyes regarded, first her gun, then her and the dog with impervious indifference, as if the threat that the loaded weapon aiming at his chest presented was nothing.
"I am looking for a girl." – he replied drily, his vocal cords extra raspy not only due to his evident condition but also from the dusty roads of this damn desert. A week since his arrival, and he already despised the Mojave with all his might.
Sunny's brown eyes squinted, studying the stranger from head to toe. She wasn't in the mood nor had the patience to deal with him right now. Her gecko steak was already too roasted for her tastes, and the rotten smell coming from this herculean necrotic redhead, despite the thick layer of mercenary leather armor he wore, was making her appetite thinner and thinner the more seconds he stayed within her nose's reach. Cheyenne wasn't also happy if her bared fangs and stiff tail were of any indication.
"No ghoul girls here, sorry." – was her also dry reply.
"She is not a ghoul. A human like you." – he said, his face inhumanly still – "Seventeen, Caucasian, black hair, black eyes. 5,1 feet tall, very slender. Wears a Pip-Boy."
Sunny's eyes didn't betray the sudden wariness she felt when she recalled the little young thing that had been shot in the head by men after some package of hers four months ago.
First those thugs… now this beast of a ghoul carrying a shotgun and more combat knives on his person than she can count? Why were such monsters so intent on giving chase to a sweet thing like her as if she were some sort of radstag doe? No way was she cluing this beast where she had headed.
Besides, he also had a Pip-Boy on his account. Help, her ass.
"We are a small town; not many 'girls' around here. Sorry." – she replied, taking the cooked meat from the campfire to pick a generous piece with cautious fingers that she threw to her dog, implying that the conversation was over. She wished her body language hadn't given him a reason to suspect.
As soon as the necrotic turned heel and got out of her sight, Sunny was able to inhale the desert's smoky scent once more and willed her shoulders to relax again. She took a bite from her steak with a swing of fresh water and didn't give further thought to that strange encounter.
Little did she know that the redhead ghoul had other plans as he redirected his steps towards the house occupied by the Powder Gangers.
As they had stepped inside the dusty gloom of the Lucky 38 that smelled of stale air and naphthalene, Vulpes' eyes had been vigilant, taking note of all the details his sight could process about the building's infrastructure, searching for ventilation grills and other possible weaker points he could exploit to his benefit.
He hadn't been very convinced when the girl had signaled him to follow, but this was an opportunity any Frumentarius shouldn't and couldn't let pass just like that.
In less than twenty-four hours, his plans about extending Caesar's Mark to the infamous Courier from the Mojave Express had been frustrated to end up much better than they had initially started: the Courier was a girl, alright, but a girl whose company he didn't find repellent. That was quite something coming from him.
Also, incidentally, said girl seemed to find him equally agreeable to even extend an invitation inside one of the best-guarded fortresses in the entire Mojave.
Providing that this wasn't a trap to ambush him to gather intel from the Legion, the desert fox was now a very lucky fox.
However, his confident attitude wavered a little when the group decided to separate in two in order to not overburden the elevator that would take them to the Presidential Suite floor.
He had sought the Courier with his eyes, clearly wanting to stay close to the only familiar face there, but the sniper was having none of it as his big calloused hands had taken hold of the girl's bony shoulders, directing a steely glare to Vulpes as if daring him to question. The Followers' doctor and the redhead had gotten beside them, quickly defining the groups.
So, he was basically left with a small woman and a dog as a barrier between him and the supermutant.
They had been the first ones to take the elevator, and the short trip upwards had been unbelievably tense as the big mutated woman (if the thing could indeed still be considered a woman) had kept calling him 'Jimmy' while saying that 'he was such a good boy' and 'how proud her mother must be of him'.
Vulpes had known better than to correct her.
The other present woman, Veronica he had learned was her full name, had directed him more than once sympathetic glances. But he had simply put up stoically with the Nightkin's – Lily - odd antics when she had straightened his bolo tie and had put an oversized pale blue hand over his head to mess with his white waves, depicting in the most surreal way a kind of maternal affection directed to this 'Jimmy' person whose role she had decided to adjudge him.
"Do not take it into account." – Veronica had whispered to him once they were out of the elevator and Lily had gone to the kitchen area to start preparing the promised cookies – "For what I've gathered from Six and Arcade, Lily has Schizophrenia, a kind of dementia apparently prevalent amongst Nightkin derived from their constant use of Stealth Boys." – she had explained to a silent Vulpes – "She has very short-term memory and has hallucinations about her grandchildren, Becky and Jimmy."
Vulpes said nothing but directed a vacant look towards the door where the supermutant had disappeared. The cyberdog, having been by his side since the minute its nose had spotted the young man, whined softly and licked his hand.
Distracted by the animal's attentions, Vulpes crouched at its visual height and allowed the canine to sniff his face and hair, earning tender licking when he scratched behind its ears.
The ding that came some minutes later informed him that the Courier and the rest of her cohorts had also reached the Presidential Suite floor.
"Rex likes you." – her voice informed him from behind – "It is fortunate that he hasn't got a look at you when you were wearing your hat. He hates hats."
Turning to her while getting up, Vulpes caught the sniper's frown and the guarded expression on the Followers' doctor.
However, the redhead had a more lay-off attitude towards him.
"Sooo, Six, are we getting introductions here with your new boy-friend, or should we just keep calling him 'Jimmy'?" – she asked cheekily.
The Courier's nose, cheeks, and neck immediately turned an angry shade of pink, but other than that, she answered composedly.
"Right!" – she exclaimed, eyeing Vulpes briefly should he wish to speak up. When she saw that he didn't, she continued – "Guys, this is Zorro Salvaje. We met on the Gomorrah. He helped me both with my migraine and recovering my old Pip-Boy from Benny."
Then she had proceeded to introduce him to the rest (counting also a gruffy ghoul who had appeared out of nowhere wielding a coffee mug and calling the girl 'Boss' – probably the one who cheated some caps to Gladius), explaining what happened on their visit to The Tops and how they had managed to escape through a secret route while they got towards the kitchen to have a proper breakfast. Mercifully, she left his Legion allegiance out of the picture.
Her companions threw her lots and lots of questions, pondering where Benny could be right now and how to proceed from now on as they sat at the communal kitchen table. The fantastic breakfast the supermutant cooked for them could have fed an entire Legion regiment. And men in the Legion were used to eating in significant quantities as almost all legionaries were young men, many still in their growth stage.
Famished both from his not-so-little adventure with the Courier and sleep-deprived fatigue, Vulpes wolfed down two brahmin steaks, and half the pancakes' plate the mutated woman (let's pretend it, indeed, is still a woman) had cooked with just the right amount of sugar and milk to keep them tasty and tender.
"So, Zorro Salvaje." – the redhead woman, Cass, commented while being the only one drinking alcohol at the table – "That sounds tribal, Imma right?" – she asked while Vulpes' eyes raised slowly from his plate to put on what Profligates called a 'poker face' – "Hey, no worries, pal!" – she laughed, raising both her hands in a surrender gesture – "My Mom was a tribal as well. She was from East of the Colorado, though, not sure what tribe. Was before the time Cesar rounded them up, made them Legion." - though this last statement had evident displeasure all over her voice, she continued amicably – "She walked a hell of a way until she crossed paths with my Dad, and he convinced her to stop walking. And lucky for me, he was a horny old bastard." – she added, grinning.
Vulpes eyed the Courier, who was sitting next to him, as she buried her flustered face between her hands, possibly mortified that her friend would be making a poor impression on someone that she - being the perceptive creature she was - had the inkling that didn't partake on inappropriate displays of sex humor.
But Vulpes, while not changing his hieratic expression, dignified an answer. After all, this was their and not his territory. He had to blend in.
"Our tribe dissolved years ago, mostly due to the quick expansion of the Legion." – he was being careful now. Out of habit, he could end up naming Caesar by his Latin pronunciation, and that would raise suspicion among people used to call him 'Cesar' – "We moved from South Utah to Arizona; then, when the expansion grew, we traveled West to California where we got disbanded. Each man to their own, the NCR glad to assimilate the uneducated and turn them into model citizens." – he added, careful to imprint his voice with sarcasm instead of disgust.
The girl had raised her head from her hands, clearly taken off guard hearing him disclosing what sounded like a private part of his life. No matter if half was invented, his voice sounded sincere. For the best lies were built from half-truths.
Nonetheless, the redhead cowgirl laughed while the gruff sniper dignified an unamused grunt.
"Yeah." – she nodded, raising her whiskey glass in agreement – "NCR, right? Herding and domesticating people like cattle. Not that the Legion alternative would be much better, though."
He had to agree with her on that ground, fully aware of what it meant to a tribal woman to be assimilated by the Legion.
However, while the Republic gave men and women equal rights, it lacked a purpose higher than recreating the American pre-War society, with all the corruption, vices, and bureaucratic flaws centered on individualism instead of the common good that had led to the nuclear Armageddon in the first place. Caesar's Legion, on the other hand, made men loyal and stronger by means of not pampering them, forcing them to either adapt or die, giving them a higher purpose where the state was not just a virtue, but the only virtue at all… however, despite being a well-trained army whose soldiers' loyalty was unquestionable, their quick expansion had taken a toll on their social development where children were exclusively raised to be either soldiers or breeders; men were, if disciplined, severely lacking on the brains department for very few of them were educated; and women took the worst role of all being the bearers of new generations of soldiers and being always at their disposal, whether they liked it or not.
If everything went according to Caesar's vision, the Legion would not just assimilate the Republic but instead fuse with it. Thesis and Antithesis, to form a mix of both, taking out the weaknesses and implanting the stronger points onto one new nation, a new Synthesis.
And the NCR would contribute with their laws and social structure to make the Legion not just stronger but more efficient.
Vulpes could only but hope that the Legion would retain NCR's gender equality (at least legally, for having soldier women would only increase the raping rates as many legionaries would find intimidating having a woman as a colleague on the battlefield), so when he decided to take a bride (not that he was in any hurry despite Caesar's impatience for him to contribute to the Legion with his genes, as he expected from every last legionary on fertile age) she wouldn't have to be subjected to slavery and unwillingness. He preferred a wife he could talk with instead of having a zombie saying "yes, husband" to every decision he would make, a wife who would give him the finger from time to time if he ended up getting unreasonable. All of this was far better than partaking in the mistreatment and raping of a victim just for the sake of reproduction. He had seen enough of that already.
Besides, he thought about a certain someone who would benefit from such a change… or so he hoped.
That was why, despite all the sins Vulpes Inculta knew he had on his back and would continue to commit, despite knowing he probably wouldn't see the full change, the full Synthesis taking form, he would die in peace knowing that he had contributed with his service to its creation.
And, if such a Synthesis would not take hold on Humankind's barren ground, he would die with less bile on his soul, knowing he had managed to take as much blood, fire, and tears as he could with him.
He would excuse himself with either side of the spectrum. Selling his best or worst version to the world was easy. Not for nothing, he was the most renowned liar of the entire Legion.
From being the candid idealist to the uncaring monster, it didn't make any difference to him. Selfish or selfless, good or evil, monster or human, boy or man… everything was just the point of view of the eye that looks.
But he will never say that he was sorry. Never.
"Bueno, ya no te hagas más el pato, güero." – the ghoul, Raul he was called, spoke suddenly, leaving stunned looks around as he spoke in his native Mexican jargon – "Con ése nombre… ¿hablas bien el español?" (1)
Vulpes raised a brow.
"¿Ya viniste de hocicón a que te suelte la sopa, vato?" (2) – he replied, recalling some of those colloquial expressions the neighbor tribe used when they exchanged Yao Guai and green gecko hides and meat for daturana roots, banana yucca, and some vegetables the other tribe planted. Since he was five, he had been present in those exchanges as his father deemed him intelligent enough to start learning numbers in transactions. All the people from the neighbor tribe had been of Hispanic ancestry, so they had conserved their original language almost intact.
Or so the Malpais Legatus had said once.
Meanwhile, for the first time since they had known Raul when Six had helped him escape his imprisonment at Tabitha's hands, the ghoul shocked the entire group by starting coughing and laughing his ass off in earnest.
"¡Me gusta este chavo!" – he exclaimed in between coughs and laughs while pointing an index finger to the newcomer – "¡Jodido chistoso!" (3)
Lily gently patted him on his back so he wouldn't choke on his coffee.
"What the hell did they just say?" – asked Cass, switching her befuddled eyes from the ghoul to the now smirking young man.
Veronica, by her right side, shrugged while smiling. It was so rare seeing Raul losing his shit…
Six, whose Spanish knowledge derived more from the Castilian branch, had gotten a hold of their words only by context, but she could tell that Zorro's impersonation of Mexican Spanish had been a really good attempt, thus why Raul was having such a good time.
She directed an amused look first to the aforesaid necrotic, who was still laughing; then Arcade, who seemed more relaxed hearing the newcomer joking with the sourest member of their group – not to count Boone, who was still brooding while he chewed on a brahmin steak as he gulped down his third coffee mug, of course.
Finally, she settled her eyes on Zorro.
And he seemed relaxed, just like he had been with her on the rooftop.
She was glad he could become comfortable around her allies. That would make things easier.
Once they finished the enormous breakfast, some got the task of clearing the table and storing the leftovers in the fridge, while others got the job of cleaning the kitchen.
She and Zorro ended up elbow to elbow (figuratively, of course, given the height difference) washing dishes. Legion or not, every recruit had washed dishes and cleaned latrines once in a while, either as communal work or punishment.
"Can I see your Geiger Counter metrics?" – she whispered after a while, extending her hand as if asking permission that she could touch him.
He made no move to allow her to check his device but squinted his eyes distrustfully instead. He already knew what she was asking for, and it wasn't her business. His Pip-Boy, his private medical record, his health.
Biting her lower lip nervously, Six retired her hand.
"Look…" – she started, terribly unsure – "If your earlier metrics on rads are true, you will need medical attention sooner or later… and it is very possible that the Psychojet Benny injected you with has created some degree of addiction in your brain." – oh, he wasn't happy with the turn the current conversation was taking, she could tell just by looking at his stiff posture – "I just want to offer you the possibility of getting treatment for both. Arcade is a doctor, and we have both RadAway and Addictol to treat that." – but seeing that he still looked distrustful, she pressed – "Free of charge, you pigheaded dummy! I'm not the type who cashes in favors, just to let you know."
The young man stayed silent, still frowning and still as tense as an angry cat about to make a scratchy mess out of her face. He only had to hiss to complete the picture. How incredibly moody and frustrating this guy could get!
"Fine." – she deadpanned, wiping her hands of soap foam on a kitchen cloth and ready to leave for her dorm until a long hand grabbed her by the elbow.
"What do you intend to get out of this?" – he asked, his voice a mere whisper – "I am supposed to be impressed? Flattered, perhaps?" – his voice becoming a hiss; annoyance clear in his eyes – "That's your game?"
"What are you talking about?" – she asked, aware of the venom seeping from his words.
"Do not play me for a fool, Courier." – he replied acidly – "For, if my experience with your ilk has taught me something, that is that nobody does anything for another human being without expecting something in exchange." – he hissed, clearly expecting the girl wanting that something out of him if the two previous occasions when people had called him 'her boyfriend' and she had blushed were of any indication. After all, Profligate women were only after one thing with him – "Now, this being said, I'll ask you once more: what do you intend to get out of me in exchange for your… generosity?" – he spat the last word – "Oh, and do not bother trying to lie to me. I am trained to lie, so I can also tell when other people lie to me."
However, when her big eyes mutated from incredulity and astonishment to hurt and sadness instead of shame or defensiveness, Vulpes' grip on her elbow faltered.
"Nothing." – she muttered – "I… I do not want anything from you. I…" – I only want a friend – "I thought you would… feel better if those poisonings, one of them I am partially responsible for making you step into my mess, would just disappear." – she gulped, finding this extremely difficult without revealing her true intentions that, very possibly, would make him scoff at her infantile foolishness – "I don't know what kind of… medical treatment you have where you come from, but if it helps you to live better and more years, it couldn't hurt, right?"
He wasn't convinced, but either she was as good at lying as he was… or she was telling the truth.
Anyway, even if she really wanted to have him, he would be a fool rejecting a possible alliance with her using sexual intercourse, thus, an open door to manipulation.
She wasn't really his type, but that hadn't posed a problem before. Attraction had nothing to do with stimulation.
Given this, his outrage was totally out of place. He was an agent. He had done this before, and, even if keeping a regular schedule with a particular bed partner was a first time for him, he could make it work as long as it benefitted Caesar.
However, a small part of him that he didn't wish to acknowledge had been feeling so at ease around her that now having his 'Profligates are not to be trusted' policy renewed felt somehow… disappointing.
No matter. Those were the thoughts of an immature, silly boy instead of the thoughts of Caesar's greatest Frumentarius. He had to focus.
What he had managed to gather about her demeanor was that she wasn't particularly thrown off by where his loyalties lied, but she had kept those very loyalties out of the conversation with her companions.
That told him two things: one, that her companions didn't have a favorable view of the Legion, and she was avoiding a possible confrontation.
And two: that she wanted to have him around by avoiding said confrontation. For what purpose, he couldn't tell just yet. He had known her less than a day, yet she had managed to make him overthink things. To make him lose his guarded demeanor.
It was probably due to her transparency when it came to the loads of intel he had gathered without her trying to stop him. She made him feel like she was a sort of a friend of his.
And that was how… she attracted people to join her cause.
Manipulation, that had to be. Manipulation was something Vulpes could understand.
Manipulation was something he could deal with.
Clever, clever little girl. – he thought malignly, directing a knowing look to the still big-eyed Courier – Now I know how you operate.
Very well, two could play this game.
"Hands off." – a rough third voice made the Courier jump a bit while Vulpes' frown deepened as he faced the shorter but much bulkier man in front of them – "I said take your fucking hands off her unless you want a third hole in your fucking nose."
"It's okay, Boone." – the Courier's soft voice aimed to appease the sniper. The girl was quick in assessing situations; Vulpes had to give her that – "He's not hurting me or anything like that. We were just talking about…"
"I don't care what you were talking about." – Boone cut her mid-sentence – "But it can be discussed without touching." – he sentenced, no room left for discussion on this one with him – "So either he puts his hands where I can see them NOW, or this is gonna get nasty."
At that very moment, Vulpes' pride had almost gotten the worst of him, and he had bitten down his tongue to prevent giving the NCR dog a piece of his mind. The man was like a loyal hound defending what he thought a helpless pup.
He could respect that, even if he didn't respect the man himself.
So, he let go of her elbow, his fingertips briefly caressing her forearm as she dropped the limb. The invitation was there. Now she had only to take it and show him what she got.
Nevertheless, she now had this evasive look on her eyes that looked anywhere but his blue ones. The heavy hands of the sniper got hold again of her bony shoulders.
But Vulpes wasn't done just yet with the situation. He was playing a game, after all.
"Very well, Courier Six." – he said, giving each word some weight, so both his listeners were paying attention. Words were his world, words were his weapon – "I will take up your offer on medical services if that pleases you so."
The girl raised her head, looking this time intently into his eyes. She was so good at playing her game.
"You… you will?" – she asked, the strange, hopeful look again on her visage – "Oh… good!" – she exclaimed, too enthusiastic for her own good, too excited to be genuine – "Seek Arcade in the guest dorms or the recreational area. Tell him to give you a check with your Pip-Boy. He will know what you mean. Tell him that I sent you, okay?" – again, the toothy smile as if nothing had happened between them.
She could play others with her apparent innocence, given that she lacked the beauty to get under their skin through other paths… but Vulpes wasn't fooled.
Not anymore. He had seen how she had played Swank. Given enough time and experience, she would make a formidable spy.
Nice way to put your Curriculum over the table, girl.
Vulpes then willed himself to nod in thanks before taking his leave with all the elegance he could muster, his move already left over the chessboard, abandoning the kitchen with the man and the girl alone.
"You okay, girlie?"
Turning around so she could face the sniper, Six's thin arms encircled the midsection of the first human being who had taken up her offer to travel with her without asking questions, without doubting.
Boone had never let her down in these long months traveling the impervious Mojave.
"I'm sorry." – she mumbled while burying her face in the crook of his neck – "I'm always worrying you."
Boone's calloused hands came in contact with her shoulders and her nape. Cass always said that Boone was an incredibly awkward person, the awkward type that turned all the good moods off. The kind of awkwardness that earned more distancing than bonding.
Cass didn't know Boone at all.
Despite spending more time sharing jokes and girlish stuff with Vero the most, Boone was the one who, in truth, was the closest to Six.
Both had lost their families in an unfair way that had left deep scarring on their lives, both had known better times, and both had hit the bottom end to just painfully start slowly getting upwards again.
And most important: both had secrets. Secrets they had not shared, secrets that were under the surface.
Wordless secrets for a wordless acknowledgment that they were in front of an equal.
A wordless truce between soldiers, a wordless association between two people so different they, under other circumstances, wouldn't have exchanged a single word.
She had known, and for that very reason, she had convinced the old Ranger to help her lockpicking Jeannie May's strongbox by night when she was absent from her post at the Dino Dee-lite Motel.
And Boone had known. And for that very reason, he had accompanied her on her adventures even if the people she talked with didn't sit well with his NCR upbringing. He wasn't there to question her moves to obtain revenge, something she mercifully had provided to him, but to aid her on her quest, to provide her the same comfort she had gifted him with after dealing with what had happened to his wife.
After all, snipers worked in pairs.
"I prefer to fret about you like the paranoid old bastard I am than attending your funeral." – he replied to the girl's words – "So you better get used to it."
She smiled as her arms squeezed him tighter.
He didn't reciprocate. After all, if he squeezed her the way he wanted, he would end up breaking her.
She definitely needed to eat more.
Joe Cobb's last cigarette was burning down his throat a tad too fast for his tastes.
And he hadn't had any more shit to smoke unless he started with honey mesquite leaves.
He sported a split lip and a few bruises, while the idiot who had tried to slide his last pack from his pocket got a black eye, a broken nose, and more hematomas than he could count. Served him well, the fucker.
Oh, well, the men needed to be reminded of who's boss from time to time.
The same he was reminded that, out in the desert, there were fuckers much more dangerous than himself the very instant he got the lips of a fiery shotgun kissing his neck from behind.
"Don't move." – a raspy voice coupled with a rotten smell got drilled into his five senses while the fucking smoke got wasted on the ground by his traitorous trembling lips – "And tell your underlings to keep their hands on their dicks, where they belong, unless they want them full of holes from this point on."
Joe signaled his men not to touch their guns. His neck felt unbearably hot against the gun's barrel.
"The fuck you want, zombie?" – he braved, pretty sure that the voice and the distinguishable odor pertained to a necrotic.
Pretty sure that if the barrel's metallic lips got any closer to his neck, they would end up French-kissing.
"Proposing a deal." – the raspy voice replied.
"With a fucking gun pointing at my goddamned noggin?" – Cobb's voice sounded incredulous – "Got already brainrot or what, ghoul?"
"No." – the necrotic replied again, his monotone voice carrying an underlying warning – "But keep goading, and the brains that are getting splattered and rotten under the sun will be yours."
"Fine." – Joe acquiesced, knowing very well whose dick was the longest now over the table – "Got a name?"
"My name is not important." – said the ghoul while slowly rounding Cobb's neck until he positioned before him. Joe's sweat was already cold just by looking at his interlocutor's breadth. The ghoul was a fucking monster full of rotten bulging muscles and more than seven feet tall – "But I represent certain interests that need this population conveniently controlled, so they are more willing answering questions." – he explained pointedly – "And you and your men just happen to be the right tool I need for this endeavor."
"Controlling the town, you say? What the hell for?" – Joe asked – "Just farmers and ranchers out here. Not much worth stealing."
"Weren't you after raiding the place? You're NCR convicts."
"Ex-convicts." – Joe clarified – "And no, man, we are after some bastard named Ringo. Owns big deal to us and got a mouth just too damn big for his own good."
"And you cannot find this man in a town as small as this one…"
Joe frowned, tempted to give the necrotic some good ol' tongue-lashing, but decided better against it. Getting cocky with this one wasn't worth his brains blowing in the wind, and he was already on a tightrope to begin with.
"There are too many places to hide around here. He'd see me coming and then 'bam', I'm dead." – he explained instead – "He doesn't know you, though. He probably won't shoot right away."
Maybe they could work out a deal with the ghoul.
"You're saying that, in exchange for your collaboration, you want this guy's head?" – the necrotic asked calmly.
"Hey, man, we just wanna be sure we can trust you won't be mad-shooting our arses off once we help you control the townspeople." – Joe reasoned – "Do us this little favor, and we'll not only help you but also put in a good word with the rest of the gang so you can travel through our territory without getting ambushed."
The ghoul's milky eyes squinted as if deciding whether to pull the trigger or not.
"You've got a deal." – the necrotic said while lowering his gun – "But do play me, and you and your men are a crows' feast. Are we clear on this?"
"Crystal clear." – Joe answered while extending his hand to seal their deal. After all, they were running low on smokes and supplies, and this town could provide for them just fine.
Despite his rotten aspect, the ghoul had a firm grip.
Vulpes was in two minds about what he would allow this Profligate to do with him.
For starters, he wasn't supposed to get any other medic treatment than what the wise women of the Legion could provide.
Purgatives for animal venom, healing powder, and poultices were almost the only treatments legionaries got, in addition to sewing broken tissue and limb re-collocation. They got a deep wound or a critical impact? Inner or external, it didn't matter much. They died of hemorrhage.
They got sick with annual flu or other kinds of illnesses and/or infections? They were hydrated, fed, and tended to until they survived or died.
They got severe radiation poisoning and, very possibly, a tumor? They died the slow death.
But if Vulpes was sure about one thing, that was that the medical field on the Legion was severely backward. Even if they were using natural remedies to avoid dependency upon pre-War medication, their research hadn't gone beyond what the tribes they had conquered had provided with their shamans, midwives, and the knowledge of the wise women.
And Vulpes had seen, from time to time on his travels as Anguis' pupil, people capable of making natural Stimpaks out of sterilized empty syringes, boiled Broc flower, and Xander root. However, when the time came that he was in a position of power to suggest Caesar that the wise women learn how to prepare these natural Stimpaks and the life-saving Hydra, his Lord had forbidden such a thing from happening.
Why, Vulpes hadn't dared to ask, but he had made sure to learn both recipes so that he and a few chosen among his men that he knew would keep their mouths shut about it would benefit from them.
So now, having at his disposal a way to reset his inner clock and get rid of the permanent fatigue sensation, a product of his rad poisoning, was… too tempting a treat to lead it to waste.
Was it against his orders? Yes. It was against what Legion represented? Oh, yes. But… did he want to live for more years? Like the Courier had said: it couldn't hurt.
Did he care? Sort of.
Swallowing the uncomfortable hiss he wished he could release as the big needle perforated his forearm artery and thick liquid spread throughout his bloodstream, Vulpes forced himself to watch the entire procedure despite how sick it made him feel.
"You don't have to watch if you don't want to." – the Followers' doctor said gently, worried at the young man's adverse expression.
"I want to learn where and how you insert the needle." – the Frumentarius replied with his best neutral tone despite his discomfort.
"Ah, so you're a freelance medicine student?" – asked the other man with evident sympathy, clearly taking his interest in a wrong idealistic way – "You know, learning medicine can help save many lives out there in the Wasteland."
"Indeed." – was the answer Vulpes offered, neither sharing his point of view nor denying it.
He would store this knowledge away for his own purposes the same way he had secured another two RadAway intravenous bags and a handful of small pill bottles of Rad-X and Buffout inside the inner pockets of his jacket without the other man noticing.
"That's it." – Arcade said after removing the needle and the elastic band from his arm – "You may feel slightly woozy once the chemical solution takes full hold of your system. It takes some time to work, and it is also a potent diuretic, so you might be… going to the toilet several times this evening. Keep yourself hydrated, and everything will be fine. Don't worry. It is how your body rejects the waste."
Vulpes shrugged as if the information had nothing to do with his person.
"Now, to the addiction problem."
The Frumentarius frowned, not liking one bit to address that way something that hadn't been his doing in the first place, but rather a way for a rat to get the upper hand on him. He wasn't a junkie the likes of those on the Freeside, who begged for scraps and whored themselves in the streets for the next dose.
"Addictol or Fixer?"
Vulpes eyed the Addictol inhaler with disgust, being reminded of Jet, took the small metallic box he was offered, opened it, and gulped down the tiny pills inside.
It hadn't even been a minute when his sight got blurred while, at the same time, his ears rang, and the need for retching got his stomach upside down.
"Ah, yes. Forgot to tell you that Addictol, despite its appearance, works better than Fixer when it comes to nausea." – watching the young man putting his head between his legs while retching, Arcade added – "If you want to vomit, the bathroom is next door to your ri…"
He didn't get to finish his sentence as Vulpes practically threw himself to the door, a hand over his mouth to prevent puking himself all over, retching loudly all the way.
Arcade said nothing as he proceeded to clean and put away his medical utensils, hearing the younger man next door emptying his stomach violently.
He would be fine… as far as the addiction and the radiation poisoning was concerned.
He couldn't say the same for his wrists' cuts and gnawing marks. Psychology hadn't been a very advanced science before the War, and now it wasn't any better. Less when it came to a clear clinical suicidal-tendency case.
Yet another broken soul to add to the collection of misfits. – Arcade thought, shaking his head – Six, you sweet, gentle piece of work, one would say that you can sniff drama whenever you walk on it.
It was almost half-past six in the afternoon when Trudy took a break at the Saloon and, with her broken radio under her left arm while carrying two garnish-filled tuppers on her right, she directed her steps towards the old gas station near good ol' Doc Mitchell's house.
A week ago, while speaking with Ringo, he had mentioned that he had been a sort of a handyman before joining the Crimson Caravans Company, and she had been exchanging his repairman services for food instead of giving it to him for free since then. After all, this mess had started because of him, and while she wasn't comfortable sending a man to his death, she wasn't either giving him shelter for free. It was fair, after all.
So now, it was the Saloon's radio that had gotten mute this afternoon while giving a juicy report on New Vegas and how the Lucky 38 had opened its doors for the first time in nearly a decade since House had cleaned the place from raiders and re-established his Old-World business on The Strip.
Trudy knocked twice the regular way, then twice shorter to indicate to the inner resident that it was her so he wouldn't shoot. She opened the door and entered.
"Today's ration is coyote-cheese-and-cram, so it'll give you energy enough for the new task I'm going to give y…"
She fell silent when she saw the red mess splattering both walls and floor amidst rusty tin cans, bone splinters, empty bullet shells, and a thick, darker matter that she immediately knew had pertained to a destroyed brain.
The headless corpse was behind the counter, where the man had been sleeping on a dirty mattress, next to a broken strongbox.
Trudy's eyes filled with tears that weren't directed at the assassinated man but rather a product of her own fear the moment she heard behind her various pairs of boots stopping at the door, and a distinguishable rotten stench she immediately recognized got in her nose.
"You've stuck to your end of the deal." – she heard Joe Cobb's voice speaking, evidently pleased with what he was seeing – "Now it's our turn: I saw some of the townies gathering at the Saloon, so we've got a militia to take down. We get rid of them, and we own this place."
"Remember to reduce the number of corpses to a minimum." – replied a dry, croaked voice she also recognized immediately. Its owner had been at her Saloon this morning – "I need them alive."
"Okay, okay. No worries. We also didn't need the townies dead, just the ones who would cause us trouble." – replied Cobb, his voice getting distant – "You coming?"
"In a moment." – said the herculean ghoul while he forced Trudy to turn around with just one of his enormous hands – "First, I have some talk to do with the Miss."
Trudy's tears ran hot and itchy freely all over her paralyzed face.
Once Vulpes emerged from the bathroom after some recovery time alone and a long, warm shower to help relax his tense muscles, he found himself amidst utter chaos as Lily, the supermutant, was carrying under one arm what looked like a video projector of sorts and a rolled-up plastic white screen while, on the other hand, she was grabbing a bunch of cushions.
Immediately next to her came the sniper man, who directed him a sidelong dirty glare behind his sunglasses (why he was still wearing them indoors was beyond the Frumentarius' comprehension) and disappeared inside the guest bedroom with two carton boxes filled with what looked like beers and soft drinks under each arm.
Raul and Rex were the next ones, the former carrying two cushioned chairs, the latter with a drooled cushion between its maws.
Noise of furniture being displaced next door preceded Cassidy's and Veronica's emergence, the redhead carrying a big metallic tray full of trashy food she was also using to hold her whiskey jar where she was dipping her lips in from time to time; the brunette, on the opposite, had a pile of clean, bright pieces of clothing between her arms.
"Hey, Jimmy!" – said brunette woman exclaimed jokingly, stopping in front of him with a big friendly smile – "You up for some pajama party?"- she asked happily while offering him one of the two-pieced sets of clothing.
"I beg your pardon?" – Vulpes asked, automatically taking the offered garment.
"Well, that was how Six called it." – she replied awkwardly. Awkwardly happy still – "Anyway, it is some sort of pre-War occurrence where a group of friends gather together and eat trash food and drink and watch movies while wearing pajamas. Sounds fun, hey?" – she added cheerfully.
"Errrrr…" – Vulpes wasn't really sure what he was expected to say, but he didn't get a chance to try elaborating further when the Courier's voice called Veronica from the other room, asking her to help with, presumably, the projector Lily had been carrying.
"Sorry, gotta go." – the small woman said, turning around – "Change yourself and come to the guest dorm area. We're going to watch some 'medieval fantasy' thingy about a ring! Raul says it's good stuff. 'Very epic', he says. I've never heard of such a story, not even in the pre-War books the Brotherhood recovered over the years!"
Puzzled, with an unreadable expression set on his features, Vulpes backpedaled into the bathroom again and got inside one of the curtains that hid a bathtub, where he had taken his shower earlier.
He spent his good ten minutes trying to decipher what exactly was happening around him, to remember at which precise moment he had signed for madness instead of spy work, until he sighed heavily and changed from his dapper suit to the clear blue pajama he had been assigned. The carpeted floor under his tendinous naked feet was odd to the touch.
Once he got outside the bathroom area, he poked his head, carefully watching the deserted main corridor that communicated all rooms on this floor, his electric blue eyes landing briefly over the humming but other than that quiet securitron that watched over the elevator's entrance.
Like a jumpy deer, he came out of the bathroom quietly, dragging his clothes and the hidden medical items with him, almost tiptoed to the kitchen area, got his duffle bag, stored his possessions in it, and walked calmly to the guest dorm area, where they had gotten all the rolling blinds down and had taken off the lights, so the only source of glow came from the big wall screen where the movie was being projected.
He had arrived just at the beginning, where a disembodied female voice against a plain black background spoke about how the world had changed, followed by another unintelligible language spoken in soft tones.
Vulpes didn't know what this was all about, but the room was oddly distributed for a guest dorm as all the four double beds had been aligned like one grand padded rectangle where most of the Courier's group had decided to sit or lie over.
Vulpes got a corner with sheets, cushions, and the wall to help sustain his back, sitting unconsciously by the Courier's right side. Her also blue pajamas' sleeves and legs primly folded around her slim limbs, for the outfit was far too big for her while it came out too short on the legs for him. He was used to it, though, since finding Profligate clothing that would cover his stature was fairly rare. Hence why he preferred Legion tunics.
She turned her head briefly towards him and gave him a soft smile he hadn't the time to answer as the big screen stole her attention again. On her lap were a plate with the most bizarre mix of Potato Crisps, a box full of Sugar Bombs and Fancy Lads Snack Cakes, and a big sandwich consisting of brahmin meatloaf with Cheezy Poofs, fried maize, sliced Yum-Yum Deviled Eggs and crispy jalapeño peppers. Later, he would discover that she called such a dish a 'hamburger'.
To be completely honest, it took a while until Vulpes stopped analyzing the room he was in and the bizarre situation he had gotten into, and his attention, out of pure boredom, was finally caught by the screen.
At first, he didn't understand what he was looking at or why human actors and actresses were costumed in such a bizarre fashion until he got the grasp that this wasn't meant as a human story at all, but one full of imaginary creatures that he had only seen on the few 'Grognak the Barbarian' comic issues he had happened to stumble upon across.
His first impression had been one of confusion while trying to unravel the story's plot, which revolved around a powerful magical artifact, a ring, created with malice to 'rule them all'.
Confusion gave way to skepticism as the story explained how the ring made its bearers mad over time, consuming them from the inside like some particularly vicious drug.
But skepticism soon gave way to fascination as the story evolved into a journey.
A journey of four little childlike creatures (again, humans in costumes) that got more and more dangerous as they pressed on, trying to get rid of the malevolent ring.
When the four aforesaid small creatures came to a halt in a city full of odd beautified humans that were supposed to be a wise, ancient race, Vulpes was already munching on Lily's nut cookies, stealing a fry or a Sugar Bomb from time to time from the Courier's plate.
The world that these characters inhabited was endowed with remarkable duplicity, more beautiful than anything Vulpes had dreamed of… and more terrifying than an irradiated hole full of frenzied Floaters and Centaurs.
The latter was fully demonstrated once the now enlarged group that had gone from four to nine characters got inside a 'mine' after being attacked by an enormous sea - lake - creature.
Their travels through darkness and tense silence were abruptly interrupted when one of the small childlike creatures made noise enough to awaken a whole army of nasty dark creatures.
Vulpes and, he could tell, many of the present people watching the film enjoyed the fight going on the screen… until said fight was cut in the middle by the most monstrous, nightmarish creature that all of the presents had ever seen. Floaters included.
A chase against the clock ensued. And the group almost didn't make it.
And then, when the old shaman with the long beard and the ridiculous grey costume got in front of the terrible creature made of fire and smoke exclaimed that it shall not pass, the Courier's hand had gotten an unconscious grasp of his.
The shaman got swallowed by darkness, and the group, once they've managed to get outside the cursed mine, mourned over his fall.
And the Courier Six, while directing him an apologetic look for touching him while mumbling a soft "Sorry", took her hand out of his.
Without looking at her but knowing very well what he was doing, Vulpes grabbed her small hand into his larger one, and they remained like that until the movie finished, neither exchanging a single glance nor speaking.
The tale of the nine companions met an abrupt end as another two were kidnapped, and one of the two human warriors that accompanied them was killed in battle after being seduced by the ring's power.
And there were tears in the Courier's eyes.
Once the end credits started rolling, Veronica's voice elevated from the seemingly eerie silence.
"And that's it?" – she complained, disappointment evident in her voice – "Frodo and Sam continue the journey, and the others are left behind just like that?"
"There's a second part, Señorita Veronica." – Raul clarified – "The journey doesn't end here."
"We've got said second part?" - Veronica's voice had a hopeful intonation.
"Yes." – Arcade's voice replied while he raised slowly from his lying position – "Six has the second and third parts on her Pip-Boy's memory. We have Fellowship of the Ring for a while."
"Th'n, I call a time-out f'r ten minut's to r'fill our drinks 'n take a piss." – Cassidy said while making a big 'T' with her hands, her voice and pronunciation already slurred with alcohol – "I'been peein' myself f'r tha last hour. I wanna pee so bad I might soak myself 'ere, 'n not in tha good w'ay, if I dunno get to tha toil't NOW."
The rest agreed, so they went quickly to the bathroom and the kitchen areas, respectively; leaving the Courier, Rex (who, at some point in the movie, had taken Vulpes' lap as his new resting pillow) and the Frumentarius alone.
She rose from her seating position, and Vulpes let go of her hand, leaving a residual odd tingling sensation on his fingertips.
"Sorry." – she apologized again – "I didn't recall until now that I always cry when Boromir dies."
Vulpes didn't answer, unable to relate to her feelings towards an imaginary tale. It was entertaining, fascinating, and very well done, yes… but it was just a tale, a story that had never really happened.
The Great War really happened, the Roman Empire really happened… the devastation and later mutation of their world really happened.
In fact, living in a world without radiation, ghouls, mutated flora and fauna, and 200-year-old consumables was just an idyllic, out-of-reach notion for the Frumentarius, who had always lived with the same living conditions and didn't know any better.
His world had been, first and foremost, revolving around myths, superstition, and grand religious paraphernalia that he had discarded later as his apprenticeship under Callidus Anguis' wing had opened to him a door to the closest resemblance of pre-War culture: the NCR government.
Anguis had been a skeptic, disbeliever man who had taken great pains to mold his star pupil into a disenchanted, uptight, and godless young man that only swore on Mars' name more out of habit than true belief.
Anguis had been a twisted, embittered human being who had only pledged to Caesar's will because it benefitted him. He hadn't given a crap about his Lord's vision or the Hegelian dialectics he preached.
On the other hand, Vulpes had been paying attention while procuring himself enough reading material to form a solid opinion. And, ultimately, he had concluded that Caesar's vision was worth all the sacrifice Vulpes had made since he was a child.
So, he had killed Anguis.
And now, as head of the Frumentarii, studying the Profligate Old-World culture first-hand gave him an idea about what values were worth retaining and assimilating and what was fated to extinction.
This form of entertainment, telling exemplary tales through hypothetical, imaginary worlds, was a potent tool to teach values or shape human nature into mindless sheep. He liked that.
And, just for that very reason, he gladly endured the marathon of the following second and third parts of this imaginary tale of morally black-and-white characters who knew nothing about adaptation into a hostile environment that kept changing as colonization and politics erased the rich imagination of primitive cultures.
Primitive cultures that, once, had been all he had known.
Once Sunny Smiles woke up from her blow-induced unconsciousness, she knew with pristine clarity that this was it, that her bleeding nose, her aching ribs, and her tied limbs were a symptom that no tomorrow awaited Goodsprings.
"You are awake. That is fortunate." – the steely, raspy ghoulish voice came along with heavy combat boots landing in front of her blurred vision – "Now, if you don't want to prolong this detestable situation, I suggest you start talking about a certain little girl with a Pip-Boy."
However, she resisted, throwing a bloodied spit at her captor's boots.
The next thing she knew was Cheyenne's pained wails as she was dragged by her collar in front of the bound woman.
The explosion and the blood that came next poured over Sunny like a rain of doom. And she cried.
But she sealed her mouth tight with busted lips and bloodied teeth in front of this rotten monster. Should he want answers from her, he would have to rip them off her cold, rigid tongue.
"Enough, enough!" – however, another voice rose from the whimpers of tied, frightened people – "The girl went South, aiming for Primm! She said that a guy in a checkered suit had shot and robbed her!"
"Shut your fucking trap, Chet!" – Sunny bellowed, earning a kick in the gut almost immediately.
"Go on." – encouraged the ghoul, directing his milky, dead sight to the terrified man.
"S-she said that she was a courier of sorts." – Chet mumbled, not willing to meet Sunny's betrayed glare – "But she would keep forgetting silly things like her name or to whom she was supposed to deliver her package. Must have been the two bullets the guy shot to her skull."
"Bullets, you say?" – asked the ghoul.
"I-I don't know anything more! I swear!" – the vendor whimpered – "Please, just let us be! We will do anything you want! Anything!"
"Do you know who this man was?" – the necrotic asked stolidly, pointedly ignoring the man's pleas – "Or what he was doing in your town?"
"He looked like a New Vegas-type, typical city boy." – the seller answered quickly, out of breath – "He had a bunch of Great Khans with him, probably hired guns. No idea what his business here could be, though. He just disappeared after robbing the gal."
Pinching his skinned chin thoughtfully, the giant ghoul nodded to a smirking Joe Cobb, whose gaze held a greedy eagerness he wasn't bothering to mask.
"The town is yours." – said the necrotic – "Do as you please with them as long as it doesn't involve my collaboration any longer. I have not seen you; you have not seen me."
"A pleasure doing business with you, man." – was the calm reply Joe delivered, positioning himself in front of a hurting Sunny Smiles, the metallic lips of his cannon caressing her hair – "Now, what are we gonna do with this bitch? You had fun playing sheriff while keeping an eye on us this last month, huh?"
Her answer was a thick, bloodied, mucus-filled spit on his shirt.
His' was a messy, angry shot right in between her brows.
Taking a languorous drag at her half-finished cigar, a toned, hour-glassed silhouette rested against the white ornamental balustrade of the top floor's balcony while inspecting the dark void of miles ahead of her absently as her green eyes peered in the cold quiet of the night, sinking into silvery sands of waste and wild empty soil.
Throwing the still-burning butt of the cigarette with practiced moves into the dark below, watching as the tiny ember drowned in black, she raised her left wrist and pressed a button that bathed her cold visage with a soft greenish glow.
While the face pertaining to the silhouette would have been described as classy and beautiful, she had a sharp edge about her that gave her a statuesque aura: fair and good-looking, yet hard and cold as smoothed marble.
The owner of such physical traits tinkered a bit with her wrist device until she found an audio archive she played.
"So here I am, back where it all began. Project Purity. God, we wanted to change the world. We really thought the waters of life could be a reality. And that's why…"
That wasn't the audio she was looking for, so she pressed play on the next one.
"Well, here we are again. Project Purity and me. It's been close to twenty years since my last entry. Since I left all of this behind to make a life for my daughter. We spent all that time in Vault 101, tucked away from the rest of the world. It wasn't perfect, but it was safe, and that's all I could have hoped for. Now, my daughter is a grown woman. Beautiful, intelligent, confident. Just like her mother. And as hard as it was to admit it, she doesn't need her daddy anymore."
Green cold eyes flickered just a bit, the index finger hovering over the next audio file.
Frowning lips preceded the next old recording. The voice now talking sounded tired.
"I don't really know how to tell you this. I hope you'll understand, but I know you might be angry. I thought about it for a long time but, in the end, I decided it was best for you not to know. So many things could have gone wrong, and there's really no telling how the Overseer will react when he finds out. It's best if he can blame everything on me. Obviously, you already know that I'm gone. It was something I needed to do. You're an adult now. You're ready to be on your own. Maybe someday, things will change, and we can see each other again. I can't tell you why I left or where I'm going. I don't want you to follow me. God knows life in the Vault isn't perfect, but at least you'll be safe. Just knowing that will be enough to keep me going."
A perfectly vertical frown set between trimmed fair eyebrows while another voice spoke briefly to usher the main speaker to quickly finish the recording.
"Goodbye. I love you."
Then, the recording was over.
Reaching for another cigar from the pack inside one embroidered pocket of her flowing silk chemise, the lone silhouette made a barrier between the tiny blaze of her silver lighter and the chilling breeze from the desert, long blonde threads flowing eerily in the moonlight.
Two more drags and a thin cloud of smoke abandoned her nostrils and lips.
"Liar…" – she whispered.
Tasting the blessed filth for a while, another burning cigar butt was thrown to the dark as small, dainty naked feet padded silently towards the balcony entrance, the flick of a light catching the attention of green, serpentine eyes immediately.
The quick rush of adrenaline that jolted through her veins tinted her vision red while her hand instinctively grabbed a handful of hair that she used to connect both her strength and the cranium she had in her grip with the hard wall violently one, two, three times.
The distinctive sound of broken tissue amidst pained screams was all the information her brain needed before releasing her grip, long dirty blonde threads still between her fingers as the other figure dropped to the floor.
However, not satisfied enough, one naked foot connected twice with tender flesh as the screams turned into howls.
"I warned you." – she said, her voice devoid of any intonation as her cold eyes watched impassibly how the other figure contorted on the tiled floor – "I warned you to never knock on this door even if your innards are dangling out of your open belly."
"BITCH!" – a horrified, shrilling female voice cried – "You've broken my nose!"
A small, naked solid heel sank deeply into the other woman's tender thigh, dangerously close to her crotch, prompting her howling again.
"Next time, you won't be so lucky, as I will turn both your arms' and legs' bones into tiny splinters surfacing your muscular and dermal tissue." – the younger, stronger female said dispassionately; lean, hard muscles rippling under her chemise – "So then, when your clients would be seeking your 'services', you would be attending them from your bed, where you belong, whore."
"You're mad, MAD!" – the other screeched – "I don't know how Burke can put up with you rotting, insane, fucked-up monster!"
A perpendicular kick connected with the other woman's vulva, sending her shaking, limb-twisted form several paces ahead the likes of a dummy doll. A small bloodstain started to form on her silken pink panties.
"I don't want to see your diseased, rancid, cum-filled cunt on this floor never ever again, you cockroach slut." – the calm, green-eyed woman deadpanned – "My territory, my man."
She didn't make sure that the other dragged her beaten-up excuse of a body (which, in fact, she was) towards the elevator as she calmly closed the door behind her.
"My, my! Laura, beloved songbird of mine; that was quite the display, if I may infer." – a smooth, deep baritone purr caressed her from the old-fashioned, richly decorated queen-sized bed a few paces in front of her – "Perhaps… a little too much. We don't want a crippled escort to attend the Tower's clientele, don't we?"
She remained propped against the suite's main door, her thin, arched eyebrows hinting a disdainful undertone in her body language. The outline of her taut, muscled legs still beating with the rush of adrenaline.
"Then hire another escort." – she replied coolly – "Because next time I'm finding her filthy paws on your door's knob, I am gutting and putting her rotting pig carcass on display in the Main Hall as if this were a raider camp instead of a posh hotel."
A melodic, low chuckle came from the bed.
"Now, now. Flattering as I may find your ardor, the clientele, on the contrary, might not find your… talents as lovely as I do." – the baritone voice spoke again; the pleasant, warm intonation calling her from her cold spot like siren chants – "I shall have a little conversation with Susan about her restrictions on this area… However, should this incident repeat again, I will allow you to have the honor of returning her to the remaining slavers she ran from. Would this be a reasonable outcome of this little… dilemma?" – when she nodded slowly, her panther-like eyes still fixed upon her interlocutor, the voice added – "Good. Now, come here, beloved. I see your insomnia has taken quite a toll on you. You look exhausted."
Even if she retained her detached, cold façade, she already knew that he had won. His velvety voice could convince the Devil to start a life of piety and an angel to sin like a whore. He had a way with words she had always envied and admired.
He hadn't a muscled body as she had, but his grip was firm, and his bite stung deliciously.
With him, she felt truly safe.
Not like those recorded messages pertaining to a dead man whose broken promises had left her lost and naked under the burning Wasteland sun.
She fit into this much older man's arms like a glove, pampered and feared like the dangerous, wounded creature she was. She wouldn't have it any other way.
Once her cheek found his neck's warm, cologne-caressed crook, she left a trail of soft kisses along his jaw to his ear, where she stopped and whispered.
"By the way, lover, Charon has written." – she savored how his pulse quickened slightly beneath her lips – "He has found a trail."
SPANISH:
(1) - "Well, don't beat around the bush, blondie. With such a name, do you speak Spanish well?"
(2) - "Getting all nosy so I spill the beans, dude?"
(3) - "I like this lad! Fucking funny!
(Side Note: I am not a native Mexican, so maybe I've screwed up a bit their slang. Any Mexicans out there, do correct me if I've exaggerated it too much.)
A/N: hey! Thank you for the new Fav and that Guest who reviewed (gracias, en serio, me cuesta la vida escribir esto y que parezca que lo ha escrito un angloparlante jajajaja Tengo que andarme re-mirando toda su jerga y sus expresiones coloquiales para que parezca verídico y, aún así, creo que no termino de captar el rollo. Bueno, aquí tienes a Vulpes bufando a Boone como un gato escaldado y a Boone poniendo su habitual cara de "no me asustas, niño, a ver si te voy a meter una torta por listo")! I hope this chapter had proven juicy enough despite its length. I know it is difficult to review on too much information contained in a single chapter, but I cannot bring myself to write less content. Sorry :(
Ahem, allow me to introduce my Lone Wanderer: Laura Alden, twenty-four years old and a force to be reckoned with. She is just how many people would depict a Courier instead of a Female Lone Wanderer: strong, wild, a bit crazed, and very self-assured. Not a good person, just like her lover.
Aaaaand, yes, manipulative Vulpes for you all! He's not buying Six's goodness, so he's pulling her threads to see how she reacts. I know this chapter had been more centered around him than her, but I also want to develop Vulpes as a character and not just accept him like "this twisted, charming dude who spies for Caesar". Reasons and background it's what makes a character unique, so I am trying... really hard.
Also, don't hate Charon... too much. He's honor-bound by his contract with Laura, so it was expected of him to perform some evil deeds in her name. After all, he's her enforcer, but he hasn't to like it.
Anyway, what do you think? You know, comments are glorious (and free) for a starved writer :P
See ya all! :D
PD: if there's a kind soul out there willing to correct my grammar/spelling/coherence mistakes and/or typos, I will be definitely very grateful. I'm not an English native speaker.
