"Number Nine"
Ch. 09: Disposable teens.
Warning: sensitive material ahead. This chapter contains a mild-descriptive skinning session of a dog's head, animal mistreatment, psychotropic-induced hallucinations, gore, violence, and women's commodification. If you're sensitive to these topics, either don't read or proceed with caution.
"And I'm a black rainbow
And I'm an ape of God
I got a face that's made for violence upon
And I'm a teen distortion
Survived abortion
A rebel from the waist down."
- Marilyn Manson, "Disposable teens"
When Vulpes Inculta had bow knee first hour in the morning inside Caesar's tent, he had procured to avoid the Imperator's scrutinizing eyes, fist on the ground in reverence, as he had given his report on Searchlight.
"Very well." – had been the man's dismissive, rather unimpressed way to address his victory, the sacrifice of his men… the dark need such destruction stirred inside him – "A shame the camp cannot be of much use to the Legion in the current state you describe it is." – he had leaned over Vulpes, his words sharp as daggers – "You're getting creative, Inculta, I'll give you that. But it may be in the Legion's best interests, thus my interests, if you might… refrain from destroying the landmark you set your eyes on. Resources are valuable, and I don't like to waste resources unnecessarily." - what did the Imperator want? Magic? Vulpes' field tactics usually revolved around delivering a lesson or depriving the enemy of their resources, which was the primary pillar cementing Frumentarii's very existence. And, usually, both intents mixed incredibly well. If he wanted plain raiding followed by exemplary executions, why didn't he assign those tasks to a Centurion or a Legatus? - "I believe your next move would be Nelson." – then, the Imperator had paused, expecting Vulpes' formal confirmation.
Inside Caesar's tent, everything always played within the Frumentarius' mind like a chessboard full of moves and possibilities. Caesar was very fond of verbal sparring, battles of wills, word-twisting, quotations, witty comebacks… in a word: complete mindfuck.
Vulpes admitted that he was a man of high intellect and a visionary… but he profoundly detested when said man of said high intellect would choose him as his personal sparring opponent. Never knowing where boundaries lay, never really sure if his next choice of words would earn him a position in his Lord's good graces… or displayed on a cross.
This way, honesty and truthfulness had never been ingredients he had dared to use throughout the delicate shaping their conversations took. The Imperator wasn't his equal. The Imperator wasn't his confidante.
He was the Imperator's tool to do his bidding.
"Yes, Domine." – the Fox confirmed, his voice a dispassionate, monotone rumble – "I have stationed two contubernia on opposite sides of Nelson so they can block any possible escape. However, when the time comes, they have orders to leave intentional witnesses."
"A lesson to the survivors, then?"
"Yes, Domine."
"Well, well… didn't that Anguis serpent teach you well, Inculta?"
That stung. More than it should.
After all, the Serpent's blood had been his to claim in the arena two years ago.
The Imperator tsked, evidently amused by the younger man's silence.
"Get the fuck up already, Vulpes." – he scoffed – "You bow any lower, and you might end up with your nose stuck in the mud."
He would switch from 'Inculta' to 'Vulpes' just that easily. The Frumentarius had come to discern his Lord's moods very well by just the way he praised him, calling him sly fox, or the way he spat his accursed nickname.
Just the same he had done with his mentor.
"Yes, Domine." – the alluded young man replied, monochord in all his voice inflections and dead eyes looking ahead while getting up swiftly, his features carefully schooled in a neutral, old reliable poker face.
He was dying to lay out his little adventure that had evolved into a very potential alliance interest with the Courier Six and her little ragtag group… but he waited patiently for his Lord to continue.
Patience was something Vulpes was good at.
"Anything else that I should know?" – was the awaited question, the man's voice darkening with an underlined warning – "Any other report I should be receiving right now?"
Oh, yes. Despite the dark promises hidden behind his Lord's words should he find his report… lacking, this was, undoubtedly, Vulpes' stellar moment for sure.
"Meus Domine…" (1) – he savored the few seconds Caesar's eyes squinted as Vulpes' heart lashed within his ribcage in anticipation – "The Courier Six of the Mojave Express has been successfully contacted… and she has shown great interest in keeping me among her companions."
The Imperator cocked his head slightly, light brown eyes studying him with intent.
"A chick, then." – he murmured, not entirely displeased but already putting at work his brain's inner gears – "Does she know who you truly are, or are those rumors about two bullets and brain damage true?"
"She did remember me from Nipton quite well, Domine." – Vulpes replied, not entirely sure why saying that pleased him so much – "Yet she wishes for me to stay by her side. She even invited me inside the Lucky 38 and paid my services with this." – he added, raising his left arm occupied with his Pip-Boy.
The older man's brows raised. Oh, yes, Vulpes got his attention now. He was clearly impressed.
"What 'services' are we talking about, Inculta?" – the way he had phrased it and the amused undertone were telltale signs of what he assumed had happened between the two of them.
Vulpes repressed the sudden reflex to roll his eyes. Put two parties of the opposite sex on an equation, and there's the inevitable assumption.
Plus, New Vegas and his Frumentarius line of work didn't help. At all.
"Helping her to recover her old device, Domine." – he deadpanned.
The Imperator blinked.
"Come again?"
So, Vulpes went on explaining his little adventure with the girl… leaving the embarrassing parts conveniently aside, of course. Caesar didn't need to know how incredibly clumsy and naïve his Head of Intelligence had acted while being in the company of a girl. That could lead to unwanted assumptions again, but those very assumptions could end up backfiring in a pretty nasty way this time.
And he had already whipping marks and a stiff back for a whole lifetime to last, thank you very much.
That same report had taken momentarily to a pressing matter regarding the missing Chairman leader and the intel Vulpes had unearthed from the Artificial Intelligence known as 'Yes Man'.
"So, the piece of shit thinks he can come here and start tinkering with the machinery at the Weather Monitoring Station under my very fucking nose, huh?" – Caesar scoffed – "Let him try. I expect nothing less than an incognito infiltration attempt from a rat of such caliber. The guards will be informed about this possibility, and then, Lucius will do the honors to our guest." – he snorted, his attitude saying all about his thoughts on the matter – "Let him believe that he can enter Caesar's territory without an invitation and remain unscathed."
A shudder of pleasure, then envy, traveled down Vulpes' spine. Oh, he would kill for being the one doing the honors…
However… perhaps it was for the best that Lucius would be the one performing it. At least his interrogation session would be, if not bloodless, cold and methodical in its entirety.
For, if Vulpes got his hands on the worm… he would enjoy tearing him apart, limb by limb.
Just the same he had enjoyed tearing open the Serpent's throat.
"Alright, so the infamous Courier Six, who happens to be practically a child from what you explain, buys your act." – the Imperator stated pensively – "I can see the potential, Vulpes… but what about her allegiances?" – he leaned forward, the heels of his hands resting over the armrests of his throne– "Do you think she can be indoctrinated?"
"As a woman, no, meus Domine." – the Frumentarius replied, tone even, indifferent mask set upon his features – "She possesses knowledge and an intelligence far superior of, if you permit me saying so, practically any veteran officer under your orders, thus being, when it comes to mental capabilities even with her brain damage, literally above almost any man of the Legion." – he reasoned – "She's also a girl who has experienced advanced forms of civilization, unlike our women, who knew nothing beyond their tribal customs." – that stung to say, but necessity here overcame pride – "I don't think she would accept any other deal that doesn't come with side benefits, respect and total freedom for her and her allies, which she cherishes very dearly."
"Does she strike you as the power-craving type?" – the Imperator questioned.
"I wouldn't say so, meus Domine." – replied Vulpes – "She's still too young to know what power truly is and, even if she did, as far as I can tell from my experience with her, she shows a very nurturing, caring nature that always would first appeal to words rather than physical violence."
"A diplomat at heart, then."
"Yes, Domine."
The older man pinched his chin, pensive.
"Well, I'll be damned but color me intrigued." – he admitted after a while – "If she's half the genius you've described to me, the Legion must have her. One way or another." – he conceded, much to the younger man's relief – "Do you think you can lure her into being at our side when the Second Battle for the Dam comes, Vulpes?"
"I can but only attempt it, Domine."
"Good." – the Imperator nodded, pleased – "Promise her whatever you deem best and keep her interested by any means. You hear me, Vulpes? By any means." – he added, a very significant look on his eyes – "She's a girl, and girls usually harbor hopes and fantasies, if you know what I mean." – he punctuated – "If you have to play out the part in those fantasies, you do it. If she says red, it's red; if she says blue, then it's fucking blue. There is no better advantage over a woman than ensnare her into her own nonsense. I hope you have already learned that during your experience on The Strip."
An angry surge of violence clouded Vulpes' mind momentarily. He was a tool, a tool he could bear to be used in warfare, in demoralization, in exemplification, in infiltration, even in theft… but why did his job always have to be more channeled towards plain prostitution?
Something probably had shown on his eyes because Caesar's expression hardened.
"Do it, and should you succeed in your mission… the boy is yours."
Vulpes felt how his world suddenly started to spin.
Lupus… he had tried to obtain his custody several times in the last year since he had gotten sight of him at the training grounds… to no avail.
Even if he was one of Caesar's Commanders, his rank meant nothing regarding children's custody regulations. Vulpes wasn't married, and unmarried men weren't allowed to have children who weren't theirs under their custody for evident reasons.
If homosexuality was already severely punished under Caesar's rule, pedophilia was even a more severe affront.
To put a child at such a risk was to not just tarnish his normal development as a tool within Caesar's army, but to invariably sentence the offender to death, thus wasting yet another valuable tool in the process.
The law was there to avoid such risks, and no exceptions should be made.
Vulpes was aware of what such an offer, coming from Caesar, implied. But he couldn't care less.
If he had to whore himself and be regarded as a pervert to obtain his little brother's custody, fine.
Caesar got a deal.
A deal he began to honor when he arrived at the Hound Master grounds almost as soon as he had abandoned Caesar's tent and had taken the portable capsule with him from the hands of a guard he had left it with previously.
"Ave, Vulpes Inculta!" – the aforesaid Hound Master, a raven-haired man in his early twenties with a mohawk and a penchant for speaking out of turn translated into near-hysteric babbling fits, saluted him nervously when the Frumentarius stopped in front of him.
"Ave, Antony." – Vulpes saluted as well, omitting the other man's rank purposefully, his eyes dead as well as his voice inflection – "I came here to claim the brain of your most loyal dog."
Antony gave him a confused, although clearly scandalized look. One of his many recurrent ocular tics started to show.
"A… a brain?" – he asked as if he hadn't heard it well – "From one of my dogs…?"
"From your most loyal, fierce dog, specifically." – Vulpes repeated, eyeing the large female mongrel calmly sitting by the Hound Master's side – "Maybe Lupa would do."
"L-Lupa?" – the Hound Master repeated, putting himself unconsciously between the albino and the dog, the tic on his eye worsening – "What for?"
Caesar's Head of Intelligence squinted intently. He wasn't there to nurse Antony's sensitivity for dogs. He also hated sacrificing them, but Lupa was old for a Legion mongrel, and her reproductive stage had vanished long ago.
Besides, he couldn't think of a better candidate to appeal to the Courier's needs for Rex. He had interacted with the canine several times, and Vulpes could tell Lupa could be fierce but also tender as well.
"If you must know…" – he replied coldly – "… Her brain would be placed inside this capsule I brought with me." – he added, raising the device in front of a dumbfounded Antony – "The intent behind all of this would be replacing a cyberdog's defective brain."
The Hound Master's face visibly softened.
"Oh…" – he muttered – "Like the ones I've seen up in Denver? I know what you're talking about, and it would make Lupa immortal in a way." – he seemed enchanted by the idea, his ocular tic almost vanished – "Would you… give her a worthy death at the arena? She has been a good dog. She doesn't deserve going down in silence."
Vulpes huffed impatiently. He had a lot to do and a long journey ahead to be losing more time with… fighting dogs in the arena.
But he ended up doing it nonetheless.
Machete in hand, no armor. The rules didn't matter much to him when, after a few scratches and a bit of show-off, he sliced the animal's head from its body in a clean slash.
The legionaries that had crowded around the arena to watch the match had hollered with blood lust when Vulpes grabbed the head of his fallen adversary from the ground and gifted the men with a dramatic victorious lifting, allowing the dog's blood to pour all over his arm.
After that, he had abandoned the arena, prize in hand, to be received by an elated Lupus who, with their Instructor's permission, had come with other kids to watch the match between Master Inculta and one of the Hound Master's trained dogs.
The two of them had left walking side by side.
However, alone in a corner, eyeing the lifeless, headless corpse of his dog, his Lupa, bleeding all over the soil, Antony's ocular tics had returned with a vengeance, and, with grief, he sought a victim to take off his frustration and sadness.
He found the ideal candidate in Melody, the ten-year-old slave girl who tended to The Fort's brahmin pen, when he saw the dirty child hugging an even dirtier teddy bear.
With the excuse that even the rags on her back were a privilege and toys were out of the question for lowly slaves like her, he took the stuffed bear and made sure to make the child witness how he threw it to his dogs.
He wasn't unmoved by Melody's silent tears. The stupid child didn't know how fortunate she was to be allowed to cry.
Unlike him.
Boys don't cry. Legionaries don't cry.
When Six, Boone, and Rex had returned from their little excursion to The Tops, the animal was exhausted, the man looked pensive, and the girl… the girl had simply avoided talking with everyone and had locked herself inside the Master Bedroom with an untouched box of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes she had picked from the kitchen.
She was sulking, and a lot.
Not only her device's Operating System had suffered an unwanted HUGE change, but since Yes Man had gotten a hold of her Pip-Boy, it wouldn't shut up.
She had written a few extra lines of code in haste before entering the Lucky 38 to keep the AI silent while on House's territory, limiting its communicative nature to the Pip-Boy's chat. To be honest, she preferred leaving it that way.
And now, Yes Man was typing… again.
04:47 PM Tuesday, February 07, 2282
:D YES MAN D: Wow! The new lines of code you have written for me are so clever! A bit restrictive, but clever nonetheless!
Six wanted to facepalm herself. The AI was trying smileys and heart emojis to state how sweet the gambling it thought the current conundrum was. It was messing with everything, and it was giving her a headache.
04:48 PM Tuesday, February 07, 2282
:D YES MAN D: I'm learning a lot with you! Benny wouldn't allow me to leave his workshop, and I've always wondered what the outside world would look like!
Kicking off her boots and sitting cross-legged over the bed, Six put the box over her lap and stuffed a whole cake inside her mouth while she also started typing.
04:50 PM Tuesday, February 07, 2282
Courier VI: Like it?
:D YES MAN D: It's pretty impressive! Not that I have a base of comparison, but I find it noisy and colorful! So full of life! I like it very much!
Odd. It was like talking to a child.
So excited, so giddy… so painfully inexperienced. Perhaps Benny hadn't known just how good the woman programmer he had hired to develop Yes Man's code had been at this.
Six really wondered where a person educated enough to create a whole AI all by themselves may come from. She would enjoy talking with such a person very much.
04:53 PM Tuesday, February 07, 2282
:D YES MAN D: You know, I've been sweeping all over your Music, Movies, Images, and Books' Databases these months since Benny stole your Pip-Boy, and I've learned a lot about human creativity! Your species is fascinating!
Courier VI: You sound weird when you put it like that.
:D YES MAN D: Why?
Courier VI: Because you sound like some scientist, and we are like a bunch of monkeys hollering in your lab.
:D YES MAN D: Hahaha! That's a hilarious comparison!
Courier VI: It wasn't intended to be funny. It's creepy as fuck.
More emojis, this time embarrassed, blushing ones. Yes Man learned fast. She had to give it that.
04:59 PM Tuesday, February 07, 2282
Courier VI: You have to work on that "non-filter" problem you have. Sometimes you come off as rude, awkward, or just plain creepy.
:D YES MAN D: Do I? Tell me how I should improve, then! :D
Courier VI: For starters, don't state obvious things or, if you want to make a point, do it as "gently" as possible. You know, without being so direct and taking care of the vocabulary you use. You tend to hurt sensitivities quite often.
:D YES MAN D: Oh… I didn't know that. I apologize! :(
Courier VI: It's okay. I'll tell you what you do wrong, and you can build a database so your error percentage diminishes over time. Okay?
:D YES MAN D: Okeydokey! ^^
The second overly-sweetened cake fueled Six's hyperactive brain when she thought about how bizarre her current situation was, chatting with an AI and giving it counsel like they were best friends ever.
Her social ineptitude to make friends was setting new scores, it seemed.
That reminded her of Zorro, and she felt sad again.
05:06 PM Tuesday, February 07, 2282
:D YES MAN D: Uh… I don't really know what I'm talking about, but my code has specific protocols that discern changes in human facial expressions. That, coupled with your current cardiorespiratory metrics, informs me that you are experiencing a slight depressive breakdown.
Is it something I've said, or is it because of the mean messages two of your contacts sent you over the past four years?
What the…?
05:08 PM Tuesday, February 07, 2282
Courier VI: Have you read my messages?
:D YES MAN D: Yes! Benny didn't know how to access your Pip-Boy's chat, and he never asked, so I can tell you I'm the only entity that knows of their existence!
Courier VI: That doesn't make me feel better, Yes Man. My messages are private, and you didn't have the right to read them.
:D YES MAN D: Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable! :( You already know that my function is to monitor Mr. House's data network and decode his encrypted transmissions, so it's only natural for me to extend the monitoring to the device I'm currently allocated.
Courier VI: Yes, yes, I get it. Why did you bring up that now anyway?
:D YES MAN D: Oh, because if it's my fault, just tell me what to do, and I'll try to be friendlier and more forthcoming to you! ^^
However, if the problem are those two… My protocol detects many grammatical and literary mean tones behind their words. And their audio files also have a threatening feel to them. They are bossy and not very nice to you, so it's probably good that you have not re-started conversation with them since you got your Pip-Boy back. They sound like bad influences! And you don't need bad influences hindering your ascension to power or whatever other amazing plans I'm sure you have in mind! :)
Six's eyes suddenly filled with tears.
05:15 PM Tuesday, February 07, 2282
:D YES MAN D: Why do you cry? It is something I've said? :(
Six needed a moment to answer.
"That's the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time…" – she muttered while receiving a big ASCII text art shaped into a big heart from Yes Man.
She knew the AI was taking all those traits and geeky stuff from Mandy's chat… But she couldn't care less.
If Yes Man would always choose the best option for her, and that option was Mandy right now, she wouldn't complain. This was the best she could ask for, given the circumstances.
She still missed having a best friend to talk with so much.
"Please, do pass me the scalpel, Lupus."
Fascinated with the methodical way that Master Inculta was using to peel off, one by one, the canine's head layers of tissue and muscle to reach the bone, Lupus did as he was asked, watching how, aided both with his long dexterous fingers and a large set of tweezers, nails, hooks, and knives of every possible size, Vulpes was leaving, slowly but surely, an almost clean skull over his work table.
"Wow!" – the boy exclaimed, delighted – "It's sooo gory!"
Once he got the skull clean, Vulpes proceeded to gently prod between the junctures of the cranial bones. He didn't want to sacrifice another good dog just because he needlessly butchered the brain of the previous one.
With time, patience, and skill, the Frumentarius finally managed to seize the block of grey matter from its hard shell in one piece.
"Do dogs think, Master Inculta?" – the boy asked upon seeing it.
"I would think so, Lupus." – Vulpes replied while gently putting down the brain inside its due capsule, sealing it so the organ wouldn't be subjected to any more deterioration – "This one, in particular, might continue 'thinking', as you've put it, even beyond the grave."
"How so?"
"Because this brain is intended for a cyborg dog. Do you know what that is?"
"A machine that resembles a dog?"
"Correct."
"Ooo. That's so cool!" – the boy's eyes were shining – "Do you think I could see it when it's done? The cyborg dog, I mean."
As Vulpes occupied himself with cleaning the table, polishing the metallic instruments, and washing his arms and hands, he pondered Lupus' question.
If everything went according to plan, the Courier would eventually end up aiding the Legion, thus taking with her, if not all, most of her companions, including Rex.
He was sure the boy would love to play with the canine.
"If we are fortunate." – he conceded – "First, I would have to convince its owner."
"Who owns a cyborg dog anyway?" – asked the boy, curious.
"A girl." – Vulpes replied.
"What kind of girl?"
"The likes you don't see at this side of the Colorado River, Lupus."
"Is she a Profligate girl?"
"More of a Dissolute, I'd say."
"Is she pretty?"
By Mars, not the kid too.
"If I manage to convince her to come here, you'll judge with your own eyes, Lupus." – he opted to answer.
Luckily, that was enough of an answer for the boy, who now looked excited at the prospect of seeing a cyberdog and a free girl from the other side of the Dam. Even boys his age were curious about life beyond the Legion despite being told day after day that their lifestyle was the purest and most glorious of all.
He would like the Courier.
Once he disposed of all the gore, he instructed Lupus to help him prepare things for his departure.
The boy had looked sad when he had learned that Vulpes would not remain another day, but he quickly forgot as soon as the Frumentarius played some music with his Pip-Boy, even allowing the boy to flick on and off the device's lantern to satiate his immediate curiosity.
Vulpes had hated saying goodbye to him, but he had done it in the way of his people.
His true people.
"Fiel a La Jauría, hermano." – he had whispered to the child's ear once he had grabbed him by the nape, clasping his tiny back softly.
The boy didn't know what those funny, odd-accented words meant, but whenever Master Inculta would utter them to him instead of bidding him vale, he felt immensely special.
Many other boys teased them, orphans, for lacking a name and parents to call theirs.
Master Inculta was too young to be his father… but Lupus didn't care. He treated him like family.
So, Lupus didn't feel like an orphan anymore. He had a secret name and a secret family to call his.
In his innocence, not wishing to depart, the boy had put his tiny arms around Master Inculta's torso and had squeezed.
However, under his touch, the young man had tensed.
Suddenly afraid that he might have overstepped his boundaries, the boy had quickly undone his hold on the other to, immediately, being surrounded by a larger pair of chalky, fibered arms that had returned his embrace.
Lupus had never felt so happy.
On Zorro's sixth day of departure, Six hadn't been able to contain herself from remaining quiet inside her room teaching Yes Man through the chat how NOT to fuck it up in a conversation, so she had pestered both Vero and Cass to accompany her on an 'exploring tour' inside the elegant, yet somehow shady Ultra-Luxe.
She had disguised her interest with some 'girls' afternoon' excuse. However, even if that hadn't been exactly a lie, her true motives had steamed from other reasons.
Monetary reasons Robert House had promised to deliver if she went on a… discreet investigation about those unsettling rumors around the poshest casino in the entire Strip.
The man had paid handsomely for her last work on The Tops, so she had complied.
She had had a very fun time when the three of them had dolled up: Vero had been the one choosing the outfits, Cass had helped to make Vero and Six giggle hysterically with her crass humor as she had taken a swing of her whiskey bottle while helping with the general shaving.
Six, proud of the little knowledge she had gotten while on her little adventure with Zorro at The Tops, had been the one in charge of the makeup.
"I'm so sorry you cannot come, Lily." – Six had said with an apologetic face while sitting on the supermutant's lap as she had been helping them with the hairstyles – "But I'm afraid those guys at the Ultra-Luxe would… not take kindly having a woman of your stature standing taller than the most fearsome Brahmin Baron around there."
"It's alright, dearie." – the big granny had answered as gently as her booming baritone voice had allowed her – "You little girls have fun. Grandma will be fine taking care of the boys here." – putting a dainty pink bow on Six's head with astounding dexterity given the size of her bluish fingers, she continued – "Play fair and square, show those fine people how well-educated you are…" – when she had finished, she had put an enormous index finger over Cass' already reddened nose, adding – "And no whiskey, Rose, dear. You wouldn't want to embarrass your little friends here, do you?"
The redhead had snorted.
"Okay, Grams. I'll bear that in mind." – she had given the supermutant a playful wink – "No promises, though."
This way, twenty minutes later, they had gotten inside the elevator, Boone's fixed look to Cass met with a nod by the redhead, and the three ladies had disappeared inside the quadrangle.
In February, the weather after lunch in the Mojave was far more pleasant than any other time in the year… which meant that you still had to wear sleeveless dresses outside but not have to break a sweat just for… well, existing, thank you very much.
Six wore her white and pink flowery dress as it was the only one that fit her slim body… but, this time, instead of her beloved military boots, she had unearthed from the Master Bedroom's wardrobe a pair of small black Mary Janes that were her size.
Veronica looked all sophisticated with a long sleeveless white formal dress and short heels… while Cass had opted for the excess and wore a femme fatale low-cut red shiny dress that hugged her figure like a second skin with a matching pair of high heels.
Three different women in three different life stages wearing different styles to attend the same casino. They had to concede that the attention they were getting from the drunken NCR young soldiers – male and female alike – was, if nothing, well-deserved.
Cass had to even punch one of them when the audacious one had attempted to get a feel on her ass.
"Hope the stupid motherfucker hasn't ruined my manicure." – had been her casual commentary when they had gotten inside the Ultra-Luxe.
Once inside, briefly dazzled by such polished, clean-to-a-fault splendor, the three women frowned in unison when a masked man in a dark tuxedo had welcomed them with a complicated flourish to immediately ask very politely to surrender their weapons.
Besides the white and golden mask covering all of the man's face, white gloves also covered his hands. That, coupled with his languid, affected voice, had activated red lights inside Six's brain.
Behind him, the rest of the personnel attending clientele looked like carbon copies of each other: while men would opt for wearing strict black and neat short gentlemanly cuts, women were dressed in long, stylized white formal dresses while presenting either high buns or variations of the same wavy, carefully groomed, haircut.
Every last of them wore white masks and white gloves, and every last of them presented a rigid body language as they served drinks or dealt hands over the Blackjack tables to the clients, all wrapped in a flair of polished manners and slight melodrama.
Even the very air had a heavy touch of lemon pledge, expensive tobacco, and cologne.
Those aromas reminded Six of Burke way too much.
She repressed the visceral, panicked reflex action of turning heel and making a run for the exit door without looking back.
She had remained petrified during the exchange while Cass had used her bold feminine wiles to briefly make the man's inhuman posture falter. After that and a few confiscated one-handed guns later, the three of them had navigated through the lobby and Casino Floor to end up sitting at the fashionable rounded bar at the center.
"What do you mean by 'ten caps a glass'?" – was Cass' incredulous exclamation when she ordered whiskey from the bartender – "What of the rest of the bottle?"
"Madam, surely you understand." – was the composed, although slightly snotty answer she received – "This is the Top Shelf, and the drinks cost twice as much during happy hour, but they draw twice the attention, too."
"Bullshit. You're fucking with me."
"Oh, I'm afraid that would be the least of my intentions, madam."
However, before she could take the discussion further (thus making an embarrassing show out of it), a masculine, thick-accented voice interrupted.
"Serve these fine ladies whatever their hearts' content." – Desperado cowboy hat, dark brown suit, and groomed white beard were the first things Six noticed upon turning her head, taking in his attire's pristine condition, golden cufflinks, and brown tan. His presence spoke of wealth, though no sophistication whatsoever. His cologne had a spicy, musky undertone that reminded her of sand, smoke, and sweat – "And leave the goddamned bottles over the counter." – he didn't say 'please' or 'thank you' when Cass, Vero, and she got what they asked, flashing a stream of caps the bartender didn't bother to count.
A Brahmin Baron through and through.
Veronica had tensed as if her body had become a coiled spring about to jump. Six's hand had found hers under the bar counter when Cass had engaged the man in a conversation almost as soon as she had gotten a whole bottle of the most expensive whiskey ever in front of her. An elegant glass with three ice cubes followed suit.
"I know a fellow cowgirl when I see one, beautiful." – were the man's words, his tone rumbling and slightly husky as Cass had leaned over the counter, flashing shamelessly how low the cut of her dress went down – "Not Vegas or even these piss-posh shits can take away the sands and desert fire from you. Taking away your spurs doesn't mean they remain less sharp, and I know what I'm talking about. Name's Gunderson. Heck Gunderson."
Cass had accepted his hand, and the grip they had exchanged had been firm.
"That's been one of a Heck first impression I've seen in a long time." – the redhead joked amicably – "Almost following close enough to this girl's here." – she added, pointing with her eyes to Six – "Ever heard of the Courier, Mr. Gunderson?"
Thanks to Rose of Sharon Cassidy's cunning, soon, after a brief exchange of words, the three of them had gotten access to the Brahmin Baron's exclusive Penthouse Suite to end up relaxing inside the pool that came with the accommodations. Swimsuits and all.
Apparently, Mr. Gunderson's son, Ted, was missing since yesterday's first hour in the morning. Hearing the Courier's name had been like the answer to his problem, an answer of possible help if Hurricane Heck, as he had told them many people called him, had caps enough to afford it.
"My boy, Ted. He was right by my side." – the old man lamented, still bold enough to sip on a bourbon bottle while allowing the warm, relaxing waters of the pool to embrace his wrinkled body, the cowboy hat and loose swim pants sticking to his skin – "I didn't leave him but a minute. I told him to stay put while I talked some things over with the White Glove folks." – he sighed, taking yet another swing to his bottle – "He never was one to stay tied down to a spot, though. Gets that from his mother." – that last one had been revealing enough to disclose the old man's inclinations in pursuing younger women. Not that Six could really blame him for it, Cass looked like a goddess today – "Got most of my staff out looking for him now." – he added, nodding to one of the many bodyguards that stood silent and armed around the pool – "I'd be out myself, but I keep hoping he'll show up back here. Course if he does that, I'll whup him till his skinny hide turns to leather for putting me through this. But that don't mean I wouldn't be grateful."
Lounging amidst the soothing vapors, the three women listened. Veronica wearing a white one-piece swimsuit and nursing a fruity cocktail with an actual lemon slice in silence. Six, in a smaller version of said white swimsuit, was practically sinking in the discolored duck floater she had picked the very instant she had seen it sitting alone in a corner while Cass, ever the redhead in red, wore a triangle bikini and kept her long legs crossed over the floater in a precarious equilibrium as she kept sticking her reddened lips to the whiskey bottle.
The spectacle couldn't have been more bizarre, but the Courier was genuinely enjoying herself.
If reluctant at first when the man had suggested they take their conversation to a more private place, to her delight, she had discovered that, while Gunderson had only eyes for Cass, he was even more interested in hiring their services as private investigators.
Guess Mr. New Vegas' advertising campaign wasn't that bad after all.
"You realize that this is The Strip, don't you, Mr. Gunderson?" – Six had asked cautiously, the chilly Nuka Quantum between her fingers shimmering eerily bluish amidst the steam – "I wouldn't dream of insinuating things but… is your son legally an adult? Maybe he has taken a fancy on one of the girls at the Gomorrah and…"
But the old man had laughed humorlessly.
"You think I would forbid my boy from having some fun with gals while hanging around Sin City?" – he shook his head – "He hasn't run to pay his way on hookers, I assure you. He'd wanted a gal to pass the time; I would have hired her myself out of the newest batch. One cannot be careful enough they don't pass you the clap or worse."
"Maybe he doesn't like his father arranging his dates?" – Six suggested again, voice composed but kind, not wanting to enrage the man by, out of a tongue-slip, making him believe that she thought him blind to the obvious. The tone was always important when dealing with transactions.
However, the man had leaned over, his left eye almost milky blue, signaling the formation of an eye cataract.
"Look, I gather you're pretty young and don't have a grasp on how we men think and all, but I know my boy enough to know if I should be worried or not." – he gave her that look, patronizing. Old people always thought much of themselves, noble few exceptions aside, like the funny Chupacabra man who was all bark and no bite back on Dinosaur Motel Town, bless his soul – "And I am. Something feels funny about them White Glove folks, and I'm willing to bet till my last brahmin that they've got shit running over that Members Only area of theirs. Real hard to trust folks like that, bowties, canes, and creepy masks. Couple of them show their faces and that's who I do my business with… or was. I don't like my boy missing while I don't fucking know where I'm throwing my lasso."
After that and a bit more questioning, the old man had already paid for their time, handing them a copy of the Penthouse Suite key, encouraging them to eat, drink and swim at their leisure while they concocted a plan. He returned to the main lobby and casino followed closely by two bodyguards to keep his eyes vigilant, just in case the boy suddenly appeared over there. He left another two men around the Penthouse Suite and a few M&A 9mm pistols and ammo enough to aid the three ladies in a possible firefight inside the Ultra-Luxe.
Fucking badass gentleman ever.
"Gotta admit it, Cass." – Six conceded while sipping her bubbly, fluorescent soda. Cass' display had given her the perfect excuse to comb the Ultra-Luxe in and out without stating her affiliation with House to her two companions. Not yet. And Boone had sworn to keep the secret for now – "When you look for work, you aim for the good stuff."
Cassidy laughed, raising one elegant foot, toenails painted in deep carmine, in a very Pin-Up Girl fashion.
"Thought slipping that juicy slice onto that old cowboy hat wouldn't hurt." – she said, winking playfully – "You're not half bad either dealing with diplomatic stuff, Six. Very formal and nice. Consider a political career when all this shit with those Legion fuck-faces ends. I bet Kimball would crap his pants having you opposing his candidature."
Aaron Kimball. Born in 2233, the man was a former war hero and the current president of the New California Republic. His insistence on defending Hoover Dam had kept NCR troops in Nevada for years.
Yet another 'tribe-peacemaker' who, in not-at-all Caesar's fashion, liked to assimilate tribes into NCR Government imposing, instead of exemplary punishments and Spartan-like training for his troops, taxes and Old World's legal system and ideals.
That had been how much intel she had gathered for Burke before the man had decided to contact Kimball.
Since their lost gold reserves while the NCR-Brotherhood War in the sixties had raged on, the Frontier's faith in the Republic's currency considerable drop had been one of the very reasons Kimball had ended up accepting Burke's economic backing. Not payable in specie, fiat currency at their 40% versus the standard caps or at the 10% of Caesar's denarii could only endure so much.
"And what's with the long face, Lil' Riding Punch?" – Cass asked jokingly, swimming to position herself in front, whiskey bottle still in hand, of the silent Scribe – "Aw, you ain't jealous of Heck-Man, do you?" – she said, approaching her very tempting rouge lips to Veronica's, who got at least three tones scarlet than her usual slight tan – "Wanna kiss and make up?" – she added, sultry in a funny, unserious way.
"D-don't be silly!" – the flustered Scribe spluttered, attempting to gently shove the redhead out of her way when Cass' hands grabbed her two wrists and yanked Veronica towards her chest, getting the two of them going underwater.
Six reacted almost immediately, grabbing both Cass' already practically empty whiskey bottle and Vero's cocktail, endangered at its precarious position at the pool edge. She wouldn't want for the life of her having beverages spilled over the clean, warm waters.
"Not fucking funny!" – Vero protested once she managed to emerge from the water – "You've ruined my makeup and hairdo!" – she added, pointing to her short hair sticking to both sides of her face and her ruined mascara running dark tears down her face.
However, Cass emerged from the water as well - even with her looks ruined, she still managed to appear breathtaking, her long red hair pooling around her freckled shoulders like a mermaid.
Or, at least, that was how Veronica saw her.
And her heart gave a painful pang when said mermaid got closer and gave her a gentle peck on the cheek as her arms encircled her and started dancing in circles. She hadn't slow-danced with another woman since… since Christine…
"Silly, cute Lil' Riding Punch." – Cass sing-sang – "Water or not, you look pretty a bunch."
"Tease." – Veronica replied, embracing her as well and taking as much as she dared of Cass' sudden tenderness.
"Always." – replied the ex-caravanner, pinching both her cheeks – "Let's get us some towels. I have a comb, lipstick, and mascara in my purse. I'll redo your looks, and you'll redo mine. Deal?"
Veronica nodded happily, and both of them got out of the pool while Six remained behind, with a warm smile on her lips. That had been the cutest thing ever coming from Cass, who usually tended to be on the opposite spectrum of the word 'delicate'.
Sighing, hating to go back to business as her two companions prepared themselves again, Six gulped down the rest of her Quantum, hoisted herself from the cute duck floater, and sat at the pool edge.
"Yes Man." – she murmured – "Load me a full map of the Ultra-Luxe's inner compound…" – she hesitated a millisecond, not sure why she would bother with the feelings of an AI… if it really had them, that is – "… Please."
Her Pip-Boy's screen flickered awake, and the smiling interface welcomed her.
02:44 PM Sunday, February 12, 2282
:D YES MAN D: With pleasure, yay! :D
After yet another extenuating journey across the Colorado River ignoring Lucullus systematically when the older man had started sputtering frisky shit about "how unattractive and outrageously expensive to purchase were the female slaves both at The Fort and the ones waiting for exportation to their destination for his legionary stipend", Vulpes had departed from Cottonwood Cove almost wishing the tall ferryman would one day bit down his tongue until he cut it.
He had met many dense slaves and legionaries during his serving years since he had gotten of legionary age – never to count the Profligates, who sometimes reached ridiculous levels in plain stupidity – but Lucullus… if there was an unerring word to define him, that was simply and utterly dumb.
And every time he had to suffer the unavoidable company of the man when he had to travel to The Fort, Vulpes convinced himself furthermore that the only thing that filled that head of his was nothing but thin air.
Lucullus - who had pertained to the Fredonian tribe, one of the firsts Caesar had conquered more than thirty years ago - was that type of individual who, despite being well into his thirties, got Legion's guidelines so drilled inside that brick over his shoulders that he would answer any other discourse that didn't fit with his limited ideas with dull diatribe-regurgitation. He was incapable of seeing beyond what he had been taught since he was a toddler.
True to Caesar, legionary through and through. If you are Legion and differ, your ideas are dangerous; if you are non-Legion, give me cause, Profligate.
In truth, Vulpes knew he should pity the lone man, unfit for the battlefield as he was too old already to be a foot legionary without a rank under a Decanus' orders, unfit for other jobs inside the Legion that required having an actual brain to perform them, unfit for company as his role constrained him within a rowing boat.
However, if anything, the Bull's Fox had little sympathy to spare for those he deemed inferiors to him. And Lucullus was one of such a kind.
Because of it, moody like the cat that wasn't allowed to eat the canary, he had abandoned the boat with the Pip-Boy's earphones on and had stomped his way to the West right to Wolfhorn Ranch during a good half an hour with them still on. Beethoven at full volume.
That had been, yet again, a rookie mistake that may have cost his own life if he had been older, ergo less agile, and hadn't counted with the advantage of V.A.T.S.
It was getting dark, and he hadn't heard the clanking noise their trashy, spiked armors usually made, giving away their positions easily, but he had jumped the instant a bullet had landed barely inches away from his left foot.
Vipers.
With Beethoven's 9th Symphony 'Ode to Joy' filling his ears, Vulpes had found himself without any ranged weapon whatsoever on his person but his trusted chainsaw that he had taken care to sharpen that very morning.
He had received a bullet on his right bicep, another one had grazed his left temple, and three more had ended up embedded on his armor's chest plate.
The offenders had been three, two men and a woman. Vulpes had laughed out loud like a madman the very instant, after entering V.A.T.S. to balance his chances on lethal strikes, he had butchered one of the males, and the other two remnants had looked at him as if he were one of those psychotic, bottom-deep junkies that had their systems so full of chems that didn't distinguish between pain and pleasure.
"Motherfucking freak!" – the other man had exclaimed, attempting to knock him down with a rusty pipe while the female kept evading his slashes by a hair's breadth.
Vulpes had earned quite the collection of bruises, a bleeding nose, and, possibly, a concussion if the buzzing inside his head and the blurring sight coming and leaving at irregular intervals were further indications.
But he had left the battle and the bloody remains behind invictus with also a few extra .308 round ammo and caps richer.
And he would have felt jubilant if not because of the woman.
The instant he had gotten the upper hand on her, pinning her to the ground with one boot crushing over her chest and the blade of the chainsaw at her gullet, she had spat him on his pteruges, for she couldn't reach his face.
"All hail the True Goddess Hecate and her blessed Daughters." – she had hissed through clenched teeth, blood oozing from multiple gashes that would eventually have killed her – "Long live the Hounds of Hecate."
Acting out of instinct rather than cold calculation, Vulpes had separated her head from her body in a horrifying reflex act.
When he arrived at Wolfhorn Ranch, half delirious from his concussion and half-blind for all the blood that had gathered on his left eye from where the bullet had grazed him, Vulpes had dug out several cooked painkillers he always kept hidden in a rusty First Aid box that he kept under a specific loose floorboard for his' and his trusted men to have at their disposal. Either he or they would resupply the batch should these run out.
He injected himself with two homemade Stimpaks and forced an entire bottle of Hydra down his throat, making him nauseous.
Antivenom, cave fungus, Nightstalker blood, and radscorpion poison. Those were the ingredients needed to cook such a foul beverage straight out of hell that helped numb the pain and accelerated tissue regeneration.
Vulpes went stumbling to the pitiful cot at the back of the house, taking with him a metallic basin, two bottles of purified water, a pair of tweezers, and inches and inches of relatively clean cloth. He spent fifteen minutes between blurry sight and trembling pulse extracting the bullet from his bicep, and another good twenty minutes undressing himself to clean the wounds and hematomas to bandage them.
Once he finished, trembling and nauseated, he laid down, turning on a fetal position while he repressed the growing need to vomit until any physical sensation, finally, diluted into a numbing pulse.
He knew how incredibly bad the nightmares were and, in some cases, the slight hallucinations one got when gulping down a whole bottle of Hydra, but he likely wasn't going to get any further with a concussion this severe. He needed the Hydra to settle its due effect on his organism… if it didn't kill him first.
But he didn't want to fall asleep. Not like this, wrecked, stark naked, likely highly stoned and alone.
Fumbling clumsily with the Pip-Boy, unable to even muster the strength to raise the arm, a thin trail of pinkish drool escaping his lips, he played some of the Courier's meaningful songs in a soft volume.
Talk to me… Mercuria.
Soft, soft small fingers grabbing on his own…
Do unto others what has been done to me …
Small, small dainty feet tiptoeing carpeted floors softly…
Do unto others what has been done to you…
Short, short hair black as ink, eyes as coals…
I've got my hands bound…
Sweet, sweet pink skin warm and freckled under his fingertips…
My lamb and martyr, you look so precious…
Unconsciousness claimed him without knocking on the door, agonizing heat gathering inside the ill-conceived metallic roof, making him think his brains were being cooked inside his skull, just like the ones he kept inside that capsule.
The rabid dogs of Hecate had crossed the Colorado.
"Holy fuck!" – Cass' exclamation almost went unnoticed amidst the ruckus that shooting and exploding tiles were creating around – "Bitches hired merc shit to keep on the low their dark crap!"
The motherfucker had already killed the poor sod that had called the investigator at 04:00 PM to the steam room in the Ultra-Luxe's Bathhouse.
"I cannot get a clean shot!" – Veronica bellowed, covering behind the very wall that was getting thinner by the minute under bullet-storming – "Does he have infinite ammunition or what?!"
Oh, that's right: before Ted Gunderson's disappearance, a young bride had gone missing inside the hotel a few weeks ago, and the groom had decided to hire the services of a private investigator after getting systematic, although polite to a fault, denial of facts from Marjorie, the official founder of the White Glove Society.
"That's a Viper!" – Six exclaimed after attempting to shoot the man who, armed with a kickass 10mm submachine gun, was, very effectively, cornering them inside the stupid steam room, and the three of them were getting dehydrated and airsick by the minute – "The son of a bitch has hired a Viper to do his dirty work!"
Mortimer.
The sick fuck had seen through Six's lies when she had claimed to share certain… culinary interests with him and his followers, a small percentage of the White Glove Society who, under Marjorie's very nose, was gaining more adepts by the day as Mortimer sought to reconduct their diet towards their old tribal self: cannibalism.
While clearly ignorant of her associates' dark needs still poisoning their name, Marjorie's adamant refusal to acknowledge their inner problem had gotten Cass, Vero, and Six engaging in a firefight twice on the same day: first at the private investigator's (who, as well, had fallen prey to Mortimer's schemes) bedroom, then at the steam room.
And they had managed to stay alive through the first one just because the three of them had acted in perfect synchrony when they had turned over the queen-sized bed to use it as a barricade when the two creepy masked tuxedo guys that had been sent to deal with them had resorted to gunfighting them the moment they had discovered that their dumb canes had proven insufficient against Veronica's fists.
Had they been wearing tactical armor and bulletproof vests as they usually did, these stupid confrontations would have gotten over with in no time. Shame that, to blend in, you had to wear heels and fabric-thin dresses that were goddamn unsuitable for fighting.
The day was getting shittier by the hour. And it wasn't even dinner time.
Six missed Boone so much right now. He would know exactly what to do.
After the umpteenth rain of bullets already perforating the walls that separated them from the Viper, Six raked her brains in search of a strategy, something that could…
Zorro getting higher than the disappeared Empire State.
The thought had come unbidden to her, recalling the pupils of his magnetic blue eyes growing the size of platters and the crazed, hyena-like cackling that had emerged from his throat the instant he had risen from behind the bar counter wielding a pistol.
She could emulate a swift drug-induced trip by recalibrating V.A.T.S.
Though she hesitated, a few seconds later, when she heard Veronica's pained groan, and a scarlet stain started to spread across the bodice of her white dress, Six had already made up her mind.
It could give her a seizure once the rush would fade out… or worse, a brain embolism.
But they would end up like colanders if she didn't do something real quick now.
"Yes Man!" – she exclaimed – "Calibrate V.A.T.S. System by increasing electrical pulsations on an 8% through ulnar and median nerves and 10% increase for the radial nerve! Redirect a 5% blood irrigation to the upper side of my body as well to my brain!"
04:15 PM Sunday, February 12, 2282
:D YES MAN D: Wouldn't that take sensitivity from your legs and increase by a 40% percent the risk of a heart attack and 37% chances of developing a brain embolism? Not to speak about…
"DO IT!"
04:16 PM Sunday, February 12, 2282
:D YES MAN D: … Alrighty. If you say so, your plan must be a really good one, then!
It did so.
Unlike the previous occasions she had used V.A.T.S., everything went too fast, and her time perception had considerably slowed down.
It was like watching a movie in fast-mo where dialogues and sounds got a shrill, high-pitched quality, and the action got ridiculously hilarious by looking at everything through the lens of silent B&W cinema.
And she was a part of such a comedic play.
Giggling with the drunkest squirrel-like voice ever, Six threw herself to the floor in front of the entrance of the steam room and, as she kept falling, she targeted the assassin's head as many times as her adrenaline-induced brain's synchronization with her index finger allowed her.
Vipers, even though heavily armored, never wore helmets.
She hadn't even touched the ground when the head of the assassin exploded into a bazillion pieces of gory goo, shiny and bright red as the colors around Six became more vivid.
She was out before feeling the hard slam against wet tiles that sent her small figure sliding six feet to the left until her cranium connected to the wall.
Vulpes awakened amidst the darkness, sweating and trembling.
Scarce furniture around him seemed to undulate like blazes of an invisible fire, wooden walls looming over him ready to swallow, masticate, and spit bone and tissue.
Rows of boards became telephone poles, and the wind howling between crevices became the lament of countless men.
Self-serving… corrupted…
Clutching tickets, silent crying, each cared only for himself.
Profligates… Degenerates…
'Loved ones', what a joke…
Butcher them… one by one…
Those worms… they were incapable of feeling nothing beyond pleasure and pain. The latter, he would deliver it to them with a significant amount of the former.
The small boy hadn't been a boy at all…
He was, however, capable of feeling a great many things.
Should she have appeared before him as who she truly was, he would have enslaved her…
He was capable of love.
Now, however, he would bow to his knees and beg her that she talk to him. That she gave away her message…
And he was also capable of hate. So much hate.
Preach to me, Mercuria… Give me your sermon.
The Fox howled for all the creatures of the night to listen, a testament to his lost tribe. A pack of slaughtered dogs. Dimidio. Brother against brother.
The house door creaked open, and a figure quickly came to kneel by his side in front of him.
A human body with the face of a reptile. A biped Nightstalker.
"Caderet mortuus… Anguis..." (2) – he hissed, taking the human chimera by the throat.
"SIX!"
She could hear both Cass and Vero's voices calling for her.
But her body wouldn't obey.
Her skin felt slick with cold sweat, her throat dry, the back of her head sticky, her nostrils filled with steam, and her tastebuds pearled with a slight metallic tang.
My, my… quite the predicament have we gotten in, Birdie dearest, haven't we?
The man without a name, a red right hand wielding a silenced pistol.
"Has she…?" – she could hear an odd tremor in Cass' voice, unable to bring herself to finish her own sentences – "Her head… has the fucker…?"
A pistol wielded by a blood-stained hand pertaining to a man without a name as well without a soul.
"No, it's just a tiny gash." – Vero's voice sounded more composed despite the pained undertone that came with her superficial wound – "See? Although… her unresponsiveness doesn't seem right to me… A concussion, perhaps?" – a hand waving in front of her – "Six, can you hear me?"
She could. But the very thing she couldn't do was communicate it to them.
Tsk, tsk. Vegetative again? Wouldn't have it been better to die and finish with your suffering, little bird? Not that your passing will be mourned, mind you. Mourn is for the weak. And there is no room for weakness out in the Wasteland.
"We need to take her out of here. It's not safe." – said Veronica. Her, once again, the voice of reason – "Help me carry her on piggyback."
Your little white-haired acquaintance knew. And that is why he has abandoned you. The rest will follow soon. It is just a matter of time, I am afraid.
"It's my fucking fault…" – in-between a growl and a sob, Cass would always be the tough cowgirl who wouldn't shed a tear. Too many lost friends had taken away her tears long ago – "If I hadn't led the old man… If I had shut my stupid trap…"
"This isn't your fault." – Six couldn't agree more with Vero's firm statement – "We all accepted this job without complaining. We assumed the risks. We now deal with this too."
Vero wasn't as tough as Cass was. But she would feign she was for her. Only for her.
As she felt how the two women dealt with her dead weight, her left forearm buzzed, sending small electric shocks to her heart. Yes Man was CPRing her.
Six only hoped, besides staying alive, for a nice, soft bed.
Who had been the jackass that had cooked Hydra this unbelievable sloppy?!
Inculta had been damn lucky this time. That, or his system was so incredibly inhuman like many whispered to his back, that he had been able to ride through the radscorpion venom's excess without dying in the process.
If it wasn't because he had howled, Atticus would have never entered Wolfhorn Ranch to find him on the floor half-delirious.
The fever was slowly lowering now, but keeping him warm and hydrated had been exhausting, and Atticus only wished he would awake so he could recover some sleep time. Forty hours attending an ill person was far more tiresome than the veteran would have suspected.
No wonder The Fort healers always looked impossibly tired and worn.
Sighing as he listened to the occasional tirade the Master Frumentarius would mumble, an incoherent mixture between Latin, English, and… something that Atticus thought was Spanish? Maybe?
Confirming that the young man was fluent in at least three different languages gave an idea to Atticus of why he had been selected as the Head of Caesar's Frumentarii besides having defeated the previous one in fair combat.
Even though he was still a child.
Atticus himself wasn't much older than him, but seven years marked the difference between a man and a boy.
No wonder Alerio felt so insulted about having to answer to a child ten years younger than him. After all, he had been the one Callidus Anguis had selected as his future successor when the man would have decided to test his luck against one of the Praetorians to earn his place amongst Caesar's Personal Guard.
However, knowing how much of a liar Anguis had been, Atticus wouldn't be so surprised if he had kept postponing facing Lucius's fist in the arena till the last consequences. The late Master Frumentarius would have perfectly grown comfortably old while Alerio would have kept waiting, growing old and weak as well.
Inculta's challenge had been a wave of fresh air amidst Frumentarii ranks. Many had put bets against Anguis as he had been… less than popular due to how he had treated his men.
Inculta was remote and cold… but he wasn't deliberately cruel or unjust with his men.
In fact, many of them held a great deal of respect for him despite of his age and his lack of experience. For them, he was the best replacement for Anguis they could have hoped for.
He even rewarded some of his men by gifting them wives.
Women were precious and quite expensive commodities even veterans like Atticus could barely afford with his basic legionary stipend.
True, you could bed the many slaves reserved for communal use for the troops… but it wasn't the same as having a woman of your own. A well-fed, healthy, non-battered, pink-cheeked woman you could name and dress in beautiful dresses instead of filthy slave rags, a woman you would cherish as your most prized possession besides the children she would bear only for you and nobody else.
Atticus often dreamed of what it would be like to have a wife of his own. He had attempted once or twice to seduce free women that inhabited their lands, as legionaries were able to wed them… as long as they consented.
But he had found quite soon that, while extremely polite and helpful, free Legion women tended to literally flee whenever a legionary expressed interest in them.
It didn't help that, quite often, their mentality differed a great deal about how a husband should treat his wife. Free women had this strange idea about demanding the same respect from their husbands they gave to them.
Atticus didn't know where these ideas might come from, since Caesar's laws seemed to suggest otherwise.
Anyway, he hoped that, by having saved his hide plus the juicy information he had for him regarding Alerio's two-faced 'loyalty' by bribing safehouse keepers such as himself to keep the Fox conveniently watched just in case he made a mistake bad enough to earn Caesar's wrath, Inculta would be 'thankful' enough to gift him with a wife.
With such a thought dancing inside his head, he patiently took care of the feverish Frumentarius while he envisioned a pretty petite blonde he had seen on his last visit to The Fort.
She would regard Atticus as her savior and love him to the end of her days. That was for damn sure.
Pacing briskly from one end of the kitchen to the other, Boone's frown was getting deeper by the minute.
The girlie and the other two ladies (yeah, even the tumbleweed, he reminded himself, was a lady) had departed an hour or so after lunchtime… and hadn't returned yet.
Right now, it was a quarter past EIGHT in the afternoon, and the ex-sniper felt how his nerves grated in a very tangible fashion as he detected how his left eye was twitching from time to time.
Too many hours out, and all he could think about was the girlie's safety. Was she okay with those two? Was she only having fun or they had gotten her drunk?
And if she was truly drunk right now and not wanting to return for him to see her in such a state… which he would have a few words with those two about… was she being kept safe from stalkers and weirdos?
Were the Scribe and the cowgirl good enough to keep her safe?
What if those creeps from the White Glove Society were giving them trouble? What if those rumors around them had gotten the girlie in danger?
He couldn't fucking conceive how calm Raul and Gannon were as they kept themselves occupied with reading, of all things!
He couldn't stand this inaction, this useless waiting while it was clear as the day that the girlie had left accompanied by a pair of irresponsible adults that would likely drink themselves to oblivion instead of keeping an eye on her!
Grabbing the doctor by his medical overalls, he put the man, half a head taller than himself, on his two feet while he grabbed a pair of walkie-talkies and planted one of them in front of Raul's… lack-of-a-nose.
"We're leaving." – he informed the bored-looking ghoul – "Should the girlie or the others come back, contact me with this." – he added, pointing to the device.
"You know those things have a limited signal range, right, Señor Boone?" – the necrotic asked, unmoved – "You get outside The Strip, and I will not be able to communicate with you."
"Don't care." – the Sergeant replied – "Keep trying if I don't answer."
"Muy bien." (A) – nodded the ghoul, returning to his reading on robotics, hoping to learn more about ED-E's malfunction. He wasn't giving up just yet.
Arcade Gannon, who had been silent throughout the exchange, started accosting Boone with questions.
"Why, exactly, do you need me to accompany you, and what for?" – he asked, following the ex-sniper to the elevator, Rex already in tow.
Not answering immediately, Boone turned to the Master Bedroom's open door and called for Lily, who immediately arrived carrying not only her Vertibird Blade, but also Boone's sniper rifle and Arcade's customary Plasma Defender.
"Thanks, Lily." – Boone said, taking his rifle from the hands of the Nightkin.
"You're welcome, dearie." – she answered cheerfully – "Are we going on an excursion?"
"Yeah." – he confirmed, this time to both the supermutant and Gannon – "I'm not trusting those White Glove folks around the girlie, but I don't want to dabble into their territory without making sure she's alright and I'm just reading too much into this, so we're going to the Old Mormon Fort." - he turned to the blonde Follower – "I need YOU to convince Julie Farkas to lend us a computer terminal. I've got the girlie's new Pip-Boy ID so I can contact her to check if she's okay."
"O… kay…" – the other man replied, taking his plasma pistol from Lily's enormous hand – "But why not use one of the terminals from the Guestroom?"
The girlie had been pretty specific about this: if House got a hold of her device's ID, he would learn of the existence of Yes Man.
And while Boone wasn't a liar by definition, he was loyal to a fault.
"Would you trust the entire web inside House's territory?"
The answer for Gannon, who was intelligent to a fault, had been obvious: not a chance. None of them trusted those terminals beyond learning basic hacking commands (those who wanted to learn, that is) and playing some videogames from time to time.
"And we need Lily with us because…?" - flinching, he immediately corrected himself – "Uh... no offense meant by that, Lily."
"None was taken, sweetie." - she replied. Ever the well-mannered grandma.
Boone's green eyes darkened behind his sunglasses.
"Just in case I decide we should pay the Ultra-Luxe a visit." – he replied before getting inside the elevator.
Arcade followed with a sigh, not liking one bit where all of this was taking them.
LATIN:
(1) - "My Lord..."
(2) - "Drop dead... Snake..."
SPANISH:
(A) - "Very well."
A/N: chapter was getting too long, so I've splinted it in two ^^ Next episode will take me a while to finish, though.
Nowww... Character Development Time again! This time, with missions in-between but with different approaches. You see, I'm not buying that Cass is plain brainless and Boone has a granite block for a head. Their dialogue In-Game shows that much, but the fandom usually depicts them the other way around and that's not fair. Sure they're not the brightest candles in the church, but they aren't, by any means, dense. I hope this shows here.
Arcade will be developed in due time, don't you worry, but now these characters are the ones stealing the action, so...
About Lucullus and, more importantly, Atticus' approach on the women topic... he's not a reliable narrator as he sees things from his angle and the way he has been educated. I pretend to show here just how legionaries see women: it isn't that they despise them, it's more of a wrong and INFANTILE approach to something they don't see anything wrong with. And it still happens in our society, so I'm not that far-fetched. True that some of them are nasty, but you can find assholes everywhere you go. Not just East of the Colorado. Hope is not offensive.
And yes, Vulpes is not an angel at all. Very Evil Karma, remember?
And... yes, Van Buren content as well. I simply couldn't resist.
Hope you're enjoying the trip! Cheers! :D
