"Number Nine"
Ch. 11: Wish I could fly.
"I dreamed I could fly
Out in the blue
Over this town
Following you
Over the trees
Subways and cars
I'd try to find out
Who you really are."
- Roxette, "Wish I could fly"
He had seen the new kid trotting around with that floating pile of junk beeping behind. So full of life, so eager to help folks around.
He wished he could feel happy for the McBrides now that their brahmin problem had been solved. He wished he could be grateful that the new kid had resupplied the local 'doctor', that butcher named Ada Strauss, with chems enough to service the townspeople a little cheaper than usual.
Hell, he wished he had been the one talking to Andy about his wounds, about that feeling of not letting go, about the service in Bitter Springs… the horrors they both had seen there. He truly wished he had been the one opening up with the old Ranger instead of the kid.
But nobody would look him in the eye since… what had happened almost a year ago.
He would observe the town from his position at night, asking himself why, wondering who.
Two days ago, when he had been too drunk to care, he had attempted to end everything… but the damn pistol had been unloaded.
He had destroyed the auxiliary table by his bed in a rage fit. Carla's photo had ended up on the carpet, surrounded by crystal shards.
He had pocketed the photo and had slept in his work clothes and boots. She had been the one maintaining a semblance of order and cleanliness within this wreck of an apartment. Now dust, empty beer bottles, and disarray owned every inch inside.
He couldn't care less, though. He couldn't bring himself to care anymore.
This afternoon at dusk, he bumped into Manny. He hadn't even returned the brief salutation the other man had directed to him.
Because he couldn't bring himself to care. Manny had betrayed him.
Just like the rest of this town.
He had lowered the rifle a bit, just to check if the old photo was still inside his pocket, just to see if there was something he still cared for.
The screeching from the metallic door behind him almost made him jump, so he had turned around quickly, prepared for anything.
The rifle's nozzle had ended up pointing at a terrified small girl whose eyes had watered while her bony arms had risen in the universal surrendering gesture. The floating pile of circuitry behind her had beeped in an almost questioning tone.
The kid… the kid was… a girl?
"Goddamn it! Don't sneak up on me like that!" – he had hissed, lowering his weapon, showing the frightened girl that he meant no harm – "You shouldn't be here. This is a sniper's nest." – shit, the poor thing was all eyes and front teeth. She was a good head shorter than him. How old could she be? If she had crossed the railway from the South, she had been damn lucky that the Legion hadn't enslaved her while on the roads. Where was her mother? – "What do you want?" – he sighed, unsure of what to do if she started crying. He had never been good at comforting people.
Blinking twice as if attempting to not show that she had been, indeed, about to cry, she started to fidget nervously.
"Hum…" – she hesitated – "Just wanted to say hi to the night watch. I've already spoken with Manny… he wouldn't help me with my problem."
Shit, she had the voice of a little mouse. Cute to a fault. Too girly, too tender.
"Problem?" – he had asked, raising a brow behind his sunglasses – "What problem are we talking about, and why do you think I could be of any help?"
"It's… personal." – she said, hesitating yet again – "Maybe you saw a man in a checkered suit a few weeks ago?"
"Look, if you are after some boyfriend nonsense, it's none of my…"
"He…" – she gulped, clearly trying to work up her resolve – "He… robbed me and… shot me in the head." – she said, taking off her baseball cap to show him the recent scarring that her short hair didn't manage to cover well enough.
Taking his sunglasses off, he had taken note of the closed wounds. She shouldn't be alive at all.
"When did this happen?" – he inquired.
"Almost a month ago…" – she answered, scrunching her peppered button nose – "Maybe a whole month, actually. I've been having trouble measuring time since."
"Did a doctor take care of you?" – he questioned again – "Where are your parents? You shouldn't wander outside all by yourself after a murderer with all the dangerous creatures of the Mojave and those Reds lurking around to kidnap young girlies like you."
Her lower lip trembled.
"My parents are dead." – she said, her voice low – "The man who shot me took… all the memorabilia I have of them." – lowering her head, she muttered – "He also took a package I was meant to deliver in New Vegas. If I don't recover those things, I will forget my family eventually, and I will be fired from the Mojave Express." – she suppressed a sob – "I… don't know why I am telling you all my crap but… You know… my Big Bro served as well… You sound a bit like him…"
She had spent all the night by his side, sitting in the dinosaur's mouth. Throughout the hours of darkness, she had kept talking, telling him small bits about her brother, hinting at some military training that had informed him that she had been, somehow, in the army too despite her saying that she wasn't NCR; but mostly talking about what the man, Benny, had taken from her and how many miles she had crossed through the desert alone to end up here, pouring her fears and troubles on a complete stranger.
He had listened throughout her tale without uttering a word. Carla used to talk a lot too, which had suited him fine. He had never known what to say. And now it wasn't any different.
While Carla had been love at first sight, this girl had been protectiveness at first look once he had her in front of him. She was like a lost baby calf amidst a desert full of hungry coyotes.
And she was kind-hearted, for she had asked about his jumpiness, genuinely wanting to know if he was okay and if she could do something to help him.
He had dismissed it, telling her not to worry but eventually opening up a bit, mentioning something about not trusting the people in this town, something around the lines of giving him a shout should men dressed in crimson attempt to enter her apartment one of these nights.
She had said nothing and had accompanied him on his way back to his own apartment once his shift was over. They had shared a measly breakfast. He had liked it.
For the first time in months, he had liked to feel like a normal person again and not that guy everybody pitied, but nobody gave a crap about the fate of said guy's wife.
This girl had cared, even if she hadn't known the half of it.
It was comforting to know that decent human beings were still out there.
She had made him trust again.
Because, the next night, she had come to him bearing a bill of sale saying that she knew what had happened to his wife and who had been the son of a bitch who had sold her to the Legion.
After Jeannie May's treacherous brains had splattered over the desert ground, he had vowed to protect this girl who, despite being a total stranger, had done him the very kindness he was so desperately looking for.
She had given him a chance at revenge… and the gift of purpose.
A shrill, high-pitched squeal made Boone's body, placidly asleep over the sofa, jump so high he ended up on the floor.
Rex's barks were the next thing he was aware of before looking to his left and watching how the girlie's small naked feet jumped from the sofa she had been hopping on and landed on one of the carpets to start sprinting to the elevator. The dog immediately following suit.
The almost instant ding Boone heard informed him that the girlie was aboard the lift before any of them had the opportunity to react.
"Holy shit." – he heard the tumbleweed saying once Boone managed to get on his two feet, watching disoriented the scene of his comrades crowding in front of the glass panels, following the direction the redhead's eyes were looking to – "He's back after all."
He?
Nearing the glass panels and looking down, Boone bared his teeth silently as he caught sight of the newcomer: wearing black from neck to toe, there was the albino shit showing them the filled brain capsule while he was inclining the weight of his body forwards, one of his long legs resting over upper stairs as if making a solemn offering.
He was imitating one of those poses that Tales of Chivalry depicted when a knight came to offer his services to a king… or pledge his love to a lady.
Boone's teeth gnashed as soon as he heard Veronica, who was watching the scene like the rest from above, echoing his very thoughts by saying:
"O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?"
Vulpes had to admit that keeping this position for so long and with so many people in the street turning their heads to observe what he was doing made him feel a bit ridiculous. However, as soon as the metallic gates of the Lucky 38 unfolded before him to reveal a Cheshire Cat grin, bright-eyed Courier accompanied by Rex, he felt like his efforts were worth it.
First, the cyberdog literally jumped him by putting his front paws against his chest, seeking to give him a thorough face wash with his long tongue.
Vulpes stumbled a bit, balancing his weight with the cyberdog's against him. The poor animal didn't realize that roughly seventy percent of his bodily structure was made of heavy metal. Once he regained his balance, the young man scratched behind Rex's ears while giving his natural paw and wet nose soft patting until the animal, satisfied, released him.
The Courier's nose and cheeks looked flushed as if she had been running. She seemed delighted to see him until she got closer and frowned.
"What happened to you?" – she asked, pointing at his split lip and black eye.
"Vipers, ill recovery from Hydra usage, and street thugs." – he replied calmly, taking in the multiple band-aids she wore all over her face and her naked arms. They were looking at each other intently, assessing damage on their respective interlocutor, the height difference between steps making them eye to eye – "But I see that I am, by no means, the only one who has faced the unpleasantries of aggressive behavior coming from third parties. What is your story, Courier?" – he asked, taking an educated guess about the nature of those minimal scratches. That Mortimer rat had described the Courier and her companions like monsters attacking his 'poor' clan mercilessly, but he hadn't elaborated on what they had done to them in retaliation.
"Cannibals." – she answered, grimacing – "Long story."
Correct guess.
"I'm sure any story involving such kind of human depravation cannot be boring at all." – he nudged gently, wanting to know all the details regarding how she and her merry band had finished Mortimer's people. Any legionary enjoyed a good battle story from time to time. It was something they could relate with easily – "Care to share it?" – he breathed, taking a step up to her, wordlessly claiming his superior stature while he picked a random strand of her wild hair and put it behind her left ear. Again, his inner fox was licking whiskers when the rosy flush on her cheeks increased.
"Only…" – she replied, kind of shyly, kind of cheekily – "… If you allow Arcade to check on your wounds."
Vulpes raised a brow.
"I assure you it isn't necessary at all."
"After saying you managed to poison yourself with Hydra?" – she replied, raising her brows in unison, giving him a matter-of-fact look – "Try again, Fox-Man. I am well aware of the insane ingredients you guys use to cook such a monstrosity. Any slip in any of the venom dosages, and you're dead."
"Well, as you may have noticed, I'm very much alive."
"Don't be so stubborn and accept our lovely medical care for free." – she coaxed, too cute to resist, while extending a small hand to him – "Come in?"
He had already taken that hand before thinking.
And he allowed her to merrily guide him back to the dusty gloom he had grown used to in a few days of staying. The metallic doors closed immediately Rex came in after them.
"Hungry?" – she asked, directing their steps towards the elevator.
"Very." – he answered.
In fact, he was starving.
"Cookie?" – she asked again, fumbling inside one of her oversized shirt's pockets and turning to him with the named sweet on her free hand, offering.
Occupied as both his hands were with the portable capsule and the Courier's fingers grabbing on his respectively, Vulpes hesitated a bit, weighing between how ridiculous it felt eating right from her hand and how appetizing the baked sweet looked, but ended up fangs on the cookie nonetheless.
Giggling impishly, she guided him inside the elevator.
He had missed Lily's nut cookies so much.
Going over his mental list of tasks for the fifteenth time in the last hour while keeping his traitorous teeth from going for his already bitten-down nails were clear symptoms of how stressed Gabban felt right now.
Because he was stressed.
Didn't his brother feel stressed with so much scheming? Didn't he get tired sometimes of engineering these intricate plans, relying more on strategy and subterfuge than outright brute force that, later, would only be regarded as cowardly and undignified by Legatus Lanius, his most bitter adversary?
Since Vulpes had risen to the position of Praefectus Frumentario two years ago, he had kept dealing with the – slightly – more veteran Lanius', Monster of The East, crap since minute one.
Gabban didn't know all the details, but he knew that, two years ago, as soon as his brother had stepped out of the arena, the Legatus had made a commentary on Callidus Anguis' pathetic defeat at the hands of a skinny pretty boy.
Vulpes detested being called 'pretty boy'.
So, he had given Lanius a piece of his mind in his educated, poisonously affected way.
And, since then, the two didn't lose a chance to keep throwing jabs at each other, Lanius unhindered, Vulpes in a more subtle – although venomous, nonetheless - way.
The worst thing of all was that Caesar apparently enjoyed these catfights and only reprimanded them when they took their words way too far.
Gabban had told his brother countless times not to pursue enmity with Lanius, knowing very well what fate awaited him if Caesar – somehow – kind of died and the Legatus, being the official replacement as Caesar didn't have any heirs of his own, rose to power.
But his brother, despite being the rational one amongst their family (most of the time anyway), wouldn't budge.
He would reply to Gabban to mind his own business and, sometimes, even drop an insinuation or two bordering on treason about poison and something along the lines of not allowing Lanius to command the Legion for much longer after Caesar's death.
Every time, Gabban would find his brother's chain of thought more and more disturbingly creepy and dangerous.
And, if Vulpes had a real pastime, that was playing dangerous games. The most immediate example being his dalliance with the infamous Courier Six, although he had dismissed it as a 'mere surveillance mission to see if the Courier was Legion material'.
A girl? Legion material? If Vulpes truly believed that, he must be either delusional or with his eyes more trained on the Courier's ass than on the gun in her hand.
Hey, it could happen. Even to his frosty brother, who always looked to New Vegas' prostitutes with an expression as if he had suckled on a lemon.
Gabban couldn't really blame him: admittedly, the girl was kinda cute… in a weird sense of the word.
A really weird sense of the word.
Anyway, he was the boss. He knew best. And Gabban's work had but started.
Because he had been tasked with a series of responsibilities that worked along the lines of, basically, substituting Vulpes while he was at his thing with the Courier.
And the first course of action he had to take was informing Alexus and Dead Sea that they had green lights to start their double attack over Nelson. They needed to be informed who was in charge and what agreed signal they should await to launch the offensive.
Alexus was going to be very pissed off when Gabban announced that Dead Sea, the veteran of the two, was the one in charge.
Gabban grimaced as he approached the boulder of Techatticup Mine. He had been walking for two days, biding his time while actively avoiding NCR patrols near Boulder City and the HELIOS One power plant throughout the 95, bumping on a fellow Legion patrol composed mostly of rookies who had managed to detain an NCR shipment meant for Camp Forlorn Hope, Southeast of HELIOS One.
Seems that, despite the Courier's aid to the many NCR encampments and Ranger Stations, their thin-stretched forces were no match for various sets of Legion groups. Groups that relied on guerrilla strategies at the river bank that Vulpes had engineered with mathematical precision, so they were constantly moving while exchanging shifts between Cottonwood Cove and several Legion safehouses and supply caches, forming a perfect arc between the Hoover Dam and the deserted Blue Paradise Vacation Rentals on the western side of the Colorado River.
Damn it, but his brother was good at his stuff.
Stopping, bidding the usual prudential distance, he howled.
This time, the answer was immediate.
"You again?" – was Alexus' gruff greeting once Gabban was able to get rid of the usual tide of canine love coming from the Decanus' mongrels – "What is it this time?"
"Hi to you too." – had been the Frumentarius' dry reply – "I bear news on the Nelson operation."
The Decanus' posture tensed visibly. It was a good sort of tension coming from Alexus, the tension of anticipation.
"So?" – the Decanus asked impatiently.
"Dead Sea will be the one leading it."
Alexus' crossed arms twitched. Gabban would bet that, behind the Decanus' helmet, a deep frown was marring his sibling's sharp features.
"Fuck Dead Sea." – Alexus hissed – "Fuck Vulpes and fuck you too."
"Hey, don't look at me." – Gabban replied, raising his hands in a peace gesture – "Was his idea, not mine."
"Don't give me that crap. I know you'll never grow the balls to suggest him otherwise."
Why do they always have to fight over the decisions their older brother makes?!
"Shit, Alex! What do you expect me to do?!" – Gabban exclaimed. He had been inseparable from his twin since before birth… and dealing with his other half had always been frustrating to no end. Alexus had both a fist and a temper to be reckoned – "You know Dead Sea has more experience; you know that Caesar favors him!"
"That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it." – Alexus replied stubbornly – "This is all about Vulpes and his nanny issues."
Then, the Frumentarius smiled mysteriously.
"Well, I wouldn't be so sure about that." – he replied calmly.
"What do you mean?" – the Decanus demanded.
"You see, our brother wants to wipe an entire Ranger Station out of the map, and he has given me a few specifications on how he wishes it to be done." – Gabban explained, extending a discolored folder to his sibling.
Alexus grabbed the offering without uttering a word, and Gabban could tell that the Decanus' eyes were getting the size of platters as blue eyes behind dark lenses perused the folder's contents.
"Is this for real?" – there was hope in Alexus' voice, a shred of emotion and genuine excitation. If there was something his twin wanted more than anything, that was proving worthy before Vulpes' eyes, for him to stop seeing a girl and, instead, beholding the soldier – "The localization, the weaker spots, the numbers, the strategy?"
"All good and true with green lights as soon as you finish your mission with Dead Sea."
"Why me?"
"I don't know. Maybe because he deems you prepared enough to face a real fight with tough motherfuckers on your own?" – his sibling was happy, Gabban, by extension, was happy – "I will be supervising the operation, though, but you'll still be in charge. I believe this is a test of sorts."
Closing the folder, Alexus' head cocked slightly to the left.
"A test, you say?" – then, a pause – "I'm not fucking entering Frumentarii ranks; let's be clear on that."
Gabban sighed. Since Vulpes had gotten his position as Caesar's Head of Intelligence, he had sought to enlist both of his siblings under his orders to have them close… and conveniently controlled.
Alexus knew this and had always refused every indirect invitation… but that didn't seem to keep Vulpes from trying.
"You do it and let's see what happens." – the Frumentarius said in a placating tone – "Besides, wouldn't you relish the chance to prove that a bunch of Rangers are no match for you and your contubernium?"
He could hear the thirst for blood in Alexus' voice when the Decanus answered.
"Damn right, brother. Damn right."
Flipping the pen lantern from one very blue eye to the other, a pupil slightly more dilated than its counterpart, the time responses looked fairly normal.
"You don't appear to have a concussion." – was Arcade's flat conclusion, turning off his portable lantern – "Maybe slight remnants of the intoxication, but I'll venture another dosage of RadAway will take care of that well enough. I'll advise, though, that you brush your teeth thoroughly to avoid possible rotting given how corrosive the Hydra ingr… would you please stop eating for a second?" – he added, irritated.
The young man sitting in front of him finished masticating the sandwich bite he had taken and swallowed it, blinking once.
"I'm hungry." – was his reply. A reply that, had he used any other voice tone rather than the perennial monochord whir without inflections, would have sounded childish.
Arcade pinched the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses slightly while closing his eyes tiredly.
"You are not helping." – he protested, frowning – "Neither you are, Six." – he added, turning to his left, scolding.
Because, by the young man's side, the scene wasn't much better: legs dangling from the table where she was sitting, Six was also swallowing another sandwich while a tray full of them rested on her lap.
Between the two of them alone, seven sandwiches had already disappeared. And another few when Rex had started stealing some of them from the girl's lap.
"He started it." – she replied flippantly, giving a cheeky smile full of bread crumbs to Zorro Salvaje when he turned his head with a raised brow to her – "Besides, these are really yummy." – she said while raising her half-eaten sandwich.
"Rebuenos." (1) – Raul's raspy voice behind Arcade confirmed that last statement between munches. Luckily, after two hundred years, he still had teeth to enjoy solid food.
"Damn straight." – Cass echoed the sentiment as well – "Best sandwiches ever, Grams."
"Aw, grandma is so happy you're enjoying those, children." – Lily's voice reverberated through the room – "I've made them with all my love. Leo kept insisting on poisoning them, though." – abruptly, the munching ceased – "But I didn't pay attention to him. I've already scolded him for thinking such mean things." – then, the munching started again.
"Who's Leo?" – inquired the young man, and, out of a sudden, he started to receive alarming looks from everyone except the supermutant, who kept talking.
"Leo is a very bad man, pumpkin!" – she exclaimed, her voice taking an abrupt change as if she were talking with someone else in a slightly harsher tone – "Yes you are, Leo, don't try to deny it!" – and then, her demeanor changed again, addressing him again – "He tells me to do things, terrible things, and sometimes the medicine isn't enough to keep him quiet!"
Recalling Veronica's commentary about the Nightkin suffering from Schizophrenia, Vulpes assumed this Leo entity must be a product of Lily's delirium.
Interesting…
"And why, if he's so evil, do you permit him to stay?" – the alarming looks quickly mutated into many sets of hands and mouths fretting, silently attempting to quieten him, but the Frumentarius ignored them, intent on his slightly morbid curiosity – "Who has invited him here?"
The supermutant seemed to hesitate, but soon her booming voice turned into angry yelling, still addressing the nonexistent entity.
"Bad, bad Leo!" – she exclaimed, earning that Cassidy, Raul, and Veronica, the more immediate people standing next to her, covered their ears while Rex whined – "Absolutely not! I won't allow you to harm little Jimmy!"
Shocked, when Vulpes' mouth started to open to say something, he found it covered by various sets of hands. The Courier's, Gannon's, and Cassidy's, to be precise.
"Granny!" – Veronica stepped in just in time to grasp the altered Nightkin's attention – "Shouldn't you be taking your medication now?"
"Oh, you… you're right, Becky, sweetie. What would I do without you?" – Lily said, patting Veronica's head gently – "Hush, Leo, it's medicine time now!" – she added, picking a decent-sized plastic bottle of pills from one of her pockets and taking two while Veronica sweet-talked her into accompanying her to the recreational area so both could sit and relax together.
Once the gigantic granny was out of earshot, Cassidy collapsed on her knees.
"Shit, Tribal Boy." – she sighed, her hands trembling – "A lil' more prodding on your part, and everybody present would have likely ended up turning into a massive bunch of meatloaf by the end of the hour."
Arcade Gannon retired his hands with Six following close so he could wipe the cold sweat that had been forming around his brow.
"Never attempt to reason with Lily concerning Leo." – the Courier explained to a confused Frumentarius, who had taken his own hand to his lips, where the girl's small hands had rested – "We tried it once… it wasn't pretty, and she…"
"And she frenzied." – finished the NCR sniper dog, leaning lightly against the doorframe, eyeing Vulpes with disdain behind his sunglasses. He was evidently displeased by the young man's presence amongst them and wasn't bothering to hide it – "Next time, shut your damn mouth when everyone else is giving you red lights." – he didn't give Vulpes the satisfaction of replying back when he disappeared again, back to the corridor's gloom.
Vulpes' teeth clenched angrily but soon calmed when the Courier's little hands took one of his and squeezed briefly.
"You don't worry, okay?" – she said soothingly – "You couldn't possibly know that."
The Master Frumentarius didn't like being coddled like a child. But, for some reason, coming from her didn't feel that way.
In fact, he missed the contact of her hands over his' when the Followers' doctor, Arcade, resumed his medical examination, and Cassidy hooked her arm with Raul to accompany her to getting some whiskey to calm her nerves.
"I am going to inject you with small dosages of a whole Stimpak near the biggest hematomas, so it helps the broken capillaries to regenerate." – tapping twice the needle until it expelled any remaining air, he added – "Hold still."
And Vulpes held stiffly as an angry cat until he looked at the Courier sideways, and his mouth watered when he saw her resuming eating sandwiches. He still felt hungry.
"That should do." – said the blonde doctor once he was done with the RadAway too – "Brush your teeth, keep yourself hydrated and… well, start thinking about getting yourself a good pair of reading glasses soon."
That got Vulpes' attention.
"What for?" – he demanded.
"Your melanin condition." – the physician replied, half apologetically, half still retaining his professionalism. Nobody likes it when doctors break bad news – "It also affects your sight."
"My sight is good." – Vulpes replied defensively.
"That is because you are still young." – said the other man, equally defensive – "Look… it's just a suggestion, okay? Make it a habit of always wearing sunglasses outside by daylight."
"My sight is good." – the young man insisted, a deep frown on his brow as he watched the blonde doctor getting up to store his equipment inside his leather bag.
"Okay, okay." – Arcade's tone, contrary to his actual intentions, did nothing but make the boy's frown even deeper. The poor doctor had never been good at dealing with people. That's why he preferred the investigation field. At least chemical components, fungus, and bacterium had no feelings to deal with – "You know your body best. You'll do it when you think it's the right time."
With that, he left the two youngsters and the dog alone, the girl still munching on her sandwich while eyeing Vulpes timidly, unsure what to do or say. Rex, perceptive in his animal condition, started lovingly lapping at Vulpes' forearm.
She then put the sandwich tray between the two of them.
"Wanna some more?" – she asked, half wishing he wouldn't lash at her for bluntly ignoring what had just happened.
However, she discovered that was the wisest course of action, for Vulpes' brooding mood quickly shifted as soon as he grasped two sandwiches and ate with her in silence, patting Rex's wet nose from time to time.
He was still hungry, and his sight was still good.
"I beg your pardon, but I am not entirely sure if I have heard you correctly: do you intend on taking a long trip to heal that cybernetic mutt of yours, strengthen your alliance with those Great Khans savages, work a possible pact with the elusive Boomers up Northeast, and revisit several NCR encampments and Ranger Stations helping 'boost their morale' so they still believe you are on their side. Correct?"
Six was nervous. Nervous and sleepy. She had waited until everyone else had been snoring happily in the Guestroom after yet another cinema and trash food session so she could sneak out to take the elevator to the Penthouse Floor and inform her employer of her plans.
It wasn't that she enjoyed reporting to the man of her every movement… but he had given her and her crew a place to stay, wash and eat free of charge with luxuries many Wastelanders would kill to get access to. Plus, he paid well and was extremely lenient about her rearranging the Presidential Suite area to her and her allies' convenience. Not to mention having quite literally flashed out Lily's existence to every casino like she and her companions owned the place… and her little plan about making a Legion spy – a top-rank officer, no less - comfortable enough so he would trust her and… maybe… ending up becoming one of the family.
Burke would have NEVER allowed her to act with this much freedom while juggling so many unstable and potentially dangerous possibilities without cutting her wings at the first chance and punishing her audacity to remind her who gave the orders there.
House was proving to be quite understanding and even encouraging when it came to building stable diplomatic relationships with other factions, sometimes even measly complimenting her non-violent policy.
However, he wasn't so understanding when it came to… listening to some advice.
He was a genius, alright, a two-hundred-sixty-one-year-old genius… but he had spent so much time isolated in this fortress of his that he had a scandalous lack of… tactfulness.
He thought everything could be solved either with caps, feeding up other's vices… or plain firepower. He knew nothing about charity, moral support, goodwill, and respect.
For him, every human being, regardless of their value as individuals, was nothing beyond a number. And their reactions, mere statistics.
Either a byproduct of his high intellect, his isolation, or a mixture of the two, his chain of thought usually reminded Six more of a machine than a human.
So, she merely nodded at his question, allowing him some space so he could digest these notions she had presented to him, and start working with his numbers, so he saw, through statistics and no mere idealistic advice coming from a 'romantic teenager' like her, that she was on the right track.
"I will admit, Miss Sullivan, that your foresight when it comes to echoing my very own thoughts regarding adjusting the attitudes of some lesser groups while we wait for an invitation to access Fortification Hill amazes me, truly." – House spoke after a while – "However, there is still the Omertas' matter, you see. If I remember correctly, which is entirely unnecessary as I tend to file every single conversation I happen to exchange with my employees, I did express my desire for you to investigate their den of vice, yes?" - haughty indifference? Check. Snotty attitude? Check. Old man's typical paternalist condescendence? Check – "You see, I've never expected loyalty from them, mind you. A reliably underhanded tribe is just as constant to deal with as one that always run true. But from you, Miss Sullivan? This irregularity baffles me, and, while I deem your current course of action necessary and even adequate… it makes me wonder about your true motivations behind this complicated scheme of gaining military support while petting the two-headed Bear AND fattening the Bull at the same time."
Six kept her body language and facial expressions under control. Her vitals were taken care of by Yes Man should House's monitors detect something irregular.
She knew the man could discern if she was lying by merely checking her body temperature, heart rate, and sweating. He had done it in their first encounter when she had attempted to play dumb by being sarcastic about her opinion on The Strip, and House's reply had been an acerbic scoff on being both intelligent enough to cease those games meant for the superfluity of fools that flooded the entire New Vegas.
No use in lying to him… or, in this case, hiding information from him if he could see through her bodily reactions. He had played with an enormous advantage the first and second times. Now she wouldn't be the fool a third.
Burke had taught her well… too well.
"I want harmless, complacent factions that wouldn't suspect my true allegiance and believe that I'm on their side so I can get granted access to their territories and their markets without having to worry about their spies feeding them that there's a third faction powerful enough to make both the Bear and the Bull retreat to the West and East respectively."
"And which 'third faction' would that be, Miss Sullivan?" – the Orwellian entity asked.
"Why, you and your securitrons, Mr. House." – she replied, not missing a beat – "And what I get out of this?: Living as a princess for the rest of my days with whomever I deem cool enough while I help technology, sanitation, education, and the Internet come back to life again." – at this, she gave the big screen a comical, saccharine flutter of lashes – "I want to be the most insufferable, soaped, perfumed, well-dressed, spoiled geek brat all over the Mojave Wasteland and knowing that I've earned it." – when she felt this artificially calm, she could come with such inspirational lies – "And, to achieve that, I ought to make sure that the NCR and the Legion remain blind enough to not taking me to their interrogation rooms or to string me up to a telephone pole whilst I act against their interests." – yes, let him believe that this was just a matter of saving hide… which, if she was completely honest with herself, wasn't that far-fetched from the actual truth – "Does that cover any possible questions you might consider about my motivations behind all of this or do you have anything else to ask me?" – she finished, with a motherfucking cherry on top of the fattest pile of crap she had ever sputtered.
The big screen remained silent for a few seconds while, to Six, it felt like an eternity.
"I believe we are starting to speak the same language, you and I, Miss Sullivan." – House replied, a pleased undertone seeping through his synthetic voice – "If those are truly your expectations coming out of our business contract, you shall not be disappointed… proving that you do not disappoint me as well." – his tone got back to the same haughty note – "Which takes me back to my original concern: the Omertas."
Six inhaled.
"The legionary spy." – she explained, hating herself immensely by addressing Zorro in such a manner – "He contacted me at the Gomorrah the first time."
"Oh?"
"He also used the rented room of one of his men to get us cleaned from signs of that night's ruckus." – she added, hating herself even more for betraying his secrets, but she needed the other one knocked out of the game. He had given her bad vibes – "That tells me that more than one spy is lurking in The Strip."
"Oh, but that is old news to me, Miss Sullivan." – House scoffed disdainfully – "And I am still wondering where you are getting at with this explanation."
"The other day, I checked with Sarah Weintraub that this man paid rent at her hotel no more since, casually, the day after Benny's escapade." – Six explained – "Coincidence? I don't think so." – keep you cool, Sulli, keep your cool… - "My guess is that, since I picked up the spy's attention bringing him here, the other man went to cover his position at the Gomorrah, thus… making the Omertas allies with the Legion." – it was a long shot, but Zorro's later enthusiastic interrogation disguised as curiosity this evening before going to sleep about her comings and goings with the Three Families, had informed her that his trust hung precariously from a leash that, should she tried to strain it more than necessary, would snap in an irreparable way – "I want the Legion trusting and quiet until I'm invited into their territory. But we can leave the Omertas in the dark with their allies by… blocking access to all filed Legion agents to The Strip except my ally. No communication, no further progress. And they will bear you responsible alone, taking the finger of suspicion off me."
"Hmmm…" – she could tell her plan appealed greatly to the Orwellian man behind the screen when he spoke again – "Showing a card to hide another in its place. I like such refinement of thought, Miss Sullivan. While this course of action will diminish The Strip's monthly profits by a 7% due to the banishment of Legion clients, giving the Omertas a taste of their own poison would do them well." – he acquiesced – "Very well, you have my blessing. They shall be dealt with later, when your ally deems best to extend his invitation and I'll have no further need of Caesar's services." – he added, letting her know that she wasn't walking out her contract this easily – "Go, and make your journey worth the risk I am assuming on your account."
And, with that, Six had gotten outside this verbal and political sparring with her plans and her allegiances intact.
She had taken the elevator back to the Presidential Suite, giving herself a small pat on the shoulder in triumph… until she had gotten sight of Zorro waiting for her in the corridor like he had done the first time, wearing a pajama that was too short for him, cross-armed and eyeing her with squinted eyes.
Once she got outside the elevator and the doors closed behind her, they observed each other in the gloom, awaiting the other to make a move.
She wanted to shush his suspicions and touch him, taking his hand or growing a pair and actually giving him a hug so she would feel wholly accepted and not this unbearably cautious around him. He remained leaning against the wall, wanting to question her and her intentions, itching to demand answers about her allegiances, about who she really was, about her message… about her true name.
He wished to know her true name the same she, unbeknownstly, knew his.
He had been wondering why she kept hiding from her allies, why did she have to sneak out again to, no doubt, meet with Robert House. Was she working for him or for the NCR?
Would she tell him what perks they had promised her so he could counter their offers and raise the stakes? Would she consider working for him? For Caesar?
How much and of what? Money? Sex? Power? Luxury? Protection? Loyalty? Devotion?
What did she truly want?
Tell me your price, Courier. – he tried to convey in his gaze to coax her closer so she would confess to him what she truly wanted to say. He needed to understand her to find a way to keep her interested. That was Caesar's will. And Caesar and he had a deal – Tell me everything so I can find a way to both get what we want.
But she remained silent, a mystery, challenging his intellect… his abilities as an observer, at being manipulative in any possible way until he extricated information he could work with.
Did she want outright manipulation? Someone like her? He couldn't bring himself to believe in such a possibility.
He was about to open his mouth when she smiled.
And when she approached, his brain was working at full speed, trying to discern any familiar pattern in her body language that he could work with.
Nothing.
He almost short-circuited when she made a beeline to the kitchen.
What…?
After hesitating, he went after her and didn't know what to make of the situation when he heard the microwave briefly, and she took two steamy mugs out of it, putting one over the table and sitting with the other between her hands.
He sat, first eyeing the mug with suspicion and taking it while looking at her expectantly.
"It'll help you to sleep better." – she said as a way of explanation, pointing to his mug with her eyes – "My Big Bro used to prepare these for me whenever I was insomniac."
So, she had a brother.
Raising his eyebrows in confusion, he risked a sip.
It was warm brahmin milk with honey.
They drank in silence while the previous tension from moments ago between them slowly dissolved inside warm stomachs.
They returned to the Guestroom, hand in hand.
They slept well.
Pretty Sarah had awakened that morning with a hell of a headache.
She will take up Marco's offer for nightly vodka shots never again.
She knew that the man, as mouthy and dastardly as he could get sometimes, only meant well. But that wouldn't just magically wear off the migraine's edge.
Or make her forget. About the Fiends. About Cook-Cook and his flamethrower.
Her body would always remind her of that, like a life sentence written all over her skin.
She had survived that inferno once, and she had survived the chems' withdrawal the monster had used on her and the threat of infection due to her injuries.
But the scars…
She rose from her bed as soon as the first lights got up the horizon, taking a shower and putting on some hydrating cream, so she felt like she was doing everything in her power to avoid looking like a living gecko kebab for the rest of her days. The Followers had instructed her this, and she wasn't one to argue over what educated doctors say.
Then, she went on her daily routine, waking up Maude, Sweetie, and Jimmy.
Nonetheless, the charred remains of what was left of her eyebrows shot up when she saw both the female prostitutes standing very much awake while taking a peek through the open door of Jimmy's room.
"Hey, what the heck's going on in here?" – Pretty Sarah demanded as soon as she neared the prostitutes so both could hear her.
Sweetie shrugged, not taking her eyes from the slit in the door. Maude, however, was more vocal about the issue.
"The boy says he's leaving." – she replied, shrugging as well, taking her battered, though still firm, ass back to her room – "Apparently, he got scared off over some customers yesterday." – and then, she added smugly – "Serves him well, for accepting such a low-profile clientele as standards."
Pretty Sarah resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Old woman, lots of prejudices.
She found Jimmy packing up in an old suitcase his scarce sets of clothing, soap, trash food, and a couple of Stimpaks. And she swore she saw the flicker of a six-shooter in-between the fabric.
"Hey, hey, Jimmy, what's up?" – she asked, attempting a familiar, soothing tone – "Maude says you're leaving?"
"Damn right I am." – the young man replied without raising his eyes from his current task.
However, Pretty Sarah was having none of it, and she grabbed the boy gently but firmly by his shoulders so he would look her in the eye. Tears were welling up in his eyes.
That was another thing she always procured, that her prostitutes would never have to feel while she was in charge: fear.
"Talk to me, Jimmy." – Pretty Sarah ordered softly, smoothing the young man's platinum blonde-dyed locks with a hand. The boy was the youngest of her employees and, by far, the most vulnerable of all – "Tell me what happened. You know that if one of the clients has treated you poorly…"
But he shook his head fervently, his slight frame shaking with a repressed sob.
"T-the man over there…" – he whispered, stuttering, signaling the adjacent room vaguely with his head – "He… he got a visit yesterday."
"He asked for your services?" – she asked, not understanding at all and ready too soon to beat the crap out of the bastard if he had dared to injure one of her employees.
But the young man shook his head again.
"Shit, Sarah, shit…" – he babbled, tears coming down his boyish, handsome face – "I thought I'd escaped them… I felt so safe in here… with you taking care of everything…"
"And I am still taking care of everything." – she assured, but he shook his head again and sobbed – "Tell me what happened, and I will make it right."
"No…" – he lamented – "No, you can't… even a woman as tough as you… You don't know what they do… with regular people, lest of all scum like us… We are a form of sub-humans that they make it their personal mission to wipe from the face of Earth…"
"What are you talking about?"
"Their Intelligence!" – he exclaimed, taking Sarah's shoulders as well – "They… they were here. I know the man… you wouldn't say just by looking at him. He has the face of an angel and a voice like honey, but… the things he has done… the people he has made disappear… Always scheming, always spying…"
"Spying?"
"The one which uncovered my relationship, if you could call it that, with the Centurion that almost led me six feet under." – Jimmy said – "The head of spies. He was here. Yesterday." – he sobbed again – "I… I thought that was it all for me, but… when he and the other guy got out of the room… I watched how they left from a slight opening in my door, and he… he… turned his face to me, and gave me one of those looks like ice… I knew he had recognized me and that a door wouldn't pose any obstacle to him if he wanted to finish me there and then, and he… smiled, Sarah! He fucking smiled!" – he covered his face with his hands, crying and babbling like a scared child – "I didn't know they were so far up the Colorado! If that psycho has managed to infiltrate New Vegas, there's no telling how long it'll take them to take over!"
"Who, Jimmy?" – Pretty Sarah insisted.
"The Legion, Sarah, for Christ's sake!" – he cried, disentangling from the woman's grasp – "I'm not staying here anymore! A slave I was once, never again under Cesar's boot!" – he added, closing his suitcase – "I… I appreciate everything you have done for me. You're a good, honest woman, Sarah."
"Wait, Jimmy!" – she exclaimed – "Can't we work this out? I can protect you!"
However, while the young man had been about to leave, he had stopped, turned his head briefly, and given her the most pained look she had ever seen.
"No, Sarah… nobody can stop the Legion." – he said – "Not you, not the NCR, not Mr. House… not even that angry Courier everybody talks about." – he sighed – "Goodbye, Sarah." – and, with that, he had disappeared downstairs, aiming for the main door of the Casa Madrid Apartments. He never came back.
Disheartened, not really sure of what she would say to Marco about a new shortage in the 'merchandise', Pretty Sarah had turned to the adjacent room and, after kicking the door open, she suddenly understood.
Every bone, every fiber, every inch of scarred skin in her understood as soon as her eyes took in all the dried crimson that stained the floor, the walls… and even some parts of the ceiling as well. And there, at the center of such a maddening ravage stood, suspended in the air by several plucked-out wires and torn pieces of cloth that had been the bedsheets, was the barely identifiable, butchered-up corpse of that prissy old man with the tiny mustache and insufferable clipped accent that had rented a room a few days ago.
In what was left of his mouth, a bloodied ball of cloth sat between teeth that, likely, had muffled his screams while he had been tortured. Thus why neither Sarah nor the rest of the building had heard a thing. And the improvised gag had been firmly strapped by a leather cord that went around the cranium, grotesquely resembling one of those mouthpieces with a red ball that were so common in those unnamable dens where kinky, fetishist sex was the norm.
The message was as disgusting as the corpse's staging: the man had been a weak, submissive bitch.
But the message that truly got Sarah's stomach in knots was the more obvious one, behind the corpse and written in blood all over the opposite wall for anyone literate enough to read:
DEGENERATE CANNIBAL SCUM.
The group had departed the following day with the first lights.
Vulpes felt like he hadn't rested beyond a few hours, but he preferred it to be this way. If he got used to the luxuries of the Lucky 38, he would have a hard time letting it go as soon as the Legion got a hold of The Strip, and his Lord would take the Beacon of the Mojave for himself.
That, and the fact that he felt watched inside House's fortress.
He preferred to travel, to be out in the open, to feel the unmerciful sun glaring all over him so he could keep remembering why he was there, with these people guided by the cause they saw in the energetic teenager with two bullets in the head.
Why he have to observe and learn.
He had to keep telling himself that he shouldn't grow too comfortable around them, that he shouldn't let these people get near him more than strictly necessary.
But it was hard to look at them, cohabitate with them, and only see targets.
It was hard to look at the Courier and remind himself that she was a prospect of an ally for the Legion. And not even a safe one.
Vulpes had never been very talkative out of duty… but he was finding himself often chatting amicably with the girl and Veronica – or Becky, as their little inner joke kept on going despite himself – while they would be filling him in about their next destination: Jacobstown.
Sitting at the exact location as some pre-War settlement the Courier had informed him had been named Mount Charleston, Jacobstown was a small alpine community high in the mountains West of Las Vegas Alley… and it was almost entirely composed of supermutants.
The idea had not boded well with Vulpes, but he had been quiet about it. Apparently, the Courier and her merry band of misfits had been there a couple of times before, and the place was perfectly safe… as long as you observed manners and didn't look in the eye to any Nightkin you happen to run across, even if they addressed you, you better kept your eyes on the floor while speaking to them, for they didn't take well being looked at.
Lily came from there, and she had no qualms about talking to someone eye to eye… but she, apparently, was an exception, or maybe it was the adapted set of tinted biker goggles she wore. The Courier warned Vulpes about a particularly nasty Nightkin who would likely complain about human presence in their territory. She advised him to refrain from answering back if said Nightkin got rude.
Vulpes deemed this good advice. He wasn't actively looking to engage in a fight with a supermutant over nonsense with him probably resulting in losing a limb or two if he managed to leave alive at all.
Departing from the Freeside North Gate, they had rounded New Vegas by Interstate 15. Then, they had taken Route 95 up Northwest until they had gotten sight of the Old State Route 373, and made camp for the night near the intersection between roads.
The Master Frumentarius wasn't used to walking the Mojave roads, so the experience was new. He knew better the land by its crooked slopes, the boulders, the terrain depressions, the canyons… and he soon realized that he had missed walking as a civilian back when he had been stationed at Flagstaff.
"Here." – the voice of the redheaded woman, Cassidy, awakened him from his reverie as she handed him a steaming bowl of what they had been cooking during the last half an hour – "You want more, there's still plenty in the pot." – her expression changed briefly into an amused grin – "Hope you don't mind that I've 'spiced up' the stew a bit."
By 'spiced up' she meant that she had used some alcoholic beverage – whiskey, unlikely, as she preferred to hoard the stuff all for herself - to take away the bland flavor of boiled brahmin dry meat and potatoes without any actual salt as they couldn't allow themselves to take so much load with them while traveling.
It wasn't terrible as the actual alcoholic graduation had evaporated while boiling. In fact, it was way tastier and more comforting than the dried rations, trash food, and hunting meat he was used to while traveling with his men.
In the Legion, the closest thing you got to actually cooking was heating up the damnable cans of Pork N' Beans or roasting up whatever you happened to hunt while traveling.
And he has had less gecko or coyote and more bloatfly and radroach meat that he would bother to recall on his account. Geckos and coyotes tended to hunt in packs, thus making them more challenging prey than other lonely critters out there.
And let's not talk about bighorners. Because if you hadn't at least five strong men with you, the chances of overthrowing one of those giants with horns big enough to crack a human skull and a temper to match were already slim if there was a lone ruminant, less when it was a whole herd of them.
So, Vulpes allowed himself to enjoy his meal, basking in the familiar feeling of fire crackling in front of him, his face slightly heated up, the smell of dry wood and the pleasant perennial low hiss of the desert bustling with wildlife around him. He had missed sharing a fire and a meal with people.
Since he had obtained his title as Praefectus Frumentario, he had found himself unbelievably alone.
True, he wasn't the most social person in the world… but he had led a communal life, first with his tribe and later with many other boys in the Legion, since he could remember. He missed being comfortable around people.
He missed belonging somewhere.
Now, many of those boys weren't his comrades anymore. They were his men.
And, while respected, he knew foot legionaries and low Frumentarii knew better than to trust a figure of power.
It wasn't the same to hold someone as an example to follow than to confide in said person.
Besides his siblings, Vulpes had no real friends among his own. He had always been the weirdo, the know-all. Good for leading, inept at forming emotional attachments beyond his family.
His position of power was just a consequence of how truly isolated he was. And the sensation was accentuated by the age gap between him and the other high-ranking officers. And they saw him as a child playing with toy soldiers.
Among them, he was the brat, the spoiled kid sticking his tongue at Lanius, the pretty boy.
Loud slurping by his left got him again back to the real world.
Tilting his head to the side in a very bird-like manner, Vulpes directed a blank stare to the Courier, whose puffy cheeks full of stew got slim again as she swallowed.
"No table, no manners." – she said as a way of explanation, smiling – "Oh no, no, no, no, no." – she sang, making him recall that odd first night at The Tops playing spies, playful and undulating while being cross-legged as if she were dancing.
Hyperactive as she was, she ate her dinner in-between big mouthfuls and restless legs, humming while directing her sight to the sky full of stars, masticating.
She was definitely weird.
However, in her weirdness, there was also a feeling of companionship.
Vulpes had taken seconds that night, feeding Rex from time to time as the canine would keep whining at him and lapping his hands, forearms, and pretty much everything he could reach of Vulpes' face, and had eaten at total ease, wishing his siblings were there.
They would like the Courier.
"Who's taking the first guard?" – Becky had asked at some point after dinner while everybody was cleaning up.
Each one of the components of such an odd group of misfits had either groaned or put on a sour face. Apparently, they were used to leaving the recently-decommissioned eyebot, ED-E, in charge since it was the only one that didn't need any sleep.
Vulpes had offered automatically, aware that taking firsts or last turns in guard rotation allowed more hours of uninterrupted sleep. But it hadn't gone too well.
"I'm not closing my eyes with HIM in charge of guard duty." – had been the NCR dog's declaration while glaring at the young man above the rim of his stupid sunglasses.
The Courier had opened her mouth to protest, but to Vulpes' much bafflement, the ghoul had spoken up.
"Then, I will share night watch with him." – he had said, milky brown eyes returning the stern glare the sniper had put on – "After all, we wouldn't want our sniper's eyes and brains turning out less sharp due to lack of sleep than they already are, huh?"
The last sentence had been loaded with such amount of vitriolic sarcasm that the NCR dog had first eyed the necrotic with surprise, as if he had been slapped, then it had vanished quickly when he had put his eyes on Vulpes again and had reverted to his default gruff state, arranging his bedroll for the night as if nothing had been said.
Vulpes had remained quiet while everybody else had unrolled their bedrolls – Lily needing four of them to take her breadth – and silence had settled between him, Rex, and Raul as the ghoul had sat cross-legged by his side, adding some dried wood to the fire from time to time while checking his .44 Magnum revolver.
Vulpes had been assigned a rifle that morning when the Courier asked him which weapons he was good with. Knives and machetes had been out of the question, given the scrutiny the NCR dog was subjecting him to, so he had asked for a rifle.
And what a kickass rifle he had gotten.
Packing a hard punch and a harder recoil, Raul had called the thing 'Paciencia', saying that he better took good care of it, for it had his country's flag wrapped around the stock for use as a makeshift cheek rest.
Being a pre-War two-hundred-something-year-old ghoul, Vulpes understood that he referred to the neighboring Southern country of the Old United States of America: Mexico.
Although he hadn't a grasp on how the territory had been divided before the bombs had fallen, Vulpes had read quite a lot about the issue and had interacted with also quite the number of ghouls to know how the years and the radiation present on their organisms affected them mentally speaking: they usually had seen almost all before. And the way regular human beings tended to act, speak, or react at certain age stages was all the same boring story for them. They missed their lives terribly before the War and usually spoke of things only they and Vault dwellers could grasp. Of a very different kind of contamination than radiation Back When, like Vulpes' people used to call it; of Anchorage and how many years 'the Good Boys' had spent trying to chase off 'the fucking Commies'; of petroleum and governments with power big on a scale unthinkable these days.
Of their families, friends, and loved ones charred under the nuclear waves.
Many were so intent on forgetting their painful past as citizens of a world that didn't exist anymore that they even switched names and professions from time to time.
That would explain the 'Miguel' nametag on his jumpsuit. Or not. With ghouls, one could never be really sure.
Rex, who had been napping pacifically by Vulpes' side, perked up his ears, rose from his lying position, and, after some sniffing, started to growl after a while when Lily's snores had filled the sudden silence.
"Mira, chavo." (2) – he had heard the ghoul's raspy whisper by his left – "Nightstalkers."
Following the skinned old man's finger, Vulpes had prepared his rifle immediately when he had seen four-legged shadows dancing around the bonfire but no silhouettes whatsoever. His hearing searched for hissing nearby.
"No se arrimarán a la hoguera." – said Raul after watching a moment how the young man kept searching the shadows – "Esos pinches monstruos no resisten el fuego." (3)
"¿Y tú cómo sabes eso?" (4) – was Vulpes' muttered question.
"¿No te fijaste que siempre salen al anochecer?" – was Raul's calm reply – "Mira, chavo, yo no sé un carajo de ciencias biológicas ni nada de esas paparruchas, pero sé lo que veo. Esas cosas rehúyen el calor como si las cayera el chahuistle." (5)
The hissing became unbearable at some point after a long while despite the hybridized abominations between rattlesnake and coyote never coming near the bonfire, and Vulpes ended up angling, aiming, and shooting once in their general direction, dissipating the hissing ruckus.
"No, no, chavo." – Raul whispered, raising his skinned hands towards the young man but not touching him – "Así no." (6)
Vulpes eyed the ghoul's hands warily, pondering on the offer until he acquiesced with a nod.
He allowed the necrotic to change his posture and his hands around the gun.
"Te inclinas hacia delante y apoyas el peso sobre el pie y la rodilla, ¿viste?" – Raul instructed – "Ahora, apunta y dispara." (7)
He did so, and soon, he got one of them down.
"Yes!" – he hissed triumphantly without thinking, immediately clasping one hand over his traitorous mouth.
"Did I say that you were allowed to speak, boy? Maybe those ten lashes weren't enough to dissuade you from waggling that insolent tongue of yours. Perhaps if I would make you wear a gag for a while in front of the whole encampment, you'll finally learn the virtue of silence, wouldn't you?"
The Serpent's words resonated inside his skull like a litany, correcting him, molding him, chastising him for allowing his guard to slip so easily.
He could feel Raul's eyes over him until what he felt was heat irradiating from a cheek mere inches away from his'.
"So, that's what turns you on, huh?" – Rose of Sharon Cassidy's alcoholic breath caressed his left ear as the woman kept speaking in lower tones – "Don't start wetting yourself just yet, Tribal Boy. There's still more of those motherfuckers over there." – there was a cunning smile adorning her other than sleepy features as she took her face from Vulpes' shoulder and stepped on, armed with her caravan shotgun – "Whaddya say? Wanna test whose's biggest?" – she asked, stroking her gun in an unserious suggestive manner.
While Vulpes didn't appreciate her vulgar humor in the slightest, he could appreciate a challenge.
So, he got up and went on a brief Nightstalker hunt with the redheaded woman and Rex hot on their heels.
Given how incredibly tough the critters were, they put down a decent number. He counted four on his own score but soon discovered that the woman hadn't meant to keep any counting at all, but doing it for sport, mostly.
He could appreciate that as well.
"That wasn't half bad, eh?" – Cassidy said with a playful smirk upon her freckled face – "Nothing like some good ol' target practice to loosen up a stiff neck."
Vulpes blinked once, unsure how to take this sudden comradeship and simply kneeling in front of one of the corpses.
"Do you happen to have a knife on you?" – he asked.
"What for?"
"I intend on cutting their tails so I can use them to brew some antivenom with the radscorpion poison glands we've collected this afternoon."
She handed him a combat knife without hesitating. So trusting, this woman.
So dangerously trusting with a stranger like him.
Nonetheless, Vulpes made good on his word and returned to the bonfire with quite the collection of Nightstalker tails under his arm.
Raul and a very awake NCR dog were awaiting them. And the frown of the ex-sniper's had increased the very instant he saw Vulpes armed with a knife.
"Where did you two go?" – he demanded as soon as Cassidy and Vulpes were visible around the fire's radius, his tone accusatory.
"Oh, you know." – the woman replied nonchalantly – "Bit of bonding here and there, he told me his sob story, both cried whilst smoking crack and drinking Moonshine until we went all nuclear and rad and had some real party with a group of Glowing Ones nearby. Tribal Boy here knows how to shake it pretty raw." – she added, to the man's much disapproval, pointing to an unamused Vulpes with her eyes – "What the fuck do you think, Red Beret?"
Boone's scowl didn't diminish even when the young man sat next to Raul, and after some verbal exchange in Spanish, he proceeded to show the ghoul and the tumbleweed how to brew antivenom.
Boone didn't participate, watching how the motherfucking albino shit was earning some points with Raul and the drunkard. Should have never trusted the tumbleweed in the first place if she was so ready to cut the pretty boy some slack this soon.
However, the thing that really got on his nerves was when the first watch ended and the redhead announced she would share it with Boone, who had already taken the reins as soon as he had heard the earlier shooting.
"Geez, even if you don't trust him, at least you could behave in a less asshole-like fashion." – the woman reprimanded him, sitting by his side as she started dissembling her shotgun to run some maintenance on it – "You're only making enemies that way and losing points with Six, you know."
Boone didn't answer, but his frown deepened. The girlie was important to him. He wanted to take care of her, to protect her. And he couldn't just do that if everybody else was defending the chalky little shit putting on puppy eyes so he could get closer to her.
And closer he had gotten, to Boone's endless irritation, when he heard muffled giggles, turned around and found the bastard's bedroll next to the girlie's.
They were laying sideways, each one inside their respective bedrolls… but their backs were touching, and a slight glow, pale green hers, warm amber his, emanated from the interiors.
She was giggling and shifting inside her bedroll while he was curled in a fetal position, his face occult to the sight as his right arm moved slightly while he kept typing.
They were communicating through the damned devices attached to their wrists, and she, apparently, was having fun with what he was saying to her.
Boone wished he could just zip-trap him inside that bedroll and set it on fire so he would burn down to a crisp like a fucking empanadilla. (8)
Stupid albino shit.
They arrived at Jacobstown with the dusk coating the skies in stormy gray.
Vulpes had never seen snow, so this was the first time for him, more used to the endless oceans of sun-kissed golden sands and clay-reddened rocks from his homeland and the almost five years of campaigning against the NCR here, in the Mojave.
The first snowflake that landed over his cheek gave him a pinprick of chillness that wasn't entirely unpleasant. It reminded him of the ice cubes he liked so much to suck on from time to time when he asked for a glass filled with them to have his Nuka inhumanly cold in any of the casinos on The Strip.
He breathed on the chilled air and found himself oddly pleased when he saw his own body heat disappearing on gusts of cloudy puffs.
He could quickly get used to this.
However, what he knew he couldn't get used to under any circumstances was the constant presence of gigantic muscled silhouettes lurking at every corner of the old holiday resort. There were too many of them, way taller than the distant Monster of the East, who was a man easily EIGHT feet tall and with muscles enough to tackle a bighorner on his own.
Taller than even Lily, who, apparently, must have been a very small, very old woman before her transformation to be, minimum, half a head shorter than the rest of her brethren.
Vulpes rarely felt intimidated, for his job had gotten him in so many unsuspected situations that he has had to keep his cool to get out of them alive and in one piece.
But this… nest full of mutated creatures that were once humans but didn't reason on the same level was, if nothing, unbelievably… frightening.
He would like to see Lanius here, dealing with these monsters in a non-violent way.
Ha! What was he thinking? Lanius didn't have an approximate idea of how diplomacy worked, for he tended to deal with everything and everyone either with his sword or his dick.
Sometimes even with both, depending on his mood.
Vulpes would like to see him here, alone, dealing with a single of these beasts. He imagined the Legatus' brains – if he had any left inside that thick skull of his – splattered over the snow, learning his first and last lesson about shutting his trap for once.
Bitching mentally about the Legatus helped Vulpes a great deal about not wanting to turn heel and start running down the hill they had previously climbed up to get as far from this place as possible.
The Courier, however, seemed totally at ease here. She even returned the greeting from a peculiar supermutant, not a Nightkin if his muddy skin tone was of any indication, directed at her.
"Welcome back to Jacobstown, Six." – and the burly, bulbous beast managed a smile. Of the few supermutants Vulpes had the misfortune to see in all his young life, he had never witnessed one imitating such a human gesture so well, not even Lily, who needed that leather mouth strap behind her teeth to avoid her facial muscles sagging down enough to impede speech – "Everything alright, I hope?"
"Hi, Marcus!" – she replied cheerfully as if talking with the massive beast was the same as talking to an old friendly acquaintance. Watching her interact with the gigantic thing was like watching a small child chatting amicably with the monster under her bed – "Yep. Can't complain. Got a nice stream in caps lately and a place to stay, so we're scraping drifters no more. You?"
"Things have been quiet enough since you convinced those NCR mercs to quit with the harassing." – the beast, Marcus, nodded appreciatively – "No bighorner disappearances and no blocking in our usual trade route, business is getting normal again with the few caravans that dare come up here." – unnatural, pale eyes gleamed – "The town treasury is going so well we've been investing in some saws, axes, hammers, and nails to start carpentry work around here. Building needs some repairs on the East Wing."
"Oh, cool!" – she exclaimed and, to Vulpes' much bafflement, she looked like she genuinely meant it – "Happy to be of help."
The supermutant nodded.
"If you're looking for Doc Henry, he's still inside the Lodge." – he said upon seeing Rex by her side – "Man's been working night and day on the cure since you brought back that chewed-up Stealth Boy. Been asking for Lily, though."
"Brought her along, so don't you worry, I'll see what the good doc has in mind for her." - she answered, waving her hand as she bid him goodbye – "Thanks for letting me know, Marcus."
And with that, the merry group passed through Jacobstown's spacious snowy courtyard and got inside the building.
They were handed several sets of keys pertaining to different rooms they could stay in by another supermutant while the eyes of the ashen Nightkin observed the new arrivals from the shadows.
A good part of the group went upstairs with all the bulk to prepare the rooms and distribute who would be with who. Vulpes remained with the Courier and Rex while the NCR dog decided to stay like a silent, persistent pest, intent on not allowing them to be alone more than what was strictly necessary.
The infamous Doctor Henry ended up being a grumpy, tactless old man that distilled a heavy smell of chemical components and whose priorities regarding his compromise with the Courier about helping her cyberdog clashed diametrically with his evident interest in running an experiment of sorts with Lily. Not that his assistant was much better - a gruffy ghoul woman that went by the name of Calamity - whose body odor could compete with a rotting dump full of rancid corpses. Not even Raul smelled that bad.
"No." – had been the Courier's firm denial, planting her ridiculous stature, arms crossed, in front of the stubborn old man – "First, you cure my dog. Then, Lily and I might talk about that experiment of yours." – and her tone had been definitive – "Should she say 'no', that will be all. Are we clear on this?"
The man had attempted to argue with her over the issue to no avail as the Courier, Vulpes noticed, could be pretty verbose and as stubborn as her interlocutor when she was after something. And that something was now Rex's recovery.
Impressive… for a girl so small and apparently unthreatening as her.
"Fine." – the old man had grunted, clearly displeased – "Instruct the canine to hop up that gurney and show me what you've brought so that I can analyze its potential."
Rex, exhausted from today's long journey, couldn't jump, and Vulpes helped him get on the gurney, earning a tired, grateful lap. It was true that the animal only resisted out of loyalty and raw willpower.
"Let's take a look..." – he heard the doctor saying, extracting the still fresh organ, anchoring it with pinned wiring, and running some commands in a nearby terminal computer – "Hmmm… exceptional synapse responses... descended from some type of cattle dog, I imagine."
Six eyed Vulpes, waiting for confirmation.
"It will pose an issue given that the donor was female and the receptor is male?" - he asked, suddenly concerned that he might have made a miscalculation he hadn't thought about before. The sniper's eyes burned through his nape as he finished his sentence.
"Not to my knowledge." – the old man replied dryly as if the question itself were unbelievable stupid – "If you want me to transplant this brain into Rex, he'll become more durable." – he informed the Courier.
Vulpes swallowed an arrogant smile. The Legion bred the most formidable canines ever.
First eyeing Rex, then the doctor, the girl nodded slowly.
"You might want to take a seat. This will take awhile." – informed the doctor as he injected what undoubtedly was some sort of anesthetic to keep the dog asleep during the intervention.
The Courier sat over a stool as she put her face at the same level as the canine's, scratching him behind the ears. Rex reciprocated by lapping tenderly at her cheek, his eyes closing slowly.
"That's it, Rexie, gimmie kissies. Gimmie lots of kissies." – she whispered, her big eyes watering – "You're a good dog, such a good dog…"
Once Rex was unconscious, she rose from her seat and went to hug the midsection of the NCR dog. There were tears in her eyes, and Vulpes experienced a sudden feeling of being an uninvited guest for such an intimate moment.
However, instead of making him feel out of place, he felt angry and couldn't understand why.
"Do you think he will retain his personality, Boone?" – he heard her murmuring, still between the stupid sniper's arms – "Do you think he… will recognize me?"
Vulpes hated the way the other man's voice sounded. Soothing, calming, understanding.
"Sure thing, girlie, sure thing." – he lulled her – "You'll see, the pup's gonna lick the hell outta you as soon as he opens his eyes."
Vulpes didn't remain to keep listening to this sentimental crap, so he got upstairs and found, unsurprisingly, that he had been assigned to share a room with Raul.
He directed a curt nod to the ghoul's direction and locked himself up in the bathroom, taking a cold shower as there wasn't a working heated water system in there, while he willed his unwarranted anger to cool off.
He wasn't being childish, and he didn't give a crap about the girl, the dog, or any of them.
This was a job. Nothing more.
That morning inside Camp McCarran, Sergeant Daniel Contreras had awakened to yet another of Lieutenant Boyd's searches through his stuff. The investigation, per usual, had yielded nothing, but Boyd was in a shitty mood today, so she had confiscated a rifle. A stupid rifle. Bitch didn't know what to do to put him before a court-martial for 'misplacing NCR armament and other goods', but Daniel knew how to stay ahead.
She wanted to catch him red-handed; she'll have to do it better. Much better.
So, the Sergeant had opened the door of the Supply Shack that morning, whistling a tune playing on the radio while indulging himself with some sweet coffee with brahmin milk. Even with the Lieutenant's suspicions and tiresome searches, business was still good.
However, that notion shifted very quickly when, around 01:00 PM after lunch, the door of the Supply Shack opened. A colossal silhouette casting a long shadow from the entrance, blocking the sunlight, stepped inside and closed the door behind.
Soon, a rotten stench permeated the whole compound.
"Sergeant Contreras?" – a raspy, very ghoulish voice asked – "I was told I could find you here."
"And you are?" – Daniel asked, taking in the multiple weapons neatly folded around every inch of clothing and rippling rotten muscles of the redhead ghoul in front of him, and knowing very well that nobody would hear him scream should said ghoul adopted a hostile attitude.
"Not important." – the necrotic replied coldly – "But I believe this letter will tell you everything you need to know." – he added, extending a folded envelope.
Daniel took it without uttering a word, opened it, read it, and turned paler than an albino molerat.
"W… what do you want from me?" – he dared to ask in a barely audible whisper.
The ghoul's milky blue eyes hadn't blinked even once since he had entered through that door.
"Free and total access to The Strip." – was all he said – "I want to take a good look at the field first."
SPANISH:
(1) - "Yummy."
(2) - "Look, lad."
(3) - "They won't come closer to the bonfire. Those fucking monsters cannot stand fire."
(4) - "And how do you know that?"
(5) - "Didn't you notice that they always get out by nightfall? Look, lad, I know shit about biosciences and all of that nonsense, but I know what I see. Those things shirk from heat as if a plague fell upon them."
(6) - "No, no, lad. Not that way."
(7) - "You incline yourself forwards taking all the weight to your foot and knee this way, you see? Now, aim and shoot."
(8) - patty
A/N: lengthy chapter again. Now we're seeing how the dynamics flow inside our group, a bit of character development for Boone, and the mystery that Lily and Raul are. Vulpes is not amused... yet. Give him some time; he's a hard nut to crack ;)
Hope you're enjoying the characters' interactions and how they're slowly opening up to have one more soul to the call (yep, Silent Hill reference, don't judge me). I'll try to actualize this story sooner than this chapter took this time. Still pondering on some ideas I might use and some I might not... yet.
This is a Slow Burn, so don't expect Six and Vulpes to be all over each other out of the blue. First, there's friendship and real interest on the way.
Another S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: thank you! You make this humble writer so happy T_T True to your wish to see the characters interact some more, I've tried to make their dynamics believable without making them lose their essence. The companions are very dear to me, and some of their endings did break my heart, so each time I complete a playthrough, I try to give them the best endings they could hope for, given the game's circumstances. And Vulpes... I'm trying to figure out how to make him work as a companion without disrupting the harmony... too much. He's the rookie now, so he needs an adaptation process.
See ya all! :D
