While Sir Arthur was not ideal companionship with his less-than-kind view of the Courier's habit, he was one hell of a shot when it came to hitting a target. Sir Arthur was one of the best Knights in Duke Orlins' Royal Corps, though he wasn't one to brag and kept his meager position of Lieutenant while those who were worse rose in rank. Additionally, he was very cleanly in his manners, looking down on the downtrodden Wastelanders who tended to overlook their personal hygiene.
"Courier," Sir Arthur said as they walked to the Arête Hotel to find out where Kasper was located, "Do you really think gangsters will reveal the location of their boss to two underlings to the Duke? They hate the Duke. We need to find a change of clothing somewhere."
"I guess you're right," the Courier said, "Though we could always force it out of them." The Courier could swear he heard Sir Arthur say the word barbarian under his breath, which only made the Courier laugh. They trekked into the market district to find a clothing shop and stumbled upon a shop that specialized in Wastelander clothes, meant for protection as opposed to comfort.
"Raider armor, Mercenary clothing, and combat armor, lightly used and recently repaired!" said the crier outside the shop, so the Courier went inside and grabbed a merc outfit, buying it for the 15 caps for which it was advertised while Sir Arthur didn't have to pay at all. The two of them holstered their weapons and looked at each other proudly.
"Let's go, Artie," the Courier said, leaving the shop and heading towards the Northern district which was easily visible due to the ten-story hotel.
When the two reached the hotel, they heard two people shouting jeers against the crowd. They fought their way to the front of the crowd and received a couple of insults from the gangsters before they were noticed entirely. "Who're you two? You're not one of them," one of them said, pointing a gun at the Courier.
"We just want to know where we can find Kasper," the Courier said. "We've got some personal business with him."
"Oh yeah? I'd think if you had 'personal business' with Kasper, you'd know where he was. Don't you think so too?" the gangster said, poking the barrel of his gun into the Courier's chest. "You look like a shady fella, and we don't see many shady fella in Drybed."
"That's because I'm not from Drybed. I'm a Wastrel, unlike my friend Artie here," the Courier said, jabbing his thumb toward Arthur, who looked much to clean to be a Wastelander. "The reason I don't know where your precious little boss Kasper is I haven't been here in a couple of years so I'm not aware if the old house is still his base of operations."
"Nah, he moved to the old factory in the Outskirts," said the other gangster, who was obviously not the sharpest tool in the shed. The Courier pushed the gun away from his chest and walked away, being swallowed by the crowd of people so he wouldn't get shot.
"And that's some Wasteland diplomacy, Artie. I'd write it down if I were you," the Courier said over his shoulder. "So Kasper is using a factory in the Outskirts as his base of operations. We should go there if we want to get Kasper to stop."
"I hate to admit that you're right," Arthur said under his breath taking a mental note on the trickery the Courier deployed to employ it in the future.
As they trekked toward the Outskirts, Arthur and the Courier both thought to themselves about the troubles they had gotten themselves in, the Courier's list quite a bit longer than Arthur's. The Courier had been shot in the head, buried alive, dug up, revived, sent across a Wasteland, fought essentially alone in a war, and completely extinguished the darkness of the Legion in the Mojave. Stopping Kasper's gang from ravaging the nice people of Drybed was a minor achievement on the list, but the Courier was happy to help.
Arthur's achievements were not as grandiose as the Courier's yet helpful to his people all the same. Arthur had repelled the Legion from taking the town of Drybed with only his small group of four. It had made him practically legendary when he refused the promotion that came from such a great achievement. As a pillar of strength in the community of Drybed, he took a place among the great figures of the founders of the town as a piece of living legend.
"Artie, is that the warehouse the gangsters were talking about? It doesn't seem like much, but I guess if you're going to hold out anywhere, it should be a place with high-placed windows and well-locked doors," the Courier said from past experience. As a friend of the Brotherhood of Steel's Mojave Chapter, he had been in and out of the heavily-fortified bunker in Hidden Valley more times than he could count to buy and sell whatever he had on him. That was a true base of operations, though last the Courier had heard, the Brotherhood was opening up more, coming out into the open more often and conversing with its neighbors.
"Yes, I believe that is the warehouse where Kasper is located. A good position, if I do say so myself," Arthur said, looking up at the high windows. The two of them walked quietly up to the front doors of the warehouse where they were met by a group of five men who looked just as war-ravaged as the Courier.
"State your business with Kasper," the one in the middle said.
"We have come seeking employment as recruits," said Arthur.
"We don't accept hoity-toities like you, runt," said the gangster on the far right of the group. "Your friend looks like he could be one of us though. Looks sorta familiar though, don't he?"
"Be quiet," said the one in the middle. "I shall speak with Kasper. Let the two of them enter but do not let them roam freely. They do not need to see our affairs until Kasper gives them their approval."
The middle one disappeared inside the building, and the Courier could swear he heard an air lock closing behind him. "Well, I guess we should wait just inside the doors then, mates?" the Courier asked the four remaining gangsters.
"No, I think we should deal with these trespassers," one of the two in the middle said disdainfully. "His face is familiar for a reason, brothers. This is the man who brought our troops failure at the Hoover Dam."
"What do you mean, 'our troops?'" the Courier snarled maliciously at them. "Don't tell me your Legion dogs."
"We were," said the man disdainful of the Courier. "We were only slaves to Caesar though. Honestly, I think you did more good for the slave troops of Caesar's Legion by killing Caesar and the Legate than you think. Many of the old tribes are beginning anew, and those that only had few remaining either scattered or joined Octavius out of fear. I, personally, owe you my life. Why are you here, Courier?"
"I was supposed to stop Kasper's men from preventing guests from entering the Arête Hotel on request of Cicero the councilman," the Courier said.
"Well, I can't promise that I have any pull with Kasper, but I'm sure you'll be able to convince him one way or the other that it would be a good idea," the ex-Legionary said. "I wish you the best of luck and — my overseer approaches! I bid you Vale, good Courier."