Calabasas. Calabasas, Calabasas, Calabasas. He's a freak. There's no beating around the bush with that one.
"Hey, you're unarmed, yeah?" He asked. I gestured to my unclothed figure.
"Yup. The vast rolls of my elaborate clothing allows me to conceal hundreds of thousands of weapons." I replied sarcastically. Calabasas frowned.
"Well, I'm not about to let you stroll into an area occupied by a bunch of psychopathic morons unarmed. We should probably turn back." He said, spinning on his heels. I grabbed the collar of his terrible uniform.
"Watch and learn, asshole." I said, grinning in a way guaranteed to piss him off. As he stood by the walkway, shaking his head, I strolled confidently up to the hotel. I got maybe ten meters in before some asshole ran up to me, waving a tire iron and screaming like his crotch was on fire. When he was close enough, I grabbed his arm and punched him in the face. He fell on the floor and I proceeded to kick the ever loving crap out of him.
"Oi! Lady! I think he's dead! You can stop now!" Calabasas called, jogging over to me. Good, I thought. He didn't want me tenderizing the corpse, so clearly he wasn't a cannibal. He had a point. As much as I wanted to break his body into a thousand pieces, I also needed my new clothings to be in three pieces, minimum. Reluctantly, I stopped kicking him and proceeded to strip him to the barest necessary for modesty. I donned my new clothings, surprisingly modest for their vast leather content. While it wouldn't protect me much from the various stabs of wastelanders, hopefully it would be better than hair. I reluctantly picked up the tire iron. It was a little short on cutting edges for me, but I had a couple small scratches on my knuckles that were starting to be slightly annoying and anything would be better than that. I looked at Calabasas, bradishing my tire iron like a grand sword.
"What was that about needing to be armed? Let's stop in the casino first, grab a couple drinks." I said. He shrugged reluctantly. It wasn't more than four steps before some guys started shooting at us. Cal pulled out a pistol and tried to hit them, but the bullets went everywhere. God he's a wimp. Can't hold a gun for the life of him. I charged a big scary black guy over by the entrance to the hotel. When I exited the effective range of his shitty peashooter, he pulled out another tire iron. God! Where do these fuckers get all these tire irons? Anyway, I drove mine through his skull. He screamed, but I just laughed and laughed and laughed. Honestly, I kind of scared myself. With my Herculean strength, I toted the corpse to the door of the casino. Cal was already there, a bag of loot over his chest.
"Hey, Stormtrooper. How'd that go for you." I said, smirking. He groaned.
"Fuck you. Let's go in, see if they have a room for rent, or at least somewhere we can divvy up the spoils of war." He said. I nodded and we walked in. I saw a disgruntled man with some welding goggles (or similar) around his neck. A flicker of recognition passed through my mind.
"Hey, Cal. Go ahead, try to find a room or whatever. I've got some stuff to settle." I said, tossing him the corpse. He visibly staggered under its weight because dear God his muscles are like... noodles, or something. He laboriously hauled the limp body towards some weird robot.
"Uh, Mister Johnson?" I said warily. I didn't remember anything messed up about him, so I was a bit worried about what his secret was. Because, clearly, he has a secret. Everyone has a secret. He peered at me inquisitively. "I used to work for you? I'll have you know I got shot in the head over a package you had me deliver!"
"Oh really? Do you have a delivery order?" He said.
"It was a snowglobe." I replied.
"Oh. It's one of those. There's a fella on the outskirts of New Vegas that orders those about once a week. Don't know why you got shot for it."
"Look, there was a guy in a checkered suit there. He was the one who shot me. You know anything about that?"
"They were in town a while ago-"
"Don't need the homespun mannerisms. Do you know where they went?" I asked. Mister Johnson scowled.
"No."
"Do you know anyone who does?"
"Yes. Deputy Beagle was scouting him and his cronies-"
"Where is he?"
"The Gangsters have him in the old hotel. If you could get him out..."
"Thank you, sir. When this is all over, I'm going to demand recompense." I said, sauntering over to the old car as Johnson looked at me, slack jawed. Cal waved me over to some roulette tables, where the stripped corpse and all his items were displayed. Grotesquely. "You got off to this, didn't you?" I asked. He narrowed his eyes.
"Can we just examine the loot, Miss Arden?"
"Fine by me. Let's see here..." I said. Some caps, miscellaneous bits of clothing, a few sticks of dynamite, a nice 9mm pistol... but most preminatly was a beautiful switchblade. Jet black handle, shining blade (probably some silver mixed in there), just the right weight...
"I want the switch." I said definitively. "Fuck everything else." Cal shrugged.
"Alright, I'll take the clothes and patch up the bullet holes in our gear, take the pistol so I can hit the broad side of a barn, sell the dynamite... Are you even listening?" He orated. Fucking orated.
"I get the switch." I insisted.
"Why would I want a switch. I would have to get close enough that my fragile ribs would be bruised by close physical contact."
"Oh, and I get a stick of dynamite." I said. I had plans for it.
"Gah, sure. I'll be right back." Cal said, walking outside. I ogled the switchblade, cleaning some gross stringy man-flesh off with some of the ugly rags the dead guy had been wearing. Bleh, no taste in clothings. I looked at it, and decided that it's name was Diana. It would go with Ted, my much abused and unloved tire iron. Cal stomped back into the room a moment afterwards. He had a very displeased look on his pale, waif-like face.
"Ridiculous. The blackjack tables aren't open until someone saves the town. Fucking amateurs." He spat.
"Calm down, cowboy. Now, the second you finish patching our clothings up, we're going to kill all those fashion impaired assholes holed up in the hotel and end their miserable lives once and for all! Are you with me?" I said, standing on the roulette table and also inadvertently the dead guy's ribs.
"Okay." Cal said.