II. The High Life
The pulsating gusts of wind echoed vibrantly throughout the Lucky 38 cocktail lounge as three figures sat on plush couches in one of the several "bays". Around them, several Protectrons stood on guard, while one painted with a black tuxedo and white lapel that would periodically ask the trio if they wanted their drinks topped up.
"Would you like another drink, sir?" the Protectron asked in its typically monotone metallic voice.
"No thank you, Butley" the Courier replied politely "we are fine, thank you."
"Yes, sir" turning, the Protectron waddled back to the central area of the lounge, the bar, to wait behind the counter for further orders.
The Courier lay back into the embrace of the couch, closing his eyes as relaxation seeped through his weary skin. Outside he could still hear the drunken citizens of New Vegas throwing away their caps in celebration to the various casinos and bars the Strip had to offer. The Tops, Ultra Lux and the Gomorrah had been making a killing out of his name ever since he got back from The Dam. He didn't care for the latter two, much too seedy for his liking, but the Tops was practically his since Benny was "taken care of".
Beside him, leaning on the arm of the couch with eyes drifting side to side as he took in the ruckus below was Scythe. Tall with dark hair cut to fit helmets, he was a brooding man, insightful yet young, much like The Courier himself. Combat was ingrained into Scythe's soul, a soldier who was fiercely loyal in fighting. He was good with the conventional fire power, big or small guns were no problem to him.
Across the table, standing as his hulking frame could not fit on the couch was Hrothar the Deathclaw. Normally feared throughout the Wasteland as the deadliest creature, The Courier had come to realise that this monarchy was only to a certain group of the mutated lizards. Hrothar's more simple minded "brethren", the ones that lived outside Deadwind Cavern, were the scourge to the Mojave, and gave his intelligent kin a bad name. For all of its faults, the Enclave had successfully brought clear minds to beasts, and the alpha male that sat before them was one of many Intelligent Deathclaws that inhabited the south-central caves. Refined and cultured, Hrothar used his knowledge to outsmart foes, but when words were not enough; his sharp claws could do the talking just as well.
"Strip's lit up pretty well tonight" Scythe blankly let out "Wonder when Neil will get back…"
"Let him have his fun, Scythe" the low, intimidating growl of Hrothar was enough to make Legion soldiers flee in fear, as proved many times before.
"He's a Super Mutant" the soldier let out a surly laugh "He'll need to fork over a lot of caps to get some action tonight"
"…Better not do it in the Presidential Suite…" The Courier chuckled, taking a glass from the shiny wooden table and slugging the contents down his neck
"Be careful you don't get drunk…ON PURIFIED WATER!" Scythe berated him playfully.
"You never know when you may be needed, man" for all his fame imposed regalia, The Courier was actually only 22, and when at rest, acted like any other young man in the Wasteland, but with a mind much older and wiser than his body.
"If you fail to prepare" concurred Hrothar "You prepare to fail."
"Alright, alright, alright" Scythe picked up a shot glass and downed the copper brown whiskey inside of it "Don't gang up on me, this isn't interrogation…"
As they all laughed, a sense of relaxation seemed to present itself to them. This was a feeling they seldom felt in the Mojave, as fighting Mutants, Legion and even people he thought were his friends never felt like a walk in the park by anyone's standards. It was nice to just sit down, have a drink and watch the world, instead of being face down in the dirt looking down the scope of a sniper rifle.
Butley the Protectron had waddled over once again, but this time he brought no refreshments on a tray.
"Sir" he droned "There are two figures waiting at the elevator for you."
"Oh really," The Courier sounded mildly surprised, as he hadn't been expecting any visitors this evening "Who are they, Butley?"
"One is recognised in my hardware as Neil, the Super Mutant from Black Mountain, the other appears to be General Oliver of the New California Republic" the robot listed appropriately "the General seems to be in a hurry."
Oh god. General 'Wait and See' Oliver. If The Courier had learnt anything in his time fighting for the Republic, it was that the hierarchy of the NCR Army was as dull witted and oblivious as a pack of Radroaches. "All right, send them in…"
"Yes, sir" and the robot once again turned, this time veering off to the left in an alcove that led to the middle of the bar area that housed the elevator.
"What do you think Mr Oliver wants?" Hrothar asked, keeping his grovelling voice low.
"Somehow, I think it's what we fear the most…" The Courier replied cryptically as they resumed their natural positions for the entrance of a stocky uniformed man being escorted from the alcove to where the trio sat by a seven foot tall Mariposa Super Mutant.
"I tried to tall him Paylor!" Neil imposed himself over the General, shooting him a look, to which the man didn't seem to care "But he insisted in coming!"
"Don't worry Neil, its cool…" he reassured him. "General Oliver" Paylor began nonchalantly "this is unexpect_"
"I don't have time for this chit chat crap!" Oliver cut across him, taking The Courier aback slightly, but he didn't let it show. "We are about to be at war!"
The silence was louder than any Howitzer ever fired. The bluntness of his news was frightening; the fear in his usually steely voice was viciously palpable, which meant that this was dead serious.
"…What, you mean…?" The Courier knew he didn't need to ask, his fears had been confirmed the moment the General walked in to the bar.
"Yes, that is exactly what I mean!" now getting rather irate, the Protectrons in the bar began to turn to face the General, weapons quietly primed "and we need your help!"
"With all due respect General" Hrothar said sternly "It has not been very easy to predict such threats, we are not prepared for this…"
"YOU may not be prepared for this" Oliver retorted "swanning about in your bar, but the NC F'n R has been getting ready for another war for the past three months!"
"Hey, shut the hell up!" Scythe wasn't taking it "It was us who busted our asses at the Dam for your NCR, the least you could do is give us some bloody respect!"
General Oliver was about to give him hell back but Courier, seeing that the Protectrons, Neil and Hrothar were about to go all deadly on his NCR patriot ass, decided to intervene before it got ugly. Besides, he had been preparing for this day for a good while.
"Right ok, ok, ok…" The Courier stood in between the two glaring men "General, don't worry yourself, we'll get ready as quickly as possible and meet you at the Embassy, say in half an hour?"
"That isn't good enough" Oliver clenched his fists "we do not we have the time to chin wag with Crocker! I need you outside in one hour, I've arranged a Vertibird to pick you up and take you to Saint Lucas ASAP!"
"Got it" he turned to his group of companions as the General was escorted out of the bar by Butley
"You better not be late, Courier." he called "The NCR needs you like hell!" and he was gone, disappearing behind the impersonation stone circular alcove.
Now free of the General's insistency and…interesting choice of musk, The Courier got down to the nitty gritty of the plan of action that had been suddenly imposed on them.
"Right lads, this is what's going to happen" he cleared his throat before explaining the situation. "As you are all probably aware, the Mojave has been under threat of invasion. By who or what is unknown, but the NCR's scouts have been telling me that the towns in the outer rim of Vegas are getting pretty antsy. Say they're scared of another rise of the Legion, but my sources say that it is definitely not Legion."
"And I'm guessing Oliver wants us to find that out for him?" Scythe posed the question, but The Courier was sure he knew the answer.
"That's exactly it" he answered, sounding exasperated at the mention of the General again "When he says 'war', he really means that the NCR is bricking it, and wants us to go check it out…"
"Typical bloody NCR…" groaned Neil, rubbing his eyes
"Precisely, and that means that we have to leave now" The Courier continued "But first I have to see Mr House. As for you guys, I think it would be best for Scythe and Neil to come with me…no offence Hrothar…"
"Think nothing of it, Paylor" assured the Deathclaw "As I understand, the outer communities are much less hospitable of Deathclaws than the Mojave is. If you do not mind, I may return to my community at Deadwind to tend to my brethren."
"That sounds good" The Courier smiled "Tell Lilia I said hey!"
"I shall do that, my friend…"
"Alright guys, I'll be back in a minute, get ready and meet outside and I'll join you soonish, kay?"
"So much for taking a break…" The Courier heard Scythe mumble