Vulpes Inculta had seduced women in every town from Flagstaff to Freeside. It was part of his job, and frankly, not his least favorite part. If he had to pick, his least favorite part was after the seduction, when the women asked him to stay. It wasn't so much that he minded a warm bed and a warm body, but that he resented their inability to see through him. Each woman believed he was the charming Mr. Fox, representative of Zion's business interests, and each woman possessed the desire to become the respectable Mrs. Fox.
Perhaps one of them would, one day. It was customary for Legion men of high rank to take a wife, though the majority of wives were taken from among the controlled territories. Farmer's daughters and the like. They tended to be obedient, and rarely recoiled in horror and disgust at the prospect of bearing Legion sons. These arrangements kept their families' comforts secure, though there was little amusement to be gleaned from them.
But the profligate women, the ones who quaffed down every honeyed deception that fell from his lips, they no doubt would pale and cower the moment Mr. Fox revealed his true countenance. They would scurry like molerats into their hidey-holes, hoping beyond hope that some white knight would appear out of the Wastes to deliver them from the horror of Vulpes Inculta's cold, unrelenting gaze. Such a disappointment.
Courier Six, her curves sheathed in black and red satin, her flesh covered in ink and scars, was a different sort of creature altogether.
"I have a job for you," Caesar had said, "and I think you're going to like it."
The Son of Mars was wise, but the Courier confounded him. House yet lived. Vulpes imagined he could detect the odor of the old man's decrepit shell all the way from the Fort. However, Martina Groesbeck was safe from the Omertas due to the Courier's unique ability to talk nearly anyone into or out of anything. She had kept her mouth shut about "Captain Curtis," and on her own initiative had freed Silus from the profligates' clutches before they had tortured any information out of him. What was more, Siri had reported that it was the Courier who had instructed her on a more efficient recipe for healing powder.
"She's sympathetic," Caesar had said. "Nudge her a little in the right direction."
Vulpes was quite certain she would be amenable to his advances, given the sway of her hips and the flush of her skin every time he drew near to her. He thought perhaps the Courier was attracted to danger. After all, she had returned from the brink of death. What thrill could surpass the feeling of dirt from a shallow grave filling her nose and throat, knowing there was no hope but the bliss of oblivion? Maybe she was trying to find one. Maybe he would give it to her.
The suite was shoddy, but far more spacious than the rooms for rent. Holes in the walls had been plastered over recently, Vulpes observed, but the dim light made it barely noticeable. The scent in the air was different in here; it smelled like gunpowder and agave nectar. Like the woman before him, digging into her backpack and producing from it a small, unmarked vial.
Cloud Kiss was what Six called her new poison. Its application promised a horrible, painful death, but a quick one. The active ingredient, about which the Courier spoke evasively, was apparently limited in quantity. The supply she stored at the 38 was all that existed in the Mojave, and Six was giving the Legion exclusive first dibs on her creation.
"You want some, you'll take the lot," Six stated, handing over the vial. "It's 2 G's for 24 doses. That's friend prices."
"So, we're friends now?" Vulpes smirked, slipping the vial into his jacket pocket.
Six turned her back to him, intending to replace her pack to its customary spot under the bed. "If you don't want the discount…"
Vulpes took a step forward and placed a hand on either side of her waist. "We can be friends," he cooed in her ear, "if you like."
Six froze. Her body tensed and her breath quickened. "Vulpes," she hissed, his true name on her tongue like the sweet sting of scorpion venom. "You and me, we'd never work out. I'm a profligate bitch… you're a mass murdering psychopath…"
"What's that old world expression?" Vulpes asked. His hands glided down the smooth fabric of her dress to her hips, and his fingers toyed with the hem of the slit up her thigh. "Opposites attract?"
"Stupid expression," Six said. "People ain't magnets. Atomic structure's totally different."
"Do go on," Vulpes said, tracing the lines of the deathclaw tattoo on her thigh.
"Electrons are paired up in nonferrous materials, like skin, and guts, and bones," she said. Her fingers ghosted along the backs of Vulpes's wrists. "Each electron spins in the opposite direction from its partner. But the electrons at each pole of a mag—oh God."
Vulpes's hand had slid through the slit in her dress, and beneath her soft cotton panties. His long fingers began to caress her clit in slow circles. Six leaned back against him and sighed. She took his free hand and skimmed it up her body to her breast.
"…A magnet spin in the same direction," Six continued. "So the north pole spins—ah—one way and the south pole spins the other way. And the electrons want to be paired up with partners that spin in the opposite direction, but the electromagnetic energy— oh. Yeah. Prevents them from coming. Together."
"Mmmm, what a shame," Vulpes hummed. His hand descended through the folds of her labia. As he spread her open with his ring and index fingers, he curled his middle finger inside her. She was as wet as he had hoped her to be. "But tell me, why do you sell your poison to the Legion?"
Six ground her clit against the heel of his palm, and moaned. Vulpes nipped at her earlobe, and she reached behind her to hold on to him by his neck.
"I have this fantasy," she breathed. "Would you like to hear it?"
"Absolutely."
Six and Boone stroll into Caesar's tent. The Courier draws Beauregard, her shiny new merc grenade rifle. Boone hangs back; Beau-Beau don't play favorites. When the survivors get close, Six draws her katana, and Boone his machete. They cut through the Guard like in one of those pre-war revenge-against-the-man holotapes, until they get to Caesar.
Here's a little secret: 24 doses ain't the lot. Boone and Six have dipped their combat knives in the final two applications of Cloud Kiss.
"Et tu, Boone-ay?" Caesar says with his dying breath, as the knives plunge deep into his heart.
"And then," Six concluded, "Boone fucks me like a boss on the royal throne."
"You have a katana?" Vulpes inquired, unperturbed.
"Saving up," she replied. "Do you—fuck…"
Vulpes had curled a second finger inside her. "I do," he purred. "Rather well, I'm told. In fact, I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll forget your own name."
Six turned her face towards him. "Little late for that, sweetheart," she murmured, her mouth against his jaw.
As Vulpes bowed his head and their lips met, tongues dancing against each other, the taste of whiskey and sin filling his mouth, he understood a singular truth:
The Son of Mars was wise, indeed. Vulpes was going to like this job very much.