Hey guys, I've stopped back in to leave you this massive chunk of a chapter that has been fucking with me for months, obviously. It is a filler, and a big one at that - one part of a two set that will break up my story a little more. This one is dedicated to Cass and Arcade, who I didn't think were getting enough love. So, I mean, if you're only here for the Boone, I guess you don't have to read this part. But, if you just wanna catch up with Annie, please continue on ;)
BUT I guess I have something to say. For months now I've been wallowing in a weird sort of self-doubt about this whole fanfiction thing - trying to grow up a little and get out into the 'real world' as people have been calling it. But you know what? Sitting down for the past few days and actually writing a little more has made me very happy, and I feel a lot less creatively blocked and generally brighter with life. I guess what I'm trying to say is that if you enjoy doing something, but are embarrassed of the results or views of other people, don't be afraid to embrace it anyway. If you wanna write goofy fallout fanfiction in your spare time, you're free to do it if it makes you happy. (You know, as long as it isn't hurting anyone in the process etc) But yeah, I hope I see you guys a lot more - because it's nice to feel like I've accomplished something - even if it is a big ass chapter.
"Alright, we've covered all the bases." Annie was leaning her elbows on the scratched desk in Swank's suite, unhappily staring down the four men she had roped together. It was proving difficult to get a proper word in between the five of them, their meeting quickly turning into a one-sided chat about money. "Anything else you guys think would be a good idea to talk about?"
The room sank into a breathy silence before Gomorrah's owner let out a short snuff. Swirling blue smoke filtered above them to dampen the lights, creating a somewhat tense situation between them all. It was technically their first 'Strip meeting' with the highest roller face-to-face – and suddenly it felt more like a boy's club than anything.
"I'm thinking we need some repairs." Cachino stubbed his smoke out in the centre of the table, the glass ashtray wobbling angrily at the impact. "Some of the neons were blown last Thursday by a couple NCR boys." The smarmy man's eyes slunk to Crocker, who had folded his arms across his chest.
The moustached man hadn't said anything for the whole meeting, simply watching on as Annie attempted to reel the casino owners into line.
"And you want me to pay for it, is what you're saying?" The courier twisted her fingers around a smoke. "Because buddy, I've seen your monthly budget. I think you can handle it by yourself."
"No, doll," the man grinned at her "the boy that does the signs won't talk to us – we had to go through House, and now that you've burnt down that side of the bargain, he'll only talk to you."
"Someone works on those things?" Annie sighed, snapping the zippo shut after lighting her cigarette; the blue chrome glint catching the Tops' eye. "I just thought they were really well-preserved."
The men balked at her, Swank letting out his smooth laugh as he watched the girl's face change. "Oh dolly." His sigh hid behind his shining glass of scotch, eying off the lighter with a feigned disinterest. The look that graced that aging handsome face turned Annie's insides sour before she briefly caught the eye of Crocker. The woman let out a sharp breath of air.
She knew would be setting herself up for failure if she allowed herself to be seen in a white light – and it was easy to look like a fool in front of a group of middle-aged men who smoked three packs a day like it was their life support… The courier felt she had a good chance of doing something right in the Mojave, but the fact that she had gotten herself into a very sticky (more than literal in some cases) situation, her plan looked like it had fallen on very shaky ground.
Annie's jaw tensed at the thought of being swallowed by the greasiest part of the Mojave, teeth nipping her bottom lip before she adjusted herself in her seat. "Of course I'll talk to him for you." She ran her hands through her thick hair and evened her eyes at him through a grin, teeth filtering smoke. "But I'll need five hundred caps up front for middleman fees."
"What?" Cachino's voice flat-lined unhappily at the idea.
"If I'm going to be your errand boy, I at least need to be paid for it."
"We already told you, dolly," Swank sat forward "the boy don't talk to us. He talks to you."
"But he's never met me," the cigarette pinched between her middle and forefinger left blooms as she pointed at him, "and if you're gonna hire my services, you're gonna have to pay me, buddy."
"Now I'm not gonna start making assumptions here, doll," Cachino lit himself another smoke, the tension heightening slowly "but you know that you're already sitting on a shit load of caps up there in your tower."
Annie scoffed at him. "They're not my caps. They go towards the Strip and everything else in this desert."
"So if you're spreading it out so evenly," Swank was hiding from her behind his scotch, his sly smile magnified through the glass. "I don't think it would be too much of a twisted arm to save the man some cash-"
"Well, good fucking luck with that idea." She bit at him. "Everyone in this room knows that we're all making more than our fair share of profit from this shithole. The money that I'm making is going out to the people who need it – not into your hands." She crossed her ankles, lips twitching sourly. "I only just lowered the rent – you really shouldn't have anything to complain about."
"That wasn't our idea." Swank actually smiled at her and she openly scowled at him.
"Now you all listen to me," her palms found the table as her eyes lit up with an irritated heat that radiated warmth like a campfire "the Strip is your home. I'm not going to fucking charge you to live here. All I ask is a couple of caps a week into the Mojave jar-" she leant back to sit straighter, modestly flattening the creases in her skirt in attempt to calm herself down "– to help the wasteland that is and was also your home. If they get fucked, we get fucked because without them then who the fuck is coming here?"
With her palms flat and fingers arched, she watched the soft realisation sink into the two men's faces before she looked proudly at Crocker. The man let a subtle smile sneak out from under his moustache.
"Besides, we help them out quickly and quietly, they'll have more money to spend – which means more money for us, right?"
"It wouldn't be considered recycling with the profit margin." The old man from the NCR muttered his first words for that session; earning four sets of eyes that bubbled with a mixture of curiosity and irritation. The anger came directly from the man in the almost redundantly classy hat.
"And why should we let them in?" His back straightened, also breaking his no-speaking stint. His voice was poised with a superfluous refinement, Annie's eyes grinding towards him. "What if we don't want the common wastelanders in our casinos."
"Oh, Mr Ultra-Luxe, we finally hear from you." Annie cooed at him, taking an aggressive draw of her smoke. "Do you remember any of your life before House came and found you?"
"That point of our lives is behind us. Why would we want to return to what we were?" He was as huffy as an insolent child. "Digging around in the dirt and waiting to get picked off?"
"If you think this desert is so disgusting, then why are you here?" She watched his face boil over with an undisturbed anger, buried deeply with a serious look as he thought over his words carefully. "Just because you're sitting in the safest part of this dump doesn't mean you're any less of a citizen."
Cachino seemed amused at the look on her face but Swank seemed on edge, both men chaining breath after breath while Annie brushed her fingers uncomfortably through her curling bangs.
"Is your restaurant open tonight?" She asked the pompous man gently. He looked at her, eyes searching her face as his brain drew up a plan.
"Yes," he hit a realisation "it is."
"I'll stop by tonight." She promised him flatly, catching the calm that seemed to wash over him. It was a little eerie how quickly his tune had changed.
"You'll have to wear something more acceptable." He told her before standing to excuse himself. The girl stiffened irritably and Cachino's face twitched with a small grin. "Marjorie will fill you in on the dress code."
Annie thought it over for a second and shrugged, slapping her palms on the table softly. It would have been easier just to jump the posh bastard and get rid of him like she did Benny, but if the other two sensed any hostility and threat from the apparently ridiculously under qualified Annie - then well, she'd have a riot on her hands. All of this being professional shit seemed like more trouble than it was really worth.
"Meeting's over, boys." She stood, stubbing out her smoke before nodding at all of them. Her heart felt drained as the men rose from their seats; the door slamming as the grand asshole left. Gomorrah and the Tops shook hands, Cachino giving Annie one of his oily smiles before shoving his hands in his pockets to leave.
"Two fifty, doll. I expect you'll be covering the repair costs?" Annie felt dirty just looking at him some days, nodding stiffly before waving him off. Crocker sensed his sudden intrusion, stuck between two casino owners who were also currently in a stalemate – excusing himself with a stern nod at them both.
When the door clicked behind him, Annie was left with the man who was still hiding behind his scotch – leaning up against the window of his suite with one palm pressed flat on the sill. She'd been there before, and could remember the feeling of the red lights that burnt in through the windows on her previously bare skin.
She huffed, heading towards the door. "I'll see you when I see you, huh?"
"Right, right, baby." He tipped her with his glass. "But before you burn right on outa my life again, a quick word of advice."
"What?" She asked, adding the marker to her pipboy. The man cleared his throat and she looked up at him over the screen – sifting their eyes together in a mixture of blue and brown. He grinned when he saw her brow rise with a smooth curiosity.
"You be careful around that shady cat from the Ultra-Luxe." He warned her, resting the glass on the windowsill with a steady hand. "I gotta bad feeling about the guy."
"You feel it too, huh?" She lowered her arm, leaning it on the crown of the chair in front of her. If she rooted herself to that piece of furniture, the chance of getting sucked into any sexual pulse he was sending off would be null.
"Yeah, doll, that's a bad cat right there. And not the good kind of bad, either." His words drowned in a shot of liquor.
"And the good kind of bad is?" The girl asked, expecting some form of lecherous retort in return. It had been a long time since she'd had a man talk to her like a conquest – god, it almost was thrilling to know that she wasn't some old maid that had lost whatever sex appeal she'd had before Boone. Boone. Fuck Boone.
He never paid attention to her like Swank did. Not that it was a good kind of attention… But to have a man tenderly sort of grovel for her was a little better than what she had been dealing with for the past few months. Then again, Boone had a little more class than Swank did – and although the man in front of her thought he was the coolest cat out, a thousand hours of toe-curling sex definitely did not stack up to the silent but comfortable company of her partner... But fuck Boone!
"Now you're just leading me on," regardless of his words, Swank was already towards her. "I think you know where I'm going with this – Annie O." Her name on his tongue made her entire body seize up. "The good kind of bad… Waltzin' onto the Strip like you've done it all before and bossin' all the old men around like it's your job."
"It is my job." A smile managed to crawl onto her face over the sudden grip in her chest that thudded every beat with B - O - O - N - E. "Someone's gotta do it." He was around the table now, Annie turning to face him, still rooted to the chair with a keen intent on staying strong. "But if you wanted my job you would have killed me by now." She felt the familiar feeling stir downstairs, her body beginning to shudder gently at the thought. "What do you want?"
He guided her to the cold carving of the table, the girl caught at a crossroads as to what to do. Her body was heaving with repulsive ideas but the one that won out over all was the constant chanting of 'fuck Boone' that had been chewing on her brain for the past few days. When the lust for revenge plagued Annie's mind, her sober head would have suggested maybe pushing the man away and leading an illusive trail to the door to where she would never put herself in that position again.
But, the good kind of bad side of her panged with a sharp fire, it would be so much more fun to do it this way. When was the last time she had been fucked? Really? That was an honest question! She had given up one of the most incredible things that life had thrown her for the only man that wouldn't touch her.
Well, he did once…. And that turned out great. It landed her in the middle of Whipped City where all she could do was see the man as some form of god that stood above her with his fingers in her hair… and she had come to admire him - because he was a courageous man that risked his life (that he didn't originally care about) to keep her stupid ass safe. But he didn't tell her the one thing that she needed to know, and she hated herself for not figuring it out sooner.
She was stupid. How could she have just pushed all of it away? How could she have abandoned the people she had shared many great memories with? Even if they were nearly always filled with the smell of sticky blood and more than usually contained Annie being even more stupid… There was far too much to think about at once, the girl going slightly glossy-eyed and deeper into the sudden swirl of worry and self-loathing that had been threatening the horizon since Manny had opened his dumb mouth.
A shrill feeling bit at her neck and she jumped, catching the brush of his lips on the soft skin under her ear. Oh! She was on the table now… When did that happen? The ceiling was stained with ugly marks that reminded her of the Wrangler room. Even if the Tops was a swinging casino, it still seemed like just every other filthy part of the wasteland. Fuck Boone. This was his fault.
The fingers that were busy attempting to unbutton her jacket stopped, the man hovering over her with a grimace.
"You alright, kitty cat? I don't wanna do nothin' you're uncomfortable with."
His concern touched her, tugging her back out of the misty thoughts that had taken up residence in the bullet hole that had started the whole mess in the first place. Annie caught sight of his fingers unplucking the buttons, shaking her head. Boone had only just fixed them for her an hour or so ago – just for another man to undo all his hard work.
Annie squeaked awkwardly. "Leave it on." She forced out, clearing her throat to steady her voice. Her hand snaked down to hike up her skirt. "I have a meeting later." She lied through her teeth.
"But are you alright?" He asked again. "I'm not having your man come back and roll me because you said I hurt ya."
Annie had to roll her eyes at him. "He's far away." She shook her head. Fuck Boone. Honestly. Fuck Boone. She pushed herself up into him with bent elbows, the bruise on her stomach searing uncomfortably. "He won't know."
His eyes lit up and he brushed his nose with hers. "The good kind of bad," she could taste the scotch and his words set her alight. "I guess you get me."
It took twenty minutes in a scalding hot bath to scrub the dirty feeling from her skin.
The whole thing had turned out to be the bad kind of good – leaving Annie wobbly-legged and tingly but drenched with an almost overwhelming wash of dulcet self-loathing that went hand-in-hand with the shuddery anger of her 'fuck Boone' campaign. She now understood why House kept his personal contact to a minimal level – aside from the fact that he was contained in a nurturing pod – because the casino families were more than a fucking handful and a half.
Not that House would ever do what she just did for a little peace of mind.
She felt worse than she did before, sick with the idea of herself and sick of her lack of talent towards anything. She couldn't even keep it in her pants when she needed to stay alert and on task. Things were looking dire, even without the awkward partnership deterioration that had taken main priority (why?) in her life.
So, the last thing to do would be to get drunk – considering they were in the classiest casino on the Strip ('they' being a twice as wasted Cass and an apathetic Arcade dressed up as chaperone). It had been quite a task to get the cowgirl out of her jeans, but turns she was easier to lure into a plan with the promise of an unreachable bar tab – especially when the bottles were double the price for the same old shit, a sting to Annie's savings served by the redhead who despised the fancy fuckers that drifted around them.
"They want us to eat a luxurious meal with them at six o'clock." Annie had returned from the front desk to meet her edgy companions by the bar. She'd been chipping away at the receptionist's somewhat icy exterior, trying to get a little more information out of her before they were thrown out for distasteful behaviour. "A dinner, I guess. Does that mean we'll be using those hand tools for food?"
"I'd say we'd definitely be using the 'hand tools'." Cass snorted at her. "What are we having? Grilled brahmin marinated in the juices of its own young?"
"You get mighty passionate when you're drenched, don't you?" Annie wasn't exactly in the mood for the caravaneer's mouth. Something about the two just didn't click right – and it probably had something to do with the fact that Annie had kind of sort of promised the woman a life of fun times on the road but instead locked her away in that god-forsaken tower of death. "I don't know. I don't want to be here. I just want to maybe find a good reason to kick these bastards out."
"I don't know if you could find something. This place is especially rigid." Arcade noted, avoiding the alcohol and leaning more towards watching the nightlife. One of them had to be sober, and it probably wasn't going to be Annie – so the job fell to him.
The courier was unhappily drinking whatever the bartender kept giving her. It felt wrong to be spending such an extensive number of caps on such average quality booze she probably could have gotten from James Garrett for half the price, but she needed to know how that damn casino worked. She'd never gotten too far into the Ultra-Luxe's files –the place always seemed so stuffy and boring…
But now she knew that Mortimer was a gigantic dick it was probably time to bring him down in the most professional way possible – save herself the stress of a Strip revolution where she'd be crucified on the front door of the 38.
An old cowboy sat himself down beside Cass, lighting up her somewhat bitter companion into a warm comfort. Someone that didn't seem so fusty – thank fuck for that. Annie could relax knowing that she had one less thing to worry about. As the redhead slipped herself into some form of drunken conversation with the tired old man, the courier looked up at her gentleman friend and squinted.
"They have to slip up somehow or another." She sipped her drink. "I'd love to just kick them out now with brute force - but who's gonna wanna use this over-stimulated dump?"
The man sent her an amused look through the corner of his glasses. "Are you sure you feel comfortable enough to throw down battle plans in the middle of the lion's den?"
"What are they going to do, Arcade? Hit me with their flimsy sticks?"
"They definitely frisked for weapons at the door." He told her. "And we'd certainly be outnumbered and overwhelmed if they do manage to hear that soft and silvery voice of yours."
She deadpanned him unhappily and folded an arm across her chest, resting her drink to her lips. "You're right, I guess." Annie huffed. "But judging by those greasy bastards two tables over I don't think we'll have too much trouble."
"Oh, those handsome gentlemen." His voice panged with a dull sarcasm "You saw them too?"
"Their boss must have it in for me." The courier grimaced at her friend. "Which is pretty bad, I need to cut that off." Her eyes slid to the gentlemen seated a few seats away, drinking in moderation and keeping an eye on the room. "Why do I do these things to myself, Arcade?" The security in the joint could feel the tension in the air – the patrons completely blasé and running as normal – but there was a quick burn that tuned everyone with a decent head on them into defence mode.
"Are we drunk enough to confess already?" Annie was too busy throwing vision to the crowd in front to take the sass.
"Stop it." She waved him away and gestured gently over to their left. Another group of men, hiding in pinstriped suits and sharp collars were eyeing off Ultra-Luxe employees near the door. "There's some Omertas. Not that I think Cachino's got it for me too, I just think that maybe-" she thought for a second "maybe they're looking out for me."
"Or they see you as a weak asset they need to protect to keep things easy for them." He looked down at her and she squinted at him, turning to place the drink down gently. At least she could count on Arcade to let her know the plain facts with the added shame as further drive to straighten herself. "And before you get too comfy with that idea, remember that just because they still haven't knocked you off your pedestal doesn't mean they won't when the opportunity arises."
"Don't remind me." Annie groaned. "I'm trying to keep myself alive by pushing as forward as I can as quickly as I can – that way they won't catch me. I don't have time to sit around worrying that someone may kill me for something I didn't really want."
"Yet you're here."
"Yet I'm here." She threw her arms up gently in response. "Can we go sit down or something? My gut's still not feeling that good." Arcade's lips twitched into an unenthusiastically sour smile. "Cass? Wanna grab a table?"
The redhead turned in her seat to catch Annie's eye, her brows pushed together with concern before turning back to face the old man in the hat. "Well actually," she drawled, turning back to grin at her companions. There was a mischievous fire in her eyes that was rather reminiscent of Annie's own, zapping the courier's heart into overdrive to pump the sudden adrenalin rush through her body.
It had been a long time since she had seen a look like that in this kind of situation. There was every means to get excited about something – because Cass (although looking incredibly pink-cheeked and full of grins) really only got excited about fun things. Fun things, as proven many, many times by Annie's teenage years, were a good way to shove all the bad things in the back of the mind – even if it was just for a few hours. Boone never gave her that look – his stare was always so serious and calculated and one would always know that things were probably more than likely to turn out okay. Cass' ideas always seemed open-ended and unexpected.
It was a feeling that tugged on the back of her mind like something she had felt before. The thrill of seeing someone else just as wired as she was was all Annie needed to spark off a tiny part that she had felt was long dead. A man like Arcade would have been happy to ride out the rest of the night and watch from afar, but Cass had a nose for solutions more promising.
And Annie had to oblige, tired or not.
"What is it?"
"He's running!" Arcade called to Annie as he climbed up onto the dining table, avoiding whipped ankles with a swift jump usually unknown to his defensive prowess. "Annie!"
"Yeah, I see him!" Swinging a bloodied cane at the head of a hostile White Glove, the courier found herself jumping backwards towards the main casino. They had just managed to thwart Mortimer's team cannibalism plans; revealing his true nature to the crowd of sponsored members who had just eaten Cass' rough take on Philippe's recipe. "Hey!" She shouted at the redhead who was jabbing at a female White Glove with all four legs of a chair. "Door!"
With a dedicated swing, Cass cleared the woman flat off her feet in an explosion of varnished splinters and ripped cushion. Bouncing back a few feet with a happy cry, the caravaneer swept towards the door to catch the end of Mortimer's coat tails. As her fingers missed him by inches, the woman looked up to see Annie speeding towards her – pastel pink heels in hand with a bright burn of excitement in her eyes.
Gathering Cass on her way out into the second lobby, Annie leapt over the blooded rags of White Glove as she caught her palm on the painted wood. "Come on!" She threw her hand out to Arcade, who was narrowly avoiding the crazed brawl that had broken out around the table. The Gunderson team turned out to be excellent allies, armed with country fists and a blind rage spawned from almost eating their beloved heir.
Tugging the blond doctor free from the churning lurch of violence, Annie bundled up her dress and tossed her shoes off into a plastic potted plant. Security was starting to close in on them, lighting their feet with fire towards the main casino – following the huffed pants of Mortimer on his way to attempted freedom. He was probably regretting his failed plans by that time; possibly scolding his actions and running solely on the huge surge of adrenaline pumped from fear of getting caught.
Forcing their way through the throng of patrons scattering to their rooms, the trio was burnt up by the jostling crowd and swallowed at almost the instant Mortimer flung open the main door. "Oh wow," Arcade noted dully as they were shoved and pushed by people – Annie and Cass struggling to see over the parade of fascinators and top hats. "it's like a dive bar out there."
"What's happening?" Annie raised her voice over the hurried shrieks of terrified patrons. The crowd had begun to thin, leaving the three able to push through with just a shoulder bump or two in return. The girls were greeted by the gleam of the posh casino's bright walls, holding arena to an all-out fight club that was staged by men with pinstriped suits and thickly combed hair.
Apparently ruckus spread quickly, especially with a casino-like party atmosphere. "This is more like it!" Cass hollered, slipping out into the open only to duck a vicious swing from a White Glove. She knocked the man flat with a perfected punch and gave another cry of joy. "Yes!"
In an act of desperation and still engulfed by the chaos, Annie threw her arm out in the direction of the fleeing man. "Don't let him go!" Her voice was barely heard over the rush of fists – but a few Gomorrah boys managed to catch it, igniting a path of whispers towards the exit that was thickly blocked off by the time he could reach it.
Mortimer bounced from the barrier of riled-up 'gangsters', spun into the centre of the riot that he quickly lost himself in. Annie could barely move with the confusion, trying to remember the last time she had seen a fight of that scale. Arcade was feeling a little worse than her, really more a lover than a fighter, standing stiffly behind Annie as they both watched the moment unfold. They stuck to each other when the courier decided to move, dipping past the wrestling casino-goers who were spitting and cursing with all the pent up faction energy. It was easy to tell that no one really liked the White Gloves all that much.
Breaking into a hurried jog, Annie soon lost Arcade in the disorder and came out on the other side; hitting the edge of the battle where a group of boys from the Tops had caught Mortimer by the scruff of his collar. It seemed like half the Strip had decided to join in the fun – the casino brimming with a lively enthusiasm that the courier hadn't ever anticipated.
With the muscles in her stomach crying as her chest heaved, the courier bounced her palms onto her knees and felt a little sick. Everything seemed to be happening so fast and she hadn't really done anything either. Cass was in the throng of it all, enjoying herself, and Annie was floating around the edges like a wary participant. She just couldn't muster the enthusiasm to hurt herself anymore that night – and besides, she was wearing one of her favourite dresses.
"Go and get your boss." She breathed up at the one of the men, his forehead glistening with beads of sweat from his apparent exertion. Stretching to her full height, she caught a swing glance of Arcade behind her – having finally clawed himself free from the mess she had left him in. "I'm glad you're alive." She muttered to him quickly and he snorted at her, nursing the bump on his head with gentle fingers. "But I'm even more glad that you didn't get away!"
Mortimer managed a half-hearted sneer, overcome with a brilliant red tinge of shame and anger. The door swung closed behind the messenger, giving time for Annie to press her hands to her hips and smile smugly at the casino head. The greatest revenge had fallen into her lap, and she was enjoying it. In fact, the whole night had ridden in her favour, and it was quite a pleasant surprise. At least things seemed to be running semi-smoothly without Boone around.
"I'm going to turn your casino into a refugee camp." She leant into him, proud of the results. "And your suite's going to be the shower room."
She could hear Arcade rolling his eyes at her from the corner of the room, grinning at herself in spite. The fighting began to die down the moment they managed to catch the enemy, the White Gloves retreating and surrendering – Cass' voice already wafting to the bar for another glass of whiskey.
A few of the older men began to pull things back into line, ordering their underlings to stick the fake plants back into their pots and to reset the tables and chairs into a tidy order. At least the Tops and Gomorrah boys seemed to be getting on a little better than before – thanks to Swank and Cachino's new gentlemen's club.
Cass reintroduced herself a moment later with the Gundersons in tow, the cowboys looking red in the face and bubbling with a jittery anger. "This is the biggest load of brahmin shit I have ever had to deal with in my 50-somethin' years in this desert." Heck told her; still limping from the thrashing his shins had taken moments before. "I don't know what kind of place you think you're running here, little miss, but with business owners like this you are not getting yourself anywhere good."
Annie's eyes glanced towards her redheaded counterpart, but she just grinned at the courier – hiding behind her whiskey bottle with a slight smirk in parting. "I'm so sorry, Mr Gunderson." The dark haired woman apologised gently. "I'm still trying to work the kinks out of an age-old system. I'm just unimpressed it all happened on the week you were visiting."
The man balked with an impertinent eye roll. "You're unimpressed? My son was nearly eaten!"
The last thing she felt she needed was an angry brahmin baron spreading word that the new management was working with cannibals and criminals. If the Strip was going to work at a practicable level, Annie did not want all of her hard work torn down by a few vicious 'rumours'. She had ran herself raw to get where she was, and by god she was not going to get stabbed in her bedroom like the last few kings.
Her eyes bulged and she threw her hands up to quiet him down. "I understand! We almost ate him too." She said sheepishly, earning a sniff of laughter from Cass. "But if you don't feel like travelling tonight, I have the head of another casino head coming over right now. I'm sure he'll be able to set you up with his best rooms – free of charge. I'll even put up a tab for you at their bar." The man eyed her warily, more than definitely not buying into her wide, friendly stare. "It's the very least I can do for you." Annie was still half wheezing but managing a polite smile, "Please?"
He glanced over her shoulder to spot the sullen face of the man who attempted to butcher his son; his old fists curling into solid weapons. "What about that son of a bitch?"
Annie craned her neck to take a glance at the man whose tuxedo had ripped gently at the seams. "I'm not too sure yet." Turning back to catch the eye of the younger Gunderson, the courier sighed. "I know for a fact that he's got a lifetime ban from the Strip, but I might leave the rest to the NCR… They've got barracks here, see…"
Gently steering him away from Mortimer to ease the tension that was building, the girl swept the man towards the door with her arm. She could see the unhappiness in his eyes – ultimately annoyed with her lack of quest for blood. "To be completely honest with you, Heck-" ("Sorry, am I allowed to call you that?" "Yeah, yeah…") "I wish he was killed in during the fighting." She whispered. "It would have been easier on all of us - because if I have him killed for his crimes now, it would upset the other families and customers. I can't exactly tell them all what he did, right? That would be all they associated the Strip with and no one would never come back – and as a business man yourself, Heck, you definitely would know the problems that come from a stray word."
Honesty always seemed to work with the old desert types – his age lines creasing harder as he thought over his words. She could still see the rage that burnt through his system sheening from his pores, but the tension seemed to be lowering and Heck Gunderson seemed a little calmer. He was still going to have to be buttered-up with free alcohol and a nice show at the Aces, but Annie knew she had sort-of won him over.
"I've already got enough shit on my face from that fight." She added. "This place won't be busy for weeks because of this." The man scowled at the darkness filtering through the swinging front door – a tired looking figure in an old suit was straightening his tie near the door. He caught sight of Annie like she was a beacon, running her blood cold and letting her stomach seize up and wail in pain. Arcade had warned her not to drink many times that afternoon, but after an Indian burn he decided to sit back and watch the fun unfold. He would do that to her – figures! A dull, throbbing pain took over her torso and warmed her up with a deep, rhythmic thump.
The well-dressed, middle-aged man headed over, adjusting his cuff links before giving them both a friendly smile. "Having a bit of trouble, dolly?" He asked, looking down at her before holding out his hand to greet the older gentleman. Swank was definitely a suit, but he was charismatic – a trait which had almost tripled in intensity ever since he had inherited his casino. He basically leaked the stuff and turned it into hair gel, because he had already done what Annie couldn't in less than five seconds.
It seemed he had already been briefed on the situation by the way he talked to the man – gently and understandingly, but very obviously shocked at the new intel he had lacked from the start. Cannibal? The word sent his eyes creaking towards her and her stomach flipped itself to death.
"I'll tell you later," she mouthed.
Crushing the dying cherry into the stained-black glass, Annie pushed herself out of the plush chair. They were sitting in the VIP bar; table pushed away from everyone else who had seemed to loosen up a little since the unfortunate fiasco. Cass was warming up to Ted, who was warming up to her – much to his father's enjoyment. "Better than those filthy Gomorrah women!" he was quoted to have said.
Cachino, who was grinning up at her with fingers wrapped around some glorious concoction, let out a classy yawn. The curtain had been called and was swinging shut, but the room still seemed lively with the happy laughter of patrons.
"I think it's time for me to go to bed, boys." Annie told them, searching the bar for Cass. She stretched her arms over her head, joined by the two men who had stood in politeness. As Swank tucked in his chair, the courier glanced up at the clock that had long-since died and was more for aesthetics. "If all goes to plan, I'll be heading off for a few days."
"Back to the good old wastes, huh?" Gomorrah jabbed and she gave him an icy look.
"Can't do shit just sitting around the Strip all day, you know?" She gathered her cigarettes and stuck them into her stockings, pulling up the bands to sit tighter around her thighs. "Except get old and fat."
The men let out snuffs of unimpressed laughter and she excused herself, swinging off towards Cass with a slip in her step that told her that she was more smashed than she had realised. After much shoulder grabbing and balance regaining, the courier found her redheaded companion at the bar with a drink in each hand. The woman had never seen such transcendence in a pantsuit before, and it made Annie feel proud to be a part of Cass' acquaintance list. Even if the caravaneer did not come home with her tonight, Annie would have crashed into bed feeling satisfied with their sudden bond.
She felt she had done wrong by Cass, considering she had promised her a life of adventure and travel – and was now trying to push her back out into the wastes as a worker for the colony. The courier almost felt pained when she felt Cass' eyes on her, kind of ashamed for the breach of trust.
"I'm gonna head back to the 38." The dark-haired woman explained sloppily, rubbing her made-up eye into a smudged black. The age-old mascara crushed under her palm in shards, nipping at her softened palms.
"Already?" Cass leant forward from her group of cowboys.
"Yeah," Annie shrugged, tipping a little in her shoes "gonna go take my clothes off and cuddle up to Arcade. Give him a scare when he wakes up."
Her blue eyes widened with amusement as she slipped her boots from the stool's rungs. "Guess it's bedtime then, huh?"
"You're coming?" The courier asked gently, slightly taken aback but mostly timid from the confident woman giving her company.
"Aren't we going to Nellis tomorrow?"
"You're gonna do it?"
Her companion flashed her a grin and brushed off her thighs, tugging her jacket from the backrest. "Maybe. C'mon." Ushering her friend off towards the front doors (having completely forgotten about their weapons – Annie receiving her heavy substitute knife and having to tuck it carefully back into her stockings). "Seeya, boys!"
"You ain't stayin'?"
"No," she turned back around to call at them, leaving Annie mid-exit "lady's gotta sleep. Though I'm sure if you like me, you'll find me later on."
Annie had already burst into the cooler night air, greeted with the soft roll of a shudder down her spine and little goosebumps on her forearms. Cass was buttoning up her jacket as they hotfooted it to the 38 – keen for the soft wrap of comforters and promises of coffee. The courier was feeling sick enough to want to hurl outside of that scumbag Swank's casino, but she wasn't feeling up for the public embarrassment.
To keep her mind off of the sickness, Annie looked up at Cass. "So you're gonna take up my offer?"
"After that shit-fight tonight, yes." The redhead seemed to mosey-on casually towards their quaint abode. "This place is fucking crazy. I need to get back out into the wastes." She kicked a bottlecap that was floating stray from some poor man's pocket. "But I'm not going to be taking orders from you."
"Don't wanna give you orders."
They reached the gate, Annie checking out the conditions of the securitrons that flickered with the stern faces of old-timey policemen. The gate squeaked open and they were met with another party – a group of girls from the Gomorrah getting molested by sloshed NCR soldiers. Without their helmets to keep their eggheads safe, the soldiers were messy-haired and clawing at the women's clothes; money flying in each and every direction.
Cass let out a balked laugh of surprise and Annie grimaced, unimpressed with the situation that was unfolding upon itself. It must have been a big night for the NCR – considering the Gomorrah seemed to be spilling with awkward cadets that were chucking up around the palms.
The addition of two women to the party riled up the men some more, curious calls and sweet whistles attempting to grab their attention. A few of them even tagged along for a while, speaking cheap pickup lines that only would have worked on a lonely girl. A man with dark curly hair that was sticking to his forehead had caught Annie's eye with his dark stare – instantly tuned into a defensive stance when he started to step backwards with them.
"Where have I seen you before?" He asked plainly, cheeked flushed with alcoholic jubilance. "You look like someone I've seen before."
"I don't know you, sorry." She smiled awkwardly as she excused herself, taking a quick glance at Cass. "Trust me, I'm good with faces."
"No, no, I've definitely seen you before…"
The redhead laughed. "What is it with you and soldiers?"
Annie ignored her. "I used to be a courier." She suggested lamely to the man and he shook his head.
"No, I don't deal with couriers."
She evened her eyes. "I've never been a whore, if that's what you're suggesting."
The man spat out a laugh. "No! I'm not trying to offend you!" He spun around and followed on beside them, heading towards the 38. Annie didn't like the idea of him getting so close to her house – and it almost felt like she was being stalked by a vulture - the man continuing down the road towards their safe-house with a predacious look in his eye. "See, 'cause I'm also good with faces."
"Can't be that good if you can't remember who I am." The woman bit back at him, Cass tailing in interest. Annie grinned uncomfortably in spite of herself when the man blanched unhappily. With his eyes drawn to her mouth, the soldier's face turned from curiosity to a soft understanding – like he hadn't quite hit the tip of the realisation yet.
"No, no… that's definitely a mouth I remember."
Annie stomped her foot angrily.
"Get the fuck away from me." She snapped, flinging her arm off towards his soldier buddies. "Get the fuck away from me you fucking scumbag." He paced backwards, swinging on his heel to stumble back to his friends – his face still crunched in the apprehension of a sudden point. "Fucking dirty bastards – fuck off, you fucking prick. Fuck me." She warbled, Cass hissing with a quiet, cheeky laughter. "What fucking balls that prick has – what was he even trying to do?"
"I don't know, Annie." The redhead watched as the pathetic courier clumsily swiped her keycard through the lock. Her eyes switched towards the orange lights, finding the soldier was still watching them from a distance.
"Fucking dirty asshole men," she pushed through the door, the pressured air greeting them with a cool burst "sleazy, lyin' assholes."
"Oh, let it all out, Annie."
"If they're not trying to fuck you over, they're just trying to fuck you." She whined.
"I'm sure Raul is gonna have something to say about this." The caravaneer teased her as they chugged through the lobby towards the elevator.
"I'm talking about men in general. Raul's a man."
"Oh right, there's a difference now."
"You're confusing me, Cass." Annie sighed unhappily. "What I'm trying to say is, uh… this Strip is full of greasy dicks."
"You're right. The men are better in the wastes."
"We don't need this shithole, Cass." The courier continued. "This isn't the way to live."
"I agree wholeheartedly." She leant on the elevator rail as Annie pressed the button, closing the doors around them. "Which is why we're getting up early to taste some of that sweet Mojave air."
The courier smiled, stomach churning as the lift began to weigh them down. "You, me, and Raul." She looked down at her fingers that had twined together, blurring pastel pink with the tips of her shoes. She let out a yawn and pushed her hair from her face. "Fuck yeah, let's get out of here."