2282
"I need a vacation…" Mila groaned as she stepped out of the Lucky 38 elevator into the entryway of the Presidential Suite. She'd attended what must have been the fifth meeting in two weeks with NCR representatives and ambassadors, always discussing the same thing: the condition of the Dam, suggestions to improve the reputation of the NCR as well as its relationship with other factions in the area… topics she'd gone over again and again that had numbed her mind.
She walked across the lobby into the primary bedroom, shut the door, and immediately began undressing. After removing her Pip-Boy and stuffy business attire, Mila sauntered to her armoire and searched for something more casual to wear. Her eyes lit up when she discovered an old but well-preserved pre-war cotton dress ("Where did I get this from again?").
Satisfied with her choice in clothing, Mila exited her room and hung a right towards the washroom and approached the first sink, and turned the faucet on. Lukewarm water poured out as she bent down and splashed her face a few times. With the weather warming up and summer just weeks away, it felt cool and refreshing.
As Mila turned the faucet off, she shook her hands off, looking for a towel. A clean, folded one on a shelf came into view, but before she went for it, her reflection in the mirror caught her eye. She'd forgotten to take her hair out of the stiff and tight bun she'd worn to her meetings that day, much to her chagrin.
Mila raised a hand to dismantle the disciplined bun, one bobby pin at a time until her hair flopped down past her breasts to the bottom of her ribcage, curled and bent from being tied up for hours. She breathed a sigh of relief as the pressure on her scalp lifted, and shook her head to relax the hair back to its natural texture. As she studied her reflection, something caught her eye: the mop that was her hair taken on a significantly lighter tint with how much time she was spending outside, and had definitely grown at least five or six inches since she'd first woken up in Goodsprings.
Should I get this cut soon? She wondered. The Mojave Wasteland, even in the dead of winter, was relatively warm when the sun was out, and unless it was tightly braided or otherwise pulled back, long hair was impractical. If the weight of longer hair didn't induce a heat stroke, it would either get cut off by an enemy flailing their machete, or someone could grab a fistful of it to immobilize their victim.
Mila shook her head, dismissing the thought for the time being. Before she removed her Pip-boy from her wrist, the time read "15:57", so it was well past 4 by now. Time to start dinner, she thought, and made her way to the Presidential Suite's kitchen, checking the refrigerators and cabinets to see what was available to prepare. As she rummaged through the food and drinks, the noise attracted her companions, who unbeknownst to her were lounging elsewhere in the Suite.
Boone approached and patted her on the shoulder, his sunglasses absent in a rare moment. Mila turned and smiled at him before giving him a quick but tight hug. "How's it going?" She made a noise of contentment, releasing the sniper to continue her rummaging. He stepped away to set up the table.
"Hey, guys!"
Veronica's voice filled the room as she hugged Mila from behind, then sashayed over to the radio on a bookshelf in the corner to turn it on before skipping over to Boone to exchange a greeting.
Almost immediately, the kind and gravelly voice of Mr. New Vegas bid a good evening to all, and delved straight into the happenings around the Mojave Wasteland. Mila wasn't entirely convinced that Mr. New Vegas was a real person, but she still found that she enjoyed hearing him (it?) speak. It reminded her of the radio stations back home in Modoc where there was a live DJ to provide breaks in-between songs.
She filtered through a book full of recipes she'd "bought" off Philippe during her investigation into that brahmin baron's missing son, and all of the horrifying secrets she'd inadvertently unearthed about the White Glove Society in the process. Philippe was a nasty and hateful person, talking to everyone in such a cruel way, while seeing himself as the one who "invented edible food". Mila somehow convinced him to sell some of his concoctions in an effort to pacify him, and even though she promised riches by way of publishing the recipes in a wasteland cookbook, she actually had no intention of doing so. Serves him right, behaving the way he was.
Deciding on desert salad, brahmin wellington, and Fancy Lad Snack Cakes, she began setting aside ingredients for each of the meals, shivering at the memory of Philippe speaking to her like she was nothing more than garbage.
A loud buzz poured into the dining room as Cass, Arcade, Raul, Rex, and ED-E filed in. Each companion took turns greeting one another, then patting Mila on the shoulder or putting an arm around her shoulders in a half-hug, chatting loudly as the aroma of searing meat and spices permeated the air. Rex picked up on these scents immediately, pacing urgently as he despaired for a piece of brahmin meat. ED-E floated gently around the room, beeping occasionally.
Lily was the only companion missing. Mila recalled that the old nightkin decided to stay in Jacobstown for the time being, to continue assisting Doc Henry and Calamity with fine-tuning their breakthrough treatment for the schizophrenia that plagued a majority of the settlement's population. She would come by the Lucky 38 once a month or so, to check up on her " new grandchildren", and was always greeted warmly by all of the companions upon every arrival.
Veronica appeared at her side to help plate each dish and move them to the table, to her gratitude. As Mila turned and faced her companions, she couldn't help but feel a warmth radiating throughout her, seeing nearly everyone alive and in one piece. The second battle of Hoover Dam was but two months ago, still fresh in her mind while simultaneously a distant memory. Not everyone here had fought the Legion by her side, though that made the relief of seeing everyone living, breathing, and healthy all the more sweeter.
Mila's ear caught the radio, which was now playing a fast-tempoed rock 'n' roll piece. She couldn't remember the name of the song but it was one of her favorites, playing through her Pip-Boy's radio almost exclusively as she was in the middle of fighting some wasteland vermin.
Suddenly, static drowned out the last few chords of the song, like the signal dropped. The song faded in and out, before ending altogether. Despite how loudly everyone was talking amongst themselves, Boone and Arcade noticed the radio silence first; they each shared similar expressions of confusion. The others only stopped when they realized it had suddenly gotten much quieter. Mila walked over to the radio and placed two fingers on the tuner dial in an attempt to recalibrate the signal when a deep, masculine voice spoke out over the static:
"Howdy. My name is Jed Masterson, and I'm a caravan boss for the Happy Trails Caravan Company. If you're hearing this, I have a job offer for you. Happy Trails is organizing an expedition north into Utah, off the Long 15, and we need people. We're looking for caravan guards, prospectors, couriers - if you're used to humping it across the Wastes straight toward trouble, we want you. If you've got a Pip-Boy, we definitely want you. On the other hand, if you're a greenhorn or a city-slicker spinning tales about your skills, you can kindly go hang. If we like your gumption, we'll pay you square and treat you fair. Find me, Jed Masterson, at the Northern Passage if you're interested. Luck to you."
The radio's signal restored itself and played some pre-war big band tune, like nothing happened at all. The room was silent, trying to process what they'd just heard.
Mila felt the gears starting to turn in her head, thrilled at the thought of traveling again after being stuck in Vegas for months. And to Utah, of all places! When was the last time she'd been that way…? Maybe this is the getaway I need, she silently realized. Traveling with a caravan company that wasn't corrupted AND getting paid for it!
Cass broke the silence first. "I didn't know Happy Trails was still running caravans through Utah. I thought the 80s would have pushed them out all together." She studied the vacant expressions of everyone around her and frowned. "A gang of raiders by the Great Salt Lake," she explained. "One of the worst ones out there." Veronica made a small noise of concern, but no one else spoke up.
"I'm taking that job." Mila blurted. As was expected, all eyes fell on her in shock and surprise. "What? I don't see a reason to have meetings with NCR senators and higher-ups every other day. Their newest state is fine, the Dam is fine. I've been wanting to travel, explore, and do something ever since the golden branch ceremony."
Arcade chuckled at this, understanding his companion's plight with nonstop NCR contact. "A nice road trip through tribal lands, possibly running into a maniacal raider gang, what's the worst that could happen?" Mila laughed dryly, stifling it as Cass elbowed him hard in the side. Arcade let out a high-pitched yelp, earning more giggles out of the others.
"A trip to Utah is two weeks one way," the red-haired woman said pointedly. "Are you sure they'll be okay with you just 'vanishing' like that? And how long would you even be gone?" When Mila shrugged, Cass pinched the bridge of her nose and continued. "If it's establishing trade routes, it could take up to two months. No matter what, you'd be out for at least that long, give or take."
That was a long time to be away, given her standing as not just a newly-naturalized NCR citizen, but the "savior of the Mojave", as Colonel Moore said all those months ago. But… the countless meetings she'd had were nothing more than check-ins. The Mojave Wasteland was stabilizing, settling almost to a point that hadn't been seen since before the Great War, and things were changing for the better now that the NCR seemed to have finally gotten all of their priorities and other faculties sorted out.
Would it be wrong to request a leave of sorts? On one hand, these NCR senators could see her length of absence as a potential weakness… but what would they know? After all of the work Mila had put in to help the Republic defend Hoover Dam a second time from the Legion, both Kimball and Oliver promised her on multiple occasions that she was free to take time off whenever she wanted, however long she wanted. Any senator who tried to undermine that faced incessant nagging from the president and the four-star general.
Having two of the most powerful people in the NCR in her corner definitely had its perks… If anything, she could coordinate to have her companions that were more active in the Mojave meet with these senators and representatives in her stead if they were that desperate for updates.
Mila shook her head, still deciding that this was the best course of action, and voiced as much to her friends, who all listened intently. Cass nodded in understanding, Arcade and Veronica following suit. Boone smiled knowingly; in their travels together, she'd expressed the desire to see more of the world, to push east if possible. She was simply satisfying her wanderlust.
Raul was the only one who was silent during the entire exchange. The old ghoul preferred not to step in and converse unless he had to, but his words always carried the weight of his experiences and wisdom, with some sarcasm for good measure.
"Mija, if you think this is something you should do, then do it. After killing Caesar and his Legate, you don't have to listen to anyone anymore!" The room fell quiet as Raul spoke, his voice low and thick.
Mila couldn't help but blush every time he used that old-world term of endearment. Then again, Raul called all of their companions "mija" or "mijo". He blamed it on his failing memory, not being able to remember everyone's names, but Mila knew that after everything he'd endured in his younger life, after losing his family the way in which he did, he was content to be a part of this new family they'd created.
In a manner not entirely different from Lily, Raul "adopted" them all as his own, though he never directly referred to the companions as grandchildren, or "nietos", he'd sometimes say.
The rest of the group began chattering again, small voices of quiet approval that eventually became louder. Mila smiled warmly before resuming her dinner. She expressed the desire to leave first thing the next morning, on the off chance that someone else would travel to the Northern Passage and take the job before her.
"Fine by me," Cass said after a huge swig of whiskey, a sinister smile on her freckled face, "but tonight… we're going to have some fun. For old times' sake!" Veronica whooped in excitement and ran off in search of a card deck, knowing Cass' idea of fun was at least three or four rounds of strip caravan.
Across the room, Boone and Arcade simultaneously groaned, knowing they'd be dragged into it somehow.
