"Welcome to the Strip, folks," feted the Courier dryly.
Winter and Glynda gaped in awe at the famed city of lights, their slave collars hidden under their shawls. After what they had been through in the Wasteland, coming into the bombastic glory of the New Vegas Strip felt cathartic. It was like they had walked back into a bustling Remnant city.
Qrow whistled amid the noise of drunken tourists, street vendors, and the music blaring from the speakers installed above the street lamps. "I don't often pay a visit but it's a nice breath of fresh air to come back to the only party district around."
Six grunted. "Savor the experience then."
Miss Goodwitch pointed to the Lucky Thirty-Eight. "Is that...?"
"Ain't heading there yet, lady."
"Hey there, handsome!" hooted a prostitute. "You look like you could use a massage."
Branwen winked back at her. "Back at you, tuts."
The Courier landed a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Eyes off Gomorrah, Birdman."
"What? I'm savoring the experience."
"Excuse me, sir, but where are we headed?" asked Lieutenant Schnee.
Raul snickered. "Señora, I thought you would have figured it out by now."
That was when they paid attention to the applause resonating off the street speakers. It was a live broadcast. Heads turned to the Tops marquis where the name 'Weiss Schnee' was glittering alongside a roster of talent. Tonight was her debut concert at the Aces Theater and the show had already started with the opening acts wrapping up.
"Guess the news is more of a luxury over at Fort Mead, eh," the Courier said, briskly striding straight towards the Tops. "Don't worry 'bout tickets. Just stick close and leave all the talking to me."
"Gonna catch the show, huh," remarked Branwen, amused by the glare he was receiving from the mailman.
The ghoul politely nudged the two ladies to follow. "Boss wouldn't want to miss this. And honestly, neither would I."
Winter felt her breath hitch in her throat. She was going to see Weiss. She was going to see Weiss in the flesh!
When Beacon Academy fell, she feared the worst. The Atlesian specialist had been 'convinced' to go on leave by General Ironwood himself after she suffered a mental breakdown compounded by the stress of the immense recovery efforts and triggered by the publication of the official casualty lists. The Schnee household was rocked by what had been declared as the loss of another heiress and she had arrived back at the estate in time to witness the dramatic mess that had transpired between her parents, her younger brother Whitley, and even some of the manor staff.
But as it stood from then on, Whitley had become the sole inheritor of the family business...
...unless, like her and many others from Remnant, he had somehow ended up here in this Wasteland. Regardless of their fraught relationship, he was still family; the thought of her younger brother experiencing this hell-scape's horrors disturbed her.
"Debut concert," Glynda thrummed. "I've never had the chance to see Miss Schnee perform live."
Winter felt her lips curl into a small smile. "She's a wonderful singer."
The Courier paused short of entering the Tops. "... Lieutenant, let me ask you something. If she's as good a singer as you say, then why'd she go into the Huntsman business?"
It was complicated. "It was Weiss's decision, sir. She wanted to—"
"Get away from your dad?"
The lieutenant sighed. "Sir, if you don't mind me asking back, is that what you were told by my sister or did you piece it together?"
His regarded her with those heavy green eyes that conveyed a tempestuous history. "Singers don't usually get cut in the face like that."
"It was a training accident." The incredulous look on his face prompted her to explain further. "She was sparring in a controlled environment so there were medical services on stand-by. Being that she was training, she...she had made a few mistakes against her opponent. Hence the...injury. Sir."
Major Vickers did not seem to like that answer.
Acting like a tourist was easy in large part because this was Neo's very first time here in the New Vegas Strip. As such, she stood in the middle of the road like a fish out of water, gaping up at all the glitz and glamor.
First thing that caught her attention was the massive tower topped with a saucer: the vaunted Lucky Thirty-Eight. Kind of like the Beacon tower except it was a casino and hotel, albeit one that she quickly discovered was under lockdown with the amount of heavy-duty battle robots and Californian police soldiers surrounding the place. This was allegedly the personal residence and apparent headquarters of Courier Six.
The other establishments were open for business though and Neo felt the immense temptation to let loose. But she had to keep up with her quarry who was moving at a faster pace after catching her tailing him back in Freeside.
Contrary to what she expected, that mailman skipped the Lucky Thirty-Eight entirely. Instead, he was practically marching down the Strip to the more obnoxiously lit Tops casino and hotel where apparently there was a concert happening with the starring act being...
Neo had to double-check the news pamphlet she received from the welcome booth behind her.
Huh.
Weiss Schnee...as in that pompous Atlesian heiress who went to Beacon to become a Huntress. The same heiress who got involved in that whole fracas under Mountain Glenn and also that one time when Roman hijacked an Atlesian battle-suit.
Interesting. She had forgotten about that. Maybe she should have paid more attention to the airwaves. That Mister New Vegas DJ almost seemed like he never slept.
So Courier Six is going to attend that pretentious rich girl's concert, huh. Well, where one of them is, there the rest would be. Still, a whole gang of Beacon students was far from easy especially after that melee she got into with little Miss Schnee and some of her friends during the Mountain Glenn job. They were freshmen and they were amateurs but they got grit which was commendable and they had skill which was impressive. She made sure not to underestimate them this time when she got her hands on these Vegas Wonder Kids. For sure, the rest of them were probably the same damn kids from Beacon if that Weiss girl was involved.
"Excuse me, miss," interjected an NCR military police officer.
Neo raised a brow.
"Open display of firearms is prohibited on the Strip..."
Oh, shit. For real? She frowned, noting the large cattle prod hanging off the officer's belt buckle.
"...if you're an NCR citizen. Are you?"
She shook her head just as two more officers approached with a canine.
"If you have any credentials or any identification, may I see them?"
Neo made a show of pulling out the whites of her upper trouser pockets. She even held out her hands while putting on a face that was one of incredulity as the police dog sniffed all around her, its snout getting dangerously close to where she hid the gold. She hoped that her poor hygiene would mask whatever scent would set these guys off.
"Clear," one of the cops barked, dragging the mutt away.
The officer questioning her nodded. "Thank you for your cooperation, ma'am. You're a local then?"
She shook her head.
"Must be coming from the north then. Well, you don't like you're affiliated with the Legion, heh."
Neo rolled her eyes. Don't get her started on those fanatical freaks and their piece of shit 'living god.'
"Anyway, read the signs and stay out of trouble. And please, do not engage with the robots. That means no posing for pictures with them, talking with them, or messing with their systems..."
She made a mental note to investigate some of these Securitrons later when she had the chance. They looked goofy and bounced around on their one wheel like they were jiggling to an cabaret number but their weapons systems seemed to rival that of Atlas's own paladins.
"...and always follow the rules of the establishments. Enjoy your stay at the Strip."
Finally. Neo was about to leave when that same officer tapped her on the shoulder with a different kind of glint in his eye. One of his two buddies had stayed behind as well, sizing her up.
"By the way, ma'am," he started, voice lower than a whisper. "Is this your first time here?"
She slowly nodded.
"Not one of a talker, are you. Eh, can't blame you." He glanced around before leaning in close, his horrid breath making her recoil. "Listen, since you don't know about the rule against open-carry, you probably don't know about the other dozen or so laws the NCR has in place to keep order around here."
True.
"And you look like you're here solo."
Neo narrowed her eyes at him.
"Not saying you could be easy pickings for the swindlers around here but, ah, depending on what part of the Strip you happen to be, there are certain fees that need to be paid."
Oh for fuck's sake. Seriously? A protection racket?
"Entirely optional, by the way. Not saying you should but it's there. Though, additional fees mean additional security services. All you have to do is ask."
Neo folded her arms, visibly annoyed.
The officer held up his hands. "Just disseminating critical information is all. Have a nice stay, ma'am."
With that, they actually left her alone. She nearly pinched the bridge of her nose; for all the bullshit the Legion liked to spew out about the 'degenerates' that lived outside of the Imperium, they were not wrong on Vegas. This place was a haven of greed and she made another mental note to swipe some more extra cash just in case she would actually have to pay a bribe.
Weiss was nervous.
She admitted it to herself and no one else. She was definitely nervous. Here she stood backstage as the audience applauded a magnificent performance by Mister Isaac. It was fully packed tonight with the entire roster pulling out all the stops to make this a great night for her. After all, outside of their teasing, they were not wrong when they said people showed up mainly to see her.
The people of the Wasteland wanted to hear her sing. And Weiss had yearned to sing in front of an audience again. Hopefully on her own terms.
"You'll do fine," hummed Mister Torini.
She spun around, the glitter from her dress sparkling as it fluttered. "Yes, of course!"
"You found who you were looking for?"
"Yes. They're up in the VIP box on the left, the one closest to the stage."
"All eight of 'em. Sorry though but the...pet...had to stay outside."
Weiss winced on behalf of the poor staffers who had to manage Syrup in a cage for the whole night. "It's fine. I'm just...is there...is there anyone else you saw out there?"
Mister Torini shook his head. "Can't say."
Out on the stage, the band reached a crescendo in complement to Mister Isaac hyping up the crowd for the main event of the evening. Just behind the curtain, Weiss straightened herself, breathing deep, clearing the clutter from her mind...
"Go get 'em, girl."
The heiress strolled onto the stage at the announcement of her name. And she immediately felt quite overwhelmed by the reception she received from the crowd, their cheers and applause deafening as she crossed the grand stage to take the mic.
Weiss waved back, her best smile on display. "Good evening, everyone! I'm Weiss Schnee, your Snowflake Starlet!"
The band began to play the intro to her first ballad of the night with her swaying along, stealing glances at the VIP box to the left where Ruby, Yang, Blake, Jaune, Pyrrha, Ren, Nora, and Velvet were all cheering her on. Their presence alone took away much of her anxiety. All of them didn't have to dress so formally but they insisted, ruffling their rather expensive suits and dresses just to show her how much they supported her. Then she looked around at the rest of the theater but the lights were too bright so she could only see so far...
...and so far, there was no sign of him.
She heard the strings dip at the end of the intro and she brought the mic up to her lips. The songs flowed seamlessly that night even though she never saw his face.
Glynda was a little perturbed by the amount of influence Courier Six held over the heart of New Vegas. It was evident given the behavior of the authorities when they entered the Strip; the hulking battle robots were clearly calibrated to serve the mailman while the NCR military police proved their true loyalties by allowing them to bypass all the rigorous security checks.
The special treatment and reverence continued well into the casinos. This one in particular was the Tops and it was ran by a group called the Chairmen and they took security more seriously by patiently waiting behind the counter while Major Vickers and Mister Tejada handed them the guns on their persons (she had a feeling they held back a few in their secret pockets). Qrow followed suit, depositing his own gear (including his own Huntsman weapon which fascinated the bouncers and the desk clerks).
"They with you, big man?" a Chairman asked, pointing to her and Winter.
The Courier waved him off. "Yeah. They're unarmed."
Glynda tightened her shawl wrapped around her collar when they finally entered the main floor which was hosting a large number of patrons. Truly a busy night even without the younger Miss Schnee's concert.
Qrow sniggered. "Man, I don't know if I'm actually allowed in here."
Somewhere on the casino floor, a gambler threw his arms up in the air in despair, wailing about how his winning streak had come to an abrupt end.
"Not a fan of casinos?" asked Mister Tejada.
"Not me personally. Just, eh, had a spotty history with places like this."
"So's Boss. For a guy who's got the worst luck in the world, he sure is raking a hefty profit from the luckiest folks around."
"Really now. How bad's his luck?"
"Very bad, according to him."
Glynda shared a knowing look with Winter. If only these Wastelanders knew...
Branwen chuckled awkwardly as they passed a crowded roulette table that got even more crowded when some more gamblers whinnied at their sudden losses after a good run. "Yeah. Though to be safe, best to keep me away from the tables. Or the machines. Or anywhere with a high stakes game. Or any game, for that matter."
"That's why we're headed to the Aces Theater," the Courier interjected, leading them up the grand staircase to the upper floor, past the chip booths, towards the theater's double doors.
Through the walls, they could hear the band reaching the climax of a song then ending with a male tremolo drowned out by applause.
"Full house, huh," Qrow quipped. "Sure we don't need tickets?"
"Special privilege," the Courier replied, pushing through into the theater and getting acknowledgements from the staff and Chairmen on duty.
Glynda kept close to Winter who seemed to be growing increasingly catatonic with every step. She could understand why. Up ahead, over the sea of heads and clapping hands, was a man in a sharp suit charismatically introducing the main event.
"Just in time," remarked Mister Tejada.
Instead of finding a seat, they instead detoured up to the bar at the far end of the theater, above the entrance. It was dimly lit with most of the lighting coming from the bar itself with the bartender already preparing Branwen's order.
Glynda found herself standing on the bannister next to Winter. While the lieutenant was glued to the stage, the former combat instructor looked around until she found the children: the two freshman teams whose sudden disappearance before the end of their second semester signaled the beginning of the troubles that would befall Beacon. Squeezed into a viewing box closest to the stage, their rambunctious cheering meshing with the excited audience.
"There they are," she said, beaming in relief. "They're okay."
"Weiss," Winter breathed.
Glynda looked to the stage and there was Weiss Schnee in a glittery white pouf, flowing ponytail bound in place by her tiara. She took the mic in the middle of the stage with that Schnee confidence and a certain type of smile that she rarely saw on the girl.
"Good evening, everyone! I'm Weiss Schnee, your Snowflake Starlet!"
The crowd received Weiss with such enthusiasm that it took Winter aback. Perhaps she had been in Atlas too long to forget that there were audiences who could get this loud in excitement for a performer.
"Snowflake Starlet, huh," grunted the Courier, now standing beside her. "Good one, Tommy."
Winter was about to ask who Tommy was when the band eased in and Weiss began to sing.
It was magical.
The lieutenant felt a wave of emotion hit her as the music washed over the theater. A ballad, starting slow, then building up to a chorus with lyrics unsuited for a typical Atlesian orchestral show, and continuing on with Weiss performing in a way that would have irked her father.
Winter approved of it.
Glynda was enraptured and even Qrow and Mister Tejada, who were nursing their drinks by the bar, were grinning and nodding along. The rest of the crowd too were also taken in by Weiss's delivery...
And then there was Major Vickers idling next to her.
She expected something akin to disinterest, disappointment, or downright disapproval. But she was quite surprised to see the man—known to be vulgar and indignant—beaming with genuine enjoyment. Unlike her father whose expressions were rooted in the potential business benefits of public shows or her mother who tried to look less tired (or drunk) than she actually was. Or Whitley who masked his envy of his sisters with a smug upper lip and stiff clapping.
No.
Courier Six was different from what she expected. He may have been calloused and belligerent back at the Old Mormon Fort but here? Watching Weiss perform? He was someone else.
The song ended and Weiss received a raucous applause.
Major Vickers neither clapped nor cheered. Instead, for the rest of Weiss's set, he had a smile hidden sneaking out from under his bushy facial hair, his lips curling upwards ever closer to his ears. Almost like her father but entirely not like him.
Interesting.
Weiss soon reached the final song in her set where she was accompanied onstage by all the other singers of the evening with the dancers coming out in synchronized steps that matched every line flawlessly. Their voices blended together, reaching a powerful chorus that ended with a standing ovation. And, completely unlike how her sister had concluded her shows before, she thanked the audience with tears in her eyes. Happy tears. Joyful tears.
She even reached her arms out to the other performers flanking her and together they bowed.
Back in Atlas, father would have thrown a fit just for that, decrying the entire concert as a burlesque travesty.
But here in New Vegas?
Weiss had never before sported such wide smiles amid her grandiose presentation. She clearly enjoyed pulling the act, moving around the stage, sitting on the piano, and dancing. If anything, it was probably one of her sister's best shows. And the people here absolutely loved it.
"Thank you, New Vegas!" Weiss declared jubilantly. "I love you all!"
"One hell of a show," Qrow remarked, leaning over the bannister with his fifth glass half-empty. "Don't you think, Raul?"
Mister Tejada nodded approvingly, raising his own glass. "One of the best I've seen in my two-hundred years."
The Courier was silent, watching until well after Weiss disappeared through the curtain and the band capped the night with their closing track and the crowds began to disperse. His grin was wide and it only disappeared when he went back to the bar to fiddle with his Pip-Boy over a glass of water. The man was hard to read; however, what was made clear tonight was that he was most unlike her father.
"That was amazing," Glynda said.
"It was," Winter acknowledged, almost wanting to cry. "It truly was."
Neo decided to forgo the front doors of the Tops. Instead, she had slipped around the perimeter of the casino, clamored over an overgrown section of the walls, and snuck in through a window on the third floor where she ended up in the kitchens. From there, she worked her way through, morphing from one disguise to the next, until she broke out onto the main casino floor.
Neo had to pause when she saw a woman at the nearest craps table kiss the severed rabbit's foot hanging off her necklace. The dealer flipped the cards and she screeched with joy upon receiving whole stacks of chips.
Interesting.
Huntsman Branwen had a notorious Semblance. Something about luck. Or weird things happening whenever he was nearby. And Neo had been noticing all those weird things happening during their weeks-long cat-and-mouse game back in Remnant. She wisened up to it after her fifth encounter so whenever someone nearby was having a bad day or something strange was going on in the place she was in, that meant that he was around the corner somewhere. At least, that was what she had gleaned from her experiences. Recently though, she had been seeing less of it but still...
One hell of a Semblance.
And here she was, seeing more gamblers winning at the tables and more dealers sweating and glancing at each other. It felt a bit odd but it got her thinking. There was always a loser in a game of chance and it was pretty obvious who was on the losing end tonight. Not really good luck. Given what she knew of that man's Semblance, this meant that he was definitely nearby. One guy just got on a recently vacated slot machine, dropped in a coin, pulled the lever, and was instantly rewarded very handsomely much to the chagrin of the Tops floor manager.
Yep. Huntsman Branwen was definitely nearby.
Most likely in the Aces Theater. She didn't have a ticket and there were way too many people so she had to find the backdoor. So she followed one of the dealers heading to the backrooms for a smoke break. Keeping to the corners and avoiding the surveillance cameras, she snuck into a supply closet in time to eavesdrop on a conversation with what looked to be another dealer.
"Not a good day for the house," muttered the first.
"Don't say it out loud," snapped his co-worker. "It's just one of those days. Can't always have a good day."
"Yeah, but three, four, five, eight people winning one after another? I think someone's rigged our cards."
"Man, you've been watching way too many heist movies. What, you think Ocean Daniels and his ten-man crew are gonna break the vault out of the building?"
"Look, I'm just worried. Maybe we should swap the decks again? Recalibrate the machines, you know?"
"Not unless the boss says so. Hey, it's just a few lucky winners."
"A dozen and counting."
"Whatever. Look, we comp 'em and they leave. Then they come back ready to sink in more caps and I guarantee you their luck ain't going to work again."
Neo shook her head. These poor bastards...
"By the way, you catch that Schnee girl?"
"You mean our 'Snowflake Starlet?' Bet you Torini came up with that name. That ogre knows how to put asses in seats..."
Neo slipped past, memorizing their attire. She had not seen a lot of female dealers and almost all of them were wearing dresses and while she could easily mimic that image, she instead tried something she rarely did: changing into a man. A short-statured man in a Tops dealer suit. After looking herself over in an old mirror, she sauntered out into the corridor, heading straight to where she thought the backrooms would be.
Door number one though revealed a curious sight: a baby deathclaw leashed inside a cage and surrounded by a handful of stressed and antsy handlers. The damn thing saw her and immediately started acting up, causing everyone in the room to groan. Apparently it took them hours to get it to calm down. She got out of there quick and decided to play it by ear. She knew she was getting close to the Aces Theater by the sheer volume of the concert seeping through the walls. She had to hand it to Schnee, though; that girl can definitely sing. First song in and Neo really liked what she was hearing.
First song meant a whole set thus she had enough time to move around and get into position.
Fuck that Huntsman's plan because that went out the window the moment they both ended up in the same room at the Old Mormon Fort. Neo was winging it now, having found Schnee's dressing room and combing through that heiress's belongings. Among them was a folded letter from one Schnee to another. It was sappy and mushy and she was tempted to crumple it and toss it in the bin.
Family.
Yeah, right.
As if Neo could relate.
Vickers. Her real last name was Vickers. It was before the man with the dog on his head showed up with his posse and burned everything to the ground.
No. Neopolitan steeled herself and put the letter back in the drawer. No way was she involved with some desert survivalists. She was raised a spoiled rich girl on Remnant! The austere insincerity in that household is what drove her to Roman in the first place. Roman, who immediately knew who she was before she even got to introduce herself...
...and called himself Alex at first, telling her that Ellie would've loved to see her again...
Neo had to take a seat.
Alex and Ellie.
Roman and...
...and...
She shook her head.
Ellie, the girl who picked up the name Cinderella from an old storybook, would teach her how to cook desert cuisine. And Alex, also taking a page from her by adopting a character from another Old World novel, would prance around with a bowler hat and a wooden cane.
Neo gripped her trousers and felt the solid gold bullion tucked in one of her pockets. That cold, metal bar. The Imperium had a massive hoard of gold, silver, and precious metals, extracted from several restored mines and looted from Old World storehouses. Pretty sure, those slaver bastards were circulating their new mints of His Divine Assholery Mercury Black, head one side of the coin, ass on the other.
Roaring applause reverberated from the theater. Neo must have zoned out that long if Schnee was reaching the end of her set. What else could she get from here? So far, the only relevant detail she retrieved was that damn letter that triggered...
...something...
Alex DeLarge and Ellie Belle. Not their real names because they never knew their real names. They weren't related in any way but they were close as siblings, adopted by Ranger Vickers and his crew after their rescue from the Legion. And helping to raise Vicker's precious own...
Neo abruptly stood up and threw herself into the wardrobe. A dusty hat fell on top of her head...
Alex tipped his bowler hat and leaned on his crooked cane, pretending to be a gentleman hero.
She threw the damn thing off of her, inadvertently ripping a long, red gown off a hanger...
Ellie was scared of large fires and nearly cried when one of her favorite dresses got singed.
Neo shoved the dress away, pressing her back against the wall, her breathing a little ragged. She was going to wait here for Schnee to return. Wait until the heiress was all by herself. And then she would strike. She would wring her like a chamois rag until she got all the answers she damn well wanted, maybe even run her through for the hell of it.
Ranger Vickers ran a lot of people through in his career but he never basked in the glory of having a high kill count. He described the act of killing as kind of like a chore; it had to be done otherwise the alternative could be worse.
Roman usually let her do the really messy work. But whenever he had the option, he usually let them go. Neo long suspected he had a bit of a merciful side to him despite his excuses of 'spreading his name around' or 'paying too much to the cleaners.'
Alex killed his own centurion before escaping with Ellie. It had to be done to make sure the both of them got out alive.
Cinder sometimes killed with a murderous rage that scared Neo more than anything else. Burning people alive to prolong their pain? It was her favorite method of execution that she picked up from...somewhere...
Ellie had to see several 'special servant girls' burned to a crisp on a pile of tires. Such was the method, one among many, that the Legion employed to keep their horde of slaves in line.
Neo held up the kitchen knife she snagged from downstairs, running her finger along the edge.
Alex, Ellie, Vickers.
Neopolitan pinched herself repeatedly until she could no longer hear that annoying voice in her head trying to break the locks on a forgotten chest of memories.
General Hsu slumped back onto his chair in his office back at McCarran. It had been a long day and he really needed something to take his mind off of things for a little while. No booze tonight though so he switched on the radio on his desk and adjusted the knob until he landed on Radio New Vegas which was broadcasting live from the Aces Theater.
Oh, right. Tonight was the debut concert for Miss Weiss Schnee, the younger sister of Lieutenant Winter Schnee. He never considered the young girl to be musically inclined so this should be interesting. He raised the volume right as the band started on a slow ballad and...
Wow.
Little Miss Schnee could sing.
What a voice. Leaning back on his chair, he closed his eyes and let the music wash over him like a masseuse kneading the knots in his shoulders.
Knocking.
James sighed, tuned down the volume, and sat upright. "Come in."
It was the commander of his retinue. "Sir, we have a problem."
Great. What is it now? "Report."
"Sergeant Lena Atwater is missing."
Excuse him, what? "Say again? Sergeant Atwater...as in Ranger Atwater?"
"Yes, sir. She's been missing since we left Freeside."
And she had the gold bullion. For the first time in a long time, Major General James Hsu struggled to contain the boiling anger that made him want to wring someone's neck until their eyes popped out of their sockets. Christ Almighty, he should have just stayed colonel and stayed out of all the power-plays the Courier got dragged into.
Omake
"Greetings and salutations!"
Beep, beep, bop, boop.
"Oh, you can see through me?"
Buzz, buzz, beep, beep, hum.
"You don't mind? That's wonderful! I'm sure we can be friends and work together and do maintenance on each other's wires and servomotors."
Beep, buzz, beep, bop, bop, boop, hum.
"ED-E? That's quite an odd name."
Buzz, buzz, beep, boop, beep, beep.
"Me? Oh, that's right! My name is Penny Polendina and I think you and I share similar systems."
The floating 'eye-bot' as it called itself let loose a string of noise and code that informed Miss Polendina that, although limited in comparison to her, it was capable of so much more. Such as advanced equipment maintenance and storage.
"I do not have a nook-ley-ahr core or anything similar to what you are referring to. It seems I have an alternative power source compared to what is abundant in this area. Is that a correct assessment?"
ED-E beeped and booped in response, confirming Penny's budding hypothesis.
"Ah, I see now! That's very interesting. If you don't mind me requesting data-sharing?"
A few quick code-filled exchanges later, Penny Polendina and ED-E secluded themselves in an abandoned trailer outside the Hub to swap databanks.
"If you don't mind, I noticed you were playing music on one of your speakers. The singer sounds quite familiar."
ED-E hovered below to allow Penny to fiddle with its many antennae.
"Ooh! I see. Like an apparatus for communications except you are broadcasting music. Hmm, it seems you are picking up frequencies from a very powerful transmitter."
She adjusted a few knobs here and there and the sounds of the concert was now audible enough to make two passing scavengers several meters down the road stop in their tracks. But neither of them noticed the two men or regarded them as harmless.
"Weiss Schnee? Ooh! I believe I know she might be! My databanks just need to be repaired and several files restored. Hopefully there are no corrupt codes in my system. It was bad enough sneezing because of a poorly-placed binary code."
Meanwhile, the two passing scavengers crept closer to the trailer, listening in on the one-sided conversation this ragged lady was having with the music-playing eye-bot that she was now cuddling to her chest. Her expressions varied between shock, curiosity, a little disgust, and some confusion. But for the most part, she was cheerful and uppity, near incredulous to how loud she was being and the fact that she was repeatedly plugging her finger into a socket in the back of the eye-bot.
Then she turned around and the scavengers saw five oddly-shaped swords sticking out of her back, some of them wrapped in thin strings. How the hell was she was not bleeding (or rather dead from hemorrhaging)?
Yet for some reason, she was moving around like nothing at all. On closer inspection, it looked like she was either stabbed with them or they were growing out of her spine or something.
"Oil? Petrol? No, not really," she said to the machine in her hands. "I don't actively drink them as you say but I do regularly fill my orifices. It's part of my maintenance routine. Though I may seem to be running out of lubricants."
The machine beeped.
"I hope to avoid flammable fuels if it can be helped."
More beeping.
"I don't eat scrap metal. In fact, I don't think I eat anything at all. Not human food. I do require water for cooling though. But if you are referring to sustenance, I have alternative sources. They are all integrated into my core systems..."
The two scavengers shared a look. What the fuck was this crazy bitch going on about?
"...we have what we call Auras and Semblances and they are manifestations of the soul..."
Yeah. Dirty, disheveled, and definitely clinically insane. The two men considered informing the nearest hospital or lunatic asylum. Then again, the health care system in California was bureacratic as all living hell so maybe just tell the nearest cop to watch out for some cracked-out ginger and her robot friend.
"You were also manufactured in a top secret military laboratory? So was I! Dear Brothers, we truly have so much in common! Maybe our internal systems are more similar than I thought."
What now?
"How about I inspect you and you inspect me? Is that a fair exchange?"
In response, the eye-bot let out excited beeps and, like a mutant spider, unfurled an entire convoluted mesh of power tools attached to various appendages that looked like they could cut a human body open in ten seconds or less.
The lady clapped. "Ooh! Allow me to adjust my position! You can start by unscrewing the bolts in the back of my neck. The panel is a little hard to see though..."
As she turned once again to seemingly undress, one of the scavengers nudged his buddy. It was time to go. This was way too much insanity for them to handle and they had scrap to sell. Thankfully, they left before they noise of a drill whirring would send their imaginations to uncomfortable places.
ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: August 17, 2022
LAST EDITED: July 27, 2023
INITIALLY UPLOADED: July 27, 2023
NOTE: Weiss doing a Vegas show, huh. When I was writing this, I kept going back to the 1960s black and white Frank Sinatra and Rat Pack shows with the big bands and on-stage banter.
As I'm sure some of you may have noticed, I've taken a lot of creative liberties with the setting. In the game, the Aces Theater is pretty small, about roughly the same size as the interior lounge of the Atomic Wrangler except cleaner, glitzier, and a lot less sleazy. If you haven't played the game, think of the Aces Theater as a small, fancy restaurant with a bar and a stage. Since I don't conform to game logic most of the time when I'm writing this, I expanded on that and made it a lot like the grand theaters in Vegas (like the ones where Sinatra and the Rat Pack would perform at).
Anyway, a big debut for Weiss, a big deal for the Courier's new friends, and a big shake-up for Qrow's diminutive 'partner-in-crime.'