Neo had no idea how long she had been crawling through the ventilation shafts but by the time she popped out of the grate and dropped into this creepy part of the casino, she had been covered in a thick layer of dirt, grime, and mold. She pulled the rag off the lower half of her face so she could breathe and taking a moment to gather her bearings after being on autopilot since Branwen started scuffling with Courier Six...
Theodore Vickers, captain of Team Echo of the Desert Rangers, was sent on a dangerous assignment to stymie the Legion's next grand offensive across Arizona. He left with a few select elites, leaving behind his wife, his...daughter...
Neo shook her head. How did she know that? How did she... The Desert Rangers were swallowed up, right? She read that somewhere...on an NCR brochure or something...the Desert Rangers fought 'Caesar's Legion' as the Imperium Americana was known then.
The Legion expanded like a mushroom cloud, ballooning and consuming everything around it. The Desert Rangers tried to stop them but they were pushed back, their allies absorbed or destroyed piece by piece until...
Focus, woman! Look around; where exactly did she end up? No carpets, no drywall. Tiles everywhere, some missing, some cracked. Pipes running the length of the entire corridor with fluorescent bulbs flickering like in a B-rated horror movie.
The horrors of the Legion were plain for all to see. Ranger Vickers did his best to hide it all from her but Alex and Ellie knew; they had been there and barely made it out. To think they escaped the Legion only for the Legion to come in full force a year later...
She was in the backrooms of the Tops, particularly a maze of maintenance tunnels that weren't all that maintained. Neo started walking.
She ran. She ran with Alex and Ellie. She ran as the Ranger Citadel in Flagstaff, Arizona burned to the ground. She ran through the smoke, hearing Ellie screaming and Alex yelling. She ran until she stumbled in front of a pale-looking man with a dog on his head. He took her to the Legion...and then...a blinding light...
She slapped herself. Stop thinking! Stop thinking about...distant things... Eyes up ahead; she ended up at an intersection. Pick a direction. Left. Go left, keep going left and...there! A set of steel doors with a panel next to it.
Neo pushed the top most button. She heard a whirring somewhere behind the walls and then the doors opened, revealing an antechamber ending with a wider set of doors. Elevator doors, by the looks of it. She got in, furrowing her brow at a roulette wheel stenciled on the wall, and took the only route available: down.
The ride was short and a little rough. There was a sudden jolt; the elevator had stopped and the doors opened to another floor of narrow, tiled, dimly-lit backrooms. She pressed the button to the ground floor. Nothing. She pressed all the other buttons. The elevator didn't move. When she rasped her hand against the entire board, sparks flew out of the panel. And the lights in the elevator died.
Neo seethed. Branwen's bad luck was rubbing off on her, it seemed. She had barely crossed a few meters into the tunnel when she heard rumbling noises further ahead. Slowing her pace, she listened in, pressing her ears closer to the walls. Muffled voices. Sounded like a door being broken down, furniture getting upended, shouting, and...
Suddenly, there was a crash past the corner at the end of the corridor followed immediately by guttural growling. And then someone yelled.
"Syrup!"
Neo swirled on her heels and bolted. She could hear the pitter patter of clawed feet getting louder and louder. As though whatever thing lived here had sniffed her out and was gaining speed in a hunger-induced frenzy. Like Grimm.
Shit. Were they somehow keeping Grimm in here?
She glanced down to her waist, fingers trailing over bullets for guns she didn't have. That damn Huntsman taking all her gear (though she didn't mind the frisking because it tickled). But she was thoroughly pissed that she was unarmed in the face of something that could chomp down on her and throw her around until her Aura would deplete and she would be ripped and torn. Skilled as she was, there was only so much she could do with only her hands and feet.
"Syrup, where are you going!?"
"Nora, slow down!"
"Syrup! Syru~up!"
"Nora!"
Who the fuck is yelling about condiments right now? Neo rounded the corner just as she heard the creature's claws slide against the floor and it panting.
"Syrup, get back here!"
"Hey, kid! We ain't gettin' paid to do this!"
"Well, I'm paying you Chairmen to do this for me so shut up and flank Syrup before he chews his way into a room and eats one of your guests!"
"Just do what she says, gentlemen. Please?"
Wait. Is that thing chasing her called 'Syrup?' Chancing a glance over her shoulder, she saw Syrup in question being that very same infant deathclaw caged in the backrooms. And now it was bounding towards her with its budding maw and glazed eyes and growing claws. The fact that they both locked eyes made it more determined.
Screw it. Neo willed her Aura up and, utilizing her Semblance, faked crashing through the wall while she hurled herself through the nearest door then slamming it shut, hoping to fool the beast. Taking a step back, she tripped and stumbled onto a cot in an empty room filled with crates, metal boxes, and various empty bottles haphazardly strewn about. Good; a storage room. Maybe she could pilfer some guns in here—
Another crash.
She glanced behind her to see that little monster had smashed its head through the same door. Thankfully, it got stuck trying to muscle its way through the hole it made in the thick metal, giving Neo precious seconds to search for a weapon. Cracking open the first crate, she found...
...distilled alcohol.
Not really what she wanted right now.
Growl, hiss, growl, hiss.
Neo glared at the mutant before going through the next crate. More alcohol. Moving across the room, she found rows of stills opposite shelves filled with liquor bottles, some of which were filled with whatever moonshine was being cooked up in here. The smell alone was a little intoxicating.
A little...intoxicating.
That's it! Grabbing a bottle, she hurried to the door where Syrup was still stuck on and inched just close enough to avoid getting bit or swiped at. Popping the cork off, she waited until she had an opening and jabbed the bottle into its maw, forcing it to gulp it all down. It still was antsy and about ready to rip loose so she hurried back and force-fed three more bottles.
By the time she raced to grab a fifth, the creature had broken through and...
...was wobbling.
Great!
This time, Neo threw what she had at it, the glass smashing over its head and drenching it in moonshine. She grabbed a whole basket and hurled it at the floor, spilling several liters of the stuff and holy shit it was pungent and nauseating as fuck like what was this ninety-six percent alcohol!?
She got out of there as soon as the thing started listlessly lapping up the poison. Seriously, it was literal poison at that point, Aura notwithstanding. She doubted even Branwen could down a whole barrel of that shit without doubling over and vomiting his liver out. Still, she made sure to snag a few more bottles just in case she might have to make a firebomb or use them to stage another escape.
Bounding out of the exit, Neo slowed to a stroll, getting her breathing under control. She was now in less-ominous looking backrooms with more folding chairs, posters, half-stocked shelves, proper lighting, and cleaner walls. After a quick breather, she took on the form of a casino tourist and strutted out onto carpeted corridor and eventually onto the gambling floor where she idled a bit to keep up the illusion.
Some of the Chairmen though were doing more scrutinizing than ogling but they were easy to lose with the amount of people in here tonight. A combination of Princess Schnee's debut concert and the apparent winning streaks made for a full house even this late in the hour.
Neo meandered through the crowd, her hands deftly slipping in and out of a few loose pockets. Soon, she reached the front desk where a stern-faced Chairman approached her.
"Excuse me, miss—"
She closed the gap, giving him a playful wink, and visibly stuffing a folded NCR hundred-dollar bill into his front pocket. That got him to fumble for a few seconds and he backed up to let her pass. She even gave him a flying kiss on her way out the front doors to keep him flustered long enough to forget her and move on to the next patron. The warm night-time Vegas air swamped her like a tidal wave and she skipped over to the nearest bench to actually take a serious breather.
What a day.
It was close to two in the morning but the Strip was as lively as ever. The lights were still flashing, the music still blaring, and the noise from several drunk tourists echoing from all around. She could even smell the food being cooked up by the outdoor concession stands lining the other side of the street which would have been savory if not for the odor of piss and vomit courtesy of several plastered dimwits. It was all migraine-inducing and she dropped her head into her hands with her fingers kneading her temples.
She was tired.
She needed a bed.
She wanted to get out of here.
And she heard a group walking over to her. Neo looked it up in time to see four NCR MPs regarding her way too curiously, the closest one being their senior officer if the britches on his shoulder were any indication. Despite their deceptively nonchalant facade, she could pick out the minute hints of an opportunistic smile creeping on their faces.
"Excuse us, miss, but would you mind coming down to the station with us?"
She frowned. That did not sound good.
"It won't take long, miss."
Neo looked around. Interestingly, there were a few other NCR MP squads idling nearby. Right outside the main lobby of the Tops. Snagging gamblers who looked like they had gotten way too lucky for the casino's liking. She then looked herself over and felt a little stupid: she just had to drum up the most expensive-looking illusion, an up-to-do lady whose fashion screamed 'I'm-rich-and-gullible.'
"Miss? If you please?"
Fuck it. What did she have to lose? Pocket change? She could swipe it all back later, anyway. Besides, this migraine was really starting to kick in and she just didn't care anymore. A bed in a cell block was still a bed and she would slip out come daylight. So with a quiet sigh, Neo stood up and let herself be escorted to the police station.
The moment Ren and Nora bounded into the room, they were hit with a miasma so fierce that they had to step back to hold their breaths. The Chairmen catching up to them though nearly gagged and had to cover the lower halves of their faces before screaming muffled obscenities into their hands.
Apparently, Syrup had broken into the Chairmen's secret distillery and was sprawled haphazardly across the drenched floor, covered in some of the most potent alcohol this side of the Mojave Wasteland.
"Oh gods, I think I'm going to get a headache after this," Nora groaned.
"Says you, kid," groused a Chairman. "Your pet nearly cost us this whole operation!"
"Gentlemen, please," Ren pleaded. "We can argue later."
It took a bit of effort but they managed to drag a very plastered Syrup across the makeshift distillery towards a much cleaner room where the two Remnant teens set to work cleaning up their team mascot while the very irritated Chairmen scurried around to get repairs done.
"Syrup, why'd you have to misbehave?" Nora slurred. "I told you I'd be back to check up on you."
Ren eyed his partner. "Nora, are you alright?"
"I'm okay. Just...just a little dizzy."
"Did you...did you spike any of the drinks at the afterparty?"
"What? No...maybe? Uh, just a little?"
Sigh. "... Just sit down over there. I'll clean Syrup up."
"Oh... Okay, Renny."
Thankfully, Nora was either too tired or too out of it to do anything other than slump on a folding chair and struggle not to fall asleep. That left Ren alone to clean Syrup up. Thankfully, he had greater tolerance for liquor so the powerful musk emanating from the spillage in the distillery was not too debilitating. He did make a mental note though to have a custom-built cage for their team mascot.
"Don't know how you kids managed to tame something like that," remarked a passing Chairman. "But you better teach it to stay docile. Almost shot it when it broke the cage."
"Apologies for that, sir. We'll try."
"Yeah, yeah. Just keep that thing on a tight leash, dig? Preferably outside the casino." The Chairman rubbed the horseshoe hanging off the keychain on his belt. "Can't believe we had a run of bad luck before midnight."
"Bad luck?"
"What'd you think? It was all good until the concert ended and then all of a sudden we got way too many lucky winners wanting to cash out. Then, your pet breaks loose. And I just heard that some of the boys got pickpocketed. I mean, really? Bad juju is what I'm sayin'..."
Ren could only shrug as the Chairman continued to rant. He just hoped they could get Syrup upstairs to the suite without any further trouble.
The Courier felt a vibration from his Pip-Boy. The message flashing on the screen made him click his tongue in frustration. I get it, Swank. I've sent instructions to Pappas to help fix your goddamn problem. Her MPs will be sweeping up those lucky winners and siphoning the money back to you. Stop messaging me, already.
"Hey, hey, it's the high-roller," greeted the bartender in the cocktail corner of the Tops Restaurant. "The usual?"
"Not tonight. Sarsaparilla, chilled."
"You got it."
Birdman better not keep him waiting. It hard enough balancing the stress with the stress relief with Swank getting ready to push the panic button in response to over a dozen lucky winners walking out the casino doors richer than they should be. He had just scheduled an urgent meeting with Lieutenant Pappas at the New Vegas Regional Capitol at the butt end of the Strip in a couple hours to get her MPs to shake down those lucky winners before they left the Strip.
Six popped the cap off the ice-cold bottle and made his way upstairs to the VIP section. Some of the guests recognized who he was and offered curt nods and other gestures of respect. He simply nodded in return until he reached his usual spot in the farthest corner. A liquor shelf had been installed above the cushioned seats and below them as well—a courtesy given by Swank soon after taking over the Chairmen three years ago. Out of instinct, his hand reached for the knob of the shelf. He stopped himself and forcibly planted his palms on the table; thankfully his hands weren't shaking as much as before.
His Pip-Boy vibrated again. It was a response from Lieutenant Marie Pappas informing him that she expected a bigger cut from this mass shakedown. You get your cut, woman. Just do your damn job and get Swank his money back. Don't worry about Crocker; I'll handle him when starts asking questions again.
He rubbed his temples to stave off a headache—how many times had they done this whenever anyone of the casinos had a bad day? It wasn't the first time but the reactions by the Three Families were sometimes a bit too much. He reached into one of his pockets and frowned.
Damn it, I ran out of aspirin. Just think of something else...something less stressful. Like his suspicions that Sergeant Lena Atwater was Birdman's accomplice. Six had given the gold to Hsu and Hsu passed it on to Atwater. And some time between then and a while ago, it had ended up in Birdman's hands. Those two had to be in cahoots. Probably why she was too stiff, would immediately look away when they had eye-contact, and...
"Jesus Christ, no," he muttered.
Was she another Remnant Huntress? An accomplice that slipped under their radars? So that's why that son of a bitch held back in Freeside. Not just because of the collateral but he had a buddy on the inside. That Atwater lady...
His green eyes went wide.
"Judging by her attire, I assess that she's a private. I'm getting some errors though. Her signature isn't matching up with some of my sensors."
His own V.A.T.S. sensors were on the fritz every time he ran his checks on her back at the Old Mormon Fort. It was like trying to scientifically deconstruct a person through a magic mirror.
"She isn't saying anything, though. Not a single word."
She never said a single word during the entire session. Not even a verbal response to Hsu, her direct superior.
"She's really good. For a low-ranking trooper, she is actually holding her own."
Six tightened his grip around the bottle of sarsaparilla on his table.
"Wow, she's thorough. Vindictive but thorough."
"She's a Huntress," he mouthed. "Disguised as a regular trooper when she infiltrated Fort Mead and now disguised as a Ranger where she heard...everything..." And made off with the gold.
The Courier resisted the urge to smash the bottle against the wall. Qrow Branwen, you goddamn son of a bitch. If it ain't for your nieces...
Breathe, Theo. Breathe.
How 'bout razing the whole o' Freeside just to smoke them sum'bitches out, eh?
Not the time, Old Green Eyes. Get a grip and count from one to ten.
Branwen's buddy probably done got a damn good Semblance that can mess with your systems. After all, she done broke them robots down under Fort Mead, nearly compromised Delilah One.
That had to be it. Lena Atwater, or whoever the fuck she is, must have a Semblance that prevented him from utilizing V.A.T.S. properly. Perhaps something more potent than Sparta's polarity except he had more than enough electromagnetic shielding to prevent all the metal bits in his body from dancing right out of his skin whenever that redhead sneezed.
That black bird's been lyin' to you this whole time. He's only butterin' you up so he could stab you in the back. Make off with his nieces, take the rest of 'em kids away from you. Take your wealth, too. Ruin everything.
Shut up, Old Green Eyes.
You done keep fuckin' up, Theo. You always do. Just when you think you got everythin' sorted out, shit happens and it all comes apart.
Six emptied his sarsaparilla and slammed his palms flat on the table, drawing squeaks and stares from the handful of other VIP guests nearby and a couple of the servers. He waved them off and the other folks finished up their meals real quick before skedaddling downstairs. The pair of servers hurriedly bussed the tables, avoiding his booth entirely, as they followed suit.
Them folks know who you are, Theo. They saw that sour look on your face an' they figured out that shit hit the fan somewhere. They're gon' be talkin' sooner or later.
Stop. Talking. Get out. Of his head.
They're smart folk an' they're gon' be talkin' to their friends who'll gossip to the press an' then the NCR public would know somethin' wrong done happened here. And then the Senate's gon' get Hsu to clamp down hard on you 'cause they got people sayin' things ain't runnin' well here.
Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.
Calm. Clear head. Calm. Clear head. Calm... Clear head... Calm...
He checked the time on his Pip-Boy. Been twenty minutes now. Where the hell is Birdman?
"Hey, Pyrrha?"
Pyrrha shifted onto her side on the king-sized bed she shared with the rest of her teammates. At the moment, though, it was just Jaune. Ren and Nora had yet to return from checking on Syrup downstairs and given the natural voraciousness of deathclaws, they wouldn't be back for a long while. Velvet, on the other hand, opted to lodge with Lieutenant Schnee and Miss Goodwitch.
"Yes, Jaune?"
Her partner switched on the bedside lamp, staring up at the ceiling in thought, his hands kneaded together over his stomach, the blanket they shared draped over their lower halves.
"You didn't say much back there," Jaune said.
"Oh? I didn't...realize that."
He turned his head, those deep blue eyes of his meeting hers. "Pyr, is there something going on?"
"What do you mean?"
"You've been spacing out a lot recently. I see it. We all see it."
She folded her arms. "I'm fine, Jaune. Please, you don't have to worry about—"
"I can't help but worry about you. Now that we're...um..."
Pyrrha looked away, her cheeks warm. She was sure Jaune did as well, his complexion equally flush. "We're not...we haven't made ourselves...official, have we?"
"I...don't recall."
"Oh. But we have gotten...very close as of late."
"I mean, we did kiss...back in those mines. Right?" 'That had to count for something,' went unsaid.
She felt the bed move and she turned to see him sitting up, staring at the wall. She did so as well, adjusting her position to where they were now both squatting on the mattress, the blanket pulled a little bit further back.
"Okay, kiss or not—heck, official or not—I'm still your partner," Jaune continued. "And I can tell that you've been out of yourself for a while now."
Pyrrha absently rubbed her arms. "I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be sorry." He was looking straight at her now. "However, you do have to be honest with me. And that's not an order from your team leader."
"Okay." She mustered up her courage and returned his gaze. "I...have been very bothered. Ever since the...um, I mean, my match at the Thorn."
He sputtered. "O-oh. That."
"I know we've had our own discussions about it. But I still... I just... I didn't want to spoil Weiss's big night."
"What do you mean?"
Pyrrha let out a bitter laugh. "We were all having fun with the concert and the afterparty and then Six shows up with Ruby's and Yang's uncle, Weiss's sister, and Miss Goodwitch. Don't get me wrong, Jaune, it was a lovely reunion but...but..."
Jaune huddled closer, his arm draping over her shoulder. "What is it?"
"Six's behavior...and the way he talked... It's hard to reconcile cruelty with care."
"Oh."
"I don't know how Weiss got that warm side out of him because he never showed any of that to me...down in the Thorn."
Barely able to hold back the upswell of emotions inside her, she bawled into her hands. Even as her partner pulled her into his arms, she cried out her pain and grit her teeth in anger. Six was an enigma—one day, he would enforce punitive measures all for the sake of the 'grander picture' and the next, he would be willing to sacrifice that grander picture for the happiness of one of their own.
Pyrrha wasn't mad about it. She hoped she was not; she would rather believe that she was jealous instead. Or perhaps she was being selfish and yearning for that same endearment. Or rather, it was neither her nor Six. It was just the world being...unfair? Was that the right word? Regardless, she had to get this negativity off her chest and unloading it onto Jaune's felt like the only solution...
...other than confronting Six about it.
"He led us out of the Divide," the blond raised. "Kept us safe on the return trip across Clark County. I don't see that as being cold and cruel. Distant, yeah, but you can't deny the effort he put into making sure we got back here to the Strip in one piece."
"You're right. I—no, we—should be grateful for that," she sniffled. "I'm sorry for sounding so ungrateful—"
"No, no. I'm sorry I asked in the first place," the blond apologized. "I didn't realize you were still hurting from..."
She shook her head against his chest. "You had every right to ask. It should be me who should apologize for making you all worry."
"Aren't we all then."
"I'm...sorry?"
He looked her in her eyes with that goofy smile. "There's something to be sorry for but I don't think being vulnerable warrants any apology."
"Huh?"
"Fame gets to you. We can see that. We may not be the best team at Beacon or even the best students ever regardless of all the championships and the grades and whatnot. But bringing you down to earth, I suppose, is something we do best."
She cracked out a small smile. "You're right. The Thorn...was a match I probably needed to show how truly fragile I am. I never want to have to go through that again though."
"Yeah, Six is the type of guy who'd throw you into the deep end of the pool and yell at you to swim. In your case..."
"I excelled in tournaments. Sanctioned fights where there were strident controls in place." Pyrrha withdrew from her partner and planted her chin on her knuckles in thought. "... Such is the life of the competitive combat athlete."
Jaune joined her in staring at the wall, mimicking her posture. "... Six really isn't good at teaching, huh."
"No, he is not."
"He's not good with words, too."
"Not when he's spaced out."
"Was he spaced out back there? I mean, you saw him kiss Weiss on the forehead, right?"
"We all did. We all heard him say the sweetest words we thought he would never say."
"He says a lot of ugly things more often. But you know what?"
"What?"
"It's still the same voice." He shrugged, drippy grin making her chuckle. "Sounds stupid but hear me out: he may be Old Green Eyes but he's also our Courier Six."
"Always covering our six," she snickered.
Jaune stared, blinking. Pyrrha stared back, smug and cheeky. Then they both laughed. And they both fell back onto the bed and drifted to sleep, their hands unknowingly intertwined.
"You're late. Ten minutes, Birdman."
"Had a coup in the caverns, you know," Qrow lied, easing into his seat opposite the Courier in the private booth of the VIP floor inside the Tops Restaurant. "So where were we?"
"You nearly screwed us all over with your stupidity and trying to justify said stupidity."
"Hey, I was trying to help you out. As far as I know, you like to keep things foolproof."
"What you did ain't foolproof. It's damn foolish."
"Aren't we all fools in the grand scheme of things?"
"Quit trying to be philosophical with me."
"But if you think about it—"
Six held up his hand. "Birdman, I really ain't in the mood for any more of your horseshit so save us both the hassle and tell me right fucking now how you met Sergeant Lena Atwater."
"... What?"
The Courier breathed deep. "Who is Sergeant Lena Atwater?"
The veteran Huntsman picked his slightly slurred words carefully. "Uh, wasn't she that NCR Ranger? You know, the, uh, the one who was brought on as a witness on General Hsu's side? That her?"
"I said quit the horseshit," snarled Major Vickers. "We all saw Jimmy pass the gold to her. And somehow, you got your hands on it."
Qrow exhaled; there was no way he was going to keep pulling the wool over this guy's eyes. "... Would you even believe me if I told you something different?"
"Try me. You Remnant folk ain't the only oddballs that broke reality as I knew it. Hell, I'd be willing to believe that you're all magical creatures or something with your hocus-pocus horseshit."
"Heh, hocus-pocus." He pointed to the liquor cabinet on the wall above the seat. "May I?"
"Your tab."
"I know. I need a drink."
"You're already drunk."
"Not drunk enough to be honest with you. Now, may I?"
The Courier nodded and kept a close eye on the veteran Huntsman as the latter poured himself a full glass of whiskey which he drank in silence for the next couple minutes.
"... So I heard," Qrow started, filling up his second glass. "Little Weiss got you to quit the bottle cold turkey."
For a second, there was a flash of something fierce on the mailman's bearded face. "... Snowball's been dragged through coals enough."
"And so was Winter," he retorted a bit roughly. "You can have everything you want but still live in a world of shit."
"We're all in a world of shit."
Qrow downed his whiskey and nearly slammed his glass on the table. "Sure thing, buddy. You see, over the past couple hours, I learned that half of what I've heard about you is wrong. You're a piece of work, that's true. But what I didn't want to believe was how much those kids actually like you. My nieces told me about what happened in the Divide. How you all got physical. And you're not the type to pull punches."
"Not when I have to."
"Yeah. Even if you did, you would have put them down the day you found them." He put the glass away in favor of chugging straight from the bottle. "I don't like what you did to my nieces. I don't like how you manhandled them. But I will acknowledge your restraint. And I do respect you for trying to keep them out of all the trouble that's got the NCR riled up."
"If you're asking me to take care of the kids—"
Qrow laughed bitterly. "Oh, you're already doing a fine job of that, Papa Sixer."
"Birdman," the Courier hissed, "what is it going to take you to tell me who Atwater is?"
"Your full trust in me."
The man fell silent. And the veteran Huntsman waited and waited and waited until the former pulled out a bag of dried tobacco leaves, rolled them up, and began chewing. He gestured at him.
"Lena Atwater isn't her real name," Qrow began. "Hell, I don't even know if her actual name is her real name. But what I can tell you is that she's not a Huntress. She just happened to have what we have and a ton of experience in the other direction. She's sleek, she's smart, and she's lost."
Six raised a brow.
"She's looking for someone...special to her. A close associate she used to work with back on Remnant. I got her to cooperate with me. She wanted to find her friend, I wanted to help Winter and Glynda and meet up with my nieces and their friends. So we worked together for a bit, tracing your strings to your puppets until, heh, you and I got a little too rough in Freeside."
Those old green eyes hardened.
He raised his hands. "The plan wasn't to screw with your deal with the general. The plan was to recon the both of you in preparation for us separately getting into the Strip where we confirmed the kids were. I admit things went south fast and we had to improvise. I told my partner to gather intel but somehow, she had the bright fucking idea of masquerading as a Ranger and standing in on your negotiations. That wasn't what I wanted her to do. And neither did I intend to end up on the opposite side of the room. That's the truth."
The chewing had stopped as the mailman seethed. Then he motioned for him to keep going.
"Look, all I wanted was to get Winter and Glynda out of their collars and ensure the safety of the Vegas Wonder Kids. After that, I was hoping we could figure out how to get back to Remnant."
The Courier carefully spat some of that tobacco cud into the empty sarsaparilla bottle. "... And your associate?"
"She was going to find your friend here. If not here, then chances are she was heading straight to New California. And she doesn't follow the same principles I got. Hell, she can get reckless, too. Upend more than just the local law and order. Might even screw with your assets with or without knowing it. Look, she just wants her buddy back."
"What's her real name?"
"The name she gave me? It's Neopolitan."
Six stopped chewing again. He narrowed his glare, pupils bouncing around, like a high-speed camera hyper-analyzing every detail. It was honestly a little creepy. Human eyes don't usually move that fast and not even the most oddball faunus out there had matching optical anomalies. Maybe the rumors about this guy being half-robot had kernels of truth in them. Sure as hell explained his ridiculous damage threshold.
"Neopolitan, huh," drawled Major Vickers. "Just that? No last name?"
"Ask her yourself if you find her. Because I sure as hell can't get anything else past that."
He shook his head. "So she screwed the pooch on you, huh."
"You bringing out that gold was as a massive curveball. The look on her face when she was given it? That's one of an opportunist. Neopolitan was a thief and assassin back on Remnant. One of the best, I might add. And her partner was equally as notorious: Roman Torchwick. Those two ran some of the biggest cons on Remnant and pretty much held the strings together of the Vale criminal underground including getting a well-equipped terrorist group to do some of their dirty work."
"Thieves, assassins, and traitors. What a combination."
"I tried to rein her in. Good thing I nabbed the gold from her before she bolted on me."
"And when was that?"
Qrow tilted his head. "About half an hour ago. Give or take."
Six fell quiet. Deathly quiet. Without a doubt, he was pissed. Doubly pissed, it seemed. "... Birdman, are you telling me...that this thieving, killing, traitorous bitch is on the loose?"
"Pretty much."
"And that she has the capability to absolutely ruin anything that she gets snagged into?"
"Educated guess."
The mailman's eye twitched which the veteran Huntsman found amusing.
"... What the hell kind of bad luck charm are you?"
"The worst kind. Even to myself." Qrow burped and pulled out another whiskey from the shelf. "Courier Six, I really didn't want to fuck things up for you. I just wanted the best for the people I care about and I tried not to step on your toes."
"Well you done dropped a brick on my foot." Heavy fingers rasped on the table. "... Do you still have the gold?"
"Right here in my pocket." To confirm, he reached into his jacket and tugged at the bullion, revealing a sliver before dropping it back inside the pouch.
Six nodded slowly, the furious knots unfolding across his face. "... Qrow Branwen, you better listen and listen well. Our world of shit's going to get set on fire if we don't get that gold back into Jimmy's hands. I got to deal with some bullshit going on here at the Strip right now on top of keeping an eye on everyone else upstairs. I gave my guarantees to Winter Schnee and Glynda Goodwitch that I'd do something about their goddamn collars and I intend to follow through on that. And for that, I want nothing more from you other than your honesty and cooperation. Am I clear?"
"Crystal."
"Good. We can deal with your wayward partner-in-crime later. Right now, our top priority is getting Jimmy his money back."
"Already on it."
He raised his brow. "On it how?"
"I'm going sneak it back into his hands."
The Courier regarded him incredulously. "You...are going to sneak into McCarran...and deposit that fat check on his desk...in his office."
"I got my ways of moving around," Qrow replied smugly. "It's how I met up with your guy Contreras. It's also how I got his ass out of the slammer. Again. I'm just that slick."
Six scoffed. "Slick as a bird, huh. Sure, I'll take your word for it. You can turn into a fucking bird and I'm pretty I wasn't goddamn drunk enough to hallucinate that."
"I can handle it. I'm a Huntsman, remember? I can do things you can't."
He waved him off. "Yeah, yeah. And what did Contreras ask for in return?"
"What?"
"What did Contreras ask you to do for saving his ass? He's a give-and-take snake so he had you do something in exchange for all the other bonuses you're getting from him."
"Right. About that. You see... I was putting together some special tools to help with breaking those collars. Really special tools. Been hoarding them in a couple caves around here. Hopefully, not as compromised as you think they might be."
"Hopefully," the Courier groaned. "What kind of special tools are we talking about here?"
"Prototype thermic lances and surgical rippers. Manufactured to break apart the toughest of metals. At least, that's what the manuals said because most of it is untested. But looking at the schematics shows they're different from your run-of-the-mill gear."
"Right. And what were you supposed to do in exchange for Contreras letting you slip out of McCarran with all that?"
Qrow sighed. "Protection. From you. And information. On you."
To which the mailman chuckled. "Of course, he did. It was bound to happen anyway, that washed-up eel. What are you going to tell him now?"
"Not much. That you're doing as you always have been. Nothing too shady. Besides, it wasn't just you that he wanted eyes on. It was those fancy robots the NCR's been rebranding up at Fort Mead."
Six leaned in. "Really now. What was it that Snowball called 'em? Paladins, yeah. Atlesian Paladins. She thinks they're prototypes, too."
Branwen shook his head. "Don't know how the NCR managed to get them working but they've been refitted with their own arsenal. The latest manifest on the deliveries coming up from New California had some heavy ordnance which I suspect are going to be either stockpiled or modified onto those paladins."
"Making them more combat efficient. And Contreras wants in on it 'cause the grubby fucker ain't got no clearance for that. He's going to put it up to the highest bidder either wholesale or in pieces."
"Or he wants his own security. Just saying."
"Not wrong there." Six pointed to Qrow's Pip-Boy. "How accurate is your map?"
"Not as accurate as yours." The veteran Huntsman grinned. "Why? Planning on sharing some intel?"
Major Vickers harrumphed. "I think we've both shared enough. You get those tools of yours, relocate them out of your hidey-holes here to New Vegas while I keep an eye on the kids and your friends. Once we put together those tools, we can set to breaking those damn collars off."
"And Neopolitan?"
"As long as she doesn't raise a fuss, she's not a priority. For now."
"She sat in the meeting. She witnessed everything."
"She's mute and I doubt she knows sign language. She's also good at disguises. Really good at disguises. Guarantee who you saw standing guard at the Old Mormon Fort is not the same person walking around out there."
The mailman mulled that for a while. "... Tell me what she looks like on an average and I'll have my folks keep an eye out for her."
Qrow whistled. "Doesn't narrow it down by much but okay. All I can say is that she's short. About as tall as Ruby or Weiss. And she's flexible. Acts like a child sometimes. Not too skinny, not too puffy. That's the best I can give."
"Eye color, skin tone?"
"She's got heterochromia. But she can hide it well."
Six straightened as though he had jolted by a buzzer. "Say again? She has what?"
"Heterochromia. Mismatched irises. She can hide it well though but if you catch her on a good day, one's pink and the other brown."
"Right... Okay... Huh." For a brief couple seconds, there was a haze that took over the other man's features before he ran his hand through his face. "Pink and brown. Okay. Sure. It's just...just how it is. Coincidental, yeah. Not that uncommon..."
"Something on your mind?"
The Courier shot out his palm, his mouth quivering with his attention furiously set on the table cloth. "Short-statured, mute, heterochromia, sleek and slim like a ballerina. Got it. I got it..."
"Is there—"
He righted himself on his seat, that haze gone and with what seemed like a darker shade of green over his pupils. "As long as she doesn't raise a fuss, she's not a priority. For now."
"You sure?"
"Positive."
Qrow couldn't explain it quite properly but it felt like he was talking to someone else now. Instead of an irritated mailman, he was facing down something much more sinister. "... Neo's no pushover. She can handle herself really well in a fight."
"Understood."
"If possible, when you do track her down, I'd like to have a chat with her."
"We'll see."
Okay, this guy was something else. Something dark was lurking behind those old green eyes and the sudden dip in the tone to one of cold, calculating, calloused... Then all of a sudden, those green eyes blinked and he was back to the facing that irritated mailman.
"I think we've settled an agreement, don't you think?" Major Vickers posited.
"Yeah. Sounds like we struck a good deal." Qrow was about to offer a handshake when the Pip-Boy on Six's arm vibrated.
And this time, the mailman spat the rest of his tobacco onto a platter as his green eyes thinned at the screen then went wide. A litany of curses followed.
"Something wrong?"
The Courier looked suddenly furious. "Wasn't it that crows were bad omens?"
"I mean...did it take you that long to realize that?"
"I'm starting to realize having you around is making my shitty luck get even worse because those fucking kids just fucked up something the Chairmen were doing and now Swank is panicking."
The veteran Huntsman was about to ask something probably stupid when a Chairman hurried over to their table panting. He was about to say something only to clam up when he saw Branwen.
Six, however, seemed past caring at this point and ordered the Chairman to talk. The latter reported that something had happened to their distillery and it involved two of the Vegas Wonder Kids and their pet deathclaw. To which, the mailman seemed about ready to rip Qrow's head off.
And Qrow, feeling the strong buzz, shrugged. "Bootlegging, huh? Do I get free moonshine for helping you fix that?"
"Shut up, Birdman," snarled Major Vickers.
Ren nudged Nora awake and they loaded Syrup onto a luggage cart, draped under a white table sheet, which they rolled out onto the corridor. Thankfully, it was early morning and not a lot of people were coming to this part of the casino...
...except for an increasingly exasperated Courier Six marching towards them alongside a Chairman.
Nora chuckled nervously. "Oh, hey, Six! Um, we were just bringing up some luggage."
Six stared at them. Then at the luggage cart. He nudged his boot hard against it and Syrup's tail slipped out from under the table sheet. His frown morphed into a scowl.
"No need to worry about him," Ren said. "He is...unresponsive."
The Courier glared at him.
Nora shrunk. "Um...sorry?"
Six pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can smell the moonshine off of it."
"Operation is still in one piece, Big Boss," the Chairman reported. "Just a dozen bottles gone. Nothing too serious."
Ren's brows rose. "You're running the distillery?"
"Sponsored," the Courier corrected. "I sponsored it. Not allowed to brew without an official license and NCR didn't hand out any to the Families. Not yet at least."
"So all that stuff back there was illegal?" Nora asked droopily.
Six exhaled tiredly. "Just...head back upstairs and get some shut-eye. It's way too late. And tie that little fucker down. I don't want any damages to the suite."
Ren nodded, snaking his arm around his increasingly drowsy partner, and pushing the cart (and dragging her) along. Along the way, he mentally debated whether or not to bring up what he saw when they were running through those tiled backrooms earlier: a broken elevator with a familiar-looking roulette wheel stenciled in the back.
Omake
Qrow needed storage space. Sure, he could fly to any one of his handful of safe-houses across Clark County but damn it he was tired, drunk, and not in the mood to flap his wings for several miles across the desert just to stash away some of his extra gear.
So he returned to the penthouse suite intending to leave some of stuff here. Not like anyone was going to steal it (other than his overly curious nieces). Besides, he was now buddy-buddy with Courier Six so that meant he could utilize his facilities.
"A stash? I mean, there's a bunch of suitcases lying around," Raul suggested.
"You're not clocking out?"
The ghouls shook his head, turning a page on the book he was reading. "Don't feel like it. Besides, someone has to stay awake."
"Okay. So...suitcase?"
"Portable storage or just storage?"
"Just storage. For now."
"Check the rooms. They each have a wall safe." He pointed to the room that Winter, Glynda, and that sophomore Velvet shared. "You should probably use the one in there."
"Got it. Thanks, pal."
The door was unlocked but the lights were out. Qrow eased in, careful not to make too much noise (or rather, trying not to bumble into anything because of how inebriated he was at the moment). Flipping on the lights, he saw three bodies on a king-sized bed.
And Raul suggested they all share it.
Qrow shook his head. Nope. No way was he getting under the covers with any of those three. Especially with a student. Charming as he was, it was highly inappropriate and very unprofessional and fuck he was a little too drunk and he wanted to stop thinking about it because of HER.
Wall safe. Wall safe. Where is it—there!
He fumbled a little with the lock but it opened. Not much space in there but just enough to put away some of the things he didn't need at the moment. Like Neo's disassembled carbine and two pistols because he didn't have the appropriate ammunition for any of them.
"Qrow?"
He turned around. Winter was sitting up on the bed while the others were snoozing. There were rings around her eyes.
"Go back to sleep," he grunted. "I'm heading out."
"Have you had any rest?"
"Just enough," he lied. "Got to do something really important right now."
"But you sound tired. And drunk."
He closed the wall safe. "I'm fine, Winter. Just...just don't worry too much about me. Okay?"
She regarded him not with the familiar disdain that often came with their frequent spats. "Where are you going?"
Qrow breathed in and out. He was not in the mood for this right now. He had a very important delivery to make to the sprawling army base outside the Strip's walls and he would rather not do it during the day.
"I'm going to McCarran to settle some things," he replied. "Then I'm going to go pick up some stuff."
Winter opened her mouth. Then closed it.
"If you got anything to say, say it. I don't have a lot of time so—"
"Please come back."
His tongue dried up.
The lieutenant looked away. "I don't want to have to tell you to be careful or to get your needed rest. I only wish for you to...return...when you're done."
It took him a moment to find the words. "... And when I do?"
She only gawked, her lip trembling, her expression unsure.
That was when, in his sottish train of thought, he shuffled over and rested a hand on her shoulder. His face matched hers and they settled in the momentary silence, their eyes searching the other for that assurance.
Qrow eventually let go. Hefting his lightened duffel bag, he switched off the lights on his way out, all the while trying to forget what he saw in his peripheries: that of Winter's hand reaching up to rest on his own.
INITIALLY DRAFTED: July 28, 2023
LAST EDITED: August 25, 2023
INITIALLY UPLOADED: August 25, 2023
NOTE: My inner shipper was screaming for release in this chapter, especially with that omake, but I had to contain it. That doesn't mean that whatever couples you had in mind are made official in this fic. It's implied but otherwise not confirmed.
Anyway, more snippets of a past are revealed. Six is being forced to put some long-ignored pieces together and it's not really doing well for his psyche. But at least Qrow is here to help fix the messes that keep on coming. Overall, pretty dialogue heavy again and I'll try to balance it out with a bit more movement here and there.