"Got something in that pot?"

Raul nodded, lifting the tin lid to let the aroma of the broth overcome the odors of charcoal, sweat, and sand. "Rare specialty. Never thought I'd see another one of these until I saw the tracks. A whole nest of them, just up from the old Brotherhood safe house."

Six huffed. "Lucky you. Thought all the little hoppers this side of the Mojave died out."

The ghoul shook his head. "No, no. They're everywhere, boss. Stable numbers, no need to really cull the herd. You'd be surprised by the caballos running around down in Texas. Wild and unsaddled, some of them ghoulified. Used to wrangle them for a local rancher until his farm was hit by raiders."

Velvet took her place beside the fire pit, savoring the warmth of the flames. The Mojave desert had a climate unlike any she had ever experienced on Remnant. And she had been to all four kingdoms during her childhood. By day, it was as hot as Vacuo in the summer. By night, temperatures dropped to Atlas-levels of winter. At least she was acclimating better than when she first arrived on this world weeks ago.

Raul laid out three bowls, pouring in good steaming portions of soup with neat slices of meat and vegetables grown from his little garden patch outside his modest shack.

The faunus welcomed the scent, relishing the comforting heat that bristled through her fingers. Odd. The stew itself was marvelous but it felt...odd. Somewhat. Something felt off. Something in her gut that made her feel a little uneasy. She couldn't put her finger on it but she was too grateful for the food that she kept her peace. Besides, she didn't want to be disrespectful to the elderly mechanic who was known to have lived for over two hundred years and witnessed firsthand the deadly fires that had consumed Earth.

"So, hija. How are you feeling?" Raul started.

Velvet licked her lips clean before answering. "Better. The food is lovely, Mister Raul."

Whatever the ghoul had in response to that flattery died in his throat the moment she took off her hat. And let her ears spring free.

It was so good to have them out and about again, swaying back and forth with the late afternoon breeze. Having them tucked and folded for hours really put a strain on her muscles there. It took her another moment to feel the silence. She opened her eyes to see Raul lean over to Six. She couldn't help but overhear.

"You should have told me what she was, boss."

"My bad."

"You do know what I was cooking, right?"

"She doesn't have to know."

The mechanic frowned. "Really now, because the last time that happened, the little diablos savored every drop. Come on, boss. I mean, if she really is one of those animal-people..."

"I fed the kids dog meat," the Courier groaned quietly. "Seemed like Cat-girl's favorite, too. Besides, Velvet's mature enough. Even if she knew, I'm pretty sure she won't overreact to eating rabbit stew—"

Velvet choked. Loudly. She gaped at the bowl in her hands, the remaining bits of meat floating in the soup.

"Huh, she figured it out, boss."

"Ah, shit. I forgot she had good hearing."

Raul sighed. "It's okay, hija. I can get you something else."

Velvet felt sick. Sick at herself for inadvertently disrespecting the ghoul's selfless hospitality and sick at the fact that she may have committed something taboo. Unless cannibalism was acceptable here in the Wasteland... Was this really cannibalism? Such questions had very controversial answers back on Remnant. She slowly angled her head. Six was staring at her.

"I... I, uh," she stammered. "S-sorry..."

The Courier shook his head, grumbled something vulgar under his breath, and took the bowl from her hands. "Ever heard of the story of the Ultra Luxe, Bunny-girl?"

She gulped.

The small, quiet town of Goodsprings boasted nothing beyond its natural radiation-free reservoirs. Compared to everything they have had to live off of outside of the Strip, the untainted mineral waters pumped out of the ground in this wooden oasis was a godsend. That and the open kindness of the (armed) locals.

"For bein' the 'wonder kids' o' New Vegas, you sure look the part," remarked Sunny Smiles, the resident game hunter.

Yang chuckled as she capped off her canteen. "Yeah, we do stick out."

She bent down to shoulder the pole leveraging a quartet of water jugs that had been refilled and nodded at Pyrrha who hefted her share of half the town's water supply. They began the trek back up to the town under the orange beams of the setting sun.

"So what brought y'all here to the Mojave?"

The blonde glanced at the Mistralian who had nothing prepared for that inquiry. "Um, well, we, uh... We sort of, you know, uh, wanted to, um, see more of the world."

Sunny smiled at that. "Heh, guess I can't blame you. Ain't no use in bein' sheltered most o' your life."

"Can't really say sheltered but it's, um, close enough to that, yeah." Yang glanced again at Pyrrha who kept going up the trail. Why did she have handle keeping their cover? That was supposed to be Weiss's job! Ice Queen got lucky with the coin tosses. Then again, this was a good opportunity to ask around a bit. "So, uh, this is where, um, you know, ah...it all started. Right?"

"You mean where Old Green Eyes 'rose from the grave'? Yeah. Right up the cemetery. Lots o' folks come here askin' 'round about it since the war. Pretty annoyin' but gives us a bit of business."

"I can understand why," mumbled Pyrrha.

"Yeah. You survive gettin' shot in the head, buried alive, and a damn all out war. People'll start askin' 'bout you. That's one way to get famous. Or infamous."

"What was he like?" the blonde pressed. "You know, right after he got dug up?"

"Messed up. Ugly scar on his forehead, stitches on his face all the way up to his scalp. Doc Mitchell did his best but you can't really fix a skull that's been shot up more than once."

"Was he, um, y'know..."

"He wasn't as bad as most people out there say," Sunny contested coolly. "Sure, he did some things that'd pro'lly give Doc Mitchell a heart attack but that's what you gotta do to survive out there. Besides, you can't really believe what you hear."

Yang and Pyrrha let out some nervous chuckles.

"Anyway, thanks again for your help back there. Raiders been gettin' desperate lately. You gotta to be pretty stupid to try to beat down on Goodsprings."

Pride beamed from the blonde. "Well, they messed with the wrong people."

The game hunter snickered. "Lucky too 'cause most of us here would'a shot 'em where they stood. More merciful folks like you are hard to come by on the frontiers."

"Odd that they slipped through the NCR patrols," Pyrrha mused.

Sunny let out a dry snort. "Stickin' to the roads is what they've been doin' for the past couple years. An' the raiders ain't dumb. You'd think that with all the taxes we have to pay that they'd put in a sheriff's office like what they got down in Primm. I reckon we're not that worth protecting."

"That's not right," Yang protested.

"Ain't nothin' right. NCR tells you one thing, they do the other. If anythin', they're not as good as what they think they are but then again they aren't as bad as what everyone else says 'bout 'em. But that's just me."

Pyrrha hummed. "Fair enough judgment."

"So your old man's fine with you trekkin' all the way out here?" Sunny asked.

The blonde did her best to deliver the lie. It was becoming a bittersweet comfort having to constantly sell the daddy story, especially now that she was starting to picture her father Taiyang's head on Six's shoulders and Uncle Qrow's flask in his hand. "Yeah. He won't mind. We can take care of ourselves."

"Say, where were y'all headed to anyway?"

"Oh, nowhere specific, really." Yang chanced furious glances back at Pyrrha. Back me up here, P-Money! "You know, ah, finally visit Primm and, uh, you know, um..."

"Go sightseeing," Pyrrha injected flawlessly. "We've always wanted to see the statues at the Mojave Outpost."

Sunny paused mid-stride, clearly puzzled. "I thought y'all were from California."

"Ah, no. Well, not really."

"Utah then? Old Green Eyes had been there more times as much as those trading outfits. I heard there were some good settlements up north. Must've been a long walk if you're coming from the Great Salt Lake. Though I don' blame you for hoofin' it south given what we been hearin' 'bout what's been goin' up that way recently."

"Can't really say," Pyrrha worded, her green irises flickering to Yang. We need a better cover!

Thankfully, arrived on the outskirts of Goodsprings where Sunny shifted to getting the water into the town's only cantina. "Ah, well. Guess it ain't my business to pry."

They followed the road until they arrived at the porch of the Prospector Saloon.

"Smells like Trudy's gotten started on our steaks..."

An explosion erupted in the near distance followed by a shrill but familiar ecstatic howl and a normally calm voice echo 'Nora!' over the rolling hills.

"...and I think your sister's discovered our dynamite stash."

Pyrrha sighed and set down the jugs as another blast sent shockwaves across the canyon. "I'll go get Ren and Nora."

Ruby stared down at the grave marker.

The haphazard wooden cross sat atop the plot of land where Six allegedly 'rose from the dead' over three years ago. This was where his journey to the top of the Mojave began. This was where he began an infamous vendetta that would carve through the wasteland, leaving several hundreds—maybe even thousands—dead in his wake. Whether by his hand or by his word, people died.

"Hey," Blake prodded.

"Six is a good person. I know it. You know it, right, Blake?"

The faunus felt her voice die in her throat. She did not know how to answer that. After all that they had learned about the man, it was becoming difficult to see him in a more benevolent light. "He's a...he's..."

"He's not a bad person. Not entirely."

"Ruby...I believe that. We all do." Blake had to choke out the words but they were no lie. "Are you going to be alright?"

"I could ask you all the same thing."

"We're all powering through this, Ruby. We're doing this to help. Not just him but everyone."

Ruby nodded, letting the moment pass in the silence. She breathed deep, once again going through the highlights of what they had learned from the trove of (mostly redacted) information granted them by the NCR's intelligence division.

Courier Six: male, mid-forties, widowed, alcoholic. Desert Ranger, NCR contractor, rebel, fugitive, mailman—a storybook service record for a man summarily shot and haphazardly tossed under the soil she was standing over. And the estimates...the chilling estimates.

From what limited knowledge she had, the Desert Rangers were like Remnant's Huntsmen; heroes of this arid, sandy wasteland who had been serving and defending since before the bombs that burned the Earth. NCR contractors, on the other hand, often blurred the lines. Rebels reminded her of the White Fang. Fugitives though were nothing short of criminals the likes of Roman Torchwick. But mailmen... He was a courier, the 'unlucky sixth' in a conspiracy that changed the landscape of the Mojave...and probably beyond.

All it took was a couple bullets.

Ruby let her fingers trace her belt, running through her limited supply of ammunition for Crescent Rose. The absence of Dust in this world meant that their Huntsman weapons were strictly last resorts. She could feel the weight of the loaded five-fifty-six magazines pocketed in satchels on a separate bandolier slung over her shoulder as well as the pair of fragmentation grenades hanging from a loop on her belt. She still had to get used to NCR's standard-issue carbines, shoddy as most of them were.

At least the one she picked had been well-maintained and fine-tuned by skilled gunsmiths. Weapon nut as she was, she could not be picky when the best that was offered was considered the worst by Remnant standards.

"Is everyone done with their, y'know...?"

"Yang and Pyrrha are coming back up from the water run. Ren and Nora have gotten some extra explosives. Weiss and Jaune had already dropped the raiders off at the sky-diving office down at the intersection. An NCR patrol should have picked them up by now." Blake rested her palm on her shoulder. "Come on, Ruby. We should head back to the saloon."

"Yeah. Let's."

Ruby threw a final glance at the taunting poetic epitaph chiseled on the wooden cross before departing the Goodsprings cemetery:

'Here lied Old Green Eyes risen from the dead

Pity the bastard done shot him in the head'

NOTE (April 14, 2018): College is kicking me in the 'nads. I feel this chapter isn't much but I made sure to move it along. A bit of character development or something close to it, I guess.

-~oOo~-

(April 14, 2018)

Review dude: It's cool. I can understand that. Sometimes you need a break (Lord knows I need one) and that's healthy.

Well, there's a reason why the NCR is not always a welcome presence in the Mojave. I haven't played the game in years but I clearly remember one of the NPCs from Northern Vegas talking about how they don't need the Republic. You could feel the venom dripping from his voice when he said [non-verbatim], "We don't need some damn Republic."

The Republic has its moments. They have as many altruists as they have troublemakers. And the direction of their humanitarian efforts in New Vegas seem justified. After all, Pacer's faction in the Kings did initiate the open violence (but the hostility was always present) and apparently the NCR humanitarians have had enough of turning the other cheek.

Six gets mad at petty things. He gets even for the really serious matters. ;)

Again, thanks for your thoughts on the Velvet chapter. I really didn't think it would be that suspenseful. Alas, I realised that I posted it on April Fools' Day until the following day. I really am frazzled out of my mind. :P

-~oOo~-

Maybe I missed something or something didn't add up, let me know. Hope you guys like it and share your thoughts on it.

Omake.

"At least let me buy you a drink."

Weiss eyed him. That dirty brimmed hat favored among the rural locals hung off the back of his head from the cord around his neck. His blond hair was damp with sweat from the Mojave heat. And while his training with Pyrrha showed proudly from his rolled up sleeves, he was still leagues away from her standards...even though she lowered them (for his sake).

"Come on, Weiss. There's nothing to this. I'll just cover our tabs. That's it."

There was no harm in it, she thought. "Fine."

Jaune beamed in relief. He held up two fingers to Trudy, the owner and bartender of the Goodsprings saloon, who poured them each a glass of sweetened cacti juice. He slid the heiress her drink while he raised his own. "A toast?"

"Really, Jaune?"

He sighed. "Weiss, I know I haven't been stellar so consider this a fresh start. A toast to a job well done. As friends. Please."

She raised her brow at him. They were friends, after all. She treated him as a friend. An annoying pest of a 'friend' but a friend nonetheless.

"I mean, it's been a rough day but, hey! We're all still alive."

She regarded him for a bit. And felt a little angry at herself. He wasn't flirting. He wasn't even trying to flirt. Not anymore. But covering her tab? No. It was just a friendly gesture. A warm, caring gesture. And the small talk? Clearly no underlying tone. Just harmless small talk. He didn't even call her 'Ice Queen', 'Snow Angel' or any of those stupid sobriquets.

Weiss mentally scolded herself for being so ungrateful and tapped her glass with his. "It has been a troublesome day."

"I know, right?" he replied with a wide grin before taking a large gulp. "Could've been worse. I mean, it was like they ran out of bullets and just started chucking dynamite at us."

"That was exactly what they did, Jaune."

"Heh, yeah, but we did what we had to in the best way we could and we came out alive and on top."

Weiss let her lips curve a little. She was proud of what they had accomplished here in Goodsprings. Clearing the distant groundwater wells of coyotes and geckos, helping fix up some broken machinery needed to keep the small garden patch farms alive, and successfully defending the town from a mob of raiders constituted a day well spent. No serious harm on their side (the raiders would need a lot of medical attention, though).

"Your stance was a little off and your aim was horrible," she sniped.

"Hey, I'm learning," he replied with a cheeky smile.

Before he knew it, he threw a light jab on her shoulder. Like friends often did. And she clearly liked it.

"Don't jinx our luck," Weiss answered with a quiet chuckle.

"Aww, ain't that the sweetest, most wholesome thing I've seen in a long while," Trudy teased. "Most siblings usually beat each other senseless a few drinks in but you two must like to rib each other from time to time. Not that I mind you all acting like you don't know each other much but I've seen weirder families. Your dad won't show it but, if you ask me, I think he'd enjoy how close y'all are with each other. Goodness knows that man's been through hell and back that he needs something wholesome to remind him good people still exist."

Jaune choked on his drink while Weiss nearly spat out hers. Of course. Their cover. His hand went up to scratch the back of his head while the heiress hid her face behind her ponytail. They glanced across the table but snapped away with awkward, if not nervous, chuckles.

"Yeah, heh. We're pretty close," the blond Huntsman-in-training sheepishly noted.

ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: April 7, 2018

LAST EDITED: July 7, 2023

INITIALLY UPLOADED: April 14, 2018