Among their peers, Weiss and Pyrrha were known to be the early birds. The former woke up early because it was improper for an heiress to still be in bed after the sun began cresting over the horizon. The latter woke up early as part of her morning exercise routine. Hence, in this case, the two of them stretched out of their sleeping bags at an hour before sunrise purely out of habit.
And they were the first to smell the turpentine.
Weiss checked to see her teammates still asleep. As did Pyrrha who carefully tiptoed over Jaune, Ren, Nora, and Syrup to the doorway. Even the Misfits who were supposed to be up at this time were still loudly snoring from their bunks in their own trailer. So with their hands on their weapons, the two teens walked outside to find the skinned hides of many a mountain gecko stretched over makeshift racks or hammered over the soil around the fire pit where the Courier was having a mug of steaming coffee to himself. He waved at them.
"Mornin', kids."
The girls relaxed, both noting the heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes and the cracks in his voice.
"Good morning, Six," Pyrrha returned.
"Good morning," Weiss mimicked. "What is all this?"
"Gecko skins," he answered over a yawn. "Fire geckos. Big ones. Lot o' em up in the hills."
"Is that what you were doing last night? Hunting geckos?"
"Hides are good money. Properly cured hides make even more money."
"Why did you even go out there hunting last night?" the heiress started. "Shouldn't you have been, I don't know, standing guard? Keeping watch? Overwatch?"
The Courier groaned. "Geckos were runnin' 'round up there. Sniffin' y'all out in your sleepin' bags. Made sure they wouldn't be a problem anymore."
"Prevention over protection?" the champion remarked.
He gave her a tired smirk. "I like how you think, Sparta."
Weiss pinched the bridge of her nose. "Look, Six. While we do appreciate your initiative, we're concerned that you're doing too much."
"This ain't too much, Snowball."
"Really? We can handle ourselves, you know. Gods, why are you pushing yourself so hard? When was the last time you had any decent sleep? Have you even had any breakfast?"
Six raised his mug. "Seven minute power nap and coffee with gecko steak. I'm good."
"Are you really?" Pyrrha pressed. "It appears that you worked yourself hard the previous night."
"Told you. Geckos were sniffin' you out."
"Yes, but what about these?" The heiress gestured at the skins. "These look like it took more effort than it did to put down a rabid animal."
He shrugged. "Figured I'd keep the money flowin' since y'all are, well... You won't get paid yet 'til you report in to the NCR."
She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "Six, please. We can scrape a living on our own. You don't have to do this...all the time."
Vickers emptied the last of his coffee before standing up to collect the hides. "Old habits die hard."
"It's not that we're implying that this is a bad habit," the champion said diplomatically. "We're only concerned that you haven't been resting much. We've noted that you've been overexerting yourself—"
"I know, I know," he waved away. "Heard it all before. As I said; old habits die hard. Couldn't let all this good game go to waste. It'll attract even more predators, mind you. And there a lot of them up in the hills and they got bright orange wings."
"You need to rest," Weiss insisted with her hands on her hips.
"And you," he countered with a pointed finger. "You kids need to learn how to properly hunt. Y'all are Huntsmen and Huntresses but none of you can skin a damn coyote to save your life. Well, that's going to change soon enough."
The girls raised their brows.
"How soon?" Pyrrha prodded.
Six rolled the skins into tied bundles. "We're going hunting today."
"You're kidding," Weiss sputtered. "We should be heading back to the Strip, shouldn't we? Also, you need to sleep. Just look at yourself! Your body is clearly—"
"I'm fine, goddamn it," he hissed. "Besides, Jimmy can wait. Now tie up these skins so we can get moving after breakfast. No further questions about me. It's too damn early for that shit."
"More like you're too cranky to answer any of them," mumbled the heiress as she reluctantly began unlacing, rolling, bundling, and segregating the hastily cured gecko hides with Pyrrha.
A few hours later—after the Misfits lethargically did roll call and mustered out on patrol in their jeep and after the Vegas Wonder Kids had their precious hygienic baths at the only pond in this damn waterless canyon—the Courier had led the two teams to one of the few secluded backdoors out of the commune. A tight path snaked out into the Red Rock wilderness between a crevasse that looked as though it had been carved into the cliffs by God's hatchet.
"Alright, listen up, kids," he barked. "We're going on a little detour. I know you're all broke right now—"
Knight-boy cleared his throat. "Not really—"
Six ignored him. "—and I don't want to keep shilling out for all your shit so pay attention 'cause you'll be earning keep the old-fashioned way. There ain't no textbooks for this so if you can write this down, do it. Hell, whip out your scrolls too; whatever puts this on record. There ain't going to be any more chances like this. Any questions?"
The teens glanced at each other as Jaune repeatedly kept raising his hand.
"Good," the Courier concluded. "Now do what I say when I say it. No objections."
Ruby gulped, Yang fidgeted, Weiss harrumphed, Blake frowned, Jaune sighed, Pyrrha patted him on the shoulder with a smile, Nora whistled excitedly, and Ren nodded readily to the idea of hunting. Velvet, on the other hand, fed the last chunks of salted gecko meat to Syrup before trudging over with her trail carbine sitting in her arms.
"Where are we going exactly?" asked the rabbit faunus.
"A few money-making spots."
"How do they make anyone any money?"
"That's what you're going to find out," Six remarked. "I'm going to show you how to be proper hunters out here in the Wasteland."
"Most predators rely on speed. A fast critter may not outright kill you on the spot but it will sting you to death 'fore you can outrun it. So you cripple 'em first chance you get. Do that and you won't have to worry about runnin' 'til your legs fall off."
While Pyrrha was designated the best sharpshooter in their group—even better than a lot of NCR frontline troops if the Misfits were to be believed—she was absolutely stunned by the deadliness borne from the combination of Six's impeccable accuracy and rapid rate of fire. Something about the way he engaged those disgusting cazadores was, as Blake had described it, 'inhuman.'
The champion described him as mechanical.
Almost a dozen loud bursts echoed off the rocks surrounding the gullet they were in. Five and six high-caliber bullets from two power-packing handguns tore the wings off three adult cazadores. The rest of the hive buzzed out of their nests with their stingers zeroed in on the Courier as he holstered his empty pistols and pulled out a third.
That was when both teams leapt into action, adjusting their aim at the bright orange wings. The first volley didn't exactly hit the mark but the concentrated firepower stopped the creatures in their tracks. Semblances took on from there. Six took five steps back, letting the kids do their part with intense vigor, then swung around gullet to finish off the stragglers with a few well-placed shots from his back-up three-fifty-seven revolver.
By the time the dust settled, Pyrrha was pridefully beaming alongside her friends at their accomplishment. An entire cazador colony had been exterminated without much of a hitch. She almost thought that the fight was going to be a challenge but Six echoed the same principles that her trainers had often emphasized during her tournament bouts: if speed was key, then take it away from the enemy.
She congratulated her teammates and joined in the merriment until she heard the sound of blade tearing into flesh.
Apparently, Six had whipped out his machete and began cutting open the cazadores and extracting their eggs. Characteristically, he did not have the patience to bear the any of their protests. He even ignored their subsequent complaints after he forced them to literally comb the hives up on the rocks for more cazador eggs.
Seeing the heaps of pulsating larvae—and manhandling them with her bare hands because the gloves were too worn out to be of use—almost made Pyrrha empty her stomach into a pit. Or onto Jaune who had been carrying her on his shoulders so she could reach up to one of the hives perched overhead. At least she was doing better than the others.
From what she had been hearing behind her, the Courier had gotten team RWBY to stop stalling and screaming. As curious as she was though, she resisted chancing a glance to see how he did it. Especially not with an open oothecae dangling over her head. At least, in the corner of her vision, she could see that Ren and Velvet had Nora on a tight leash, the former having confiscated all the explosives on her person.
"You got the eggs?" Jaune asked.
Pyrrha nodded hastily, depositing the pulsating sacs into their field pack before sliding off his shoulders. Good thing they moved away from that spot immediately because the cracked hive collapsed onto the ground, spilling a sea of giant maggots all over the ground which Syrup, the hungry infant deathclaw, was eager to lap up.
"We're not going to do this again, are we?" her partner wondered. "I mean, we've got enough...eggs, right?"
"Put your backs into it!" Six hollered not too far away. "This ain't going to cover our expenses so keep digging!"
The J and P of team JNPR felt really bad for team RWBY who were now holding back tears of disgust while sorting through a pool of spilled larvae. Whoever was buying these things must have offered the Courier a pretty penny to have to go this far.
"Big game rakes in big profit. Butchers like the meat, tanners take the hides, and eggheads usually go for the rest. So it pays not to damage the animal too much. Buyers don't like holes on their fancy new rugs."
No matter how hard Ruby, Weiss, Blake, Yang, or any of them tried, none of them could really get used to the visceral sounds or the sight of skin being carefully and meticulously peeled off a freshly slaughtered cadaver. It did not help that said cadavers were these massive mutated mountain geckos the size of adult human beings.
Courier Six, knowing how uncomfortable the kids were and having already given up giving a shit about their aversion, scooped up the bloody mess of gecko hides, gecko eggs, and gecko body parts. "Line up, kids. Let's distribute the weight."
"You're kidding, right?" Nora said.
"Ugh, the smell," groused Jaune.
"Suck it up," Six snorted. "Hyper, come here."
Ruby shuffled over and received her share of the spoils. It took a lot for her not to gag and she was sure even her teammates were holding in their breakfast. Yang held her nose while Blake stomached the smell. Weiss hid her discomfort but that was because she had purchased a gas mask from a settler at Red Rock Canyon and refused to take it off since encountering the first festering cadaver out in here in the wilds.
"At least the Grimm vanish after being killed," groused Velvet.
"Cottontail," the Courier called. "Your share."
The rabbit faunus reluctantly received her portion of the spoils, including a glass jar crammed with eyeballs, teeth, and selected gizzards.
"Ugh, who buys these?"
"I'm guessing the Followers of the Apocalypse," mused Weiss. "They have an entire research department devoted to the study of alternative medicine and the sort."
"Collectors, too," added the blonde brawler. "Remember that pawn shop in Westside?"
Her partner shuddered. "Don't remind me."
"What's so weird about dicks in jars?" Nora quipped.
Jaune and Ren instinctively shielded their crotches.
"There's a lot of really weird people out there in the world, huh," Ruby chimed in uneasily, the weight of her pack sagging with the added bundle of bloodied organic material. "I mean...this is how people here make a living, right?"
"Now you're catching on," Six intoned. "Study the market. See what sells. Quarry is the usual bread and butter around here but trinkets can also get you gold, especially if you've got a good eye for the rare finds."
"You got rich off of scavenging?" Yang asked.
"Let's just say I found some very peculiar buyers who were interested in some very specific things," Six replied tersely. He then shouldered his own pack and started walking back towards the mountain trail before the kids could ask him any more questions.
"It's easy to get lost out here so mark the roads you're walking. Keep a good eye on your surroundings. If you're traveling as a group, don't stray from the group. Stay with the group at all costs and don't get distracted chasing some shiny little gecko."
They would have stayed on track had not Syrup been so agitated by the geckos scurrying up and down the mountaintops. Even Nora was having trouble keeping a leash on that little shit.
Said leash then snapped and the infant deathclaw went charging after its prey. Naturally, its owner gave chase. And her partner gave chase after her. Which forced Jaune and Pyrrha to go after them. Team RWBY-V did not have to ask permission to follow team JNPR-S because the Courier was moving in the same direction, leaving a string of curses in his wake.
They did manage to catch up to Syrup and get it under control.
But by then, they had torn through a whole lot of wildlife ranging from normal coyotes to giant coyotes to fire-breathing mountain geckos to oversized preying mantises and even to deformed carnivorous mammoth rabbits that Velvet, in particular, had a hard time putting down. The whole affair was tiring and the Courier had to redistribute the ammunition to make up for the ones that were used up so frivolously.
That was when Yang, after gazing around, posited the question, "Uh, Six? Are we on the right track?"
Six checked his Pip-boy map and swore. So much for a brief detour.
"Good news or bad news?" Blake asked.
"Good news is we're not lost," he grunted. "Bad news is we're going to be out here for a little longer."
Ruby looked around. Interestingly, there were more shrubbery than rocks all around. Some of the stones even had moss on them. "Well, we can't be that far from the nearest town, right?"
The look Six gave her discouraged any more inquiries.
"Don't get too excited when you see something you haven't seen in a long time. It can be very overwhelming and sometimes, it disarms you. But remember that just because it looks pretty doesn't mean it's safe. So keep your wits about you and, again, don't stray from the group."
From afar, Mount Charleston appeared to be the other jewel in the wastes that contrasted the flashing lights and casino-hotels of New Vegas. Stretching over rugged terrain was an expanse of unadulterated trees teeming with wildlife unlike most that prowled the desert. Catching sight of it alone from almost a mile away was enough to fill the kids with enough euphoria to give the Courier another headache. Not that he really minded at this point.
Seeing them this happy, even at his expense, was not always a bad thing.
Of course, that pride at witnessing their joy lasted until Hyper and Blondie starting literally jumping up and down and pointing excitedly at the towers and cables running down the slope of the snowcapped peaks. Immediately, guesses were thrown around as to what could be there that needed those installments. Six dreaded having to divulge the not-so-secret sanctuary that he had labored (bribed) to keep protected from (ignored by) pesky NCR bigots.
And, of course, Kit had to be a smart-ass about it. "I've heard about that place. A safe haven for...uh, special victims."
"What do you mean by that?" Sparta asked.
"Jacobstown," Snowball answered, herself as much informed as that damn cat-girl bookworm. "I've seen it on a lot of maps. It's apparently a sanctuary for super-mutants. Including the not-so-friendly ones, I'd venture. Strangely, the NCR knows nothing else about it beyond that...even after spending men and resources scouting this whole area for years."
"Huh, that's weird," Yang remarked, throwing a not-so-subtle gesture at Six. "Why's that, I wonder?"
"I ain't takin' you there, if that's what you're thinking," Six grunted.
"Why not?" poked Nora. "I mean, not every super-mutant's a bad guy. They're just misunderstood, right?"
"Misunderstood is mildly putting it," Ren said.
"You mean mistreated?" quipped Velvet. "I mean, you've heard the stories, right? They seem to have it worse than the ghouls."
"Poor Mean-son-of-a-bitch," mumbled Jaune with a shake of his head. "They didn't have to do him like that."
"Come on, Six," Ruby begged. "We're friendly enough! We helped out in Westside, remember? There's a super-mutant there and—"
"I know about him," the Courier growled. He brushed past the kids, nudging them to face the other way. Specifically away from the direction of Jacobstown. "Just 'cause you made friends with one doesn't mean you're friends with the others."
Blake tapped him on the shoulder. "Uh, Six? I'm all for respecting boundaries but, well..."
She gestured to their field packs laden with skins and selected mutant viscera. Even Jaune and Ren who often ended up as the pack mules were sweating out their water intake from having to haul around their accumulated loot.
"We need a place to offload," Snowball deadpanned.
To this, Six scowled. "No."
"You're not seriously forsaking any traders they might have there."
"No traders in Jacobstown. You want to offload? Hope we meet some caravaneers on the road back to Westside."
"That's three times as far from where we are right now! How do you know that there are no traders in Jacobstown?"
"Yeah, Six," Ruby added. "Is the place abandoned?"
Sensing an impending barrage of questions, and intent on avoiding the subsequent headache, Six answered quickly. "Jacobstown's a super-mutant stronghold built around a pre-war ski resort that survived the apocalypse largely intact and a place that we are not going to visit."
"Ski resort!?"
"Intact!?"
"What do you mean we're 'not going to visit!?'"
The Courier whacked Hyper, Blondie, and Pancake in the back of their heads. "We ain't goin' there and that's final!"
He then proceeded to physically drag the rest of the kids along the mountain trail, either ignoring or shouting down their pleas to stop by at Jacobstown. He even threatened to shoot their legs off should any of them make a break for the place, Aura be damned. And while getting shot at was nothing new to these Huntsmen- and Huntresses-in-training, they knew that being shot at by Courier Six was not something they preferred to experience...especially since they were well aware that his bullets were specially hand-crafted to punch through the toughest of hides with the purpose of either eviscerating tissue or tearing the limb off entirely.
In essence, he chambered Aura-breaking ammo was not above shooting them with it to get them to fall in line.
So for the time being, they did. Which Six found greatly relieving. Goodness knows what fresh hell he would have gotten to deal with should any of his kids encounter those finicky super-mutants living there.
"Some creatures are docile. Leave them alone. Even the lone calf separated from the herd. A mother's instinct knows no bounds and unless you can handle a dozen ornery bulls, you're better off leaving the damn thing alone."
The lush pine forests of the Mount Charleston Nature Reserve were a massive respite in the Mojave Wasteland. Though there was little in the way of water, the assurance of underground streams, and the presence of small ponds forming out of melting snow trickling from the mountaintops excited the kids so much that they were in greater spirits than Six had ever seen them before.
Other than the times they were screwing around in Freeside or at the Strip, of course. But unlike those places, the Courier would not have to worry about property damage.
A part of him wondered how they would behave if ever they saw Zion Canyon.
He dismissed the thought. Probably best not to dwell on things that would never happen. Besides, what were the chances that any of these annoying teens would wind up there anyway? A wild goose chase? Some convoluted series of events? Hell, a freaking magic portal? Then again, that probably was not out of the question...
Right now, he was staving off another headache. While at the same time staving off an aggravated bighorner bull that Ruby, in her joyous frolicking and foraging, had inadvertently gotten a little too close to.
"Hyper," he hissed while crouched behind some shrubbery, "stay still."
The reaper did to the best that she could. Being stared down by a massive bull with massive horns and massive jagged teeth was no similar to being stared down by a fierce Grimm. Ruby knew this but she was not invincible and she still had jitters. Her hands were fully occupied by the bundle of fruits she had collected so that left her the option of speeding out of there.
But that would mean losing everything she had painstakingly gathered for the past couple hours.
"Shhh," Six echoed, his voice a little closer. "Easy now, big boy. Easy..."
Ruby turned her head slowly and saw the Courier inching over. The bighorner growled and scraped its hooves against the dirt.
"Easy, easy... Ain't here to hurt you, big boy."
The reaper tried to move but his heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder, rooting her in place. Then the other reached for a head of banana yucca from her pile.
"You like this, don't you, big boy?" Six cooed, waving the fruit in front of the bighorner.
Surely, the creature eased, tracing the fruit with its head, sniffing out, almost as if reaching out for it.
"Yeah, that's it. You like this stuff, don't you. Easy now. Here you go..."
Ruby's eyes widened in curiosity. The animal took the gift and turned away to feast on it.
"Alright," Six said. He then guided her stiffly out of the area towards where most of her friends were foraging.
"Uh, Six?"
"What?"
"I, um...you sounded different back there."
A sigh. "Sometimes, you gotta play the softie to get out of dodge."
"Yeah, but..."
"But what?"
She stuttered. "You're...you don't really do that. Um, you never do that. You're never like that when we're, uh, you're, um...y'know, uh... You always shoot first."
Silence. Boots crunching on gravel.
"S-sorry."
"Bighorners are peaceful creatures," he intoned warmly. "They're probably one of the only beautiful things that nature crapped out after the apocalypse. And you don't always have to shoot the beautiful things in life."
"Oh." Ruby picked out another head of banana yucca from the bundle in her arms. "So bighorners like this stuff, huh."
Six hummed in agreement, recalling some memories of that riverine Utah paradise where bighorners roamed freely with pure-hearted tribals. He then noticed a moment later that Ruby was beaming at him silly and that was because he himself was smiling silly. He quickly hardened his face into a glower before turning away.
"Don't get lost like that again, alright?"
"I won't."
"Good," he answered softly as his hand unconsciously slipped off her shoulder down to take her by the hand as much as a concerned adult would guide a missing child to safety.
"It takes a lot of patience to track your prey. Sometimes it takes hours, sometimes even a day. But all that won't matter if your pixie smell gets carried by the wind over to the damn animal and it spooks it enough that it gets away from you. So stop smelling like a goddamn pixie when you're going out hunting, for fuck's sake."
Weiss clicked her tongue in frustration.
For the third time, the geckos she had been following had caught onto her and vanished into the wilds before she could even pounce. She did her best not to be seen, she moved as gracefully as she could, and she even set up crude but effective traps along the path she thought they would be moving across. Yet somehow, the creatures had detected her and fled.
"I just don't understand," she mused upon her return to her team.
Her teammates merely shrugged while Six shook his head in his own frustration.
"Seriously, stop smelling like a pixie. Not only did you scare off the good ones, you also attracted the bad ones!"
Weiss pridefully breathed in the pine-scented air...mixed with the pungent fragrance she had gotten from the scented California-brand soap she bought and had been using every time she had a chance to bathe, or much less, clean up.
After cleaving in half a bunch of giant mantises that had crawled out of the woodwork, the heiress flaunted how she managed to stay refreshingly fragrant despite the filth, even pointing out that everyone else was starting to emit a rather distasteful odor despite trekking through mutant-infested woodland for hours. Her friends and teammates responded with pointedly sarcastic praise for her immaculate scent.
Except for the Courier.
He was pissed. The man had expended more ammunition than he needed to, carved up one of the few traversable hiking trails around, and drove off almost every other big game in a ten mile radius. To top it all off, his headache was already being compounded by the pungent scent of Snowball's goddamn 'Nevada extract.'
And so he scooped up some dirt off the ground, mixed in some bighorner manure, and began rubbing it all over her.
"SIX!" Weiss shrieked. "WHAT IN THE GODS ARE YOU DOING!?"
"I'm masking your scent," he hissed, using his strength to keep her still so he could keep smearing shit across her clothes. He even had to wring her wrists roughly to keep her from throwing him off with one of her glyphs.
"You're rubbing filth all over me, you brute!"
"You're attracting all the predators, you damn pixie!"
"But Nevada extract—"
"Will get you eaten!" the Courier snarled. "Goddamn it, Snowball! Out here, it's better to be covered in shit than to smell like a walking buffet fresh out of the oven."
Yang snickered. Then devolved into outright laughter. Followed by Ruby and everyone else.
"Six's got a point, Ice Queen," wheezed the brawler. "You gotta be one with nature if you want to survive out here. Am I right, Six?"
He nodded, leaving Weiss writhing in horror and trembling at the tear-jerking odor of natural waste that now coated her from head to toe. Not even her iconic white hair was spared.
"S-sorry, Weiss," apologized Ruby between her fits.
"It's not too bad," Blake snickered.
"Yeah, it ain't," the Courier grunted, scooping up even more piles of dirt and manure. It was not that hard to pick out the dung heaps in the underbrush since most bighorners and their mutated herbivore cousins cared less where they shat. "Now line up! Y'all still smell like damn pixies."
The laughing stopped. Followed immediately by incredulous stares. Shortly thereafter, the bargaining began. Because if any of them tried to run, they would expect an Aura-breaking bullet to their legs. And even Nora was wary of that because Six barely missed.
The man was having none of their crap though and, with handfuls of crap, paced towards his first target: Ruby.
Hyper, being Hyper, decided to risk the bullet and triggered her Semblance. And she could have gotten far enough away had it not been for the glyphs that suddenly appeared in front of her, blocking her escape, bouncing her back, and immediately caging her between some trees so the Courier could effectively mask her scent.
"Weiss! Bestie!" Ruby cried out. "How could you!?"
Weiss, angry tears running down her shit-stained cheeks, grit her teeth in reply. "If I have to suffer through this, then so you should you, 'bestie.'"
"Wait! Six!" Yang bartered desperately, knowing better than to punch her point across when it came to the Courier. "Y-you know you have to do this to yourself, too, right?"
"Why the hell do you think I keep a gas mask on most of the time?" he retorted as his dirty, smelly, unwashed, hideously-stained, bullet-ridden, and frankly shit-stained duster rippled in the Nevada wind.
"Oh, for fuck's sake... Don't shoot the super-mutants, kids—hey, don't approach them! Don't—what did I say!? Hey! Hyper, what are you— Hyper, stay back! That's an armored car with an automatic grenade launcher! Hyper! … What the hell? Are you seriously...? … Oh goddamn it. Shit. Hyper, get back here! Let me handle this. God-fucking-damn it."
As far as the Courier could tell, Jacobstown was not what the kids imagined it to be but it was definitely up there on the list of the best places in the Mojave.
Snowcapped forested slopes surrounded this pristine ski-resort fortified with a solid wooden palisade and a handful of guard towers cobbled together from the surrounding felled pine timbre and assorted metal scrap. The more intelligent variety of its denizens served as the protective militia of the entire 'town' if one were to call it that. To someone who read a lot of Old World books, the Jacobstown looked a lot more like a motte-and-bailey fort than a town.
Still, the resort was vast enough to accommodate the budding population of super-mutants gathering from miles around. And while the estate itself had vacant rooms for newcomers and lodgers, a lot of the residents—out of their damaged psyches or self-imposed social distancing—opted to stay in the smaller cottages dotting the north-western district.
Six walked alongside Marcus, the most intelligent and levelheaded brute in the whole known Wasteland and the only one around capable of leading this psychologically broken horde. The two teams followed after them, stretching their limbs and savoring the fresh air after a cramped ride in the two armored vehicles that had picked them up, shit-stained and all, from the side of the road. No doubt, they were awestruck and wary but nonetheless grateful that they were finally detouring to a place with comfortable beds, good food, and clean water. Snow, too.
Cold, soothing, numbing snow.
"You have quite the litter," Marcus remarked.
"Tell me something I haven't heard before," Vickers grunted, balancing his watchful eyes between the kids and the super-mutants eyeing them, some of whom sported a sort of crispier shade of green which was, based on his experience, entirely unusual here in Nevada.
"How long have you been out in the wilds? You look like you've crawled through a mud pile for hours, if you don't mind me saying."
"Eh, you know how it is. Got to mask the scent if you want to stave off predators."
"True, true. You know, to be honest, I was not expecting a visit so soon."
"Well, I wasn't planning on it but these brats ran into your folks and just couldn't help themselves."
A wince. "I hope my people were not a bother."
A snort. "It wasn't your people, it was mine. Hyper over there straight up couldn't stop wagging her tongue asking all sorts of questions about your kind. I'm surprised your guys didn't straight up pummel her for getting into their personal space."
"Yes, I've heard of their quirks. A fast runner, that girl. Ruby, was it?"
"Ruby Rose. Fifteen or sixteen, I don't remember. Can move really fast. Faster than me. Also has a sweet tooth so keep her away from anything sugary unless you want to get an earful."
The two paused on the portico to the Jacobstown lodge. From there, they could see the flurry of activity that revolved around the Vegas Wonder Kids striding across the trimmed lawn. Both teams were indulging with some of the more curious denizens though the rest kept their distance because of the smell. Judging by the tone of the conversation, however, violence was least expected.
Marcus was impressed that Six had brought amicable company compared to most humans (and the occasional ghoul) who visited their haven.
"Pardon me," he remarked. "But are those...cat ears I see? In fact, does that girl over there have rabbit ears as well?"
Six sighed. "You're definitely not seeing things and I'd appreciate it if we end the inquiries there."
"Duly noted."
The Courier made eye contact with Blake who failed to hide a small smile after exchanging compliments with a third-generation super-mutant.
A third-generation super-mutant.
Nightkin.
The type who were violently schizophrenic due to their extensive usage of experimental United States Military stealth technology. Also the type who were either easily negotiable, easily irritable, and sometimes easily fooled.
This half-girl, half-cat 'equal rights' activist managed to have a deep and personal conversation about family with a psychotic mutant gorilla sporting a sharpened big rig bumper for a sword and possessing the mentality of a child soldier.
Six felt a little outdone. The last time he got that deep in conversation with a nightkin was after he had survived an intense battle with Lily Bowen at his side. That old lady of a super-mutant literally babied him for hours afterwards. Christ Almighty, that was a very uncomfortable time.
Though, it did allow him to breach the wall of insanity to get to the human being inside. Or what was left of it. Good thing Doctor Henry finally got that breakthrough he needed to knock some of that crazy out of these crazies. At the last minute too. The Courier could remember that stare-down he had with Marcus's rival Keene over the whole thing.
Come to think of it, what was that crazy up to?
"Keene?" Marcus hummed. "He's become more docile as of late. Not that he has been since his third phase of his treatment but it's a relief not having to spend an hour every morning arguing with him."
"That's good to know. He still around?"
"Oh, yes. In fact, he's taken up a few hobbies to ease his mind."
"Hobbies, huh. He skinning geckoes now?"
"No. He's knitting."
Vickers did a double take. "Excuse me? Did you just say...knitting?"
"Yes. Keene's actually sown together a lot of the old blankets and quilts here. Boosted morale now that we could keep warm at night."
"Knitting. Right."
"Hard to believe, I know. But big fingers, when diverted elsewhere, are gentle and caring."
Six had to blink several times to deliver context to that statement. "... So Keene's a tailor now."
"Technically. He's had help from Lily, of course."
"Lily's still around?"
"Yes. We've rotated her out of shepherding the herd to maintaining our facilities. You know, preparing food, cleaning up, replacing displaced furniture."
"You mean housekeeping."
Marcus nodded. "Yes, housekeeping."
The Courier huffed in surprise. When the kids finally made it up to the portico, he went through a rundown of the list of do's and don'ts. The constant glares he followed up with were for insurance though Marcus thought they were unnecessary. Then again, did that super-mutant even have kids?
Six didn't know and would rather not ask.
"One more thing," Marcus interjected before opening the doors. "Don't make eye-contact with any of the super-mutants in here unless they approach you. Especially the third-gens."
"Aren't they the same as the ones out here?" Yang asked.
"No," Six deadpanned. "So behave."
"Aye-aye, Cap'n!"
"You got it, Six."
"We'll be on our best behavior."
With that out of the way, the leader of Jacobstown led them all inside. And already, Six could feel a headache coming.
Because the first person to greet them was none other than the irritable and very unsociable third-generation super-mutant Keene. Except, Keene was looking far different than he was before. He was still the hulking, blue-skinned brute that could easily crack open a man's head with his bare hands. Though, that visage of intimidation was somewhat counterbalanced by the ripped up outfit that looked like an attempt at a maid costume complete with mobcap, apron, and a tutu knitted out of tanned leather strips and old blankets.
"Jesus-fucking-Christ," was all the Courier could say as he buried his head in his palm.
"Humans!" Keene spat, shielding his face with the feather duster he was cleaning a table with. "Don't look at me!"
"With that get up, how can we not—"
Jaune and Ren by now had established a routine of pouncing on Nora to shut her up. On the other hand, Yang—whose puffed up face made red with laughter so suppressed it was leaking from a dam about to burst—was about to make a quip before being forcefully contained by Blake, Weiss, and even Pyrrha.
Unfortunately, that did not stop neither Ruby nor Velvet from inadvertently staring for far too long at the super-mutant in the makeshift maid outfit.
Thankfully, Keene only growled something about filthy humans dirtying the carpets before stomping off.
"Um," Blake drawled. "Is it safe to ask?"
Marcus sighed. "One of our super-mutants here, Lily, insisted on the...attire. She said it was how people of the Old World would dress whenever they took up duties such as cleaning and the like."
"You mean housekeeping?" Weiss asked.
"Yes, housekeeping."
"I mean...they don't have to," Ruby remarked, struggling not to laugh.
"It's not required but some of the mutants have their own reasons. Each one is free to dress however they like so long as they don't offend or inspire harm. Others, like Lily, insist on keeping to the old traditions for the sake of their humanity. And sometimes, it works. Therapeutic, impressively."
"Tell me again," Six said slowly, fingers massaging the bridge of his nose. "Whose idea was this?"
"Lily. I know, I know. Even I had my reservations but Keene doesn't seem to mind."
"He did seem to mind."
"That was because there were too many eyes on him at once. Need I remind you that you are the largest group of humans to have visited Jacobstown and entered the lodge itself since the Second Battle of Hoover Dam."
"Can we just...where's Doc Henry? And do you have aspirin? Because I need ten. And another thirty for the road."
"Right this way," Marcus said, guiding them across the main hall, past the super-mutant with the blonde wig, heart-shaped glasses, and bright red lipstick manning reception.
"Good afternoon, Master Marcus!" greeted the robotic assistant hovering next to her. "Good afternoon, dear guests! Good afternoon, Major Vickers! Welcome to the Jacobstown lodge."
"Good afternoon, Rhonda, Tabitha," Marcus returned.
"Too many humans," growled Tabitha who scrunched her nose in disgust. "Ugh, filthy and smelly."
"Now, now, Mistress Tabitha," Rhonda reasoned. "Let us not be rude. They are our guests and have not caused any breach of security or broken any existing rules yet."
Another guttural growl. "Fine. Just too many of them. All staring. Stop that."
Ruby whipped her head away and whispered nervously to her partner. "This is normal for this place, right?"
"Be quiet, you dolt," Weiss hissed anxiously.
Raul noticed that the crow that had been circling over his shack for the past thirty minutes was, more than anything else, interested in the bottle of tequila he left on the hood of the dilapidated Chryslus outside. And since he was not in the mood to spend the last couple hours of daylight scouring for geckos, he went outside and poured a small portion of the alcoholic drink onto a bowl.
He set that bowl on the hood then went back inside, shutting the door behind him. What he lacked for windows, he made up for in peepholes and strategically placed gun ports that allowed him to take out threats before they could make it to his outer fence. And it was through one of these eyelets that he kept an eye on his trap, waiting for the bird to perch itself on the hood and start dipping its beak into the bowl.
With the revolver of his barrel trailed through another craftily disguised hole, he waited until the creature would start wobbling. Then he would take the shot and have a nice serving of plump corvid stew.
Any second now.
Any second...
Just a bit more.
Start wobbling, start losing control, start...
...looking at the shack?
Raul scrunched his non-existent eyebrows. It seemed as though the bird was looking directly at him. Those hypnotic red eyes were locked onto his, seeing through his peephole. Then they darted down. Towards the barrel of his gun poking out of port.
"Puta."
BANG!
He missed.
"Puta!"
To think he blew his chance at an easy meal, the crow once again perched itself on the hood of the car. Again, staring at him. Almost daring him. Mocking him.
Raul was not one to loose his temper so easily. In fact, for a ghoul who had lived for over two hundred years, he had attained a fine mastery over his emotions. Countless experiences had shaped him to be a man who could keep a cool head and a steady hand during the worst of times.
This was not one of those times.
Yet this was one of those rare times where he was very much offended and very much agitated. By a bird, no less!
Raul let off another shot.
BANG!
He missed again.
The bird flew off. And again, the bird returned. This time, it was tilting its head.
For some reason, the ghoul could picture a taunting smirk on that animal. So taunting that he felt obliged to blast its head off. Regaining control of himself, he switched to a different approach. A more direct approach. One that involved disregarding the concealment of his shack and boldly stepping out into the open with his revolver.
That was one brave bird, he had to admit. Also a weird one. Instead of flying away at his imposing form standing in the doorway, it hopped a little closer, almost teetering on the edge of the Chryslus, appearing somewhat curious instead of afraid as nature would have dictated for these avian creatures.
"Either today's just not my day or you're one lucky bird."
Caw, caw.
Today was a strange day because Raul nodded as he though understood bird-speak. Which he didn't, by the way.
Now, he was a good shot. An even better shot than the Courier sometimes. Suffice to say, they rivaled each other in marksmanship, speed, and gunplay. So when he missed the next three shots, he had proven that he was indeed still human and just as flawed as Six. After all, just because his aim was superb did not mean that he would never miss. But just because he missed did not mean he had bad eyesight.
To the point, the ghoul's vision was still sharp enough to trace the crow as it flew away, interestingly in the direction of Fort Mead.
ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: June 11, 2020
LAST EDITED: August 20, 2020
INITIALLY UPLOADED: August 11, 2020
NOTE: A bit of a long one. What started off as an attempt at a training/hunting montage turned into something...else, I guess? Anyway, the kids have discovered a new location and met new 'friends.'
Now, with regards to the speculation of who Six was referring to in the last chapter, I will respond with the CIA's favorite catchphrase: I will neither confirm nor deny...until the chapter pertaining to it comes out.