Chapter 3: The Consummation of Unaccounted Variables
Larain strode along the balcony of the El Rey. Across from him, he saw the lights of McCarren begin to shine, and even from here could make out the noises of the soldiers inside assembling, voices over loudspeakers barking orders even over the massed voices of the soldiers. He had seen Californian soldiers long ago, when he was barely a boy, and remembered the stories his father told him about the westernmost lands. It was a land of corruption, where greed would overcome moral scruples on the regular. With that in mind, he figured his father would not have been surprised to see the soldiers of the bear join forces with a city funded by vice and want.
Of course, that was before his old man went and got himself killed about two decades ago. Went west on business and never came back, along with a bunch of his old coworkers. His uncle, more or less, raised him after that, but as he grew older stopped seeing eye-to-eye with the old man, so he went off on his own as soon as he was able and joined a new family. He got along with them well enough, and loyalty was rewarded, so whenever they needed an extra pair of eyes on something that concerned them, Larain would offer little argument, pack lightly, and be on his way.
He watched as a small pack of those security robots strolled along the wall, a wild dog clearing off the road as they approached. He'd come across a handful of Judicial Marshals on his way up here, but he had given no cause to interfere with his business. Just a down on his luck drifter, coming back from an unsuccessful enterprise in the Unclaimed Wastes, looking for a quiet place to lick his wounds and gather his courage to attempt another.
"Who the hell are you?"
Keeping his poker face, Larain turned to see a young woman finish climbing the stairs. She dropped her backpack by the rails, stretching her back as she glanced at him, wearily. She wore wasteland leather, jacket and boots, along with the holster for a sawed-off that ran down her leg. A red bandana peeked occasionally under the thick strands of her dark, short hair. She was a few inches shorter than him, seemed a little younger. Also, cute enough, even though she tried going for a butch look, he could see her lean athletic figure.
"Are you deaf or stupid?" she asked.
Larain shook the cobwebs out of his ears. Part of his job involved striking up conversations, an aspect he never really looked forward to. Still, being amicable never killed most people.
"That how you say hello to everyone?" he asked as he resumed his position.
"Mostly just asshole trespassers," she replied, flatly.
He shot a derisive look at her. "People live in this shithole?"
"I live here," she shot back. "It's "my" shithole."
"You own this place?" Larain asked, skeptically.
The girl looked up at one of the room numbers. "Well, my favorite step-mom used to work out of here. I lived here every so often and whatnot while my old man was out."
"And what did your old stepmom do here? Ain't much more this place looks good for than being a chem den or a brothel," he snorted.
"Hey!" the girl snapped. "She got the placed fixed up real good. This place was downright habitable for a good six years til she left."
"So, she left you a broken-down motel," Larain sniffed.
"Nah, just a room. I come here when I want to crash or just get away from my old man. But, enough about me. Let me repeat, what the hell are you doing here?"
Larain thought for a second. "…I guess I'm looking for a place to hit the hay, as well. The Strip seems a tad too expensive for my tastes and means, but I hear the closer you get to the city, the less you have to worry about. Seemed like this place might be a fair compromise."
The girl nodded. "You seem to know your stuff, stranger. Did you pick a room, yet?"
Larain strode across to room 213. "Honestly, this one seems as good as any," he said as he threw the door open, only to narrowly avoid having his foot impaled by a tan stinger. He slammed the door behind him as the girl nearly doubled over, laughing.
"Yeah, laugh it up, chick," he groused as she braced herself on the railing.
"You move pretty quick, though, I'll give you that," she giggled.
"So, where's your room, then?" Larain asked. "And how much?"
The girl glanced up at him, eyes wide. "So forward."
Larain realized how that came out. "I meant just to sleep! You are renting, aren't you?"
The girl scratched her chin. "I don't know," she admitted. "What makes you worth inviting inside my private home?"
"Well, what do you want to know?" Larain asked.
"How about… we play the No Name Game," she suggested.
"Never heard of it," Larain admitted.
"It's simple, we just talk about ourselves, but we cannot give proper names to places, events, or people, including ourselves. For example, that…" she pointed to Vegas. "Is Brightland. This," she pointed to the motel, "is the Princess Pad. And my name is… Daisy," she smiled.
"…OK," Larain began to slowly understand. "Why, though?"
"Because I don't like getting too close to strangers right off the bat, no matter how interesting they might seem," Daisy shrugged. "I've been burned a few times, so I think this might make the situation easier for both of us."
"If you say so," Larain admitted. "So, do you want to go first, or me?"
The former runway had been cleared its previous debris, leaving behind a flattened tarmac with enough room to support the large gaggle of tents that had been consistently covering the ground inside the airport. Looking like a large nomadic village, Commissioner Natalie Hale watched over the assembled troops from the hanger as she listened to Gorobets interview just down the hall.
This Frost guy had shown his work. He had been familiar with the past operations of First Recon, and the majority of his interview revolved around clarifications and rebuttals to certain critics of the NCR's current military initiatives. She was dreading her own turn with the interviewer, to be honest. As the youngest founding member of the Judicial Marshals, she was expected to be the best representative possible for the folks back in California. A heavy enough burden had it not been for the simultaneous fact that she had been dubbed a traitor to California some twenty years back.
As an NCR Ranger who never earned her combat stripes, her first real mission under California would turn out to be her last. By being asked to escort Lars during his quick trip through California, she was eventually framed for the death of Ranger Chief Murdock. She was charged for murder and treason, and though the NCR had lifted the charges, it didn't make much sense for her to return back home with little waiting for her there. There was also the fact that she had met her eventual husband in Vegas, and she had learned to fall in love with the town and… tolerate its leadership.
She heard a sharp series of taps slowly beginning to ascend the broken escalator. Looking down, she saw a red cap rising up to meet her. Striding over to him, she offered out her hand to help him the rest of the way.
"Thanks, Nattie, I got it."
Chief Craig Boone was set to assume his wife's duties on the homefront while she was away. Another former member of the NCR military, Boone had fought at both Battles of Hoover Dam as well as the War of the Glorious Cause, possibly the only individual to have all three on his resume. Another founding member, his active career in the feel came to a halt thanks to a grievous injury given to him at the hands of a monster named Padre Hex. His injury would never heal, but it allowed him to dedicate more time towards teaching the new recruits how to properly shoot, as well as allowing him more hands-on time with his children.
Craig joined his wife on the bench, setting down the elongated gift on the floor. "Swung by the Gun Runners before I got here," he explained.
"I can see that" Natalie nodded. "Just one, though?"
"Snipers work best in pairs," Boone said. "They should both know that by now."
"I can already hear the arguments," Natalie rolled her eyes.
"They're professionals, Nattie. "They know better than to not keep that sibling rivalry thing under wraps."
The door below swung open and two junior marshals stormed inside. Upon reaching the escalator, the shorter one elbowed the taller as she began skipping stairs upwards. The taller one then grabbed her by the ankle, dragging her down as he leaped over her prone form. In the end, both marshals were crawling on all fours to reach the top. "I win again!" Tobey jubilantly cried as Carla screamed that he had been cheating. Natalie shot her husband a look as an argument broke out between the two. Craig, on the other hand, didn't seem to register the quarrel until he slammed the end of his gift down against the ground. "KIDS!" he barked.
"Sir!" they said, simultaneously, as they stood at attention.
"…I've got a gift for you two," he said as he handed the package over to the both of them. Shredding the paper away, both of their eyes widened as they held the weapon before them. "Hey, dad, isn't this one of your old guns?" Carla asked as Tobey took the weapon, testing its weight.
"One of them," Craig shrugged. "That is a specialized pre-war sniper rifle. For the Gobi Desert, if I remember correctly. Shouldn't be anything in Legion turf it can't handle."
"Craig, we aren't going over to start a fight with the Legion," Natalie coaxed her husband. Craig snorted, his wife rolling her eyes. Even without the injury, there was no way she'd let her husband within a hundred miles of Legion turf when peace was on the agenda. Natalie herself had no love for them either, but she was significantly more willing to see the bigger picture than her husband seemed capable of regarding anything related to the Bull.
"Whatever you say, Nattie. Now, which of you two is going to be the shooter?" Craig asked.
"I am," Carla and Tobey said, simultaneously.
"So, who's going to be the spotter?" Craig then asked.
"He/She is," they said, likewise.
Natalie stifled a chuckle as Craig pinched the bridge of his nose. Before he could impart some fatherly wisdom, the door opened and Gorobets exited the interview room. "Craig, long time, no see!" he grinned.
"Gorobets, it's been too long. I thought you'd have retired by now," Boone stated, warmly.
"I can't just yet. Milligan is the best hope for the future of First Recon, and I have to make sure he becomes the leader the unit needs. Besides, I doubt there's a CO in the NCR with less qualms against the dear Governor than me," he shrugged.
"Good man," Natalie nodded. "That's hard enough to find in Vegas!"
The three shared a laugh as the two junior marshals conspired amongst themselves.
"It's too big for you," Tobey hissed.
"I'm the better shot!" Carla hissed back.
"Not over long distances," Tobey teased.
"Your grouping looks like bird shit," Carla jeered.
"Well, Nattie. What do you say we give this Frost guy a bit of the "united front?" Craig asked as he pulled his wife close.
"Careful, you two," Gorobets cautioned. "For most people back in California, you two are the first impressions they'll ever get about the Judicial Marshals. Fitting, though, as you two are the only active founders."
The first Commissioner of the Judicial Marshals had been a former Desert Ranger named Floyd Wilson. Having served the role for fifteen years, upon his retirement he bestowed it to the youngest founder, Natalie Boone. In addition to Floyd, Craig, and Natalie, there were two other founders. One was a mysterious wastelander named Ulysses, another former courier only Lars knew the full story of, but he had been an excellent trainer who most of the current recruits owed their survival skills to. He retired to a ranch some few miles south of the city, though he occasionally ran errands for and with the Governor every now and then.
The last member was another former NCR Ranger who went by Gaunt. Thanks to an incident around the Mojave Supermax, formerly known as the Sierra Madre, Gaunt had been dispatched to the east some years prior to retrieve a kidnapped prisoner. The whole thing was largely kept under wraps, with only the Judicial Marshal founders and a few others aware of the situation. Lars thought it prudent to send their best tracker after the culprits, and that was the last any of them had ever seen Gaunt. Deep down, Natalie often prayed that he was doing OK, or at least found some measure of peace.
"Time to get this show on the road," Natalie said as she cracked her back. "Kids, you better behave yourselves out there, or else I'll sic IA on the both of you."
"Haha, right mom!" Tobey laughed as he waved his parents away.
"I really wish you wouldn't be so damn flippant about IA," Carla whispered.
"It's a myth, Carla, like Santa Claws and horses," he grinned.
"Then how do you explain what happened to Bosco's squad?" Carla asked.
Tobey's smile faded. "I thought we agreed not to talk about that." As the two continued their argument downstairs, Gorobets took a moment to look out over the camp. As the Governor wined and dined the captains and their staff, the colonel declined the invitation. This was going to be the final piece of action he would ever see as a member of the NCR army. And as usual, it only seemed appropriate he spend it with the men.
"…and I haven't really been on speaking terms with him for the last few months," Rosa explained to her "guest" as she leaned on the railing.
"Yeah, I haven't really spoken to my own pa in a while, largely on account of him being dead and all," "Larry" replied. "I did have my uncle, but that thing just kind of fell apart after too long. I'm with some new guys, now. They're cool, I guess. Usually bust my ass about the stupidest shit, but these days who doesn't?"
"Who are your friends?" Rosa asked.
"No Names, remember," "Larry" smiled, coyly. Rosa pouted, but accepted the ruling.
He was kind of cute, in a sort of "mysterious bad boy with a dark and troubled past" from some of the recent Cali films. Guy had shoulder-length hair, a lean barely shaven face, and a well-worn duster. He also had a cap with the number "76" on the front and wore boots that seemed pretty new, oddly enough.
"Can you at least tell me where you got the boots?" she asked.
"I made em," Larry said. "Massasauga skin"
"What's that?" Rosa asked.
"Wouldn't you like to know," Larry teased.
Rosa was starting to seethe that this guy was pulling the mysterious stranger perk better than her. She had already been ecstatic that he hadn't recognized her or realized who she was, something that made dating locally complete hell for her, but now she was actually getting invested in who this guy was.
"So, you're from the east, right?" Rosa asked.
"I… tend to drift here and there, but mostly, yeah," Larry shrugged.
"And you, uh… are familiar with the football pad and skirt ensemble?" Rosa asked.
"…I was just a boy, back then," Larry admitted. "My father and uncle were members, yes, and I was born into it, but after my father left my uncle struggled a bit under some of the new leaders. That… Oracle was the straw that broke his back, and he left and took me and a bunch of his guys with him. Stayed with em til I was old enough to leave, so I did and that's were I met the Guys I told you about."
"And what do the Guys do?" Rosa asked.
"Well, Daisy, if you must know, we just sit around campfires on the mountains and sing and drink and fuck and kill anything that threatens our ability to do the rest of the list," Larry flashed a smile.
"Sounds nice, how do I join?" Rosa asked.
"You got to hurt someone who needs hurting, for starters," Larry explained. "Steal something someone don't want stolen. Scare folk who ain't easy to scare. You get my meaning?"
"Oh, like a gangster," Rosa nodded.
"Not quite. In the east, it ain't enough to be free. You got to have the means to "stay" free, see? You got to be too tough to beat and too smart to fool, so much and so often that people get the hint and stop trying. That's what Kenzie always says."
"LOSER!" Rosa cried out.
Larry balked. "…What?!"
"I WIN!" Rosa crowed as she leaped onto the railing and started jumping up and down. "YOU SAID A NAME, I WIN, I WIN, I WIN! LOSER LOSER LOSER LOSER LOSER LOSE-"
The rail snapped under her feet, and Rosa lost her footing. With a surprised yelp, she stumbled backwards, her back careening towards the pavement below. As she shot out her hand to grab onto something, a palm reached out and grabbed her, pulling her back onto the balcony. As her feet returned to solid ground, her body slammed itself against his chest, arms around her back as she caught her breath.
Glancing up at him, she felt a flush come over her cheeks, mostly from the shock and embarrassment, she told herself. Steadying herself, she swallowed as she broke off the embrace. As she heard the railing hit the ground behind her, she collected herself as she built back up her wall. "That… would have been embarrassing," she said, finally.
"Looked like it would have hurt worse," Larry said.
"Yeah, probably… so, about my room," Rosa said. "I… think I might want to lay down for a bit. You can come too, I mean, if you want to," she said, flustered.
"…So forward," Larry chuckled.
"Look," Rosa said as her previous demeanor returned. "I might need a few things in my room. A busted nut might be one of those things. But I'm going to need some things from you, first."
"Yeah, that's generally how sex works," Larry snarked.
"Rule one, no kissing," Rosa started. "Rule two, if you finish inside me, I'm ripping your nads off. And rule three, I never want to see you again."
"Is this all really nece-"Larry stared.
"You are not my boyfriend," Rosa stated. "I am not going to get burned again."
The cocktail lounge of the Lucky 38 was bustling with activity. Sitting around the bar, a number of NCR officers were waited on by a number of attractive hostesses wearing very tight Vault-Tec jumpsuits. Drinks were being poured, laughter was being shared, and the general mood was light. Governor Perez took a moment to stand back and view the party before him.
As most of the adjutant and junior officers crowded the bar, he watched as Captain Milligan and War Chief Tandi sat at one of the booths. Governor Perez viewed them for a little while. He couldn't make out their conversation over the din of the noise, not without looking suspicious at the least, but he could tell that the two of them went way back. There was a comfort and familiarity in their postures that only happens when someone is truly comfortable around someone. If he was to be generous, the Governor could probably use both his hands to count the amount of people he had that quality with.
It looked like the 1st and 14th, in general, got along as a rule. With both units serving as scouts and skirmishers, there was a level of interservice camaraderie between the two units that indicated they'd fought alongside each other for a number of years. Course, this was all mostly guesswork on his end. All he could say with certainty was that either Milligan and Tandi had slept with each other at least once, or they were well on the way to that point in the near future.
"Well aren't you the cutest thing in blue leather I have ever seen," a voice drawled to Perez's ears. He turned to see Captain Wallace with one of his hostesses on his lap, the girl giggling and making a faux attempt to escape. "How about we rent out a room and see if you happen to be as cute under it, too?" Wallace teased as he pulled her back in.
Lars recognized her as one of the Gomorrah girls, so he wasn't worried about her safety much. Thanks to reforms in the last twenty years, there was a significant lack of dependency on drugs and threats to keep the girls in line. Now, they were free to go wherever they wished and service whoever and however they liked. This girl in particular had a bit of a reputation, from what Lars remembered as he fought back a grin. Had a habit for starting the most salacious rumors regarding clients who didn't pay in full, that somehow always managed to follow them home.
"Hey, got a light?" a raspy voice next to him spoke up.
Lars turned to see one of the few ghoul officers in the NCR pulling out a stogie. Ghouls were somewhat handicapped in their service to the NCR. While the Rangers accepted nearly anyone and everyone who could pass selection, in the military proper, ghouls had to abide by certain restrictions. Apart from separate lodging and medical facilities, no ghoul could possibly exceed the rank of Captain. According to what Lars had heard, the top brass was skeptical of granting higher ranks to soldiers who would either go insane or never retire.
"Yeah, give me a sec," Lars said as he pulled out his lighter. The captain stuck the end over the flame, taking a puff as some of the guests nearby noticed the noxious odor. "Fucking wonderful," Captain Rathmore sighed.
"Hey, you happen to know a guy named Gaunt?" Lars asked as the ghoul eyed him.
"Little Benji?" Rathmore scoffed. "That rifle-loving pussy got off a couple lucky shots and all of a sudden he has a fucking reputation to hold. He was a half-decent shooter and a piss-poor soldier."
"Got it, so you weren't friends, geez," Lars said as he held up his hands, inoffensively.
"Now don't you go putting words in my mouth, you god damn smoothskin!" Rathmore snapped.
By now Ethan Wallace had hiked the girl over his shoulder, slapping her ass as she giggled and blushed. Rathmore took a puff as he glanced at the Governor. "Want to see something cool?" he asked.
Without waiting for a reply, Rathmore took the longest drag Lars had ever seen anyone take on a cigar, down to the very cap. Tapping out the embers onto a passing tray of drinks, Rathmore pursued his quarry, throwing the cap into the drink of another 32nd officer right before he could drink from it. Cutting through the crowd, he reached Captain Wallace right before he boarded the elevator with his captive. As the pretty boy captain turned around, Lars noticed a sudden flash of contempt cross Wallace's face.
"Captain Rathmore, is there anything I can help you with?" Captain Wallace began, politely. Captain Rathmore responded by "teapotting" from his nasal cavity all his accumulated smoke into Captain Wallace's face. As Wallace choked and spat in disgust, he dropped his evening companion on her rear as he began shoving Rathmore back.
"USELESS CORPSE!" Wallace shrieked as he grabbed Rathmore by the collar.
"PAMPERED FUCKNUT!" Rathmore screamed as he shoved back.
"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!" the officers cheered as the two went to town on the other. The hostesses, and Lars for that matter, watched as the two tried to beat the other into submission. Lars pondered whether or not he should stop the fight and/or take bets (when in Vegas, after all).
"These idiots."
"You said it," Lars muttered.
"Least they're doing it here and not in front of the enlisted."
"Why do they hate each other so much?" Lars asked.
"You ever meet someone and just know that you are going to hate them?"
"Maybe a few times, but what does th-"Lars' words died in him mouth as he turned to see the speaker. For a brief moment, he thought he was seeing her in the flesh once more. Same face, same demeanor, same presence, if that was a thing. He was talking to the spitting image of Colonel Moore, herself.
"Strong family resemblance," she said, her expression unchanging.
Lars then realized that her hair was blonde, her nose was a bit different, and she might have been an inch shorter than the genuine article. "So, I heard the rumors, and I guess they're true," Lars finally said. "How's she doing?"
"Wouldn't know, haven't spoken to her in ages," Lt. Baxter replied.
"Is that a fact?" Lars asked, not hiding his skepticism.
"Would you believe me if I said otherwise?" Baxter asked.
"What are you here for?" Lars asked, not smiling.
Lt. Baxter regarded the Governor the same way a janitor would see a particularly tough stain or a card shark against someone who took care of their money. "Perez, you were my aunt's white whale. I am not her. I've had to spend my career proving that I am not her. In fact, my only interest in you was in a thesis paper I studied during war college."
"So, they wrote a paper about me, too?" Lars chuckled, dryly.
"It was called "Solving the Courier Problem: A Retrospective," Baxter explained. "It details measures to take in order to cut out opportunistic freelancers, stabilizing control of the situation towards the national interest. It also said your government was supposed to collapse ten years ago, so take that as you will."
This time Lars couldn't fight back a laugh. That sounded like one of the more generous assessments from California. Though he couldn't discuss matters publicly, the NCR had been busy using "soft" power to undermine his rule over Vegas. Spies, economic sanctions, the odd propaganda campaign, anything that could help "convince" the people of Vegas that they could to better than a mailman-turned-dictator. These actions, however, disregarded the fact that the Vegas City Council ran most of the show at this point, and that they were asking the people to turn on their democratically elected officials. Lars just lived in a big house and would take the reins during an emergency, that was it.
"So, since I'm being honest, who about one good turn deserving another?" Kim asked. "What's the real reason we're marching to the Legion? You don't need an entire army to send a message. And if this is a show of force, you'd have asked for a bigger army."
"…Y'know, Kim, since it seems like you know what you're doing, I'll let you in on the secret," Lars admitted. "I need you to protect something very important to me. Something the Legion wants to see, but I don't want them to have. That's why there's an army."
"And what is it?" Kim asked as the crowd let out a cheer.
Larain lay exhausted on the shag-carpet of the "bachelorette pad." The interior of this room had apparently clearly been modeled after its owners' tastes. In addition to the soft carpet, the walls had been either replaced or just painted over with a brick design. A bizarre contraption sat on the windowsill, allowing a multicolored dancing blob to morph and alter its shape at will. A mattress had been tucked in the corner of the room, and in lieu of sofas or chairs, large sacks filled with beans were apparently the only other furniture. Along the walls, besides the lockers that had clearly been recent installments, an old arcade machine sat sandwiched between them. The machine had with it bright lights, artwork that seemed modeled over some old comic, and two controllable flippers. He would have loved to have studied this contraption more, had it not been for the other thing occupying his time.
He heard the water shut off as Daisy returned to him, still stark naked but cleaner than she had been. She dropped the towel into a hamper, looking at her lover as he tried to reach his clothing sprawled over a beanbag.
"Nice place you got here," Larain said. He looked at some of the posters on the wall, detailing ancient vehicles. "Had no idea you were a car girl."
"I'm not," she said as she kicked his clothing out of his reach. "I just figured the walls needed some extra décor and I only had the one guitar." She opened the fridge and pulled out a water bottle. "Thirsty?" she asked.
"I guess not," Larain shrugged. Rosa took a large swig. "Nice to fool around with someone who knows what they're doing," she admitted. "You have no idea how hard it is to get a good free screw around here."
"So why not just leave?" Larain asked. "If you don't like this place so much, why not go anywhere else?"
Rosa eyed him, wearily. "I'm about to, soon. Not that any of that is your business. Do you want to talk or ride?"
It was about fifteen minutes later that someone began knocking on the door. Rosa groaned, annoyed at having been interrupted just as she had climbed back on top. Standing up, she shot an apologetic look over her shoulder. "Sorry, I'll scare him off." She moved to the door, and right before she opened it, glanced through the peephole. "…Well, shit," she hissed.
"What?" Larain asked as he sat up.
"It's U," Rosa whispered.
"Me?" Larain gawked, confused.
"Uncle U," Rosa corrected as she grabbed his clothing and threw it at him. "Get dressed and use the window in the bathroom. I'll hold him off."
"But…" Larain stammered.
"GO!" she hissed. Larain grabbed his belongings, ran to the bathroom, and shut the door behind him. Rosa heard another series of knocks on the door. "YEAH, YEAH! I'M COMING!" she screamed as she closed the distance to the doorway. Swinging it open, she placed her elbow on the doorframe while her other hand rested on her hip. "Whatchu want?" she asked.
Uncle U blinked slowly, raising his hand to cover his good eye. His aged, leathery skin, limping stride, and cascading white dreadlocks belied that this was one of the few people in the wasteland Rosa didn't think she could outsmart for long. The most she could do was stall, either with whatever distance she could put between her and him or, in this circumstance, standing in her birthday suit in plain view of the older wastelander.
"…Your father has been looking for you, little one?" Uncle U began.
Rosa bristled. The very word felt uncomfortable in her ears. "So, the old man sent you to check up on me, how sweet," she mocked.
"Enjoy your youth, Rosa. The coming tribulations promise to be rather taxing, even to one such as you," Uncle U stated. "Although, perhaps you would only need to be half the warrior your father was in order to- "
"Uncle U, I love our little chats," Rosa gritted. "I care about you so much that I'm going to let that little crack slide. But please, on my last day of freedom before I have to march my cute little ass east of the Colorado, leave me the hell alone!"
"I believe your companion is about to do just that," Uncle U said.
"…He's not my companion, just a…" Rosa stalled as a better term failed to enter her mind. "…Just a guy," she relented.
"Trusting another with your body is tantamount to trusting them with your life," Uncle U stated. "You allowed yourself to be vulnerable around him, and perhaps he with you. It would be a mistake to allow the physical to place itself at the forefront of your mind."
"Thank you for the lesson, Uncle U!" Rosa practically half-screamed. "Now, if you could just let me have five minutes to get dressed, I'll head back to the damn city with you!"
"Three minutes," Uncle U said right before the door slammed in his face.
Rosa let out an exhale and began gathering up some of her things. She stopped as she heard the window in the bathroom begin to creak open. She dropped what she was doing and headed to the bathroom, swinging the door open to see the half-dressed Larry climbing on the sink to squeeze out. "How much of that did you hear?" she asked, nervously.
"So that's Uncle U," Larain said as he threw his duster behind him out the window. "Doesn't seem so scary, don't know what you were worried about."
"He's bad news for you if you stick around," Rosa said as she began pushing him out, feet first. "You were just fooling around with his adopted niece, and he has killed tougher people than you for less."
"Ok, Rosa," Larain grinned.
Rosa bristled. "You. Have to leave. Now." She gritted her teeth as she pushed most of his body over the windowsill.
"…Wait," Larain stopped as he held himself aloft. "I almost forgot something."
"What now?!" Rosa seethed.
Larain shot his arm out to her, his hand scooping the back of her neck and pulling her close. Their lips touched and Rosa felt their tongues begin to mingle. She felt good, felt warm, and felt secure. And she hated that she did.
As Larry broke off, he smiled. "My name is Larain, and I don't care much for rules, either."
Rosa felt her previous warmth begin to boil over. Right before Larain dropped down, she grabbed the bottom of the window and slammed it down on his fingers before he was able to let go. She instantly released the window and heard Larain collapse at the bottom of the second floor. The soft dirt below cushioned his fall enough, and she watched as Larain picked himself off the ground, wincing as he rubbed his swollen fingers on his palms as he glanced up at her, that smirk hadn't even left his face. "Fucking asshole," Rosa seethed as she slammed the window behind her.
Excerpt from the Judicial Marshal Basic Training Guide and Manual
Liberty Clans: Talk about a misnomer. I remember these guys from the old-timers way back. They like to consider themselves "the last true students of freedom." Don't believe that. These gangs are just raiders with better dress sense and manners. They're killers, conmen, whores, thieves, spies, and whatever else they have to be to get whatever you have that they want. They were driven to the north after the rise of Caesar, so I guess they're starting to get a little braver now that the law isn't wearing sports gear anymore. Don't underestimate them. If they get the jump on you, you won't survive that error for long - Commissioner Floyd Wilson
A/N: A chunk of the character Larain's backstory is sort of an homage to a certain character from the fic known as "The New West" by Interfectorem.