Chapter 63: Legionary Lifestyles
The animals were displayed all around the floor, some grouped together while others hung around the perimeter. Barabbas had just set the last molerat at the edge of the fence while Pariah set up the deathclaw right by the barn. "…Shouldn't the deathclaw be farther away from Mr. and Mrs. Bighorner?" Barabbas asked.
Pariah looked at him. "…Oh, he's there to keep the Coyote Gang away from them and the Brahmin brothers, right," Barabbas nodded. Pariah smiled. Though he was older than her, Barabbas wasn't afraid to spend time with her, which he often did between his studies and training.
As much as she figured Barabbas could make more friends with people his own age, she appreciated how much time he made for her when he could be spending it with Father or… anyone else, really. She couldn't imagine how much a sixteen-year-old would want to hang around a six-year-old, but this was the most social interaction she would get all week. Provided Mother had other things to do, which she often did. Thankfully.
Barabbas looked out of the window. "…Almost six and no word from Falco. Guess who doesn't have to practice any drills today?" Barabbas grinned as Marcy giggled. "Now, then, what does Lady Raven do to get ready for the party?" he asked right as the door swung open. Annoyed at being disturbed, Barabbas stood up to castigate the intruder, only to stand at attention as his father entered the chamber. The masked giant looked over the stuffed menagerie before him before turning to his only son. "…Am I interrupting anything important?" he asked, derisively and rhetorically.
"No, sir," Barabbas cast his gaze away.
"…Falco has been waiting for you for the last hour. I anticipate you will make your dereliction up to the both of us by staying late?" Caesar Lanius asked, purely to make his point.
"Yes, sir," Barabbas nodded. Lanius strode forward to his son, who at this point stood only a half-a-head shorter than Lanius himself. "Then again, if you'd rather spend your time with women, that could also be arranged," Lanius growled into his son's ear.
"I'm leaving, sir," Barabbas immediately saluted as he left the chamber, lest his father catch his burning face and tear-filled eyes. Lanius watched his son leave, shaking his head. "…That boy…" As he was about to leave, his foot stepped on something that squeaked. Looking down, he picked up a stuffed molerat. He then glanced at his daughter as she feebly lifted up her hands to collect her toy. Lanius held it away from her. "…What's the most nutritious part of a molerat?" he asked.
Gulping, Pariah picked up Marty Molerat's sister and pointed at her kidneys. Father then tossed the toy into her hands, where she pushed them out of Father's reach. Kneeling down, Lanius loomed over the little girl. "…You see yourself as a farmer, girl?"
Pariah tapped her knuckles against one another nervously as she struggled to decide whether to shake or nod her head. "We could use more of them," Lanius admitted. "And if anyone can domesticate a deathclaw, it would be you, wouldn't it?"
Pariah allowed a small smile to escape as her fingers laced behind her back. Father, for all his anger and brutishness, had watched over his daughter ever since those initial weeks after her birth. All but consigned to perish, Marcy had spent her first days of life fighting against her own weakness, even as she remained sick and her mother sent the nursemaids away, having given up on seeing her survive. Barabbas had stayed with her, though, and soon enough she stabilized. Even Lanius respected the fight within her, and even in her frail body as it was now, recognized that there was potential.
"If Barabbas cannot give me a worthy heir, I suppose it will all come down to you," Lanius said. Pariah saluted her father as he let out a chuckle. "Oh, you're so much like your mother, without all those detestable qualities," he stated. "I hope you grow strong enough rival her, one day," he continued as Pariah's smile faded from her face. "If you grow as weary of her as I, you'll have to be the one who kills her."
Barabbas and Pariah had drawn a grid in the sand. In that grid, they began drawing X's or O's, respectively, starting from the bottom all the way to the top. Apparently, the goal of the game was to get either four X's or O's in a row, but both were so deep in concentration that neither paid any attention to what was going on around them.
Currently, Damocles and Uriah were sitting around the campfire, watching the show before them. Sophia danced in the fire's light, leaping and swaying her body as it remained free from inhibition and clothing. Ferra was counting up the coins she had gotten from the two for the "after-show special" as Drago eyed her up. Unkempt, unfriendly, and unable to speak, she was exactly his type. Meanwhile, Sulla and Quintas helped Hypatia with the animals, which left Frost with only one subject to interview.
"…And that was when Kekos, I mean, that was when we came up with the brilliant idea to halve the workforce while doubling the quota," Dinero announced, proudly. "Really saved us up on expenses, and we got a nifty loan from Dallas on top of it all," he grinned.
Dinero loved to talk, that much was assured, but even Frost wasn't sure how much of his testimonial was filmable. From where he stood, Dinero seemed to be right at the crossroads between severe dementia and a chronic and pathological liar. At least, that was how it came across on camera.
Falco just sat in bemusement in watching Dinero admit to fleecing Dallas on camera and in front of some rather high-ranking legionaries. However, he was so engrossed in Markus's self-aggrandizement that he could not help but marvel at the sheer cheek of it all. He resolved that he would watch to see how far Dinero's mouth could take him, and then decide whether or not to scourge him after he was done.
"…Mr. Dinero," Frost began politely. "As… fascinating as your exploits are, what I was wondering is what caused you to join the Legion in the first place?"
"…Ever hear of a place called Phoenix?" Dinero leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. Frost nodded, having read enough old geography books to get the meaning of what the city in question was supposed to be. "I'll admit, I haven't heard anything about the location recently," Frost confessed.
"Well, it was the largest city in Arizona, before and after the bombs," Dinero began. "A group of survivalists set up shop and made it home. Yours truly was one of the originals of the city, raised if not necessarily born there," he grinned. This gained Falco's attention, as the fall of Phoenix was something that predated even his time in the Legion.
"On one side, the Free City of Phoenix, strong and prosperous, yet divided. On the other, the vast hordes of Caesar's Legion, endless and unstoppable," Dinero recounted. Me and a handful of enterprising individuals looked at what he had before us, saw the writing on the wall, and acted. From the inside, we opened the gates and Phoenix fell under Caesar's banner. Each and all of us who played our parts were rewarded, down to the Interfector, a dear friend of mine, and Dalton, who I hope a cazadore laid eggs inside, and last but not remotely least, yours truly," he smiled with a flourish.
"Interesting," Frost replied as he pulled out a notepad and jotted down a brief missive. Dinero wanted to throttle Frost, but a hand laid on his shoulder. "I think Par- Marcy wanted you to go over and play a game with her."
"Marc? Oh, I'll just be…" Dinero dusted himself off as he rushed over to Pariah, ignoring the glare Barabbas shot him as his sister delightedly moved over for the older man. Frost then looked up in annoyance as he saw his interview subject had run off. "Damn, I wanted to ask some follow-ups about Phoenix."
"It's ancient history," Falco admitted. "Territory that is no longer ours. A tether to a dead era."
"Still worth learning about," Frost muttered.
"Perhaps," Falco replied as he was deep in thought. "…Perhaps…"
As the work crews continued their labor under the watchful eyes of the overseers, the bulk of the force had made camp several miles out from the Grand Canyon. The road to their destination promised to be a treacherous one, though the prize at the end would make it all worth it.
As such, even the soldiers kept busy, hunting and scouting and drilling and all other manner of labor under the Bull. One of the hunting parties had captured a particularly large and aggressive radscorpion, having tied the beast down. A group of junior recruits, having gone on their march under the watchful eye of their instructors, stopped to ponder over the sight before them. The recruit leader, a big lad at the age of seven or so, turned to his troop.
"…I've got an idea, boys. Let's cut that thing's tail loose and see who can go the longest without getting stung!"
One of the younger boys gulped and glanced at the two legionaries supervising. The decanus looked to the centurion. "…Anyone who gets stung is on their own," Centurion Montano barked out. Grinning, the young troop leader pulled out his knife and began undoing the bond on the stinger.
"Lord Montano, is this a wise decision?" Falco asked his senior.
"All legionaries are to put their lives on the line for Caesar. The sooner these recruits understand that, the better. A legionary who fears death is a useless legionary," Montano explained.
"But this just seems… wasteful," Falco pressed his commander as the stinger was set loose, whipping around as the troop leader fell back.
"Well, any takers, lads?" the troop leader asked. "What about you, Abby? You want to see Daddy, again?" The smaller boy turned away to hide his tears. The troop leader had beaten him for similar infractions before and would gladly do so again in the future. As the troop leader continued to taunt his charges, Falco spoke with Montano once again. "…That's Aleron's commander's kid, isn't it?"
Montano squinted a little before grunting out an affirmative. "Was, I guess it would be, now."
"Poor boy," Falco muttered. Montano snorted. "His father fell in service of Caesar, what more can anyone ask for?"
The troop leader, having enough of his troops' cowardice, strutted forward and began taunting the radscorpion, who then proceeded to lash out and sting at him as he danced around the strikes, rolling and juking with admittedly gifted precision.
"…That's Gilliam's kid, isn't it?" Montano thought aloud. Falco looked to his senior. "Sir?"
"One of the local merchants who is especially sycophantic," Montano scoffed. "He runs between us and the Mexican wastes, and I hear he runs contraband whenever he believes we aren't looking."
"And does he?" Falco asked.
"A few times, some of my other subordinates have caught him with alcohol and mary-hewana," Montano relayed. "He would then come to me to complain about lost profits, and I pretend to care, but eventually we come to a deal."
"You make deals? Under the Legion or personally?" Falco asked his senior.
"…His woman, the one he bought, is rather easy on the eyes and a decent lay," Montano admitted. "He keeps his junk and swill and she experiences a man with a spine. Everybody gets something they want."
Falco mulled over what his commander told him. "…How long ago did this arrangement come to pass?"
"About eight years ago. Why?" Falco looked at the troop leader currently dodging and weaving under the stinger. Montano caught his subordinate's meaning and kept his eyes on the boy, looking for any… particular features.
"MONTANO!" A too familiar voice screeched out. Falco closed his eyes and braced himself while Montano expectantly turned to face his long-time nemesis. "Aleron, please keep it down, you are disturbing the children."
"ME?! DISTURBING THEM! You're the one overseeing all of that venom being wasted," Centurion Aleron growled.
"Is that your concern?" Montano asked.
"OF COURSE NOT! These children were entrusted under your care and you're allowing this to continue?!" Aleron screamed. "BOY! CEASE YOUR STUPIDITY THIS INSTANT!"
"I ANSWER TO CENTURION MONTANO!" the boy hollered back as he narrowly avoided getting struck through his cheek.
"Insolent little…" Aleron growled as Montano laughed. "Put you in your place, Aleron!"
"Be silent," Aleron growled as he turned towards his partner. Falco began motioning to any surrounding legionaries to intervene moments before Montano threw the first shove. As a fist fight broke out between the two centurions, Montano and two other legionaries pulled them apart as they both threw wild punches in the air. "THERE'S ONLY ONE WAY THIS CAN END, ALERON!" Montano taunted as Aleron screamed at his rival. A howl of pain interrupted the typical ritual, and Falco looked over to see the boy collapse onto his knees with the stinger embedded in his back. Leaping over the fence, Falco drew his sword as he watched the boy pull out his knife and begin skewering the radscorpion's eyes, screaming profanities and hatred as his mouth began to froth.
As Falco made himself comfortable, Frost prepped the camera once more, keeping thoughts of potential tampering via Marcy/Pariah to himself. Not catching her offended look, Frost pointed towards Falco and began the interview proper. "You mentioned having something to tell me earlier, Mr. Falco. Could you please elaborate on that for me?"
Falco looked directly down the camera. "…Mr. Frost, I want you to assure me that this message will be sent to California on your honor. Can I entrust you with that?"
"On my life," Frost nodded. As overdramatic as it sounded, coming this far and returning with nothing would ruin his reputation forever. The footage he collected was enough for him to die for. Falco smiled in a sense of understanding. "…Very well. As I am sure California understands, we legionaries have each and all dedicated our lives for Caesar, for the Bull, and for Pax Romana. Individualism, as we understand it, leads to conflict, which leads to decay and degradation, which leads to the ultimate annihilation of humanity. Over time, we have come to believe that force is the aptest antidote to that sickness. As barbaric as it may seem to you, our culture has found a way to excel in the absence of our founding territory in Arizona and our prospective territory in the Mojave. And so, I hope you will all come to understand what I mean when I say… FUCK EDWARD SALLOW!" he barked suddenly.
The legionaries all stopped their activities to stare at their senior commander. Even Barabbas looked up from his game with Marcy/Pariah and Dinero with a look that indicated, if not surprise, then a knowing sense of bemusement.
"Caesar? The first Caesar?" Frost asked, in shock over the blaspheming he had just witnessed. Not that he was a believer in Legion ideology, of course, but after all the reports he had read on Legion captives and battlefield accounts, it was apparent that Caesar was regarded as a living deity by his followers. Or, it would appear, had been.
"I lay my life on the line for Caesar, the head of the Legion," Falco explained, though his temper did not abate. "I have given and will continue to give him everything I have, regardless of consequence. For the old and the new. I have nothing but the utmost respect for Caesar, but Edward Sallow, his "vessel" if you will, was the greatest weakness the Legion had ever known."
"…But, Caesar and Sallow were the same…" Frost almost began.
"I KNOW THIS!" Falco screamed. "OBVIOUSLY! I know the First Caesar was a well-read Californian who bestowed his knowledge upon the Blackfoot tribe and used them to conquer other lesser tribes until they became a greater whole. I know he designed the structure of our identity on books and made it into an image only he understood and approved of. And I know that all of our success in the initial years of the Legion, many of which I personally witnessed, must be directly attributed to him! And as such, so must our greatest failures!"
The legionaries looked at one another. If this outburst had taken place back in Dallas, Falco likely would have been stripped of his rank, at best, and more likely have been beaten to death by the Praetorians for his impiety. Occasionally, they would shoot a look at Barabbas, but the Legate himself made no motion to intercede, and so Falco continued his heresy.
"He blamed Graham for our initial failure at Hoover Dam! Who put him in charge, though? Who designed the battle plan for Malpais to execute? Who amongst the Legion was the most familiar with California and failed to apply any of that knowledge during the battle? I gave everything I had that day for Caesar, and I know everyone I fought with did as well. It cost more than a few of them all they had. I didn't come up lacking that day! And though Graham burned, if Caesar was serious about punishing failure, he should have prepared a second pyre!"
Drago started to feel extra uncomfortable, shifting in his seat as Ferra's lips twitched upwards. Even Uriah and Damocles had pulled their eyes away from Sophia's ceased dancing to glance nervously at their captain. Hypatia watched in silence.
"To say nothing of the five years that followed! Five years of jockeying for positions around the Mojave, losing our veterans in meaningless skirmishes and pointless raids! Taking positions we could not hold, getting our troops shot at for paltry captures, five years of dying but suddenly the moment he fears for his mortality he allows the biggest rogue element inside his camp and-" Falco calmed himself. "…I love Caesar, Mr. Frost. But Caesar is a burden that one man must carry for the good of the many. If one man deserves all the praise and devotion of everything the Legion has to offer, then so too must he shoulder the blame! You understand?"
"I believe I do, Mr. Falco. Thank you for being so candid!" Frost nodded.
As Frost beckoned Falco to continue, Quintas and Sulla began muttering amongst themselves. "…I believe the commander is overdue for his retirement," Sulla whispered.
"He's always been like this, though. Ever since I've known him," Quintas countered. "That man will be the death of all of us, just you wait."
"If you two have something to say to the commander," Hypatia immediately spoke up as she got between the two. "Then you'd best tell him to his face rather than squawk behind his back."
Sulla and Quintas looked at one another. "Complaining about us running our mouths? Have you met the kettle, pot?" Quintas joked.
Hypatia gritted her teeth, showing the checkerboard at the side of her mouth. "You can either be a proud soldier or a lippy twat, pick one. It's bad enough we're carrying two useless loads who aren't or are barely Legion, that's no reason to throw away what little pride and dignity you have."
"Of course, sister," Sulla bowed his head. "I wouldn't want to spend the rest of our journey mocking and deriding the slaves we no longer have."
Hypatia spat on the ground. "We just got rid of one useless person in exchange for two. I advise you to check yourselves else you become the third and fourth most meaningless!"
Quintas cocked his eyebrow. "So, you going to beat Sophia for slutting around more than Kyr-"
Barabbas slammed his fist into the ground, suddenly. Quintas did not even want to see the look the Legate was giving him. "…the other woman ever did?" he corrected himself.
"…Sophia is Legion, Quintas," Hypatia explained. "…the other girl was not. She was never going to be, and we're all better off without her." As she said this, Ferra couldn't help but roll her eyes as she sat on Drago's lap. Elsewhere, Sophia led Damocles and Uriah away, prompting Frost to raise his fist in the air and pull it down a few times in a conductor-like motion. Unfortunately, or thankfully, no one else got the joke.
"Whatever you say, sister," Sulla replied as he finished brushing out his mount. "…It's funny, for the longest time you were the only two women in the group, and somehow only you were the sole person who had a problem with K- the girl," he corrected.
"Because I was the only one who understood her, Sulla," Hypatia smirked. "She had no secrets or surprises for me, and I wasn't blinded by her doe-eyes or body to pretend otherwise," she said as she grabbed her sleeping bag from her hound.
Hypatia had spent the better part of the hour looking for a private space. As the games took place overhead, she looked through the tunnels for an empty room where she would not be disturbed. Hypatia found an unoccupied office and snuck inside as she checked for a clear coast. Satisfied, she dropped her pack on the ground and unwrapped her vice from a cloth that she had brought. A flask.
Hypatia took a moment to sniff the cap. Snapping it off, the odor wafted into her nostrils. Checking to see if she was once again in the clear, she knocked one back.
"Howdy!" a voice suddenly rang out.
Choking on her swallow, Hypatia dropped the flask behind her as she held up her hands. "I can expl- oh, hey Dan."
Dan strolled in, sniffing the air. "…Is that whiskey I smell?" he glared towards Hypatia. "I can't believe you would smuggle such a substance right into Fort Wrath under everyone's noses… and not share any with me?" he looked at her, dejectedly. Hypatia smiled as she tossed the flask to her drinking buddy.
"Whoa! That's a good burn!" Dan praised as Hypatia sat on the desk. Dan tossed the flask back to her and she continued to drink. "So, how's things?" Dan asked.
"You know the Oracle. As inscrutable and self-indulgent as the day we first knew her," Hypatia welched. "She's OK, really. In small doses."
"Wouldn't know," Dan admitted. "Got all the female drama here I can handle. Cheslie and Estelle got into it again, and I think Misty keeps hitting on me! I keep telling her that maybe if she gets out a few youngins for the Legate maybe we can talk, but she's just so dang stubborn I just don't know what I'd do," he held out his hands. "And then of course there's the new girl…"
"…New girl?" Hypatia asked.
Dan looked a little uncomfortable. "…A gift from Scorpio," he elaborated. Hypatia thought for a minute before taking a long swig. "She wasn't too roughed up, but it wasn't an easy trip, here. You know… you know how Scorpio can be," Dan looked to Hypatia.
"…A gift for Barabbas? Scorpio must have hated that. Can't imagine what he'd do to a girl he couldn't touch," Hypatia thought aloud.
"Must've been something foul. Every time somebody approaches her, she just starts screaming and crying and huddling away from them. I've lost count of the amount of times I damn near lost my hearing just giving her a meal," Dan explained.
"…You know what you're supposed to do when a slave doesn't cooperate," Hypatia narrowed her eyes. Dan looked away. "I know… but I can't. It's not her fault. I get why she's scared and I've tried to explain that no one wants to hurt her, but she won't listen to anything I say. I can't blame her," he shrugged.
"…Where is she being held?" Hypatia asked.
"Under section D, in the third storage closet from the right," Dan said. Hypatia tossed him the flask as she headed out. "Hypatia, what are you-"
"Relax, Dan, I'm just going to do what you should have from the start," Hypatia said.
Kyra huddled against the pole she was tied to and shivered. She had arrived naked and remained so, even under the leers of her escorts as Scorpio's men passed her to the guards of the "Bar-a-bus" she had heard rumors of. She was told that he had the head of a bull, the body of a bear, and the loins of a horse, whatever that meant. All it meant to her was that she belonged to a monster who was free to do to her as he pleased for the rest of her hopefully short life.
She looked at the knocked-over bowl of beans at her feet. The guard had pretended to be friendly to her, and it was all she could do to find her voice and scream at him until he left her alone. As it was the only means of defense she had on her, she resolved to keep doing it until someone forced her to stop. The fewer people she dealt with here, the better.
She heard the door behind her open. Closing her eyes shut, she immediately began screaming. "I SWEAR I WILL BITE ANYTHING YOU PUT TOWARDS ME! I MEAN IT! I WILL NOT LET YOU BREAK ME, YOU HORRID MONSTERS! GO ON AND TRY ME, I SWEAR I'LL MAKE YOU-"a heavy and gentle cloth was draped over her body. Snapping her eyes open, Kyra saw that a quilt had been placed over her body. Stunned at the sudden display of… humanity, she supposed, Kyra turned to see the door shut behind her, leaving her alone but warmer.
Hypatia wanted to make sure that the girl understood that the quilt had belonged to her mother and was the very last keepsake she had to remind her of it. She wanted to ensure that the girl didn't get her tears and snot all over the linens and would wash it every few months. She wanted to tell her that she knew she didn't belong here, and even now was planning a daring escape that would take the girl far away from here, saving herself from a life of unending servitude to an uncaring world that was all she would ever know. But that last one was a lie, and in the end, Hypatia decided to say nothing. She returned to await the arrival of the Legate before his triumph and hoped that everything would be alright for everyone in the long run.
A/N: Montano and Aleron were both used with permission from their creator, Interfectorem. Read Edge of Glory. That is all.