Fandom Fallout New Vegas: Omne initium difficile est [Closed]

[Lucyfer]

A fella is a creature that has always been strange
Just when you’re sure of what you’ll find
He’s gone and made a change~​

The music was hardly fitting for the Fort, but they didn’t have the luxury of choosing what was played. Arcade could hear it from one of the other tents as he tried to work, a difficulty with both the music, and the sound of movement throughout the Fort.

With tensions high between the NCR and the Kings, The Fort was busy. Not just from violence, but from the drunks and the druggies. When violence couldn’t be enacted directly on one’s foes, people enacted it upon themselves. It was pathetic, but Arcade could understand it, even commiserate with it, but that didn’t mean he didn’t judge it.

The blond researcher judged a lot.

A person had to have ideals and hills they would die on, after all. They had to know what was worth preserving. Arcade had plenty of them, big and small, but mostly small – he strove to help others where he could, although his research was fairly slow going. It kept his mind on the woman who’d passed by not long ago, with the Latin name, who understood the little quip about there being ‘nothing new under the sun’.

She’d gone out there without question to go help two addicts, two small individuals.

It was something any of them could have done.

Perhaps something any of them should have done. Arcade had enough time when he got frustrated with a project to go take a walk and chat up a druggie about leading a new life, so why didn’t he? Why wasn’t he more hands on? ‘Well, bedside manner.’ That was one reason, although he’d been told he was easy on the eyes in spite of a poor bedside manner, and there were times when bedside manner had to come second.

Like, right that second.

The Fort was seeing an influx that day, and all the tents were getting full. Arcade hoped to go unnoticed, crouched in his tent, playing with barrel cacti, but Julie popped her mohawk head into his tent, “Arcade,” and he sighed as he lifted his eyes to meet hers. “We need to make room in this tent for some people.”

“Fine, fine,” he got up, “do you need my help tending to anyone, too?”

“That’d be great!”

Why did he volunteer?

‘Because you help people. Or, you want to.’ And that was why he bothered to think about the courier who went running off to help people, and why he was starting to realize he could do more – far more than just open up the tent he was working in to random strangers, and so out he stepped into the chaos, and took notice of a new man in a suit stumbling in, a bit bloodied, and sighed.

“Hey,” he lifted a hand so it was clear who spoke as he approached the man, “come on this way, I can get you into a tent and see about treating that wound of yours,” he would offer a stabilizing arm if it was needed, “how’d you get that injury?”

Likely a bar fight, although when Arcade got close, he didn’t catch a whiff of alcohol. That didn’t rule it out – sober people got attacked, too, but it did make him wonder about the posture the stranger adopted. ‘Well, there are drugs.’ And they didn’t have the reeking smell of alcohol. Plus, you usually needed less of them. Bonus!

Or not.

In either case, the man didn’t seem the usual. He was too well put together, too clean, to be usual to this kind of situation. Still, Arcade wouldn’t question that aloud and he would show the man to his tent, and to the bunkbeds. Why they had bunkbeds in a medical fort, Arcade still questioned. Getting onto a top bunk was not ideal for drunkards, druggies, or plenty of injured people, even though Arcade understood the need for extra space.

It was a luxury the Fort didn’t have. Space couldn’t be wasted.

Still.

~***~

‘Cause it’s witchcraft!
That crazy witchcraft!
And although I know it’s strictly taboo….​

Aemilia was sad for the music to fade away as a customer left Mick & Ralph’s shop. That was one of the better jams that played on the radio. ‘Really ought to find Mr. New Vegas one of these days and thank him for the tunes.’ Well, he was probably in New Vegas itself, and she didn’t yet have the caps to get in, which was among the reason she was helping out The Followers. That, and The Followers were nice.

Also, Arcade Gannon – he was one of the first intelligent men she’d spoken to in a while who hadn’t traded his wit for an irrational obsession with the past. Be it the boys of Caesar’s Legion (it was never women, huge strike), or the Brotherhood of Steel floozies, people idealized the past to the point of forgetting a future existed.

A future that would probably always involve drug-addicted saps, but today, it would have two less, because today Aemilia was going to do something about Dixon.

“Heeeey,” she drew it out as she smiled at him sweetly, although the leather armor she wore suggested anything but sweet. She didn’t exactly have the luxury of carrying an entire wardrobe with her, and she didn’t really have a residence nearby. “Dixon, isn’t it?”

“Depends on who’s asking,” he noted, clearly sizing her up, but she kept the sweet smile on her lips as his eyes went over the magnum at her hip and the sword on her back. Always good to have back-up if she ran out of bullets, but she tried not to shoot too often.

“Friend of a friend, let’s say,” she said, “You know Bill and Jacob, right?”

“Yeah, man. Those cats are out of their domes addicted to my shit. They can't get enough. Pretty hilarious to watch.” He chuckled along with it, and though the smile remained, Aemilia felt her blood boiling under the surface.

“Well, I’m going to need you to stop supplying them with chems, Dixon. As well as everyone else,” she said. It was one thing to sell chems, it was another to enjoy fucking over the clientele as he obviously enjoyed.

“Really? Aw, you're such a saint.” He rolled his bloodshot eyes, “This is my life, girl, so unless you’re gonna pay me enough to live on, I think I’m gonna pass on that delightful little offer of yours.”

Aemilia’s lips twitched, before she gasped as if scandalized and raised her voice in horror, “What? The NCR is supplying you with free chems to keep Freeside down?!” A few of the Freeside residents looked towards them, including a King, and Dixon immediately reached out for her shoulder and covered her lips as she dropped her hands from the mock surprise.

“Wait! Shit, you can’t go saying shit like tha—”

“HELP!” She shrieked, though the King was already rushing over with the ruckus and was quick to shove Dixon off of her.

“Yo, you’re dealing with the NCR?”

“No, she’s a fuckin’ liar!” Dixon spat, and though the King glanced at her to assess that, he scoffed and grabbed Dixon by his shirt, pulling him up to his feet.

“Yeah, right – this one? You ain’t heard of her, have you?” Apparently not, but thankfully some of the Kings already did. Though this was likely going to complicate matters with the NCR and Kings, that was a problem for later. At least it put Dixon in a bad light, and his operations were going to slow down, if not stop all together. “C’mon, we need to have a chat.”

As Dixon was dragged off, Aemilia couldn’t help but wave at him and mouth ‘bye-bye’, before turning right back around to let the nearby Jacob know – Jacob, who was standing, watching in horror, as Dixon was dragged off.

“Wha—what did you do?”

“Got rid of your dealer,” she said matter-of-factly. “Come on, Jacob. You’re better than this,” she reached out and took both of his shaking hands as he started to back off, and squeezed them, “Julie Farkas wants you to be better.”

“Julie…she’s a saint,” he sighed longingly, “I… I'm gonna need at least ten shots of Fixer to get me through the week. From there the Followers should be able to help.”

Aemilia shook her head. “The Followers will have medicine to help you through the worst of it, and you won’t be alone. Bill is going to be there, struggling alongside you. All the Followers will support you, too. You just have to be strong,” and without the temptation available, it ought to be a lot easier, “I know you have it in you.” She did not, but people liked that kind of bullshit, and she didn’t want to go buy 10 fixer for him.

It seemed to work. “I think you're right. I've been through worse, and been alone through it. I…I'll go to the fort and see if the Followers can watch over me while I recover.”

She squeezed his hands before letting go, “I’ll see you there soon, all right?” Jacob nodded, and went hurrying off, no doubt full of need to get whatever medicinal help he could from the Followers more than because he wanted to be around them.

She sighed and shook her head, before pushing back strands of red hair and making her way back to where she’d left Bill, catching snippets of music through the various businesses as doors opened and shut, and humming along to the sultry voice of Sinatra.

 

[GorillaSuit]

Drip, drip, drip…

The smell of metallic red seeping through his suit and dress shirt is a nuisance- he’d liked his shirt. He supposed it was good he brought extra… That ranger had gotten a lucky strike, but Vulpes had been quicker on regaining his footing after the knife slid between his ribs than the ranger had when his ripper caught the meat of her wrist. She had been a surprisingly difficult target, though ultimately, she fell. As Lord Caesar demanded, it had been done. Vulpes was simply the son of Mars’ outstretched hand here in the Mojave. An extension of his mighty will.

The soft and faint nearly nonexistent patter of rivulets of blood seeping through his calloused fingers and landing in the sands made him think of their scarlet banner.

Mars is a hungry god, and he demands sacrifices of blood and war. It is a sacrifice that Vulpes always gives freely. The scars on his back are the bite marks of whips from corporal punishment. He is used to the pain, all of Caesar’s soldiers are. Their formative years are spent in a state of constant agony, so that way they may come to endure it- as they shall all hardships. They are given the honor of bleeding and dying for Lord Caesar, and so they must. Hardened like stone, they are honed and given an edge. They live and die for the son of Mars… but for Vulpes, today would not be the day he died.

Vulpes was currently under the persona of ‘Mr. Fox’. It was the same persona he had used to lure in Mayor Steyn into his trap. Though back then, in Nipton- he had allowed the mayor to see through his disguise. He allowed the pompous old man to think he was clever enough to see through his ruse, to believe he had gotten the upper hand in the situation. In reality, Vulpes Inculta was the greatest of Lord Caesar’s frumentarii. He only allowed people what he wanted them to see.

Right now, he allowed them to see a vulnerable man with sluggish stumbling movements. His grin was easy and soft, and he seemed beguiling and friendly to those around him. Vulpes was even so thorough as to let his eyes languidly drift about as if he was having trouble being coherent, mimicking the way the profligates act when they imbibe their degenerate vices.

The act was unbecoming, but again it was another sacrifice. So, like a wolf among sheep, he entered the Old Mormon Fort. For his assassination of the ranger was not the only task he had been set out to accomplish. The mark of Caesar rested in the breast pocket of his coat. An olive branch from Caesar to the Courier- he just needed to find her. His spies had told him much of her journey in Freeside, how she had spoken to the Followers on occasion. Especially a researcher going by the name of ‘Arcade Gannon’. He had lingered near the tent of the man, acting as if had just been mere coincidence when it was actually anything but.

So, as the Follower offered his outstretched arm- ‘Mr. Fox’ took it with exaggerated motions that were calculated to look jerky and sporadic, as if he was barely keeping himself upright. “Thanks, Doc. I had been hopin’ if I looked pitiful enough- eventually someone would come along an’ rescue little ol’ me.” The accent that slips out from his lips is a well-practiced one. His normally smooth nasal tone is pitched a little slower, his words coming out in a lazy drawl. They almost sounded slurred with inebriation, despite the fact that Vulpes had not a single drink. “Guess I hit the jackpot, huh? Getting a tall glass of purified water like you… sorry- don’t know why I said that. Gosh darn mouth gets me into all sorta trouble.” He acted as if he was scandalized by what he said, when in fact it was calculated. Just like all of his actions were.

Based on the Follower of the Apocalypse’s profile, he had a tendency to be a… deviant in regard to romantic relations. Such an act was punishable by death in the Legion. Yet frumentarii like himself were allowed to dabble in the degeneracy that was the profligate way, for they would not allow themselves to become sullied or corrupt. Therefore, to Vulpes- the information was a tool to be used. Flattery can often soften hard exteriors.

Mr. Fox blinks slowly, as if he is having a challenging time simply focusing. “Sad to say, I got my injury when I got jumped by some Freeside thugs. Luckily, they got bored of me once I played dead and they stole what was on me.” He gave a slight shrug and an exaggerated wince. “Caught me in the side, now I’m bleedin’ like a stuck Brahmin. Glad you’re here to patch me up, Doc.” He hobbled, as if his injury hurt worse than it actually did. Inside they went into the tent.

~***~

Dark greased hair and the leather jacket was enough to mark Skitch as one of the Kings. He was leaned back against one of the Freeside buildings casually with a smoke in one hand as his dark eyes roamed over the bright streets. It was almost sunset, but it seemed- despite being in the city’s shadow- Freeside was constantly illuminated by the shimmering lights of New Vegas.

He’s been living in Freeside for quite some time, enough to earn a reputation enough with the King to join his little posse of smooth-talking greaser boys. Yet, despite living in Freeside for as long as he has, every time the sun sets and the unnatural glow of New Vegas blots out the shining stars- he feels homesick for a home he doesn’t even really remember. A home that doesn’t even exist anymore. He misses the night sky, misses looking at the stars and hearing the distant howls of coyotes fluttering along the breeze.

Then Skitch reminds himself of why he’s here. Reminds himself that it could be worse. The reminder stings like salt in a cut, but he’s used to ignoring it.

He takes a drag of his cigarette when he sees a familiar face wander on by him. Not familiar in the way he’s seen her before- but familiar in the way that he’s been told about her existence. Courier Six- a gal that apparently has everyone up in a tizzy. According to the little birdies Skitch has been talking to for information, she apparently got double tapped and thrown in a grave outside of Goodsprings. Though like some sort of old pre-war midnight horror flick, she managed to rise from the dead. Of course, the second part was sheer speculation from much less reliable sources, that being Freeside townies- but still, surviving one bullet to the head is a miracle. Let alone two.

He tosses his cigarette onto the asphalt and crushes it with his boot. He can hear the whispered murmurs of a conversation she’s having with the local drug peddler, and he sees one of his fellow Kings drag off Dixon for a little ‘conversation’. Knowing how the Kings operate, Skitch wouldn’t be surprised if Dixion disappears and never comes back.

As the Courier comes back his way, he straightens up- pushing himself off of the wall he was leaning on. Skitch knew that a certain fox was currently sniffing about the Courier’s trail. He wasn’t sure if said fox had already made his way into Freeside, but even if he was- Skitch wouldn’t mind getting some more information. Afterall, scientia ipsa potentia est. Knowledge itself is power.

“I see you finally got that rat off of the street.” He remarks to the woman as she passes, and he slips his hands into the pockets of his blue denim jeans. He’s got the same accent that the rest of the Kings do- all swagger and twang. “The King has been eyeing him for a while but has left him alone so far. He must have done something pretty bad in order to be dragged off by Ponyboy. I’m a bit curious as to what exactly you said.”

His body posture is languid and relaxed. His dark eyes seem to be reminiscent to that of a crow’s eyes, sharp and clever. There is an intelligence shimmering behind them, though his posture and outfit makes him seem more like a rough and tumble kind of guy. Skitch was of average height, and the jacket added some padding on his shoulders to make him seem a bit broader than he actually was. Overall, he was pretty average without of a lot of defining characteristics, just another slicked hairstyle among the many.

It's why he was so good at what he does. Being noticeable doesn’t make espionage any easier. Having an average looking appearance could be a boon in simply integrating among the masses.

He gives a grin, and it is as leisurely as the rest of his body language. He’s calm, and approachable- Skitch wished it wasn’t an act. Wished he could actually feel comfortable in his own skin whenever he talked to another person, and not just like a mish-mash amalgamation of stolen pieces of an identity that wasn’t really his. Skitch—the man underneath the name—he’s so invested in the ruse, at this point he doesn’t know where it ends and where he begins. He’s scared to find out, because the real him- the one that he is when he isn’t pretending… it’s a man of forced violence and a bleeding red outfit. It’s Latin words that sound like the distant drums of war. He’s still just another faceless person in a crowd of many- in a tide of Mars’ blood.

It's a depressing though, and instead he focuses on the Courier. Trying to lift his lips and make the smile of his reach his eyes.

 

[Lucyfer]

No, definitely not alcohol drunk, but high on something. Arcade was bemused by the stranger’s behavior, and admittedly, a little flustered to be complimented in that way. “Overt flirtation will get you everywhere, you know,” it would obviously get him treated even if he hadn’t flirted, but Arcade was not immune to it.

Especially not from a man who looked good in a suit.

Although, likely when the man sobered up, he’d forget his little scandalous slip, and Arcade would act as if it never happened, anyways, to spare both of them their dignity at pointing it out. “I’m wondering if you said anything to those thugs to get yourself into this trouble, on a more serious note. Not all take kindly to those kind of flirtations.” Some saw it as weak, or degenerate, even outside of the Legion, which caused Arcade to keep plenty to himself, unless he was pretty sure it was safe.

“You’ll want to take a seat, and take off your shirt and jacket so I can see the wound and get you stitched up. Probably won’t take more than a few stitches and a stimpack to get you good, and then you can stay here, drink some real purified water, and sleep off whatever drug you’ve taken,” Arcade still wasn’t sure which one.

He wasn’t acting in the traditional manner of Jet, Buffout, Mentats, Med-X, or…well, any of the other usual suspects.

Arcade would give the decency of turning around to let the stranger get partially undressed, not that it was going to matter when he had to work on the man without his top on. “Oh, I’m Arcade Gannon. Suppose I should introduce myself before sticking you with a needle,” which he grabbed a clean one from a nearby first-aid kit on his desk, along with the thread, and a stimpack, and turned back towards the suited man once the rustling of fabric seemed to stop.

And then steeled himself as he saw the…other…wounds.

He couldn’t mask the initial horror that crossed his expression, which immediately shifted to discomfort at not knowing what to say. This was why he had a terrible bedside manner. It was best to just ignore this, right? ‘All those scars….’ He swallowed the words, and the questions, with a quite literal gulp, and then a sigh, and a laugh.

“You’d think I’ve never seen a man’s body before, huh?” A joke at his own expense before he approached. “I have, I promise, I know what I’m doing.” And the wound was nasty. Not a straight knife, definitely something with teeth, but Arcade could bring it together again so it would heal.

~***~

There was another King on the way by. Aemilia didn’t intend to give him much notice, but it seemed he didn’t have the same thought in mind. He started to walk alongside her, and so she stopped humming to listen as he spoke.

He noted the rat, wondering what was said. ‘Ponyboy? You all look the same.’ But Ponyboy was an important name, Aemilia knew that much. Something like The Actual King’s right-hand man. She really should make a point to recognize how he was different.

She should probably make a point to recognize each of them, but they thrived in trying to look the same.

They even sounded the same.

There was no harm in telling this one what was said, though. Not usually, but Aemilia could see that glint in his eyes, a glint she couldn’t place, but one that told her he was the sort to devour whatever he was told, and he was very invested in whatever she had to say. Likely, not for what was said.

She still kept her easy smile on her lips, one that had stuck from her humming, but her own eyes didn’t match, the way his didn’t match his easy smile. For a reputation of honesty and good deeds, there was an awful lot of cunning beneath there. Sometimes, she wondered if the bullet had actually made her smarter. “I just said what I know,” she said, “that he was selling chems that came from the NCR’s supply. That’s not good for anyone, not even the NCR,” she clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth.

Well, it was good for the Legion, but fuck the Legion – and not in the good way. Preferably with barbed wire.

“Things are pretty bad with you lot and the NCR from what I hear. I’ve been thinking of learning more about that, since these tactics aren’t usual,” she didn’t know that for a fact. She actually wouldn’t put it by the NCR, but that wasn’t the point when she was making a reputation as a peacemaker.

And desperately needed caps to get into The Strip. The NCR would pay good money for things to settle down, if the rest of Freeside didn’t. That was where she’d find the asshole who shot her, at last.

“Don’t suppose you know much about it, do you, Duke?” She quipped the nickname with ease. He had that look, moreso than others she’d seen in the King. This one…the eyes said something the rest of him didn’t. Her perception wasn't that bad; this guy held himself above the others. Perhaps not a King, no, but a Duke, certainly.

 

[GorillaSuit]

‘Mr. Fox’ allowed himself to chuckle, it was smooth and rolling. It sounded fine on the surface. It was one of those laughs that could put someone at ease while simultaneously trigger the subconscious instinct of fight or flight response. It was akin to the feeling one got when they had assumed they were alone- walking along dusty roads in the middle of the night, and suddenly somewhere off in the distance a twig snaps. It was the feeling of rising gooseflesh on one’s arms and the hair rising on the back of one’s neck from the ceaseless paranoia of eyes watching one from outside their peripheral vision, but seeing nothing except the curtain of night when they twisted their head to check. It was like being stalked by a predator.

Yet on the surface, he seemed so docile.

Mr. Fox continues with the charm and flattery. “Nah, Doc. None of those goons were as handsome as you- ah drat I did it again. Sorry, Doc. You don’t deserve me mouthing off, ‘specially when you’re doing me such a favor. Least I can do is assure you it’s the truth while I wallow over here in my own embarrassment. Just know I’m probably gonna keep saying stupid things, feel free to hit me upside the head if you don’t wanna hear it.” As the Follower asks him to remove his suit coat and undershirt, he gives a sharp little grin with too many teeth showing. “Usually, I don’t strip unless a man buys me a drink first, but for you I’ll make an exception.” Smooth, easy- calculated. His words are designed to be flattering and easy going.

Vulpes pats his suit down, making sure the mark of Caesar is still safely in its place as he takes it off and carefully folds it. He then strips off his shirt, pretends to fumble with the buttons. As he bares his skin- he exposes his countless and many scars over his battle-hardened body. Like the grooves and pits of the earth, each scar tells a story. Some are puckered old wounds from gunshots, others are faded thin marks from blades or whips. An old burn on one shoulder that looked like that from an energy weapon. His skin spins a tale of war without saying a single word. If Arcade could see them, his bones would speak without words too. Breaks and fractures from disciplinary beatings that healed eventually. His body told the tale of a man who hadn’t had access to medical care, there were too many scars for that not to ring true. Many wastelanders didn’t have nearly half the scars that Vulpes had, thanks to the miracles of old-world medicine like stimpacks. Though the Legion believed it to be a weakness. These scars were a sign of strength, of overcoming the odds.

Staring at the doctor through half-lidded eyes that still managed to look eerily intense despite the pretend haze of inebriation, he watched the other man. “James Fox. Nice to meet ya Dr. Gannon. Thanks, a whole heap for patchin’ me up by the way.” His body posture was languid, his smile friendly. “Don’t worry, Doc. I know I’m a mess- I trust ya to make sure I don’t keel over in yer tent.”

He leans back some, giving Arcade access to the wound on his side. It had been packed with healing powder for his journey to Freeside, but most of it had been absorbed by the wound, the only evidence it had been there in the first place was the slight orange powder left behind on his skin. “Hey, I heard that the legendary Courier Six passed through Freeside not too long ago, ya know- the gal that Mr. New Vegas said woke up despite getting shot in the head. Is that true?” He asked, in a lazy conversational manner- though his sharp pale eyes were keen with interest.

~***~

Skitch gave a raised brow as the woman spoke. The man wasn’t inclined to believe it was the truth that Dixon was peddling chems from NCR supply. Dixon was about as local as Freeside townies got, and that included the bitter hatred for anyone under the New California Republic’s banner. Especially the NCR squatters. He’d been around long enough to get a profile on most of the Freeside residents, and Skitch didn’t tend to be wrong.

So, Courier Six either was under the wrong impression, or had lied on purpose to get to her end goal. Skitch wasn’t privy to her thoughts, so he couldn’t say for certain what end goal she had wanted to accomplish- only that the goal required Dixion gone. Given the cunning in her eyes, he didn’t assume it was the former, she didn’t seem like the type to be uninformed. There was too much sharpness behind those eyes of hers. The latter was more likely, and it said a lot about the type of person she was. It was something the Mr. New Vegas hadn’t been talking about when he’d been announcing all her charitable heroic deeds over the radio.

He wonders if it takes a liar to see a lie. If it takes another snake to see the scales in the grass.

Skitch was no stranger to weaving tales and spinning stories. His whole identity was one long contrived falsehood after the next. Sibilus Anguis wasn’t quite sure if even that name- the name that was supposed to ring true- was more than another flimsy persona without true substance. He thinks he had another name, before the blood of Mars burned down his old life with the fire of war. Though he doesn’t remember it. He had been too young. Again, there is the homesickness for a place he’s never really known- and he squashes down internally like he had done to his cigarette butt earlier. It tastes like bitter ash, and it makes his chest constrict. Though he continues to remind himself that it could always be worse.

He gives a hum. “You aren’t wrong about that, little lady. NCR is trying to push out the folks that had called this place home since the beginning. It’s been making things heated, to say the least. NCR wants control, and Freeside? She’s like a bucking Big Horner. She isn’t going to come quietly. If you want to learn more, I’d suggest talking to The King himself, I’m just the common man, you dig?” Truthfully he did know more than he let on, he knew a bunch of kings with personal grudges against NCR. Such as Pacer. If Skitch sometimes encouraged Pacer’s ideas to increase conflict with Freeside and the NCR- well… no one had to be the wiser.

He gave a coy little smile. The nickname was interesting. Yet another name given to him on his extensive list of aliases. He had to say, he liked ‘Duke’ far better than he liked ‘Skitch’. Maybe even better than he liked ‘Sibilus Anguis’. Though, he supposed there were just some things you couldn’t change. Some lies one had to make, even to oneself with only the company of their own mind.

Though he supposed names were meaningless in the end, just another lie to be told. Then, once time passed- people would forget. They always did. It wasn’t the first time he’s been undercover- perhaps this is the longest, though. He has a feeling his time is almost up, Vulpes has been asking less about Freeside- and he feels like soon his duties were going to lead him back to the battlefield. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but that was a secret he would take with him to his no doubt early grave.

“Duke? Nah, I’m Skitch, little lady. Pleased to meet you. The Kings have heard a bit about you.” He pulls one of his hands out of his pocket and offers it for a handshake. “Can’t say I know your name though. Information was a little thin on that. Heard you’ve been doing some good around here, though. Good is in short supply these days.”

 

[Lucyfer]

Arcade was familiar with that predatory laugh. Not from the individual, of course, but in general. The feeling it gave him was as pleasant as it was terrible, and not a feeling appropriate to tending a wound as covered the goosebumps in heat. At least he had time to recover while he was gathering up his supplies – that, and the cold shock of the mess of James Fox’s body, were enough to keep that flush down.

Not that, in different circumstances, he might have enjoyed showing the wounds an extra bit of tenderness.

Kissing wounds didn’t actually make them better, though, so he wouldn’t be doing any of that. It’d also be wrongly taking advantage of a drug addled man who might regret every word he said, so Arcade just chuckled along, “I don’t take any offense to flattery, don’t worry. You can keep at it. It might even make the care better. Seems like you might need to come around the Fort more often, though.”

He knelt down to get at a better height to deal with the wound, taking the needle and beginning the job of stitching carefully, and as gently, as he could. “This wound isn’t bad enough to kill over from, even if you didn’t come see me, don’t worry,” Arcade reassured, though he had a feeling the man knew that.

The healing powder had done some work, and Arcade saw the evidence of it. He knew there were plenty of survivor types who used healing powder, and he shouldn’t judge – but he couldn’t stop the way his stomach squeezed at the thought of the main group that used it, or the way his mind associated the marks on James with corporal punishment which would fit that group a little too well.

He wouldn’t mention it, and he relished the topic change to get his mind off of it.

A legionnaire wasn’t going to come into his tent flirting anyways.

Or be okay with a stimpack, which he had nearby to use.

The topic changed, “Yeah, Aemilia,” he offered the name, always finding it amusing how Mr. New Vegas never seemed to have that detail. Perhaps he did – it was possible he just kept it hidden for safety reasons, though that seemed insane given all the other things he was willing to share about the legendary Courier 6.

“Not sure how true everything they say is,” he noted, keeping his eyes on the task at hand, “if she got shot in the head, it didn’t impact her intelligence, so that might be a lie,” though he thought he saw the scar underneath strands of hair on her forehead. He hadn’t gotten a good look. “She’s probably still in Freeside, Julie asked a favor of her.” Arcade was hoping she would come back sooner than later.

He still had thoughts running in his head about what he wanted to do out in the world, and the courier was…well, doing it.

“Who knows, if you ask nicely enough, you might even get a free stimpack or some caps out of her,” Arcade chuckled, “but ah, tip? I don’t think she’s as inclined to flattery as I am.” The stitching was done, “Here now, this will finish things up,” he grabbed the stimpack, and did prepare to inject that into the side near the stitched wound.

~***~

Little Lady.

‘Ugh.’

Well, it was a look and a nickname that suited all Aemilia wanted to be perceived as. Unintimidating, polite, and kind. It was working for her so far, minus that little shot in the head incident. Maybe a little intimidation would have been nice, but no amount of leather armor and magnum was going to make her look intimidating. Aemilia knew too well, and acting like she was tough was just going to get her into too many pointless fights. That was the opposite of what she wanted.

So she let it slide and listened to what Skitch, as he provided, had to say about the situation with the NCR and the Freesiders.

Aemilia still didn’t quite know what to think of the NCR. She didn’t oppose them as vehemently as Caesar, but it was hard to say she was a fan when they tried to enforce their own will on everything without taking too many gray areas into consideration. Things were meant to fit a mold, just…differently than Caesar’s legion. They didn’t realize Vegas wasn’t going to fit that mold well.

'Panem et circenses.' She chuckled at her own thought, "Sorry, not laughing at you, just the plight the NCR's having. I don't think they really understand what New Vegas needs -- not that I do," no, of course not, she was just a courier on a very particular mission that required caps to get onto the Strip. "They want everything to fit into their neat, little boxes, and they haven't realized New Vegas isn't the kind of place that'll ever fit and thrive. They'll kill New Vegas without remorse to make it fit, though. Which is depressing." If they understood anything about illusions and subtlety, they might know how to guide New Vegas. “Maybe the King gets it. I’ll have to talk to him one of these days, but I haven’t gotten the formal invitation yet – and I know better than to go walk in the front door of a castle without an invite.”

Not that it was a castle. Nor was the King all that tyrannical, from what rumors suggested.

“I appreciate the information, Skitch. My name is Aemilia,” she introduced, stopping to take the hand offered and give it a proper shake, “Or Aemi,” not quite ‘Amy’ – she always hated that. Lia wasn’t bad, but she hadn’t been called that since…well, she didn’t like to think of what happened in the Divide.

She probably should have learned to be more cautious about the jobs she took after that, but the caps had been too good. Really, that should have been a damn sign.

She let go of his hand, “If you want to put in a good word with the King for me, I’m open to helping out a bit more with the situation here. I can’t say I’m a huge fan of the NCR, but there’s some mutual respect. I can talk to them for him, try to broker some sort of peace to keep everyone happy.” Or maybe toss them on their happy asses, but that was going to be difficult with a nearby camp, and the NCR posting in the Strip which she still couldn’t get to. “Right now, though, I need to go tie things up with Bill and then speak with Julie and see if I can get a free bed,” she chuckled, “there’s never enough caps and between you and me? I don’t really want to stay at the Atomic Wrangler.”

Besides the fact she’d have to pay, James Garret unnerved her and she wasn’t sure why. There was just something off with him.

 

[GorillaSuit]

The man made an exaggerated hiss as the needled slipped into his skin. Truthfully Vulpes had far too high of a pain tolerance for it to even be a minor blip on his radar. That is why despite the noise, his body remained acutely still- like that of a statue. Profligates have the tendency to be over reliant on chems to minimize their pain. They use it like a crutch, and don’t learn to bear their suffering. They were not like the Legion, who treated pain as the purest form of sacrifice.

“I do need to come around the Fort more often, if it means I get to see you.” He replied with a lazy charm as the Follower worked on the stab wound in his side. Startlingly pale eyes watched each movement of the man’s hands as he went about his duty. Like an old-world tiger crouched in the grass.

“Aemilia.” He repeated, as if Vulpes had never heard the name before. As if he was some clueless soul that had stumbled into the Old Mormon Fort by luck. “Industrious. Seems like it would fit the legend of the great Courier Six.” He remarked, allowing some of his knowledge to slip out. “Though I may be speaking off the cuff. Pays better to be lucky than smart, then again- givin’ my sorry state- I might not be either.” He gives a friendly little laugh. His smile that accompanied is all sharp angles and teeth. Surprisingly well-kept ones for the wasteland.

Despite how languid the grin looked, there was the undercurrent of an animal baring its teeth. A warning of gnashing fangs. In the shadows of the tent, it made them seem sharper than they actually were. It wasn’t long before they were hidden by his lips again, like some dangerous hidden secret.

“Noted, Doc. Though truth be told, I only like to flatter the ones I like.” He gave a conspiratorial little wink towards the Follower. Though made note that the Courier was likely going to return to the Fort in due time.

James Fox suddenly moved fast with a nimbleness that belied his inebriated state. Like a stalking predator bursting out into an ambush. His hand steadily grabs Arcade’s wrist- loose enough that the other man can pull away easily if he likes. Though despite his slender hands, they are calloused and strong- not the hands of a man that has lead the high life, as James Fox supposedly did. With his dapper gambler outfit and lazy grin, he shakes his head and lets go. “Sorry Doc, didn’t mean to grab ya. Just didn’t want you to waste the stimpack on lil’ ol me. Like you said, the wound isn’t enough to keel over from. Besides, I imagine a lot o’ people here are in worse condition, and are more deserving of the resources than I am.”

Vulpes Inculta had made the mistake of allowing the ranger’s blade to cut into his body. The Legion taught that one must accept the consequences of their mistakes without question. This pain was nothing but deserved. Besides, though he may be allowed to dabble in vices that the profligates use as a crutch due to his station as frumentarii- he preferred not to. He liked to uphold the rigid ideals of purity, both because Caesar demanded it, and because Vulpes preferred it.


~***~


He tilted his head, like that of a curious raven. Perhaps he and all the other frumentarii could be likened to the old pre-war mythology creatures Huginn and Muninn- the ravens that traveled all around the world in order to be the eyes and ears of Odin. Though instead, they were the eyes and ears for the Son of Mars.

He listens to her words and seemingly mulls them over for a moment before speaking himself. “That’s the terrible thing about ‘organized society’ of any kind. Like you said, if folks don’t fit into the molds they already have established- then they cut off pieces until they do fit. Doesn’t leave people the same, I reckon. If it happens to New Vegas, it’ll be like a bird with clipped wings. Not really any life to live, for something that was born to fly.” He remarks, allowing himself a moment of astute observation. It is a lesson that he had learned the hard way. “But…what do I know. Like I said, just the common man.”

In the rush to reclaim the forgotten glory of the old world, people would get swept up in the waves made by bigger groups. Assimilated and erased, their identity belongs to the tide. You either drowned in the waters, or you lived long enough to learn to tread water. The current would sweep a person away callously and apathetically, like it did everyone else. Though, Skitch had learned that it’s easier to let the water carry him where it wanted. It’s not like he could get to the shore- to the safety of solid ground, and he was afraid to drown in the water. The only thing he could do was tread the water until the currents of the rapids smashed him into the jagged rocks in the river.

Eventually it would end. Though, he couldn’t say it would be a happy one. As the pre-war American novelist Ernest Hemmingway once said- “They wrote in the old days that it is sweet and fitting to die for one's country. But in modern war, there is nothing sweet nor fitting in your dying. You will die like a dog for no good reason.”

They were dogs of war, in the tide that was the blood of Mars. There was no stopping it, no escaping it. A depressing thought all the same.

He was broken out of his internal thoughts by the woman introducing herself. He gave a shake of her hand before letting go, tucking his hand back into his jean pocket.

Aemilia…interesting. That name sounded like it had come from the tongue of Mars, the language of the Legion. He didn’t comment on it, didn’t want to divulge just how much he knew. It was easier to be a fly on the wall when people assumed you were a knuckle-dragger. Feigned ignorance was a tool as was any other, it was easier to collect information when others underestimated him. They let things slip easier that way. “Well, good to meet you formally- Aemi. I don’t mind getting you a way in to meet the King. He's always got time for folks like you who want to help out Freeside.” Really he hoped she wouldn’t take him up on the offer, since Caesar approved of the tensions between the Freeside residents and the NCR. Would be a shame for the Courier to get involved and smooth over the series of misconstrued wrongs that Skitch had carefully encouraged.

He then gave a small hum, scuffing his boot at the broken asphalt of the road as she mentions funds. He decides to hedge a guess. “You saving up caps then? Trying to get onto the Strip?” He asks in a casual manner. “Not trying to pry, just that it seems anyone who isn’t a local or a squatter is only blowing through in order to get to New Vegas. I believe you can get a passport at Mick and Ralph’s for cheap, if you were of the inclination.”

 

[Lucyfer]

If Arcade had looked up more, he might have noticed that predatory visage as Vulpes spoke of a little more on Aemilia. As it was, he noticed the single word choice: industrious. The only people who used that word, usually wanted to make use of it. ‘Well, good luck to you.’ If he wanted to kick drugs, maybe Aemilia could help, but Arcade doubted that was what James had in mind. Too high-class for something that simple.

Or, theoretically.

Then his wrist was caught, and that was enough to turn every yellow flag he’d seen into red ones.

The wounds matched the Legion too well. So did his reaction to a stimpack, and Arcade had suspected he wasn’t drunk from the moment he’d helped the man. There was just no stench of alcohol on him. However, Arcade wasn’t dumb enough to call the man on it. He liked living. The feelings he’d enjoyed from the flattery now chilled him to the bone as he drew his hand back, “You’re right,” he agreed, curt, as he rose from where he’d been kneeling. “The beds are more useful for people more wounded, as well.”

Obviously, he wasn’t in a position to kick James Fox out, but he could make it very clear that he wasn’t welcomed there any longer. “You know the way back to the gate, right?” he began packing up his supplies, debating if he ought to warn Aemilia that this man had been sniffing around about her here. He didn’t think Aemilia had any good reputation with the Legion, although he didn’t know that she had a necessarily negative reputation.

She hadn’t spoken of them with any fondness when they’d touched on it briefly after his little quip about new things under the sun – or rather the lack of them.

“If you’ll excuse me, I do have other patients to tend to,” he did not, but Julie would easily assign him to something that wasn’t here, and that would be enough. It was evident he didn’t need looking over in his sleep, even if he chose to stay in the tent.

Although Arcade would mention it to Beatrix.

Someone should keep an eye on him, after all. Make sure he didn’t cause any harm or steal anything. Arcade would at least make sure there was nothing to steal in this tent as he finished putting it all in the first aid kit and then shut that so he could walk out with it.

~***~

‘Spoken like a man that knows.’ But then again, how could this Skitch not? He took to the Kings, a group far more conforming than even the Legion, which at least had differences in hairstyle and attire – somewhat. The Kings were all the same in style from what Aemilia could tell.

Unlike the Legion, a King could leave without issue, as far as she knew. He was there by choice.

With the introduction over, though, she did start to walk again. “I’d guess you know a lot, Skitch, given the organization you’ve fallen into. After all, to an outsider, you Kings do all seem similar – but I know that’s by choice. You found something in the Kings that makes you feel welcomed and happy, and that’s enough for most.” Apparently not her, she insisted on sticking out like a sore thumb.

Otherwise, she wouldn’t be on the radio.

“I’ll appreciate anything you can do to get me that meeting,” she added, “I am trying to save up some caps. I have an important package to deliver on the Strip, but that’s not quite enough for the robots, apparently,” no, because they weren’t going to let two bullets and a gun through without sufficient caps.

The news about Mick & Ralph’s was new, though. “Do you know how well those work? I’d rather not end up dead because the robots can see through it,” she hadn’t heard much about these passports, which meant they either worked very well, or very poorly. Aemilia wasn’t sure it was a gamble she wanted to take, not when she was so close.

Then again, her luck hadn’t failed her yet.

Just at it hadn’t failed her in locating Bill, who was sadly where she left him. “Ah – hold that thought, I’ve gotta talk to this guy,” and without a more formal ‘excuse me’, she quickened her pace a bit to fall out of step with Skitch and reach Bill. “Hey! Bill!”

“Uh?” he looked up, then smiled, “Did you get me that alcohol?”

“Better, I got rid of Dixon,” that was obviously not the news he wanted to hear, as he all but jumped to his feet. He didn’t really have the energy or agility to literally jump up, so it was a bit of a mess – but it was quick.

“Why—why would you go—ooh, I’m never going to be able to afford this now.”

“That’s why,” Aemilia sighed. “You need to kick that habit.”

“Only way I’m gonna do that now is with a load of detox chems,” he grumbled, kicking at a rock.

“Those will help, but support from the Followers, and going through the struggle with Jacob will help you even more,” she said, “Come on, I’ll even walk you through the door,” she offered her hand, and he looked at it resentfully.

“Julie won’t want nothing to do with me.”

“Bill, she’s the one who asked me to do this. She misses you. She believes in you. I do, too. She told me what great work you did with a water pump for the Followers.”

She could see his eyes watering, and then, a dam burst. He covered the shame of it with his hands, harsh tears falling into dirty hands, “Oh Julie…,” he sobbed, and Aemilia sighed, but walked to close the distance and patted his shoulder, then gave his back a little push.

“Come on, she’s waiting,” she would help guide him along as he regrouped, tossing an apologetic look to Skitch if he’d lingered; she wouldn’t be surprised if he ran off. Addicts weren’t an easy thing to stomach, even when they weren’t blubbering about receiving compliments and doing good work, once upon a time.

 

[GorillaSuit]

Vulpes hadn’t bothered to keep up the act anymore by the time he had lashed out against the researcher, he was already through with the man anyways. He had gotten the information he had regarded as important- and now the leader of the frumentarii deemed Arcade Gannon no longer useful. It was not malicious, but practical. Perhaps it would have been more useful down to keep the researcher unaware of his true alignment, but the frumentarius could just as easily get the same information elsewhere. This random researcher was not special.

“I know my way back to the gate.” He responded smoothly, all pretenses of a false accent dropping from his tone. No longer was there the low gentle southern twang to his nasal pitched voice, instead was a cold cruel tone that took its place. It was completely flat and emotionless; yet had an edge to it like the bite of fangs. His voice sounded like a cool blade pressed against the small of one’s back in the creeping shadows of night felt. He stood smoothly, no longer pretending to be inebriated as before- and began to pull on his shirt. He looks at Arcade once he adjusts the cuffs of his stained dress shirt, his eyes are the color of ice. With the drop in persona, it is as if the frosty winds above Jacobstown had filled the tent.

As he collects his suit jacket, he again pat it down to make sure that his delivery was still where it needed to be. It was, and as such he began to walk towards the fleeing researcher with his suit jacket folded over his arm. “Make sure you tell Daisy I said hello. You really should go and see her soon. She isn’t getting any younger- but then again… I guess none of them are.”

The frumentarius only had insubstantial word of mouth and sheer speculation, but from what he had managed to collect… he knew there was something more to Arcade Gannon than he let on. There was some secret hidden there, lurking behind his façade. If Vulpes thought the man more important, he would have already found out whatever skeletons he had hidden. Though as it was, he wasn’t important enough to bother wasting resources.

Though, that didn’t mean Vulpes still couldn’t do some digging, at least in this very last moment as the Doctor packed up his things.

His observant eyes stared at Gannon, as if the man could peel back the layers of his skin and stare into his very soul. They were eerie in their striking intensity… nearly suffocating under their heavy gaze. He stalks closer. “Thank you again, Medicus. Though I must warn you, for your safety… it is best to keep silent on whatever clever conclusion your mind has come up with. Omnis habet secreta. Everyone has secrets. Isn’t that, right?” He purrs the last part in a cold warning, and his voice is as tender as the chain of his ripper.

If one remains vague enough, one can make someone else feel under the impression that one knows everything. In turn, they end up spilling more secrets than would have been gained elsewhere. Whether through words or body language.

He watched with that inscrutable heavy gaze that felt like a guillotine hanging above a condemned man’s neck- though after observing the researcher’s reaction, he glided past the other man. “In any case, I reckon I have got places to be…people to meet.” The accent was back, the lazy drawl and twang appearing like it hadn’t been dropped at a moment’s notice. Even upon hearing what the man actually sounded like, the accent was done where it sounded like he had spoke in that husky drawl his entire life. Tipping his hat, he saunters out of the tent and towards the exit to the Fort. He’d meet the Courier at the gate and extend his offer to the Courier there.

~***~

Skitch followed the Courier with a casual swagger, inwardly the man flinched at her deconstruction of the Kings and her false interpretation of why he was with them. Though outwardly he looked just as calm and collected as before. He wasn’t happy, he was just… existing. Biding his time, until the tide swept him somewhere else. Until he had a different purpose. Until he needed to uproot his life again, cut ties and burn bridges with everything he’s ever known yet another time.

He was a transient apparition that appeared on moment and was gone the next. Like a ghost.

Skitch didn’t say any of this, of course. Though he felt it deeply, like an ache that he just had to ignore because there was no cure. There was no use for sorrow, it did not have a place in the deadly place that was the Legion. You either lived long enough to thrive in the violence, or you were culled for being weak. Unfortunately, living as long as he had in the Legion, Skitch… or Sibilus Anguis as he was called- ended up adopting the violence into his heart. It was either that or drown. He was too much of a coward to drown.

So, like the snake that tricked Eve in the garden in ancient scripture- he would hiss out promises and lies. Only to bare his fangs and kill with toxic venom that withered the soul.

He grinned, even though he didn’t feel like it. “Yeah, the passports work. Though you need to keep it on the down low. Ralph can’t go around giving them out to everyone. I think last I heard you can get them for five-hundred caps, though being a smooth talker, you might be able to haggle it down lower.” He gives an idle shrug. So, he knew where the Courier was heading. Now he just needed to report in. Though, for now- he’d try and get all the information he could.

Watching Aemilia talk to the chem addicted man was uncomfortable. Living in Freeside for so long, one would think they would get used to the addicts in the streets and their sorry states. Though, for Skitch- it was more of wanting to take pity and compassion on a fellow human being, but knowing that he would be punished should he allow that part of himself to exist. Caesar teaches that all profligates who dabble in addictive vices and chems are nothing but degenerates. If they fall, then it will be from natural selection.

Yet, a small part of him wonders if it was truly so black and white. Though, even if he were to acknowledge that idea, it would be an act of treason. The fear of being crucified for even thinking such a thing was stamped out swiftly.

Instead, he just gives a small nod to the Courier as she and Bill start their trek over to the Fort. “Well, good luck Aemi. I’m sure you don’t want me sticking around, you certainly have better things to do.” His peripheral vision had caught a fox at the edge of it, near the Old Mormon Fort. He could feel the other man’s gaze lingering briefly on him from there. “Besides, I think someone is going to want to talk to you.”

Looks like Skitch wouldn’t need to report in after all.

 

[Lucyfer]

The accent was lost, so was the false inebriation, and Arcade was already kicking himself for letting the flattery, indeed, get so far that he ignored that flag when he noticed it. That was foolish, all over a southern drawl and intense eyes. ‘Idiot.’ An idiocy that doubled up on itself when the name Daisy was dropped and he whipped around – and immediately realized he gave away knowing her in doing so.

His lips pursed against the further comments on them.

Giving away any more was stupid, and he could see he’d been played for a reaction, just as he’d been played for information. He met the gaze of the Obvious Legionnaire with a glare now, but a terrible, frustrating inaction.

It’d do the world a lot of good if he just took his plasma defender and shot the legionnaire. Sure, explaining it would be a pain, and Julie would probably kick him out, but it might be worth it. Maybe. Maybe not. He didn’t want to be on the run again.

But he didn’t.

His lip twitched at the proper Latin that dropped as easily as if it were English from a tongue that never should have known the language, and he snorted in the face of the threat to keep silent. What did he really have to say, anyways? ‘Well….’ Honestly, if the NCR couldn’t guess there were legionnaires somewhere on the Strip and Freeside, they were stupid.

Pointing out one wasn’t going to do any good to them.

But he could warn one person there was a legionnaire in disguise seeking her out. An assassin? Maybe. It would make sense. He didn’t suggest that beyond that scoff that hinted at some defiance in the face of the threat. He wouldn’t say a word, he’d just let the legionnaire saunter out, and glare at his back for a moment…before dropping the first aid kit back on the table and going in search of Julie.

“Julie! Hey, Julie! I need to take some time out of the Fort but, uh, if I’m not back in thirty minutes, maybe send someone to look for me?” He said as he found Julie in her office within the actual walls of the Fort, and not in one of the tents.

Julie immediately looked concerned. “Is something wrong?” she rose from her chair.

“What? No, no,” he lifted his hands, “Well, maybe, but it concerns that Courier and I need to go find her. I know where Bill and Jacob usually are, so I figure I’d just go check with them, and then come right back if I couldn’t find her. But you know how Freeside can be sometimes, especially with men like…well, me.”

This did nothing to squash the growing doubt in Julie, and he could see it painted on her features. She’d known him too long.

He could lie about everything important but not these small things. “I can ask Beatrix to accompany you if you’re worried, Arcade.”

Arcade sighed, “I know. I appreciate it, Julie. I’ll be back soon, just…you know, I’m serious about that half hour thing.”

As if it would take a half hour to kill him.

~***~

500 caps was more manageable than the current quest to get 2,000. Aemilia wasn’t sure precisely how many she had, she’d have to count them out that evening when she finally settled in somewhere. Ideally she’d get more from Julie, as well, and be on her way in the morning to finally settle that old debt.

Although her luck seemed questionable.

Skitch left her with that information and seemed to notice someone waiting on her. She turned her attention away from him, letting him fade as yet another figure in the crowd, to alight on the gambler standing outside the Fort, indeed, like someone waiting for her. Someone familiar, although in the fading light she couldn’t quite make it out, she knew it wasn’t good, and patted Bill, “I’ll see you inside,” as she urged him to give a wider berth to the stranger in the suit as she approached him.

His gaze made it clear he did, indeed, want to talk to her.

His suit had blood on it. “Hey there,” friendly, at first, “that King seemed to think you were….” And then she was close enough to recognize him, and her body couldn’t decide if it wanted to flush with rage or lose its pallor in fear. Perhaps that helped it retain its color, even if her pause and the immediate death to all friendliness could not be called a poker face.

It took most of her restraint not to grab the magnum at her hip.

It took the rest of it to ignore the burning sensation at her chest, where one pocket held a simple item not worth a cap – the slip of a lottery ticket from Nipton she had picked up, so she would never forget. As if she could ever forget what she had seen at Nipton, or the mercy killings she had bestowed upon the crucified when that monster left. She didn’t know his name. She’d never asked, he hadn’t bothered to share it – but she didn’t forget his appearance. A fancy suit didn’t change the monster underneath it.

“Ah. You.”

Her hand still moved to rest on the butt of her gun.

‘Pick a number, any number, good sir! I’m sure you’ll win the lottery, you have the luck of the devil!’

She kept that thought off her tongue.

Another day. Right now, she understood that if he truly wanted to kill her, he wouldn’t have bothered to let her see him. So, this wasn’t for violence, and she wouldn’t start it, either. Not when she didn’t know what she was up against, but knew enough to be wary; he’d destroyed an entire town, after all. Not alone…but she wasn’t convinced he was alone here, either. “What can I not help you with today?”

‘Why would anyone send you to talk to me?’ Then again, odds were he didn’t fully understand how terrible a thing he’d done was. He definitely hadn’t when they talked the first time, so he wouldn’t think it such a bad idea to talk to her after what was just another Thursday for him.

 

[GorillaSuit]

Just like the leader of the frumentarii had thought- everyone has secrets.

The interaction had left him with far more information than he started with about the Follower. Though, he only considered the idle curiosity as nothing more than a mere side diversion. By the time he’d left the gates of the Old Mormon Fort, he had filed away the information but disregarded any focus on the man. For now, he had his true goal in his sights.

Vulpes Inculta watched as the hidden frumentarius agent Sibilus pointed him out to him to the Courier. The leader of the frumentarii gave a look to the secret agent, as if saying without words for him to remain afterwards to that he may talk to him. The look was fleeting and was gone in the blink of an eye. The heavy weight of the fox’s inscrutable gaze moved to settle on the woman as she approached, eyes frosty like that of ice or snow. He didn’t bother to bring up the act, the woman already recognized him. He could see the flash of recognition in her eyes before she had even said a thing. His acute gaze was drawn to her body language, and he noted the moment that her hand hovered over the magnum on her hip. He didn’t make a verbal remark on it. Though he did keep is astute observant eyes on her elbow and shoulder. That is where the main movement of drawing a one handed pistol came from- if he saw so much as a twitch he didn’t like- then he had the concealed throwing knives on his person if need be.

Aim for the hand, non-leathal takedowns only, Caesar doesn’t want her dead. Though a person can’t shoot a weapon if they don’t have a finger to pull the trigger. It would be a matter of who was to draw their weapon faster, who would see the moment that hostility bubbled over first.

His eyes were alert. Things like this is what he was trained for. Though, he didn’t think it would come to that.

“I have been sent as a liaison for a certain power in the Mojave that has taken an…interest in your various travels. It has been demanded of me that I am to extend to you an invitation.” He does not retrieve the mark of Caesar from his coat, not yet. It was too out in the open. It would be better to offer up the mark in the politically neutral zone of New Vegas. It welcomed all comers, so long as they paid. It was a city of vice and sin, degeneracy given form. Worse than Nipton could have ever hoped to be.

His carefully crafted impartial countenance did not even flicker. “I would invite you to the Strip. I am…assuming you would be heading that way eventually.” A nearly singular path to the city of vice. She must have business.

Vulpes has no evidence, but he wonders if ‘business’ includes the man that had been rumored to have shot her in the head.

~***~

Reports, rendezvous with other agents, supply drop-offs; that had been the only communication with the Legion since he had started this mission so long ago. Nearly a year at this point. Despite how long it had been since he had last seen his superior, he caught nearly imperceptible look thrown in his direction.

Of course, he had.

Vulpes Inculta, known for his cold ruthlessness and efficiency. He demanded only the best of the best for those under his command. Optimus maximus. Despite his harsh actions against ‘profligates’- he was unusually lenient when it came to his own legionnaires under his command. At least compared to other superiors that Sibilus had worked under. His previous Centurion had been terribly eager to punish for even the smallest of perceived aggressions. At least his current superior is fair with his judgement.

The leader of the frumentarii didn’t need to earn respect through fear like Lanius, or through a grand religion like Lord Caesar. He earned it by being valuable.

If you were chosen to become apart of the frumentarii… you were expected to also be valuable.

Skitch hovers wordlessly, as if bound by that stare that Vulpes had at him earlier. He trots a distance away, far enough where it won’t seem like he was eavesdropping, but close enough that he could keep an eye on the situation. He didn’t look directly at the two people speaking, instead he watched through his peripheral vision. He slid a hand in the back of his jeans to pull out a box of cigarettes, to act as if he was busy.

He wondered if he was going to be reassigned. He felt like it could be a plausible outcome. He’s been at his station for far longer than most frumentarii normally were. Usually they were to establish short-term identities that could be used for multiple different purposes and flexible in an assortment of scenarios. It was helpful in casting a wider net. Long-term identities were usually rare, unless there was a specific end goal in mind. He knows of one frumentarius with such a long-term mission, and that would be Picus. His objective was a most imperative one.

He lights a cigarette with his flip lighter that one of his ‘friends’ among The Kings had given him. Of course it had been yet another lie, and Sibilus wonders if in a different life- that maybe it wouldn’t have been.

A dangerous train of thought. Especially with his superior so nearby. The other man wasn’t a mind-reader, obviously. Though with how well he was able to read another person, he might as well be one.

Sibilus had been careful. For even despite the fact that Vulpes was lenient on his subordinates, any potential evidence of treason would be met with crucifixion. A slow and painful death, wrists wrapped with barbed wire against splintered wooden poles. Lawnmower blades or nails stabbed through the center of one’s palm in order to keep them hanging suspended. The hot Mojave sun burning away as birds above circle- until only bleached bones at the bottom of an empty cross remain.

It was worse than drowning.

 

[Lucyfer]

The door opened to let Bill into the Follower’s camp, as their discussion took place. Bill seemed to understand enough that he didn’t want to wait outside. Aemilia couldn’t blame him; the tension was thick, and she didn’t think it was entirely one-sided, although the chill gaze and disposition of the man before her could make a person wonder if he could be shaken.

Aemilia did not have the same training that the legionnaire had, couldn’t read that much about him, but she had also become astute at recognizing violent gestures. Luck had its role in quite a bit of her success – one didn’t survive two shots in the head without it – but time had leant itself to her perception. That, and a general understanding of one thing that was key: the man before her was naught but a Good Servant of Lord Caesar.

He didn’t say the name.

He didn’t have to, although Aemilia wanted to fill the air with it. She had no reason to hide – but it was intriguing in a terrible, darkly amusing, way that Caesar had sent someone to find her. So, making the movements obvious and slow, she lifted her hand away from the butt of her gun, and folded it over her chest with the other.

Not the best position to take with a threat of violence, but she sensed there wasn’t one.

Caesar wanted to see her, and the good hound wouldn’t upset his master without a very good reason. There were too many eyes on her for him to try it here, or likely, on the Strip itself without that word getting back to Caesar. He’d have to explain himself.

“It must be killing him to extend that invitation, too,” not just to someone who didn’t like his Legion, but a woman. He had to admit there was a woman in the world who stood a chance of…what? Threatening him?

‘I’m just a Courier.’

No one at all, Courier 6, who survived getting shot in the head and then…what? Didn’t go back to delivering packages, but began to deliver reason across the Mojave. That shot in the head was like a kick to the ass, and she could recognize her trajectory didn’t end after Benny, even if that left her wondering what to do.

Would answers come when she understood why he shot her?

She could just go back to delivering messages, but in a strange way, Caesar wanting to meet her made things…interesting. Was her influence and reputation truly becoming a thing worthy of wielding like a sword?

Maybe so.

“I’ll hear you out,” although already it was slotted in her mind to accept. It could be a trap, but what was that old saying? “After all,” the door didn’t fully shut after Bill, and a lean, blond figure emerged onto the scene, though he seemed a bit startled there was a scene.

~***~

Arcade Gannon had not anticipated catching Aemilia and Mr. Fox right outside the gates. He didn’t know if it was unintentional for the Fox, and just luck, or if the man had waited. However, Arcade could tell that Aemilia wasn’t oblivious to who this was. Not with the way she crossed one leg behind the other and stepped so she was a bit more in-front of Arcade.

Not perfectly.

Enough to pass a message on that she wouldn’t think kindly if Mr. Fox opted to eliminate any witnesses, though there were plenty others. Arcade noticed a King not too far off smoking – perhaps not technically anyone paying attention, but close enough to be called a witness if anything went down, anyways.

“Fortune favors the bold,” Aemilia said, concluding a thought that Arcade was unfamiliar with. He shot her a wary look, and didn’t throw in the Latin version of that phrase right then. Whether she knew it or not was fairly irrelevant.

“I’ll see you on the Strip tomorrow?”

“What?” Arcade couldn’t help but question immediately, ideas of Aemilia shattering in his head.

She didn’t look to him, but she addressed the concern simply, “It’s always good to know others we’ve misunderstood better, isn’t it?” Which almost caused Arcade to yell out that there was no misunderstanding the genocidal, hypocritical, misogynistic band of barbarians – but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut and decide he could ask his questions when there wasn’t a legionnaire in front of them.

That didn’t get rid of the horrified or disgusted look on his face at the mere idea of Aemilia courting the legion.

Or the other way around, maybe. Probably. ‘Industrious.’ Definitely the other way around, and he wouldn’t stand for it if he could get a few words in. Which, he would.

 

[GorillaSuit]

The way Courier Six crossed her arms over her chest let Vulpes know that it was a defensive posture. It was enacted slowly, as if to punctuate the lack of hostility in her form. It was as if she was trying not to spook a wild animal, or something of the sorts. Though simultaneously, she was building a barrier between the two of them with her posture.

Given how the Courier had reacted in Nipton to the Legion’s brand of justice against that den of iniquity, he had no doubt that she was likely warring with her ideals inside her mind. Vulpes had tried to convince Lord Caesar that the woman would not be swayed to their side, their meeting in Nipton had solidified that fact. Yet, Lord Caesar had insisted despite Vulpes’ hesitance on the matter. The man was loyal to his god, and so- against his own better judgement, he would follow Lord Caesar’s will.

Lord Caesar likely had a plan. The Son of Mars had a brilliant tactical mind, seeing threats far before they had even appeared on the horizon. Either this was an elaborate ruse- a ploy to control or kill the Courier, or Caesar had some knowledge that made him feel that he could sway the woman to their side.

Unlike many legionaries who despite being made Legion still wallowed in their uncouth tribal roots of hunter and gatherer mindsets, Vulpes was pragmatic. The frumentarius was not like Cursor Lucullus who believed women were inferior. The legionnaire knew Lord Caesar split up the Legion’s duties to be efficient.

He did not care for the gender of who was in front of him, only if they were useful to his plots. If they weren’t, then they were simply not worth his time. Lord Caesar had insisted that Aemilia would be worth his time, and thus is why he was making this effort in the first place.

As Aemilia spoke and accepted listening to his pitch, that was when yet again the gates of the Old Mormon Fort creaked open. His eyes slid over to the familiar blond hair, though intense was his attention, it was brief as he instead focused back on who he actually came all this way for. He did not even pay the doctor any more attention, as if he was not worth his time. The leader of the frumentarii noticed the shift again in body posture, as if the Courier changed her stance and adopted a semi-protective pose.

She saw Vulpes as a threat.

Good.

He hummed idly. His own body posture was relaxed and open. “Yes, tomorrow. You may meet me at the Ultra-Luxe. The time does not matter, for I shall know the moment you step foot onto the Strip.” He did not speak as if he was trying to intimidate, simply as if it was a matter-of-fact. “You may even bring a ‘plus-one’ if you wish. Though do not be surprised if I do the same.” He does a small bow at the waist, before rising to his full height again. The movement was smooth despite the fact that he had been stabbed and stitched up not long ago. “Farewell. Until we meet tomorrow.” He pulled on his suit jacket, the mark of Caesar resting against his breast above his heart, unseen by any other and safely tucked away.

With that, he glides past the two of them- his black shiny pre-war dress shoes barely even make a sound against the asphalt as he disappears into Freeside.

He doesn’t even bother to glance back to see if the Courier would try to lift her weapon against him.

He knew she wouldn’t.

~***~

Sibilus waited, passed the time until he’d burned through two more cigarettes. He’d measure the time to make sure it didn’t seem suspicious if he walked off after Vulpes had. He knew that the man was likely heading to the rendezvous location, a small back alley where the only company was usually empty old-world dumpsters. Pushing himself off the wall, he slunk down one of the nearest alleyways- being in Freeside for so long and being what he was, he’d made a mental map of most of the area. He wouldn’t follow the other frumentarius using the same path. Perhaps overly paranoid, though he figured it was for the best.

Eventually he stopped at the mouth of the dead-end backstreet pass. There, illuminated by a single crackling fire barrel in the corner was Vulpes. He was cleaning off one of his throwing knives with a scrap of fabric that seemed to be from part of a cotton tee-shirt. He looked down, seeing a three Freeside thugs on the ground. Knife wounds to their throats had systematically taken them out swiftly and efficiently. “You were busy.” Sibilus remarks simply, folding his hands behind his back. He tries not to flinch as pale eyes land on him, even after all this time he never had gotten used to the leader of the frumentarii’s gaze.

“You’re being reassigned.” Vulpes doesn’t elect to respond to Sibilus’ words- instead getting directly to the heart of the situation. “Freeside is no longer important enough to require long-term observation. We have enough informants here that you aren’t required to remain.” The predator in the skin of a man slips the thin blade back into the concealed spot on his person, even with Sibilus’ sharp eyes- the motion is too fast to see where it had gotten stowed away.

He resists the urge to grit his teeth, because truthfully he had known it was coming. He hadn’t felt like his reports were needed for nearly three months now, maybe even longer. Still, the idea wasn’t pleasant of returning to the open battlefield. He will be the first to admit, he’s likely gotten a bit…soft from this mission. The job was an easy one with minimal danger. Now, he would have to return to peak condition to remain useful. “I figured as much. Do you have an assignment detail prepared for me?”

“Your current mission is to be my shadow until we return to the Fort. Upon returning I will likely have you return to active combat until my plan finishes falling into action and leaves open a vacant spot for you to fill.” He steps over the body of the Freeside thug casually, as if one stepped over a small obstacle. “Dress for the Ultra-Luxe tomorrow. We’ll have company.”

Sibilus tilts his head slightly, squinting his eyes. “Courier Six?” He questions, to which Vulpes gives a hum in affirmative. “Understood, sir. Is that all?”

“Yes. You may leave.” Sibilus’ superior nods his head slightly and waves him away. “Ave.”

The frumentarius responds in kind, though as he does it feels like something stale on his tongue.

Vulpes Inculta moves past him silently as the creature he is named after, and Sibilus waits until he is long gone before he goes to leave as well. He’s slightly caught in a daze, far too focused on his own thoughts as he walks the streets of Freeside back to his hovel in one of the abandoned buildings. It isn’t anything to elaborate- simply a place for him to stash his gear as well was a place for his ham radio to be accessed.

In the dresser he opens it to retrieve a suit for tomorrow. Vulpes hadn’t stated a time, to that likely meant be ready by sunrise.

Padding over to the bathroom, he dipped his head down into the sink- washing the black gel out of his hair that held it into the signature ‘Kings’ style. What was left were pale wet locks that tried to spring up into curls. His hair had gotten long, longer than was appreciated among standard legionaries. For the ones favored upon Caesar, they were allowed individuality to a point. Choosing what to do with one’s own hair was something he had taken for granted.

Taking out a razorblade, he slowly began the process of cutting it down to legionnaire standard.

He looked at his appearance once he was done, and swallowed as he rubbed his short cropped hair. With a sigh, he began to pack up his armor from it’s hidden compartment into a bag to leave after tomorrow.

Nothing lasts forever. He knows this.

He supposed it was nice to pretend- for a while at least.

Skitch is gone…

Only Sibilus Anguis remains.

 

[Lucyfer]

Aemilia found she did not doubt that Vulpes would know. He was too confident in it to be lying, given the meeting was important. A spy, a radio DJ, a robot – somehow, someone, would tell him, and if she didn’t find him in the Ultra-Luxe, he wouldn’t be far behind her. So, she offered a nod, the terms agreeable enough. She had no intention of bringing a “plus one”, though, and wasn’t bothered by the thought of Vulpes bringing one.

No one kept her secrets, no one held her confidence. There was no one she needed to bring along to discuss the Legion with, but she wouldn’t tell Vulpes that. If he thought she shared confidence with anyone, he could keep thinking that.

“I’ll look forward to meeting your guest,” she still didn’t have his name.

It was still irrelevant.

Monster suited just fine.

“Vale,” she called after him, unable to help herself, before she turned away, to see Arcade’s immense disapproval. She sighed and walked by him, the good doctor immediately following.

“Do you want to tell me about that?”

‘No.’

“Because I thought you were opposed to the Legion. If you’re helping them—”

“I’m not helping them,” safely tucked within the Old Mormon Fort, “I’m listening, there’s a difference.”

“Oh, right,” he scoffed, “because the Legion should be given a podium and freedom of speech to spread their hatred, as if they were reasonable, sensible, beings worth listening to.”

Aemilia paused and turned to face him. His scowl was fixed. As was his posture, and intent to argue. “You want to fight me?” She asked, “Tell me where Julie is and help me get a bed for the night, and I’ll argue with you all night.”

“I have a bunk in my tent.” Apparently the bed situation was satisfied, then. “Julie’s in the Fort walls, but she’s probably asleep right now,” his gaze softened, just a touch, “I saw Bill….”

“Yeah, I handled that. I’ll deal with caps in the morning, then.”

“Is it all about caps with you? Is that really why you do any good?”

She didn’t speak until she got into the tent, and began to take off her packs, her gun, her sword, “No, but it’s a motivator,” she said, “and I need caps to get to the Strip.” She hesitated with the magnum in hand. ‘I could just go to the Wrangler….’ Gamble it all. She’d win. There was a strange certainty to it.

“To meet James Fox?”

‘No.’

Not even to meet Benny, but also, very much, to meet Benny. “Arcade, what do you believe in?”

He was taken by surprise, not privy to her thoughts, “What? How is that relevant?”

“Humor me,” she set the gun on the top bunk and turned back to him, leaned against the metal bar of the bunkbed, “What do you believe in?”

“If you’re asking if I believe in a god, or some other divine being – the answer’s no. I don’t disbelieve, either, but it’s irrelevant. I…believe in helping others.” How to do it, that was always the question.

“Do you believe that is your purpose, or your choice?”

Arcade sighed, already exasperated with the line of questioning, “Where is this going, Aemilia? I love philosophy, but I’d like to know the point where it involves humoring fans of genocide.”

Aemilia couldn’t help the pull of a smile to her lips, before it died away, “I’m the luckiest person in the world, Arcade. I didn’t just survive two shots to the head.”

‘I survived the Divide. I survived Nipton.’ Sheer luck of leaving early enough, and then being too late. If she hadn’t stayed to help Goodsprings defend itself against a group of powder gangers, she would have been rounded up, too. She won the fucking lottery, hit the fucking jackpot. ‘I walked through a valley of death claws twice to deliver a package and didn’t even know it. I brokered peace between Khans and NCR, saved a sheriff from raiders, and I’ve left a trail of people behind who think I’m something more than I am.’

“I can’t help but think there’s a reason for it,” she slipped the magnum back into its place, “I’ll get to the Strip tomorrow, and maybe talking with them will help me see the way forward to…to whatever I’m supposed to be doing.”

“And how do you plan to make it to the Strip tomorrow?” Arcade’s eyes slipped to the gun’s return to holster, “You need to sleep and think this through.”

“I need to go to the Wrangler to get some caps.”

Arcade let out a frustrated noise, “No—no,” he said, “I don’t care how lucky you think you are, I don’t believe it’s been pure luck the whole way through, so let’s be logical here for five seconds. You need 2,000 caps to get to the Strip—”

“Five hundred.”

Arcade gave her a blank look.

“Apparently I can buy a fake passport for 500 caps and it works, but I don’t have that now, and I…I don’t really think Julie has enough to push me over that edge.”

“So you’re just going to go gamble 300 caps and hope it works?”

“Well—”

“No. In the morning, we’re going to talk to whoever is selling the passports, and we’re going to convince them—”

“We?”

“I’m coming with you."

“No,” Aemilia almost laughed at the idea.

“Yes,” Arcade said, more firmly, “A Plus One was mentioned.”

“I travel alone.”

“Traveled,” he put it into the past tense for her. “I’m not…I’m not asking to be a charity case, and I’m not offering because I’m concerned you’ll…join them. I was going to offer to accompany you before all of this,” he gestured out, “I’ve been thinking about what you do. Maybe it is motivated by caps, but you could be a raider, a thief, a thousand other things to get caps, and you consistently choose to do good, which, hey, we both know doesn’t pay as well. All I do is sit here and study plants or animals in the hopes of finding a new cure, or making a stimpack out of a barrel fruit. As far as fruitless wastes of time go, it's quite noble in its aims – but I don’t want to waste my time anymore.”

Aemilia felt a new fear well up in her, with each word Arcade spoke. She was lucky. As far as she knew, that didn’t pass on to others.

“You make a difference. You help people, and I want to see how you do it. In all my time spent researching, I haven’t done half as much.”

“You’ve healed a lot more people than I have,” she adopted that defensive posture, folding her arms over her chest. “You may not have created anything, but you’ve helped people, and you can keep helping people here.”

“Yeah, I can,” he said, “or I can make a real difference for New Vegas. You think you’re kept alive for some reason, right?” Well, Aemilia couldn’t go back on that, “Maybe you met me to keep you alive.”

“You can’t use my logic against me,” he very obviously could. “Arcade, it’s dangerous.”

“I know. All the more reason you shouldn’t do this alone.”

‘I don’t think you know.’ In this Follower’s camp, perhaps he’d seen some terrible things, but she didn’t know that he’d experienced it. He read a lot. He knew a lot, but to live it? That was another matter entirely and she sank onto the bottom bunk. “You really wanted to come with me? You really think I can teach you anything?”

“What, are you going to get humble on me now about all your accomplishments? Or claim it really was just pure selfishness for caps?”

‘No.’

It wasn’t that. But she wasn’t as good as he wanted to believe, either, or else she would have shot the Monster on sight. How could Arcade be prepared for it? ‘How are you?’ Because the ticket was still burning a hole to her heart, and because she knew, she survived every terrible thing…but others didn’t.

“All right, Arcade. If you think you want to come with me, then you have to help me. You have to get me a passport to the Strip on your own, before I do.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I can,” she said, “because I can leave you behind if I can get there without you. You won’t be able to talk the robots down,” she smirked, and took the gun out of its holster, “Good night, Arcade.”

Aemilia really did think when she went to sleep, she’d given Arcade too damning a task.

Needless to say, when she woke to the slap of a passport against her cheek – light but startling – she was disappointed to hear how legitimate it was, and the strings Arcade pulled with the NCR for all the times the Followers helped out their wounded – and, of course, dropped her name where needed. He went on and on to complain about the task and how he’d burned all his favors with them, as Aemilia groggily woke herself up, stumbled into breakfast with the Followers, and got a mere stimpack as a reward from Julie for the help she gave to Bill and Jacob.

Late morning, though, both she and Arcade walked through the securitrons and onto The Strip.

How lucky can one guy?
I kissed her and she kissed me​

Music blared.

A securitron that was all too familiar to Aemilia rolled up and introduced itself – and wonder of wonders – invited her to the Lucky 38.

Even she knew no one went into the Lucky 38. It was, of course, where she would have gone if everything had gone according to plan once upon a time, to deliver a package to the Lucky 38. Things began to fall into place – even Victor’s existence, and help.

He’d been tailing her for the package.

So, she accepted the invitation, leaving Arcade outside, and met Mr. House himself – and she was no longer a mere Courier to him, either. Oh, he wanted the package still, but she had the ability now to ask questions. He offered her 4 times the delivery bonus, but it wasn’t enough. 5 times – and yet he would say nothing of the chip, other than he created it, and it was worth a sum beyond counting.

Something that Benny, his former protégé, knew.

Mr. House hinted she could be a new protégé. Groomed for greatness.

And still, he told her nothing.

“Complete your contract and it will be the last time I pay for the Chip. Save your questions for then.”​

Aemilia smiled and agreed, but had no intention of doing that. There was another with answers, after all. She would know what this Chip was before she handed it over to anyone, but she didn’t need all the securitrons to turn violently against her with an outright denial, so out the door she went with Mr. House pacified, and Arcade waiting outside.

As well as several eyes on her. ‘Well…he’ll definitely know I’m here now.’

“So, care to fill me in on what that was all about?”

“Just the package I lost,” Aemilia said, “but I’ll be getting it back soon,” she reassured, as if that was reassurance at all to Arcade. “Mr. House is quite desperate for it.”

“Uh huh…I’m gonna take a shot in the dark and say this is why you got shot in the first place?”

“Yeah, it’s starting to make more sense.”

“Heh, well, if it’s going to get me shot anytime soon, I hope you’ll fill me in,” they crossed over from the Lucky 38 and Gomorrah, into the area of the Tops and the Ultra-Luxe.

Aemilia couldn’t help but look towards the Tops. Certainly, she had time, right? Before Benny knew she was here, before the whole damn Strip knew – and that wouldn’t take long.

No one went into Lucky 38.

'At least that should mean the Ultra Luxe won't care if I'm in armor.' And her guest should be just fine in his Followers attire, too.

 

[GorillaSuit]

Like the fella once said, “Ain’t that a kick in the head?”​

A whisper and a murmur of interesting information floated through the air through gossip among those in the Strip. It was as light and airy as the sound coming over the speakers placed around New Vegas, trilling their likeable little pre-war melodies.

The Ultra-Luxe’s interior is pristine and ostentatious in its presentation. It hides the dark seedy underbelly of what lay underneath the intricate white masks. They are akin to wolves in sheeps’ clothing, Vulpes would know- he’s played the part himself. However, at least when he played the part- he didn’t hide an abomination against human nature like they did. While there was purity in brutality—there was none to be found in cannibalism. To be frank, it would be quite the boon to the world to simply exterminate the White Glove pests from existence.

Many problems could be solved that way, but alas- a delicate touch was needed.

That is where he came in.

--As the Courier and the Follower made their way into the dazzling casino, a masked member of staff in impeccable dress greeted them at the front. He spoke in a low soft voice that seemed polite, though from behind the eye holes of his mask- his gaze trailed distastefully over their attire. “Pardon me, very sorry to bother you both. However, I’m going to need your weapons. We don’t allow the carrying of weapons here in the Ultra-Luxe…fret not, they’ll be waiting for you upon exiting the casino.”

Another member of the staff approached the one holding out his hands expectantly for their weapons. She whispered something murmured and low into his ear, before giving a curtsey to the two guests and leaving as fast as she had appeared. “Ah, I see you are a guest of Mr. Fox. Once you hand me your weapons, I can guide you to his table. He has you as a reserved table.”

Meanwhile, waiting for the guest of honor to arrive, Vulpes and Sibilus are sitting in the dining area of The Gourmand. The square table is situated in the corner of the checkered floored room, it is tucked against dividers made of decorative metal and shaped into geometric lines and broken up by the occasional circle. It is as private as can be, in the busy room. The two men sit across from each other. Vulpes with one leg calmly crossed over the other as his observant eyes contemplate the room. He’s dressed in a different suit than the bloody one from the night before, his hat is gone- he hadn’t bothered to wear it. Overall, he is well put together and looks like he was made to be in such a fine establishment. Ad ludum ludere. To play the game.

Sibilus sat upright, his posture rigid but not out of fear or discomfort, but simply professionalism. His fingers idly tapped the table.

“The weather seems calm. I only hope it remains on our side.” He remarks, the double meaning is obvious between the two of them. It is clear that the weather is an allusion to the Courier. He plucks up a complementary glass of champagne he had been given earlier when they had first arrived at the table. He takes a sip, making a show of it but only allowing the liquid to touch his lips but little more. It was a trick of the eye to make it seem like one was sipping on their drink when they weren’t imbibing at all.

Vulpes gives him a steadfast look, one that seems lazy, but it calculated under the surface. “The weather tends to change in the blink of an eye. One should always be prepared, even if the night sky seems clear at first; there is always the looming threat of a sandstorm.”

They return to stiff silence.

Sibilus idly wonders if Aemilia will recognize him. He finds himself hoping that she won’t. He’s not sure why- after all, who would memorize the face of every individual King in Freeside? Even with his job as an informant, Sibilus hadn’t done that much.

His secret should be safe, but he doesn’t understand why he wants it to remain so in the first place.

Sibilus will fake the death of ‘Skitch’ before he leaves, make it seem like he had befallen a terrible fate. Or perhaps he’d just disappear without falsifying a death, after all- people disappear all the time. Especially in Freeside. He doubts anyone would even truly notice- perhaps a few ‘friends’ would mourn him. Though death is such a common thing that people remain detached. Or perhaps that is just something he does that he is assuming it is true for everyone else as well.

It is one of the first lessons you learn in the Legion, right after ‘only the most brutal survive’. You didn’t have to be the strongest, or the fastest- but you had to be the one that was willing to tear out another person’s throat with your bare teeth. You needed to be mean, so that way it would be too much trouble for others trying to push you around.

The other most valuable lesson? Relationships of any kind only seek to destroy you. There is a high mortality rate in the Legion, and it isn’t strange for someone to be alive one day and then gone the next. There wasn’t true friendship either- just temporary allies who would be useful when your goals aligned with theirs. Everyone was vying for a place at the top, and they’d be as cutthroat as possible to get there.

He wonders if that’s why Vulpes Inculta is so… outwardly muted. It’s almost as if the spymaster never expresses even the slightest amount of emotion at times, as if he wasn’t even human. Sibilus knows the man is young- a couple younger than even Sibilus if he recalls correctly, and he believes he’s in his late twenties…truthfully, he hadn’t kept count when you need to play as a different persona as often as others change their clothes. In any case, the leader of the frumentarii was considered a prodigy among the Legion. Having raced through the ranks.

Sibilus wonders if Vulpes really was well and truly dead inside, detached from everything except his loyalty and duty. It’s a morbid thought, but it doesn’t feel much different than Sibilus’ own situation. The Legion assimilated everything it touched, destroyed individual identities, and made them into something that fit the mold.

He hadn’t been lying when he had spoken to Aemilia before.

So distracted by his thoughts, Sibilus hadn’t noticed one of the Ultra-Luxe’s staff walk up to their table and speak in a hushed tone to Vulpes. It wasn’t long before the woman scampered off, the informant had done her duty. Vulpes steepled his fingers together in front of him. “They just entered the Ultra-Luxe.”

“They?” He asks, unaware that there would be a second guest.

Vulpes just gives a stern nod and waits with a patience that was honed by being a man that worked through delicately pushing pieces into place while waiting for the outcome to fall.

Together they wait in silence for the two guests of honor to arrive.

 

[Lucyfer]

The Ultra-Luxe lived up to its name. The casino was like little else in the wastelands, and the people were all in finery Aemilia couldn’t imagine she’d ever find the time to wear, let alone the ability to keep looking nice. That didn’t mean she didn’t envy it, although the masks set her on edge. That seemed an unnecessary touch, just as taking her weapons away seemed unnecessary.

Arcade didn’t seem to find the request strange, and began to remove his plasma defender without additional prompting, though Aemilia hesitated a moment longer, before relenting and handing over her sword, as well as her magnum. She constricted a threat in her throat. ‘If anything happens….’

“Thank you,” off went the weapons, “if you will please follow me.”

Aemilia did, glancing around the casino as they went and its patrons, several of which tried to imitate the finery of the area around them. Despite that sting of jealousy, there was a part of her that still reasoned, ‘They should enjoy any peace they can grab.’ That even this should be protected.

Boone’s wife came to mind, a man she met in passing – a man she helped – had been such a woman that would have enjoyed this, and it settled her conscience to think of Boone being dragged into such a place with the goofiest smile on his face.

Something she’d never seen, but something his partner had mentioned. His partner that had put her to another task for information on the man who shot her through the head.

A man she was leaving be, for now, to pursue what Caesar wanted of her – but she wasn’t leaving the Strip without hopping over to the Tops. Even Caesar would wait on her pleasure.

Mr. Fox and his Plus One were waiting, clear enough as they entered the Gourmand, although both looked as if they belonged in this place, in their suits. They didn’t seem like legionnaires, but ruthless gamblers. Neither Aemilia or Arcade recognized the second as they were seated, and new glasses of champagne set down for them.

“Oh, could I have purified water instead, please?” Aemilia asked, knowing full well she wouldn’t be drinking here.

That twitch of disgust returned to the eyes behind the mask at her request for a change. Yet, it was not a change that could be refused, so off went the champagne glass from her side of the table, “Of course, miss.”

“I’d also like purified water,” Arcade said, and the exasperation was impossible to hide, but off went his glass of champagne.

“Your waters will be here shortly,” he said, the curtness more prominent than the politeness, “and they will take your order at that time.” And he swept off, leaving the four alone for a moment.

Aemilia couldn’t quite thank James Fox for being here, but she did incline her head towards him and offer, “I hope you weren’t waiting too long.”

“And I hope your benefactor is the one footing the bill,” Arcade noted, before his gaze settled on the unknown, “And who are you? Mr. Weasel?” They all seemed to like to pick imagery of animals, “Wait, no, that wouldn’t fit. Mr. Wolf?” Canines were the popular imagery, even of ancient Rome, considering it was founded by two boys who had been tended to by a she-wolf in their infancy.

As far as he knew, Caesar hadn’t created that kind of fabulous story for himself.

Aemilia didn’t interrupt his greeting-probing, though again assumed names wouldn’t mean much. They weren’t going to be real ones. James Fox definitely wasn’t the name of the coyote-headed legionnaire, and whatever name this man bore, it wouldn’t be honest, either. Still, it was more polite than all the names she had in her head.

 

[GorillaSuit]

“Oh, no we haven’t been waiting for long at all. Besides, you had important business to attend to after all. It’s not every day that one gets invited to the Lucky 38.” His sharp blue eyes abruptly narrow slightly, and despite the pleasant smile on his face his eyes are cold. They slide over to Arcade. “I shall assure you, you need not worry about the state of my finances. My benefactor as you call him, insisted that no expenses be spared.” He turns back to Aemilia as he laces his fingers together.

Upon being addressed, Sibilus gave a polite decline of his head. He gave a slow crawling smirk across his lips in amusement at the glib quips of the man. He had met him before, briefly- the Followers had patched up their fair share of Kings. It was lucky that Arcade didn’t recognize him, though perhaps not luck… perhaps a reflection of skill. “You may call me Darvin Karr, if it pleases you.” It was perhaps a very loose reference to the darvikara, a hooded snake. “It is good to make your acquaintance, Aemilia. Arcade.” His ‘Kings’ accent was dropped of course, and instead he spoke normally. Sibilus’ usual voice was soft, very unlike the bravado he had laced in his tone during his previous disguise. His entire posture, body language and demeanor were completely different than the act of ‘Skitch’. It was as if he had become a shape shifter in his own skin. As was the case with all frumentarii.

Vulpes leaned back in his seat. “Now that introductions are complete, I imagine you must be curious as to why I extended such an invitation by my benefactor’s will.” He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders and waved his hand slightly in gesture. “Or perhaps after your meeting with House, you might already be aware of how…significant you are.” The Courier seemed clever…too clever for her own good. Vulpes had no doubt she already had a grasp on the situation, and was clued in for ideas on why Caesar wanted her to meet him.

“You have been a significant presence in the Mojave wasteland ever since you appeared in Goodsprings.” ‘Mr. Fox’ began. “You are a person who is capable of getting tasks completed once you set your mind to it. It is a quality that my benefactor admires. Which is why he would like for me to extend an invitation to you to speak to him directly.”

Sibilus watches the two guests, to see their reaction to Vulpes’ words. As no doubt the leader of the frumentarii was doing the same. “It’s not an honor that many receive. Especially an outsider not among our benefactor’s cause.” ‘Darvin’ states after his superior is finished speaking. He leans forwards slightly. “I am certain that the novelty of such a meeting would be enough to make you at least consider the invitation. Though, you are more than welcome to ask questions if it may assuage any worries you may have.”

“Though first, I have been given a gift to give you. An extension of goodwill.” He reaches slowly into his suit’s coat inside pocket, as not to startle the others into thinking he was pulling out a concealed weapon. While Vulpes did have concealed weapons on his person, he had no intention to use them. Out came a gold pendant attached to a leather strap. On it was minted with a bull, and underneath are the words ‘Legio Caesaris’. It glimmered in the twinkling lights of the dining room, as he extends it to the Courier. It dangles from his hand, the medallion swinging slightly as if it was trying to hypnotize Aemilia. “A fresh start. Any crimes against the Legion you may have committed are hereby forgiven. This Mark will give you safe passage among our lands. This most gracious offer will only be extended once.” The last words drop low, his feathery voice potent and lingering upon the words with a warning.

 

[Lucyfer]

No, it wasn't everyday, let alone any day, that someone was let in. From the sounds of things, not even Benny had been showed that honor…in the public eye, at any rate. The fact that James already knew did cause a moment of tension, only because that meant Benny definitely knew.

Had he fled?

Was a trap set?

Would he assume she was ignorant?

Would he try to talk?

Too many questions, and pointless to worry about while she had to be engaged with the conversation, where she was told that like Mr. House, Caesar recognized her unique ability to get things handled after she came back from the dead, and he wanted to use that.

Or lure her into a trap and kill her, but these two fine, upstanding gentlemen would never reveal that.

"Well, I see who the creative one is," Arcade noted as the name was given. Aemilia didn’t ask if it had some meaning he understood; she could ask later, if she remembered.

It was more creative than James Fox, though. She’d give Arcade that.

The novelty not of the name, but the invitation, was an alluring factor. Aemilia couldn't deny what Darvin suggested when he leaned forward, just as she couldn't deny that the two before her had no answers that would satisfy her. They would toe the party line. They would not speak for Caesar.

They couldn't. Any attempt to do so would be a lie.

They could offer a shiny bauble, a noose weighted with gold, to try and convince her if the safety of it all, because who would go and give away gold so recklessly. It was still valuable in the wasteland. Aemilia clasped the pendant in her hand, considering its appearance only briefly.

Such a thing was never done that she heard of; that meant there was no precedence she could weigh it against in her mind to be certain of what the magical charm meant.

The envious look of the server was enough for her to tuck it away into the pocket with the lottery ticket, as orders were asked for, and water brought. Specials were outlined.

Arcade took full advantage of Caesar's caps. Not with alcohol but fresh vegetables and fruits and well cooked steak. Aemilia remained a touch more reserved with her order, not wanting to feel too indebted.

Not that they had many reserved options.

When all the orders were taken, Aemilia spike to the comments of earlier. "I don't believe there is much either of you can really say that will ease any worries I have. No offense intended, but I have a healthy respect for your ability to lie, Mr. Fox, after you regaled me with your actions in Nipton."

"Nipton?" Arcade wasn't aware.

Aemilia just hummed. It wasn't for Fox's sake that she didn't share. It was for Arcade's appetite.

"I do trust that Caesar is genuinely interested and that my visit to the Lucky 38 makes this a little safer. He'll want to know more of that." He knew something already but not enough.

She didn't know enough, but unlike Caesar, she had better odds of finding it out. "I am curious if this has ever been done before and the circumstances if it was. Or if you understand the circumstances this time. I'm not the only capable individual out there, and a medallion of gold is a lot of effort to go through with.”

She didn't think he'd say much. Her wearing it, visibly, would be damning enough in a way, and she’d have to in order to traverse their lands. The NCR wouldn’t take kindly to those reports. The Mark was a double-edged sword; it would speak to all her other options, as much as it spoke to Caesar.

Arcade hummed as he finished a gulp of his water, and interjected, “Good questions, really, but I have a personal one I’d like to ask, just to get a feel for how honest either of you are going to be anyways about this mark.” Aemilia nodded, already a little amused at his easy interjection. “I'd just like to know how you two sleep at night following a man who plays at being son of a defunct God, and named himself after a tyrant who could even convince his own people to follow him." Arcade said, not at all playing nice in his phrasing. "It's not very inspiring to me. I would have at least picked Augustus over Caesar."

 

[GorillaSuit]

The two frumentarii ordered meals as well, if only for show. Though Vulpes truly didn’t have any intention to stay long enough to finish the meal.

The two avoided any dishes with meat.

Mr. Fox raised a brow as Aemilia spoke of Nipton. Though despite letting the emotion flutter onto his facial features, it still felt muted. As if it was more for show than any curiosity or confusion. His eyes showed nothing, as if they were empty of a soul. “I did not lie to you at Nipton, dear Courier. I don’t lie unless manipulation serves a purpose. Before there was nothing to be gained from deceit. The same holds true currently over any information I give regarding the Mark.”

Darvin takes another false sip of his champagne and sets the glass back down gingerly at the table. He wonders if Aemilia even knows to whom she speaks to. Vulpes Inculta was well renowned within the Legion, notorious among the profligates as well. He had seen many NCR propaganda with his likeness. It was amusing, truly.

As Vulpes was about to respond to the question, that is when Arcade interrupted- the words were scathing against Caesar. Truly the Follower was lucky that he was allied with the Courier.

Sibilus fights not to flinch at the words of the Doctor. He succeeds, but in his focus on keeping his body still- ‘Darvin’ did not focus on keeping his facial expressions subdued. A small frown came to his lips, and after a split second he realized his mistake and allowed his expression to flit back into a neutral one. He hoped no one noticed- though thankfully Vulpes seemed to have his attention focused on the doctor who spoke such blasphemous heresy. Carefully, as if trying to defuse the situation- the frumentarius speaks. “You walk a dangerous line, Doctor Gannon. A great many men have gotten their tongues removed for lesser insults against Lord Caesar’s name.” It was not said with malice, simply as a statement of truth.

Vulpes leaned forwards slightly with a vindictive stare. Though the malice stewed in his eyes, it was nearly gone in the blink. Once again replaced with an inscrutable countenance. “It is kind of you to worry about my sleeping patterns, Medicus. However, it is not necessary. While you may scoff and hold contempt for him, he is taming the wasteland and uniting it under a unified banner. The tribes of Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, and Utah were uncouth and barbaric civilizations that have only flourished under his rule.” His words became particularly venomous at the final sentence at the mention of the tribes.

Vulpes continues. “Tell me, are you aware of how many tribes thought that child sacrifice was a valid option for cleansing evil spirits from the earth? Are you aware of all the horrible atrocities they committed simply through their daily lives and not during war time efforts? The Legion recognizes that brutal methods are necessary during war, but this was beyond that. My efforts in Nipton that you claimed were ‘unforgivable’, Courier- well, it was nothing compared to many despicable acts against humanity that those barbarians committed.” There was something there in his expression, finally. It was hard to read- but it seemed like true and utter contempt… perhaps even of a personal nature. As if he spoke from first-hand experience.

Though it was difficult to read, as soon as the expression was presented- it was smoothed into a placid façade yet again. “Far too many tribes conducted themselves in such a way. Though, Lord Caesar saved them, by either exterminating or reforming them. He chose mercy for I and many others. Lord Caesar spared many despite them being weak and not worthy of living. He remade us, honed many of us into what we are. He is deserving of worship for that alone, if not anything else.”

Blind loyalty.

Completely and utterly committed and devoted to Lord Caesar was Vulpes Inculta. It was eerie how much so.

Discomfort presses in the middle of Sibilus’ shoulder blades as if it had a physical form. “Defeat is inevitable against the tide of the Son of Mars. It is easier to simply submit to Lord Caesar’s will. Profligates don’t seem to understand that yet. They force our hand.” It is vague enough to be assumed that he is speaking of the inevitable defeat of only the ‘profligates’ though Sibilus also speaks for those under the Legion too. They are all pawns in a game they had wanted no part of, and they either played to the music or were killed for steeping out of line.

His words are also vague in the way he words the ‘they force our hand’- as if was the ‘profligates’ that forced their hand. When in truth he spoke of Caesar himself. There was no blind devotion as was clear with Vulpes. There was resentment. Though it was carefully hidden and maintained as to not be visible, lest he want to forfeit his life. He was well versed in such an act.

Sibilus continues. “Though in any case, before we get off topic. No- the Mark has not been granted to anyone else. There is no established precedence for this, you are truly a special case.”

“It is an exceptional gift. One that must not be squandered by those whom you keep in your company, Courier.” Vulpes states, giving a pointed glance to the researcher beside Aemilia.

 

[Lucyfer]

‘I didn’t mean to me.’ Aemilia held that empty gaze when Mr. Fox addressed her, but did not correct him. ‘I meant the people of Nipton.’ He had orchestrated it, boasted about how easily it had been done, and she had been sickened as he spoke of how he felt it was right. Just as she felt sickened as he spoke of Caesar. What flicker of amusement she held for Arcade’s interruption faltered with his words.

But he wasn’t the only one present.

Darvin was present, and Aemilia had caught his expression before her amusement was burned away by James. So, she did not dwell on it in the heat of the James’ retort.


Arcade, however, was entirely focused, drawn in by the vehemence with which James defended Caesar. As if two wrongs made a right! Sure, child sacrifice was terrible, and a practice Arcade knew existed – but that didn’t make Caesar’s genocides or crucifixions right by default. His taming was far from improving things. Arcade would easily argue it was worse, because those tribes weren’t conquering forces hellbent on spreading their ways to others in the vast majority of cases.

He shot a sidelong glance at Aemilia as Nipton was brought up again, and noticed this time that she remained fairly calm. Her expression was not as muted as the legionnaires, but it was not red with anger. He almost thought it passive, but there was too much thought behind her green eyes to call it that.

As she didn’t rise to respond to indicate how unforgivable the actions were, Arcade did – not knowing those actions, but knowing much else, “You’re arguing with a fallacy, Mr. Fox.” He stated it bluntly, “Claiming that all of the atrocities Caesar commits are acceptable because they’re matched, or lesser than, the atrocities of others. One atrocity doesn’t make another right. That’s not how it works.” He looked at Darvin as well, “and what’s easy isn’t what’s right.”

He wasn’t cowed by the threats against his tongue, or even his life.

“Are you done?” Aemilia asked Arcade, who glowered at the question.

“No,” he stated bluntly, “but if you want to keep humoring them, be my guest,” he gestured to her, and she nodded, calmly looked back at James.

“I understand how difficult it is to endure the words against the man you love,” she couldn’t help but phrase it that way. What was worship if not a form of love? Still, she anticipated the word might rub him wrong, given the Legion’s dislike of homosexuality. “I do not intend to squander the gift. I will see Caesar, and I will bring Arcade with me, if you feel the need to warn Caesar.”

She saw a hint of surprise that was snuffed by frustration. Arcade had to know her intent from their earlier conversation. “I trust, however, that the Legion does not only resort to violence when opposed. Caesar seems to understand I do not favor him, so he must understand that it won’t be a gun to my head that changes my opinion. He will have to be reasonable in explaining himself, as you have attempted to be.”

He failed. Terribly. Arcade was correct – one atrocity didn’t justify another – but nonetheless, he’d kept his malice under the surface and didn’t go for insults. He explained, and it made it obvious that he knew little else but the Legion.

He was brought up in it from a conquered Tribe, and honed like a weapon. So many in the Legion were, but there might be sparks of humanity in Caesar himself who knew what he was doing, and some of the others. Aemilia thought she saw a spark of it yet in Darvin.

“And you can stop calling me Medicus,” Arcade snapped. “I have a name, and it’s Arcade. She’s Aemilia, not Courier,” he said, “I don’t know if you know what names are,” he’d rightly grasped this was all a role, “but we’re not all titles and roles. Do you have an actual name?”

 

[GorillaSuit]

Vulpes surprisingly listened to Arcade’s words, though it was obvious that he still disagreed with every word that spilled from his mouth. Though in the attempt of diplomacy, he did not interrupt. Only when the other man paused did he bother to interject. “You are naïve and idealistic if you think that true unity can come without a price. Nil sine labore, nihil sine sacrificio.” He retorted.

“War is not peaceful, but through war can come peace. One must crush opposition to draw individuals under a single banner. Less we devolve once again into chaos.” The leader of the frumentarii narrowed his eyes slightly. “Though I wouldn’t expect any different sentiments from a man who is named Arcade. Perhaps connected to Ἀρκαδίᾱ?” The Greek word slipped from his lips as easily as Latin did. “I’m sure you already know, in ancient pre-war Grecian mythology- arcadia was known as an idyllic paradise detached from reality.” He remained aloof, glancing between the two with intense scrutiny. Though primarily the Follower, given that he was much more vocal with his disapproval. Arcade was a man out of time, with dated beliefs that might have better been suited towards life before the Great War. Before the world had ended in nuclear fire.

To Sibilus, he couldn’t help but mull over what Arcade had said. The man was right. What was easy wasn’t always the right thing. Yet he allowed himself to be pulled along by the current of the river anyways. Was he supposed to die for his beliefs? Was he meant to become a martyr in order to satisfy and appease his conscience? It wouldn’t matter if he did die, his death would be meaningless. Becoming a martyr for one’s beliefs only made it so one did not live long enough to further uphold their ideals.

It didn’t matter if he lived either…if he was to be truthful. Someone would replace him, there was always an influx of new recruits- of fresh blood to feed the Son of Mars’ campaign. If he did not live long enough to commit further atrocities, then someone else would in his stead.

There wasn’t a way out.

As Aemilia spoke, the leader of the frumentarii did not sneer outwardly- but it was obvious indeed that he was not pleased with her choice of wording.

Sibilus decided to speak up after the Courier did. “We shall make Caesar aware of your plans to bring a second, so that way he may also pass safely through our territory.”

He almost said sarcastically, ‘Lord Caesar surely has nothing to fear from a silver-tongued doctor. After all, didn’t the Hippocratic oath mean something?’ Though he realized at the last possible moment that it was inappropriate, a playful jab meant for the persona of Skitch. Not for his current role as Sibilus Anguis. Instead, he continued, remaining professional and without quip. “Lord Caesar is incredibly intellectual, and prides himself on aiding others in seeing his perspective through… civilized debate. As long as you remain respectful, I am certain that you will be unharmed.”

It was partially a lie. For Sibilus knew deep down that Caesar was a petty man that had men crucified for less than differing ideals. Though if she ‘played along’ then no harm should come to her. A very small part of him wanted to warn Aemilia of this fact; but could not- for Vulpes Inculta was directly across from him.

As Arcade spoke again, Vulpes once again replied in a cool tone. “Pardon me, Arcade.” Emphasis was put on the name, and it sounded falsely saccharine, like honey covering the taste of poison. “In the Legion you are gifted a title based on what you are, no names exist- instead once worthy you’re a granted a gift in the form of such an esteemed title.” Vulpes’ gaze traveled across the room around him, to make sure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation. His voice dipped lower, more secretive, only being able to be heard across the table. It did not do one well to go loudly announcing your Legion title. “If you must know, I am the third to be known as Vulpes Inculta, leader of Caesar’s frumentarii.” He gave a small nod to the other frumentarius beside him, as if giving him permission to also grant the outsiders the knowledge of his title.

His voice also drops down in volume as well as he speaks of his own title. “You may regard me as Sibilus Anguis of the frumentarii. I am the first of my title.”

The fox and the snake.

 

[Lucyfer]

Arcade wanted to bark a laugh at the comment that he was the one who was out of time. ‘I never said I wanted unity!’ Although, of course, Arcade did. He was an idealist. He wanted a unified and peaceful world – who didn’t? He knew one thing, though. It would never be unified in the way the NCR or even the Legion wanted, and that wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t quite know what he wanted, and he supposed, that was why he was here.

Talking to Legionnaires.

No, he’d never be swayed to their way. Just as he’d never let his name be broken down into another meaningless title to make his identity easier for Vulpes to swallow, or assume a title was all a person could be. Maybe it was all Vulpes could be, or even Sibilus, but not him. Not most people. ‘Maybe true unity isn’t worth the price. Did you ever think of that?’ He held is tongue. It was difficult, and he thought it might bleed, but he held it, because he could see how fruitless this was.

Well, except to chortle at the titles. “Ah, of course. Animals. Fox and Snake.” He clarified for Aemilia’s sake, not sure how far her Latin knowledge went. He knew she wasn’t exactly fluent, but he’d be surprised if the majority of the Legion were fluent. “Not surprised. Well, maybe a little. I was expecting more Antony and Lepidus.” If only he knew there was an Antony.



Aemilia nodded, “Thank you for sharing those,” she had naught to give. Well, a surname, perhaps, but such a thing had felt meaningless a long time ago. It’d been a long time since she’d been home, not that home was really around any longer. “And for alerting Caesar to my intentions with Arcade.” She couldn’t promise that Arcade would remain respectful. It was fairly clear he would not, in fact, but maybe he could just stay outside when she met with Caesar.

He had stayed out when she met Mr. House. Not that he had much of a choice. He might be more argumentative about not talking to Caesar, though.

“Does Caesar expect me within a certain period of time? Not that I intend to delay unnecessarily,” Aemilia added, making sure to keep the conversation far from opinions and back to the task at hand, “there are a few things I need to wrap up on the Strip and in Freeside before I consider the journey.” And she was fairly certain it was over a day’s walk, possibly even two if she got lost, or things happened.

And they always happened.

Her pipboy could give her information about how long things would take and distance, but it could not tell her she was about to walk into a group of raiders.

 

[GorillaSuit]

“You are expected to arrive within an acceptable time frame. The Mark has no limit on time, though I would not recommend leaving Lord Caesar waiting for long. Even his most gracious patience will have a limit.” The leader of the frumentarii responds cooly, deciding not to respond to Arcade’s quip- as if it wasn’t even worth his time to acknowledge. Truthfully it did not help that he wasn’t aware of the context behind the barb, but he knew it was meant to be offensive in some manner.

Being the spymaster of the Legion, he prided himself in his wealth of knowledge on all sort of topics. He was one of the most well learned individuals besides the mighty Caesar himself. Thus, Vulpes hated not knowing something. Though he as well curbed his tongue- for he had no desire to spark another rant from the Follower.

The other man spoke, sensing a pause in his superior’s words- a lull in the conversation. “We will have knowledge the moment you walk in the direction of our lands. If you run into…difficulty on the roads- there is no danger of incurring any wrath or ire, for we will know the reason for your delayed arrival.” It was not meant to be a threat, but simply an observation- a statement of truth. Perhaps all of Sibilus’ words slid from his tongue, sounding of poison and blood when in reality he was saying simple truths. Perhaps, he found it difficult to conduct himself in a non-threatening manner when he wasn’t actively playing a persona. Sibilus himself did not even know.

Vulpes turned his head very slightly, his eyes catching a familiar silhouette at the corner of his vision. Flitting at the edge of the room was a nondescript gambler. The gambler’s eyes darted about the room before catching onto their table tucked away in the far corner of the room. He strode towards their table with purpose. “Mr. Fox.” He greeted, his voice sounding like it was attempting to smother a stammer.

“I currently have guests. Your interruption best be an emergency.” Came his icy response. Though it was then as the gambler dipped down to whisper something into his ear, did the legionnaire’s eyes narrow into slits. “What?” He hissed as his informant drew away from him, looking timid at the sudden inflection of the frumentarius’ usually cold and detached voice. It even makes Sibilus startled slightly, a blink of his eyes that lasts a fraction too long, a slight tension to his shoulders. ‘That wasn’t a good sign’ the snake thought to himself.

There was heat in Vulpes’ gaze, and it was molten. Perhaps he did have a soul after all, one as scorching as the flames that burned Nipton to ash.

He flicks his hand to dismiss the ‘gambler’, and he then turns to the two guests with a pleasant smile. Though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It seems something has come up. An associate of mine has gotten herself into quite the situation.” His eyes abruptly slide to Arcade, as if for once actually considering him worthwhile enough to pay any sort of attention to. “I am under the impression that she is in need of medical attention. With Arcade right here, I was hoping to perhaps persuade you of the notion to join me. The Followers of the Apocalypse are morally upstanding enough to put aside any…personal grudges in order to save one’s fellow human. Aren’t they?” It was pointed, like he was taking jabs at any perceived pressure points he can find.

Sibilus does not think that Arcade or Aemilia will agree to the offer initially. So he quickly speaks himself, before Aemilia has the chance to counter- he isn’t sure about convincing Arcade. Vulpes will need to persuade the man himself. “I understand this may seem like an awfully convenient coincidence to split you from your companion- though I assure you that no harm will come to your…friend. Perhaps, to make the idea less worrisome, I may offer my assistance in whatever business you may have on the Strip. I am adept at hiding things that might normally not get past casino staff members. Also, perhaps with my life in your hands- it will assure you of our insistence that no harm is to come to either of you.” He looks over to Vulpes, as if hoping he had not overstepped- though his superior just gives him a firm nod as if to assure him that it was fine with him. It was one thing he liked about working underneath the leader of the frumentarii- while he expected one to obey or fall in line like any other legionnaire, he also did not argue when one spoke up for themselves. As long as it produced results. A surprising amount of freedom in the chains that made up the Legion, Sibilus thought.

 

[Lucyfer]

Acceptable, with no indication of what that meant. Aemilia estimated she'd be expected to leave within 3 days, at the latest, based on the tone of both Vulpes and Sibilus. From there Caesar ought to be lenient if she headed his way.

Business shouldn't take that long though.

Theoretically.

She continued to get in over her head. The ghoul cult had been…a thing.

"You're all lucky I'm not surprised by this surveillance anymore. Is Mr. New Vegas one of yours, by the way?" She couldn't help the amused chuckle even if the edge of all this wasn't going unnoticed. People could find and try to kill her too easily.

A silence came, and still no food. Instead, am interruption in the form of an informant. They crept over and stated their emergency to a reaction from Vulpes which seemed to even startle Sibilus. Whether that meant it was sincere or not was another story, because the request that came definitely got Arcade's hackles up, and set Aemilia on edge.

"I can actually choose to let someone die." Arcade said rather bluntly. "I would have let you bleed if I knew what you were." No, Arcade was not here to make friends, and he scowled at the suggestion of Sibilus to stay with the Aemilia. "Keeping Sibilus with her just makes this more suspicious, you realize that, right?"

Aemilia did…but she also needed to get a gun into a casino.

"It's easier to harm one person than two." Arcade commented.

"The same is true on their side." Aemilia pointed out, though suspected Arcade wasn't the best fighter if the situation called for it. She wasn't – but she wasn't as pathetic as some still assumed. The weapons weren't for show.

"You want me to help a Legion informant?"

'No, I want you to get information and learn to make small compromises.' They needed to talk, a lot more, about strategy and what points were incompatible with his morals. He had different ones. 'I want to understand the full picture of New Vegas.' since she was being pulled in every direction.

She might have been able to take him aside, but the situation was time sensitive based on the reaction.

"Yes, Arcade. A woman willingly helping? I'm curious and I won't learn if she's dead."

Arcade groaned out his complaint. "Fine, but get my food to go, I still want to eat." He put his hands on the table and hefted himself up, shoulders rounded before he straightened up to his full height. "Let's go. Am I allowed to actually treat her if she needs it?" There was no hiding the derision in his tone.

 

[GorillaSuit]

“Interesting. Not unexpected, however.” Vulpes responded to Arcade and his scathing remark about his earlier wound. He seemed rather flippant about it, despite the caustic nature of the other. He was potentially useful (for the moment) so Vulpes allowed it to slide.

Sibilus thought that Vulpes would have to try and work to persuade the Follower, but to his surprise it was Aemilia that did so and rather easily too. It was very obvious that Doctor Gannon did not want to have any part in anything pertaining to the Legion- and the frumentarius wondered if he would be so inclined to try and kill Vulpes with the technological weapon he usually carried once they split up. He trusted his superior could take care of himself, in any event. For himself, he had his own reservations- though the proposal was already offered, and he couldn’t just rescind it. All of them had reasons to be wary of the other.

Swiftly, Vulpes stands to his own feet as well. “You have the right to treat her as you see fit, Doctor Gannon.” He remarks plainly, knowing the jab being in relation to Caesar’s laws against profligate medicine. To Vulpes it was another way to weed out the weak, yet in this case- Martina must not die. She was far too valuable an asset.

It is just as the food comes out with the waiter that the two are ready to leave. As Vulpes repeats Arcade’s words of storing the meal to-go, the waiter gives an annoyed little scoff and leaves with a flourish of his fluttering coattails as he spins on his heel to go package the prepared food away to be picked up at a later time. “Apologies again, Aemilia, for the interruption. I wish you good luck on whatever business you must conduct.” With a small nod, he also turns on his heel to leave. He doesn’t bother to check and see if his begrudging accomplice would follow him. His movements are quick as he weaves through the light crowd that gathered- looking for seats in the Gourmand.

There is no time to waste.

-***-

Sibilus watches as Vulpes leaves, though then turns to tilt his head at Aemilia. It is similar to the way he tipped his head as Skitch, it was one of those mannerisms that simply couldn’t be erased despite how much training one had in the art of disguise. “I will follow whenever you are ready, Miss Aemilia.” He remarked in a polite tone.

 

[Lucyfer]

Arcade did look longingly at the meal he was missing, but at least it'd be packed up. Vulpes gave the directions, and Aemilia would wait to grab it. Which, well, he shot her an annoyed look with all the promise to talk about this later burning in it. This did not set well with him regardless of the curiosity he, admittedly, harbored.

How far would Aemilia go in looking into the Legion?

How far would they let her without some trial of their own?

It was a dangerous game and he didn't like the thought of atrocities she might attempt to make him justify.

He wouldn't. He had limits.

This, at least, wasn't an atrocity. It was medicine. It was hoping someone decided on a better path down the line. That only made it a little easier to follow Vulpes, and he was glad for the return of his weapon. It made him feel a bit safer, though he knew he would want to maintain some distance to have any advantage.

He did keep that distance, though his long strides helped him to maintain pace as they headed not towards a casino, but towards Vault 21. Arcade gave it a cursory look around as they were approached by a blonde woman.

"Hello! Are you two here for the–" she started, far too chipper.

"No," Arcade was brusque, expecting Vulpes had no time for this, "an injured woman came in, I'm with the Followers and here to help."

"Ooh yes, I can show you!" That made it easy, no navigating the maze. She took the lead to show them to the woman, who had made it back to her room, but definitely not in a good condition.

She'd been stabbed, and it wasn't a mere flesh wound. The blood gushed down her left thigh, as well as her left side.

She looked terribly startled at the entrance of the two, scrambling to grab a knife.

~***~

Sibilus stayed as Aemilia met Arcade's gaze one last time before he left. She was worried for him. She was also worried for their conversation later, but she could handle that.

Talking, she could manage.

Everything else…she was still figuring out, including Benny. She didn't have time to waste even for food, though. "Please pack ours up as well, we'll be back soon," Aemilia said after Sibilus insisted on his own role, and she rose.

"I need one thing for certain," she said, "my gun brought into the Tops. The rest is by ear." Which could mean plenty of trouble although she supposed she should consider his life. Arcade might be harmed otherwise.

She didn't walk out as quickly. There was not as much haste, and he had a touch more casualness about him. She wasn't placing it to Skitch – but it felt more familiar after interactions in Freeside.

Only after she got her sword and gun back, and they'd stepped outside, did she offer the gun, "Be kind with it, I named it and everything," said as a joke but she had named both weapons. Someone told her once it gave them power which was bullshit…but she did take better care of them. "I've been looking for the guy who shot me and everything points to the Tops so I'm not sure if this will get bad or not. He probably doesn't remember my face," a bit of a bitter laugh.

All the other couriers were killed though. By him or not.

And it was just business, after all.