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

Arcade could vomit at ‘Arcade-baby’.

Golden dreamboat wasn’t bad, though, that one could stay. From any other lips, of course. Still, he wouldn’t flinch at the constant spillage of terms of endearment, much as he wanted to. He endured, and felt his hair rise at the sensation of the not-quite touch. He still knew where the hand was, and what it rested over, and he didn’t enjoy that knowledge. He didn’t enjoy the tension it created in him, though he supposed that still worked with the persona.

As did the flushing that was more anger than actual embarrassment at what Vulpes suggested for them. The heat of anger he turned away quickly as he looked aside, face terribly flushed, though it didn’t earn a laugh from Sal – just an irritated grunt and a roll of his eyes, “We’ll have another seat, better than watching you dry hump your new boytoy.” Arcade apparently could get more red, and was glad he wasn’t expected to speak right then.

He handed his things over to the staff with a, “Thank you,” and a desire to follow them, though he knew he couldn’t. “So, dreamboat,” Sal drawled as he gestured them up the stairs, “you gonna play, too?” He doubted the dreamboat was as lucky as Vinny said.

Vinny was shit, after all. Anyone could beat him.

‘Should I?’ Arcade wasn’t great, but he supposed it would fit? “Yes, I’d like to. I do want the true Vegas experience…well,” he chuckled, “maybe not the full experience. I’d rather not end up with all my caps gone, even if I know you’ll take good care of me, hon.” A fleetingly sweet smile for Vulpes.

Sal made a deal of fake-retching at the sweetness as they reached the private area on the upper floor, and he snapped his fingers for another chair to be drawn up to the table, before taking a seat. “You drink?” he asked Arcade.

‘No.’ And yet his gaze deferred to Vulpes, perhaps nothing suspicious in that, before he answered, “Just a bit of wine, if you have any.”

“If we have any,” Sal repeated like it was a joke, and of course, a wine would be brought for Arcade. “Where’d you pick up a guy like this?” the real question, of course, being why a guy like this was picked up, but Sal couldn’t judge much. People had innocence kinks. It was one even he’d catered to a time or two, for certain clientele.

Maybe that was just Vinny’s thing.

Or maybe the innocent one just sucked good dick. Lamb in the street, freak in the sheets.

~***~

Sibilus could have given just an overview. Just an ‘oh yeah, they gave the gods a good dinner when no one else would and were rewarded’ – but he didn’t. How dear it was, was indeed telling in the detail he went into, down to reactions, and snippets of conversation peppering the story, giving life to each character, and making it engaging. He even indicated the trees that became entwined were different.

No doubt, there were meanings to each tree, and Aemilia knew oak’s reputation for being sturdy off-hand, but not much of linden.

It’s not like she ever really saw any trees such as those anymore.

It left a soft smile on her lips, a gentle appreciation for the manner in which it was told. She didn’t interrupt once, and shook her head as he mentioned summarize, “Never. Never summarize a story,” she insisted, for she’d let herself be drawn into it. She loved stories, even if she knew them.

It seemed, however, he didn’t know Pandora well. He knew she’d unleashed horrors on the world, but didn’t know she kept something back. “You’re correct, from the stories I know. She was created to unknowingly be a punishment to mankind, given all sorts of gifts from the Gods. From Apollo she was given a beautiful voice, from Poseidon she was given a necklace that would keep her from drowning, Zeus made her mischievous and playful, but it was Hera who cursed her – Hera made her curious.”

Not that it was bad on it’s own, “And Hermes gave her the infamous box,” as Aemilia knew it, anyways. Box or jar, in the end, the container didn’t matter, “and told her she must never open it, no matter the circumstances, when she was given over to be a bride to Prometheus’s brother.”

Because that was always how these things went. Women had to be married off. “The book I had said her name meant All-Gifted, but it was…well, it was a title, explaining that she had so many gifts from the Gods.” It wasn’t, in a word, who she was.

Like Roland was Roland – not a gun.

“Prometheus’s brother was told not to accept any gift from Zeus, but like an idiot, he did. He fell in love at first sight, and they were happy together, but Pandora was always bothered by that need to know what was in the box. She hid it away. She even buried it, and tried to forget where she buried it, but she never could. It was under her skin,” like the promise of the Platinum Chip under her own skin.

She ought to take a page from the story and leave it be.

Pick someone else for Vegas. She had options. House didn’t seem that bad. Why not back House?

“Curiosity won out in the end. She dug the box up under moonlight, and opened it. As soon as she did, every evil humanity has ever known was released – disease, famine, jealousy, some say even certain knowledge was released if not understood at the time. But, Pandora was able to close it on the worst of all evils.”

And there, she paused, to tilt her head up and grin, “Do you have a guess what evil she never released onto the world?” a bit playful, but she was curious what he’d guess at, not knowing the story in full.
 
Vinny inclines his head, as if amused by Arcade’s want to play. “Well, let’s hope with the two of us we manage not to lose the pot tonight.” He winks as they are led up to the reserved section.

Nero walked back upstairs as well, and they sat around a large table in the private section of the casino. Vinny followed and as the chair was pulled up next to them, he took a seat beside Arcade. Nero opens his suit pocket and pulls out a cigar, offering one to the shrewd merchant who nodded and took the proffered smoke. As if he was a cigar aficionado, he began making sure there were no wrinkles or divots and that it was of firm construction. After making sure there was nothing that would entail something that would impact the burn quality poorly, he then followed the routine to its end including the ‘pre-light nose’ in which he smelled the foot of the cigar as if to ensure quality. It was something so small, and yet a habit that was so obviously engrained into the persona that it just further helped to sell it.

Vinny pulled out a metal cigar cutter, and cut off the cap- before putting it away and bringing out a flip lighter. With a click the flame came to life and lapped at the edge of the tobacco rolled smoke- to which Vinny turned it around in his hand to get the edge of the flame to touch the entirety of the cigar to get it to burn evenly, and when it was lit, he set the lighter away- tucked back into his suit. He then brought it up to his lips and puffed gently, drawing the smoke into his mouth and not his lungs—it was obvious it wasn’t the first time he’s sampled such a thing. After tasting the flavor of the cigar smoke, he tipped his head upwards and let it lazily trail from his slightly parted lips. “The cigars don’t get better than the ones at Gomorrah.”

Nero gave him a sharp smirk, having done a similar routine with his own cigar. “Of course, they don’t.” He boasted. “The usual for you?”

“Of course. Whenever you have a cigar this good you always need a neat rum to enjoy it with.” He responded smoothly, as smooth as the smoke that had earlier trailed from his mouth.

As Arcade glances at him, he raises a brow slightly and gives a subtle nod as if it would be expected to drink something while here. He then offers the cigar in a friendly way to the man. “Would you like to try, my beautiful Apollo? Don’t take the smoke into your lungs if you do. It’s meant to be tasted, not inhaled.”

As Big Sal asked his question, he smirked sharply. “Where do you think?” He asked as if the other man was obtuse, and he gestured to the lab coat that Arcade wore. “I found this beautiful man hunkered away in one of the tents of the Old Mormon Fort, as if they were hiding him away from the world. He patched me up after my guards didn’t do their duties properly. I was blindsided by his intelligence, and now here we are.” He chuckled to himself just as drinks were brought by a server. “He may not know much of our world, but what he does know pleases me greatly. Only a doctor could know how to make a body sing.” He remarked with a sharp predatory smirk.

Swirling his short wide glass of amber liquid slowly as he plucked it up off the table, Vinny took a sip of the rum inside. After a moment he set it down, though one perceptive would noticed that despite the fact that Vinny had wet his lips with it, he hadn’t truly imbibed. While he couldn’t pull the trick all night and would need to finish the glass eventually for show, Vulpes preferred to be as unsullied as possible.

“Is Clanden coming tonight?” Vincent asked conversationally.

Nero chuckled. “Why, worried he’ll try to make a move on you again? Or more worried about your new flame? Don’t worry, Clanden knows you’re off limits considering the fact you’re useful. You can let him know yourself about your new toy. He’ll be here soon, once he is we’ll deal in.” It was perhaps a subtle threat, though why Clanden ‘making a move’ on Vinny was left up in the air as to why it would be a bad thing.

Covertly Vinny leaned over to Arcade. “Avoid him, if possible. He has a reputation.” He murmured in his ear, and that was more Vulpes than Vincent Thebes, his voice a cold ominous warning. The man then leaned back with a lazy grin.

Eventually it wasn’t long before said man had approached the table. Apologizing for his absence without much remorse. The man gave a grin over the table as he sat down. “Look at you Vinny, finally made it back to a game. With a trophy too, nonetheless. Think I might be able to play with it, if I can’t play with you.”

Vinny gave a polite businesslike response. “Sorry, but baby doll is all mine. Besides, we know what you do with your merchandise.”

“Both of you shut the fuck up, I’m ready to win.” Nero spoke, and the table slowly drowned out into silence as they began the game.

~***~

Sibilus listened with rapt attention, as much as had been afforded to him by Aemilia during his own story. He paid attention especially closely, as he mentioned that Pandora’s name was truly not even that. (Perhaps much like the hissing snake, she was all-gifted.) It left an ache in his chest, and he wasn’t sure why.

No…he knew why. He just didn’t want to admit it.

She was a pawn of the gods, in the end. She was used as a tool to get revenge on humanity for Promethus giving them fire.

Deep inside he draws connections. Of how the gods hadn’t wanted humankind to advance, they hadn’t wanted them to thrive. Simply to be lower creatures and pay homage to their lords. Perhaps it is a similar fate to how the Son of Mars does not want his subjects to use technology and medicine from the old world- no matter how much easier and more comfortable it would make their lives. If the humans were able to use fire to bathe the world in light despite the sun dipping below the horizon, then what need of the gods did they have?

Though he crushes this comparison down, violently. It isn’t good to doubt, because doubt will build the seed towards insidious ideas- like trying to escape.

There was no escape. Like Arethusa and Daphne, he would either be chased forever or have a horrible fate to befall upon him. There was no free will underneath the oppressive gaze of the bull.

In that moment, his eyes focus on the road despite the crawling feeling over his skin. He feels Aldebaran’s gaze upon him like a physical thing.

Again, the thought crops up in his mind. ‘How loyal did Lord Caesar expect a snake to be?’

He blinks suddenly and rapidly, as if he could dislodge his thoughts like cobwebs from the cogs and wheels of an ancient dusty machine. He turns his dark gaze onto Aemilia again, his eyes inscrutable. She asks him the question, and he mulls it over.

What evil could she possibly not have released onto the world? Surely with jealousy it made way into hatred, lust, greed- and with supposed forbidden knowledge came the power to use it for great evil. He shook his head lightly. “I am not certain. What could she have possibly closed the box on?”

Was it perhaps a trick? Did Pandora close the box on something that might seem pleasant from the outside but only brought pain and despair like the idea of love? For in the stories while it was a blessing, outside of those fairytales there seemed not to exist such a thing that did not bring heartbreak or agony. For unlike the story of Philemon and Baucis, there were no gods willing to bless them. Perhaps all the other gods left once the nuclear fire destroyed the world, or maybe they’d gotten burned to ash by man’s hubris too. In its place was the unwavering tide of red, perhaps Mars survived because humans fed him with their battles and wars. It was unending, ceaseless, and would continue for as long as humankind existed.

Love or the fictional idea of it was something unobtainable and unknowable to Sibilus, just like the impossibly distant stars. While he could see them, and know their names and stories- he would never know them in the truest form. Just as with anything else. He would only know life and death under the Legion banner, and wasn’t that a depressing thought? To be just one more face out of the hundreds or thousands that died for their god? To die for perhaps the only god left?

Did Mars sit upon a throne of thorns and scorn humanity? Is this why he sent his son in order to drown the world in his color?
 
Arcade had smoked before. Cigarettes, not cigars, and it was a habit he was glad to give up. It had settled his nerves when he had so many endless nerves, and had been a bit of a rebellion, that he soon regretted. A cigar always seemed ridiculous to him, and yet now, here he was, being offered one and told how to taste it. He didn’t want to, but he had to play the role, didn’t he? The shy lover easily bullied into things.

Not all things, but enough.

Arcade took it, looking it over without that clear understanding that Vulpes had, while he answered how they met, which wasn’t really a lie. Arcade had patched him up, and that was, indeed, how they met. He tried the cigar, thinking like a cigarette, and fucking it up for that. He was quick to pull it away from his lips and hand it back towards Vulpes, stifling back coughs. Not that it wasn’t obvious.

Big Sal got a chuckle of that. “Looks like he has plenty to learn about other things,” no matter what the good doctor could do with a body.

“S-sorry,” he didn’t really mean to do that. He tried just a light inhale, but he was used to pulling it back into his lungs, and so that didn’t work out for him. He probably would have coughed from a cigarette, too, if he was honest – it had just been so long and his lungs weren’t accustomed to it anymore.

The bit of wine he took after did help settle, though Arcade didn’t swallow it immediately. He let the taste settle on his tongue before he did, not recognizing any chems that altered what he knew to expect of wine. Alcohol didn’t really burn away those flavors that easily, but someone unperceptive could have still missed it.

He wasn’t going to deal with getting addicted to anything while here.

The cards weren’t dealt, the reason for it explained as someone else.

Someone who Arcade ought to avoid, as Vulpes far more than his persona said, which meant it was serious. Arcade didn’t let his expression shift to worry when Vulpes whispered to him, though. It was still a slightly uncomfortable smile, which widened perhaps just a tic, to leave it a question of what was said.

Nothing about Clanden.

The man of the hour did arrive, and did immediately get into those comments. ‘So, he’s a sadist with no care for consent. Great.’ At least, that’s what Arcade could gather from the commentary on merchandise. He figured anyone could figure that out, though, and shuffled a bit closer to Vulpes despite the separate chairs.

Something Clanden probably enjoyed seeing.

Arcade didn’t have to bother with exchanging his caps for chips with this group, and as the bets were laid down and cards dealt, he added some of his caps to the pile and looked over his own cards which, actually, weren’t that terrible.

Although he let his confused expression return, as if he wasn’t sure about the hand, or what it meant.

He had no plans to play at a ‘poker face’ when that wasn’t his role. He could, actually, do that, but it wouldn’t fit this lie at all.

Big Sal was just as eager as Nero to start the game, and so rounds went by with idle conversation and more drink – though Arcade drank his own wine slowly enough that he didn’t need a refill, often forgetting it was there at all.

He kept looking for information in the conversations, but Big Sal, at least, kept his head coolly on his shoulders until there was some notable loss on Vulpes’s side.

“Looks like you’re going to need to start making up some of those losses again,” Big Sal said, “you know, we are actually in the market for some unique goods if you have the time, and want a line of credit to really show your boytoy the high life,” Big Sal couldn’t help the taunt in it.

Of course, Arcade shook his head – such a thing wasn’t really necessary – but this line of conversation was likely important for them to follow, even if they both already had an idea of where it went. “That’s not really necessary,” which, actually, wasn’t.

Not even by the picture of the game, Arcade wasn’t doing too bad. He still had less than he’d walked in with, but he’d started to win some back.

~***~

Sibilus was uncomfortable in the telling, a curious thing, and yet another of those things Aemilia could not ask directly about. She had an idea – mentioning the title instead of a name was a choice, after all. It was true enough, too. Pandora had been naught but a gift, and named befitting her role. If she ever made it something of her own, well, those stories were never recorded. Her life after the box was a mystery.

And sadly, but not surprisingly, Sibilus had no guess as to what evil was left behind. “Have you experienced so much evil you’re not thankful for something we don’t have?” a chuckle, but she wouldn’t prod him further on that.

“Foresight.”

She let the word hang in the air a moment, because how could foresight be an evil? If she had known she was going to be shot in the head, she could have avoided it! ‘Would you?’ know all that came afterwards, that was a question hardly worth answering, and one she wouldn’t allow to complicate her revenge, because after the stint in the casino, talking was clean off the table.

Benny had his chance.

“Imagine,” she said this softly, as if saying the evil might make it real, “waking up every morning, and knowing every event that will happen. At 8:05, you would run across a dog. At 8:13, you would be delayed from your destination by someone who can’t learn when to shut up. At 8:40, you’d reach your destination and explain yourself – but no matter how good the explanation, you know it won’t suffice. At 9am, you’ll be assigned some petty duty to make amends. At 9:30 you finally have breakfast but it’s all cold – there’s no way you can go sooner. There’s no way you can wake up sooner. Every event happens no matter what you think you can do to change, because the little voice that whispers everything, also knows every attempt you’ll make to stop it. It knows how to factor those in. It knows when you’ll have a mental breakdown,” and so darkly, she adds, “at 4:45pm, you’ll try to kill yourself, and you will be unsuccessful. At 8:41pm you’ll be roused by doctors…but you can’t stop yourself from trying and praying it’s wrong.”

That was hell.

“Pandora left us Hope when she shut the box on Foresight. Whether or not we have free will, we don’t know,” Aemilia lifted one shoulder in a shrug, “but that’s the beauty of it. We can hope that things will turn out okay. We can hope we’ll achieve our goals. We can always hope because we don’t know otherwise.”

That was what most people told Aemilia Pandora closed in the box, or that was released with all the other evils – both intriguing, but Aemilia never forgot that the story she read, wasn’t hope – except, in a way, it was. So, she understood that variant.
 
Playing the role of concerned lover, Vinny looked at Arcade with furrowed brows as he coughed and spluttered after he inhaled rather than tasted like he had said. Vulpes wondered if the man had done it on purpose, as some kind of pretty rebellion to their act. Though, no... that had looked like a man doing something from habit. Perhaps used to smoking other products? The doctor hadn't smelled of smoke before. He puts it out of his mind and takes the cigar back, dumping off the ash and tipping it into a nearby ashtray before bringing it back to his lips again.

As the game started, Vulpes allowed himself to make little hisses and grimaces whenever he had a bad hand, and a wry little smirk whenever he had a good one. He was deliberately broadcasting what his cards were before he even set them down. He ended up losing nearly everything he had put into play for the game, the reason they hadn’t needed to lug around caps for the physical buy in being do to already having credit and caps stored in the casino for moments like this. Poker games in which he pretended to be a terrible player. Truthfully, Vulpes had only one semi-good hand so far, his luck with the cards was something he never had.

Though subtly and in the course of the duration of the game, through a mix of observation and sleight of hand, Vulpes made his own luck by switching out certain cards for marked ones that he had stowed away. The difference was nearly invisible to the naked eye, unless you knew exactly what to look for and then went pouring over the cards to look for that one nearly unnoticeable difference.

When you had skill, you didn’t need luck.

Not that Vulpes even believed in such a thing.

So far, Cachino was much in the same boat as Vinny. Though Nero and Big Sal were sitting on a pretty stack of chips, Clanden was doing average as well, though Vinny had been trying to ignore him in exasperation. Though surprisingly enough Arcade was doing well for himself- playing his role as the confused and naïve lamb all too well.

Vinny cleared his throat a bit, as if looking flustered over his losses so far. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, I do want the best for my babydoll. Though don’t count me out completely just yet.”

Nero snorted at his expense. “Vinny, you’ve never won a game. You’re shit at poker. That’s the only reason why we invite you to these things, to take all your money.” Vulpes notes his faint twitch of his jaw muscle, so small it is nearly invisible in the dim lighting. He notices, because of course he does. Not a good hand, then. “But Big Sal’s right. I’ve got another seller lined up, but what they have ain’t enough. We need broc flower seeds. Oh, and fertilizer too, I know you have connections to that one Brahmin baron- what’s his name…Heck? Yeah, Heck Gunderson. Figure it’d be easy for you to get something like that.”

“A few of them, but yeah I’ve worked with Gunderson before.” Enough to know the man was coming to the Strip soon. Vinny acts untroubled by such a request, after all- what could those items possibly mean to him? Inside, Vulpes seethed. “Yeah, sure. I know a guy with access to broc- if not I can hire some teams to get working on getting it. The Brahmin shit is not gonna be a problem either.” He laughs slightly as he gets another bad hand. He doesn’t fold and instead pushes more chips into the middle. When the reveal comes, no one is surprised that Vinny loses his chips yet again. “Hope you’ll need a lot.” Vinny remarks sourly, as if his bravado had finally been snapped. He pours the rest of the rum down, as if he was irritated.

“Oh trust me, we’ll need as much as you can possibly get your grubby little hands on.” Nero says casually, as they begin to get their next hand dealt. “I’ve got a pet project that’s nearly complete. These broc flowers are going to be the final thing I need, so don’t screw it up.”

Vinny squints as he gets his cards, as if scrutinizing his hand. He forced another grimace.

Though his hand was something that he had been putting into the works since the beginning of the game. All his cards he had littered through the deck were returned to him from where he had so subtly left them. “They need space and a lot of sun to grow, you sure you got that? You know I don’t sell merchandise if it’s just going to be a waste of my time.”

“Trust me, I’ve got a whole fucking facility Vinny. Don’t worry your head about it. Now, given that this is the last round, why don’t you go ahead and fold so you can lose the game with a little bit of your dignity left.” There were a few snickers from around the table. “Afterall, you don’t want your ‘babydoll’ to see you lose so pathetically, right?”

Vulpes noticed a few more of his marked cards around the table, fluttering in other people’s hands. Given their different little ticks and mannerisms, he knew with certainty that no one had a hand that could beat him, perhaps Arcade. Though he wasn’t all too bothered with him winning, if he somehow managed to pull a lucky hand. He hadn’t concerned himself with the other man’s hand through the game, despite how close they were made it where it would be child’s play to try and sneak a glance at his cards.

Vinny pointedly pushed his caps into the middle of the table. All of them. “All in.”

Nero gave a bark of laughter at the sight and pushed in the rest of his chips into the pile as well.

Vulpes would need to infiltrate Nero’s room somehow, he’s certain more information would be there. The only question would be how.

The most logical and easiest option would be drugging the man somehow and sneaking in, though he wasn’t good at lockpicking he could always ‘borrow’ a key from someone. Though either task wouldn’t be easy.

He was convinced whatever information they needed to locate their source of operations would be in Nero’s room.

~***~

He blinks as she wonders out loud if he has ‘experienced so much evil that he is not thankful for what they don’t have’. It wasn’t something he was expecting to fall from her lips, and as such he wasn’t able to hide the small troubled look that his face pulled into. He curbs it after a few lingering moments of the expression living on his face, as if it had taken control of him without his consent. He forced himself to regain the calm and steady composure he tended to rely on. Detachment was easier that…whatever that was. He wonders if she is mocking him, somehow- taunting him. He isn’t sure, while Sibilus could normally read any person, pick up their every minor tick or expression… Aemilia managed to be so open and yet conceal her true hand too well.

Foresight.

That is what she told him, and as she explained why it was the greatest and most terrible evil- he resisted the urge to frown yet again.

Instead of bound with the chains of knowledge that they could not control anything, their gaze was instead hidden from future events so that they may stumble through life unsure of anything. He doesn’t know which would be worse, to know the hour of his death- to meet his apportioned fate and then fall, or to be unknowing as he is now. Constantly looking over one’s shoulder, paranoid and afraid that any mistake- even the smallest one, could be punishable by a most agonizing death.

Though…at least then it would be over, wouldn’t it?

However, what if he was punished for eternity for his cowardice, for wanting it to end? Caesar claimed that Caesar only allowed them to die if it was in battle, or to slit their own throats to keep the secrets of their lord. Their lives and deaths were in service to Caesar. There was nothing that they did not give to him.

Would he be punished for not faithfully serving his gods? Flushed away like Philemon and Baucis’ neighbors? Though for him, no one would be so kind or generous to be willing enough to weep for his passing. Then if the underworld was true, he would be punished for his lack of faithfulness- forever.

No, that idea is the thing that frightened him enough to live- despite the fact there was nothing to live for. It was pointless, all consuming. Even if Sibilus did know, it wouldn’t change anything. She was right, he supposed, the lack of foresight would have been a blessing to those who still had hope in the first place.

“Maybe for those still willing to try.” He finds himself responding to her final words of wisdom. It slips out from his lips of his own accord, and he finds that happening far too often with Aemilia. He bites his tongue until he tastes blood, and he has the decency enough to not look as startled by those words as he felt.

He looks away, hoping that she doesn’t notice. Though he knows she will.

Sibilus could not show weakness, could not stop treading water for fear he would sink below the rampaging waters. He looks at the sky, and his eyes search for the eye of the bull. ‘Do you know what I think? Do you see through my soul?’ He wants to ask. Or maybe he even wants to shout it, despite his voice never truly raising louder than a firm murmur. All his life he was taught to be quiet, to endure… was it a surprise to think there was no hope left in him?

Though the story of Philemon and Baucis… was it the want to hope? Or was it simply envying something he could never have?

He rips his dark gaze from the sky to the road. “Perhaps we should rest for the night and continue traveling in the early morning. It will be easier for visibility.” It’s a halfhearted attempt to convince her, but to be completely honest he is exhausted. Not physically, but mentally. He doesn’t want to have any more conversations about Pandora, or even of his favorite story of Philemon and Baucis. He wants silence desperately. Though the noise of the tinny music coming from the speaker of Aemilia’s Pip-Boy, as well as her words and gaze crawl under his skin. Her gaze says something too, even when her words don’t. The feeling of all of these things stings like the bites of insects, burrowing into his flesh and carving him open with their mandibles.

He wants hope, he wants to grow from the same trunk as another, he wants to be rewarded and not punished. He wants so many things, but all of them are unobtainable.

He’s tired of wanting.
 
Nero and Big Sal weren’t subtle. Big Sal brought the job right up, and Nero filled in the rest, with the obvious ‘liking’ of Vinny over his ability to lose caps. No, Arcade couldn’t say he really liked these people at all. It wouldn’t be a great loss to New Vegas to lose them. ‘Nearly complete.’ Nero noted as Vulpes lost his next hand.

Obviously losing it, given what Arcade knew of him.

He’d never make such obvious grimaces if he was trying.

Arcade felt his jaw tighten at the mockery at his own expense, as well as Vinny. He wanted Vulpes to win, with a strange viciousness quite unlike himself. He folded his own cards, though, giving ‘Vinny’ a bit of a pleading look as he reserved what caps he had left – before, of course, ‘Vinny’ went all in, and Arcade let his expression fall into a sigh.

“Vinny….”

But of course, that little plea would be ignored.

What Arcade really wanted to do was ask more questions about the broc from his position as a Follower. As a Doctor. What he wanted to do was find out if Vulpes could deliver directly to the facility, but damn the role! He felt tongue-tied by it. ‘Your role comes later.’ At the facility itself, he knew then he’d be most critical, but he didn’t enjoy feeling useless here.

Even if, he supposed, he wasn’t entirely useless given they’d used him to broach the topic of Vinny making more money.

Sal snorted a laugh, “You never know when to quit,” not that he had a great hand, but he was confident enough as hands were revealed. He had two pair – two Jack, two 2s, and a stray 5. Not terrible, but not great, either.

The other hands showed themselves, and needless to say – he was surprised by Vinny’s hand, as Arcade couldn’t help the played-up gasp.

He knew, of course, when Vulpes went all in, what that meant. Vulpes was too vindictive not to win it all back. “Babe!” Cheer, glee, surprise – dignity restored for ‘Vinny’ in a word and a starstruck lover that Arcade knew he was going to need boiling hot water to wash off of himself, and he kind of hoped the Gomorrah had that facility in the room so he could do just that.

He supposed he’d find out soon enough since that was the last hand.

They could leave, and maybe, actually talk about what the hell was going on.

Big Sal looked darkly on the cards and huffed, “Luck. It happens even to the losers,” although there was an edge in his tone that suggested he thought there might be something amiss, even without proof of it. He was paranoid that way, though.

And never liked losing.

~***~

‘You have experienced that much evil.’ Aemilia kept those words to herself as Sibilus commented on not having hope. She wanted to hug him, but that would do nothing in the moment except bring all his guards right back up. He’d said too much, and he realized it as he looked away from the stars, as she saw his jaw clench.

She couldn’t help but look upon him with pity, and will his hope back into his soul. ‘Aren’t you with Caesar to make a better world?’ No, apparently not. He didn’t have that fervent belief that Vulpes had, unless this was all an act to lure her.

If so, he was a fantastic actor. She’d give him his credit when he pulled the twist on her.

He wanted to rest.

Aemilia wasn’t tired.

She’d rested the night before, and she ate well. She knew it wasn’t healthy to go nights without rest, but she had done it often, or just stolen a couple hours of sleep. In truth, she preferred to sleep during the hotter hours of the day, but she would concede.

“In a bit.”

Just not immediately.

“I don’t like to sleep on the road near so many signs. There should be a place to turn off here soon,” people were more dangerous than the animals of the Mojave. A radscorpion would usually ignore a sleeping person, or someone not presenting an active threat by approaching. Aemilia didn’t go chasing danger, and had learned how to work around the various animals.

Cazadors were the only real bastards, in her not at all humble opinion. If she saw cazador nests, she went the other way.

She picked a point eventually to turn off the road, and towards an outcropping of rocks and debris barely visible, which she led them behind. There was nothing else cozied up in the shadow created by the moon, and she took a seat, took her bag off, and began to seek the bedroll she had. “I’m not tired yet, so if you want first rest, you can take it,” she would still get her bedroll out to sit on it.

Of course, without another person, there had never been watch – and she supposed they could both try to sleep at the same time. She wasn’t opposed, but why not use a watch system? It was safer that way.

Minus the fact he had to trust she wouldn’t kill him.

‘Haven’t I proven that?’

Likely not.

Not while he didn’t understand.
 
Vinny acted as if he was nervous as he set down his cards, though at the last second- it turned into a feral grin. It looked more animal than man, and nearly a sneer. His white teeth on display, his canines catching the dim light and making them look sharper. Or maybe they were sharper, it was hard to tell. The cards in his hand were all the same suit, that being clubs. It consisted of an ace, a king, a queen, a jack and a ten.

A royal flush.

Nero nearly bit off the end of his cigar, his jaw was wound so tight. His piggish face flushed red with anger and embarrassment. “You son of a bitch, you hustled us.” He accused vehemently.

Vincent laughed it off. “If I were to have hustled you, I wouldn’t have waited for so long to do it. This isn’t even a puddle compared to the amount I’ve lost to you boys.” He takes the entire pot, the poker chips clinking together as they slide across the table. “I’ll assume that this will be brought over and counted, don’t put it in my account though. I’d prefer to open one for my lucky golden charm.” He purrs the last words, his pale blue eyes turning onto Arcade in a half-lidded smolder. “I’ll have to thank you personally.” His voice low and seductive.

The head Omerta gave a flippant wave. “Yeah, yeah- whatever. Go fuck your boy toy or go get fucked by ‘im in your own room. I don’t give a damn what you do but stay out of my fucking sight.” Nero stood abruptly from the table, obviously still fuming at what was supposed to be an ‘easy win’. As he walked away from the table he could be heard muttering a ‘I expected that from Sal, but not from Vinny.’ Seemed like someone was a sore loser.

Cachino whistled as he watched the boss storm off. He looked over at Vinny. “Hey, don’t worry- he’ll get over it…maybe. As long as you don’t piss him off again too soon you should live. Just might want to get on that job he gave you.” He gave a small laugh as he stood from the table as well. “Well, goodnight boys.”

The wait staff came to collect empty drinks and to clean up the table. Vinny waved to get one man’s attention. “Take the chips and put them into an account under the name Arcade Gannon, thanks.” He grinned charmingly as the staff member nodded and began clearing the table. Vincent then stood up languidly. “You ready, sunshine?” It seemed the endearments didn’t end in this persona. “Tonight you can do whatever you want with me.” He gave a wink and again offered his arm. “Unless you can’t stop yourself if you put your hands on me. We should probably wait until we get to the room in that case, don’t want the boys to get an eyeful.” It came out like a playful little taunt. Though more importantly, it was an out, so that Arcade didn’t have to do more public displays than they had already done. Was it done out of respect, or Vulpes simply not wanting to touch the ‘dirty profligate’ anymore than he had to?

In any case, Vulpes had the beginnings of an idea on how they would manage to look through Nero’s room. Though he needed a particular item, and also the Doctor’s knowledge for his plan- and likely profligate chems as well. He wasn’t pleased with that fact, but Vulpes would do whatever is necessary for the task.

No matter if Arcade did or didn’t take his arm, Vinny would head back to the elevator to start heading towards his room, undoing another few buttons from his already obscenely open undershirt.


~***~

There was something in Aemilia’s gaze as it lingered on him, it was something Sibilus couldn’t identify. So he tried to act like her eyes weren’t boring holes into his skin and through his flesh. Instead, he focused straight ahead on the lonely road that wound through the desert sands.

Pretending, it was what Sibilus was good at.

It’s why he was a frumentarius.

He gave a hum in acknowledgement as Aemilia spoke to him. It made sense, normally Sibilus back when he was a scout would travel the entirety of the blisteringly cold Mojave nights and find a spot to hide from the sweltering sun during the boiling temperatures of noon, during which the temperature peaked. However, he had long since had earned the right to take rests when he deemed fit- as a frumentarius his rank bestowed him the boon of being able to travel how he’d liked as long as Vulpes approved of his journey.

Perhaps Freeside had left him soft and pathetic, used to the spoils of sleeping in a particular pattern. Or perhaps that conversation had drained him somehow. As if it had sapped his very life force. Perhaps like Daphne, a sprawling numbness spread through his body to turn him into a tree.

He doubted it would even be a nice one, if he did.

As they turned off the road, he followed- still silent except for the small hum of concession earlier.

Though Aemilia’s words put him on guard. The hair on his neck raising. Truthfully it was partially because he didn’t trust her, but also partially because Sibilus didn’t trust anyone when he was asleep. Far too many times he would have gone to sleep in a communal tent, only to awaken with one of the other recruits with their hands around his throat. Trying to either kill him because they hadn’t liked competition and saw him as such, or simply trying to force him into submission because they saw him as weaker.

He would thrash and fight with the ferocity of a cornered animal, of a snake that was forced to bite. It always ended in corporal punishment from their decanus if it didn’t end in the aggressor getting their throat ripped out with his teeth, but at least Sibilus had lived- even if he had earned more than his fair share of scars through lashings for wasting resources.

Sleep was a fickle mistress, especially while being around others. Even back undercover as Skitch it was difficult in the communal sleeping areas that the Kings had. His mind would race and his adrenaline would pump through his veins, as if an attack could come from any second. It didn’t help that Sibilus didn’t trust Aemilia, he couldn’t understand where her goals lay and how they included him. He couldn’t tell when his want to live became a conflict of interest for her. When she would deem him unnecessary enough to get Roland pressed between his eyes and the trigger pulled.

“I see.” He said evenly, not wanting to outwardly suspicious as he propped himself up on a nearby rock. “Are you certain you aren’t tired; you have certainly gone through quite a bit in a short time.” Perhaps an attempt to convince her to take first watch, or to prolong the inevitable.

He didn’t want to sleep, he just wanted to rest. Because sleeping meant that he was completely vulnerable, at least if he only rested with his head tucked against his chest and his knees pulled up to his body- then he could feel less like Aemilia would abruptly decide to end him like she should have done in the Tops.
 
Why did Vulpes have to have a voice like that? Arcade wished his flushed face wasn’t so sincere in its attraction, and glad he could pass it off somewhat as embarrassment, and even more as anger – all of those a part of it. Some of that anger was turning inwards, though. Which, he was willing to endure. He deserved that. He shouldn’t find any part of this intriguing enough to allow such things.

But, he couldn’t control that.

He could control everything else, though. Such as never acting on it and focusing on the anger.

Nero left them, and Big Sal wasn’t far behind in rising, snorting in some amusement at Nero’s obvious anger. He heard the mutter too, and it was fair. Big Sal would pull some shit like that, and he’d enjoy it, too. Another day, though. When the fry wasn’t so small as Vinny and Cachino, who didn’t have enough caps to be worth that play.

He wouldn’t offer a similar comment as Cachino. He may be a little amused with Nero, but he was also upset to lose. At least he knew Vinny would be coming through with product, and that was all that really kept him from snapping off in a similar way. But he gave no farewell, and just headed on his own way to distract himself by other means.

“Good night,” Arcade said to Cachino as he headed off, before Vulpes was true to his word and put all those caps in his name. He couldn’t help the honest bewilderment, before his eyes did narrow in suspicion, breaking the illusion a moment, before the over-the-top antics of Vulpes put him back into the role.

Arcade did groan, and though it was exasperation, he played it off as ‘friendly’ exasperation with a smile and pushing Vulpes’s arm down as he walked ahead a step, then looked back over to him, “You’re not going to keep me waiting, are you?” and of course, he winked, because they were still playing this terrible game, and Arcade had no idea where the damn room was where he could drop the act.

At least Vulpes really wasn’t insisting on taking it far by forcing them to walk arm in arm, or any such thing. And although he wasn’t happy to walk with Vulpes to the room, and they still had to play the act all the way to the room, including a certain eagerness to escape inside, as soon as Arcade had dashed in, he dropped the act as soon as he heard the door shut.

“What the fuck was all that?” he didn’t raise his voice, but there was a bite to the hissed words, an agitation he couldn’t wash away.

Okay, no, he understood that, and he retracted the question with a sigh and palming his face, “Scratch that, I know why,” he was that intelligent, at any rate, “Why did you give me all the caps?” better question. There had to be a plan for that, Vulpes wasn’t nice. He kept his hand on his face, though it would start to slowly drag downwards as if slowly wiping away all his frustration with the situation and taming it into mild annoyance and exhaustion.

~***~

Sibilus resisted sleep, despite claiming to want to rest, and continue in the morning. Aemilia didn’t find herself surprised, and she hummed at his attempt to change the watch to himself, instead of her. Perhaps she ought to be worried, but the Mark of Caesar was a lucky charm in this instance.

Sibilus wouldn’t dare to harm her.

She chuckled at his remark, “You’re the one who wanted to rest,” chiding, teasing. “Not me.”

This time, Aemilia didn’t play around the situation, though she waited to speak until Roland was under a pillow, and Cuthbert, the sword, was nicely under the bedroll itself. Then she took a seat on it, and drew her knees up to her chest, folded her arms on top, and rested her chin.

“Are you that afraid I’ll kill you in your sleep?”

Pointed.

Direct.

Calm.

And she added a terrible logic, “I couldn’t make that look like an accident,” she noted, “there’s no viper mercenaries or raiders to mask this as a shootout. I can’t imitate a radscorpion stinger, either. Killing you would likely set Caesar against me, mark or no mark, and I am trying to see him in peace, while being aware I am being monitored constantly.”

Perhaps not every second, but people were watching her from all around. NCR, House, the Legion…someone would find the body of Sibilus, and someone would report on it. Word would spread.

Caesar would know.

It also didn’t answer the ‘why’ she didn’t kill him earlier, when she could have faked it – but that was the point of explaining it with logic.

It didn’t tell him a damn thing.
 
As Vulpes kicked the door shut behind him, he locked it and smothered a sigh of exasperation. He always felt filthy dealing with the degenerate pigs that were the Omertas. His eyes swiftly went over to Arcade and he was nearly ready to speak when the Follower was hissing his question, making him arch a single brow in amusement he didn’t bother to conceal. “Doctor Gannon, what filthy language. I thought you were more controlled than that.” He remarked blithely as he strode past the man, all predatory grace.

His movements were far different than the erratic and nearly uncoordinated motions of ‘Vinny’. The frumentarius settled in front of bureau in the room, his reflection glittering off the surprisingly uncracked glass- a rarity in the post-apocalyptic world, but not in New Vegas. His hands were busy opening a specific drawer and pulling out some sort of bottle. Apparently, it was to dissolve the glue he used to apply the wig. His words were chided as he half-heartedly paid attention to the man, instead focused on his task. “You’ll have to use your words, Arcade. I only answer a question if it’s been clearly asked.”

Though despite what he said, Vulpes didn’t bother to respond to the question, as in a split moment the Follower was already answering his own question and moving on to another. He hummed slightly. “It’s what the persona would do. Vincent Thebes is a foolish stupid man who would give up everything, every cap he had ever accumulated in his lifetime if it meant seeing his ‘lover’ smile. Besides, I have no need for the currency- once I send those wretched souls to Tartarus, I likely will have no need to ever come back here.” It would be a loss- Operation Racket was his plan, a plot that had been far too long in the making. Though it was not necessary to gain control of the Strip. Still, there may yet be allies left for Caesar’s Legion here in New Vegas, the Legion was still working on swaying the members of the White Glove Society to their side.

“Now, if you are done with your childish outburst- I believe I have a plan for how we may find the location of the Omertas’ facility.” He spoke still as he rubbed the serum into the wig’s hairline, the ritual almost as domestic in a way in it’s sheer mundaneness. As if Vulpes wasn’t a monster wearing human skin. The frumentarius’ gaze flicked downwards, to catch Arcade’s eyes through the reflection of the mirror. Even with his back turned, he was still watching him. “I have a bottle of vintage cognac stowed away that Nero had asked ‘Vinny’ to obtain for him not long ago. It’s exotic, rare, and would normally cost a fortune. Though, it would also make an excellent ‘gift’ to help simmer down that temper and smooth over business relationships.” The way he spoke, he made it sound as if it was his plan to win from the start in order to infuriate the man.

As the wig comes off, he stows it away and rolls his neck, finally deigning himself to turn to face Arcade fully. “I imagine it would be as easy as offering the bottle, perhaps persuading the man to partake in the vintage spirits. If he is ‘hit harder’ by the alcohol than normal, then it can be explained away that the age makes it more potent.” He suddenly waves his hand. “Yes, I am well aware that is not how aging alcohol works, though the man is too stupid to realize that fact. In any case, we will obviously have the cognac contain something that will allow us to sedate him. However, I need your expertise on the matter, as I know many medications either are rendered less effective or deadly based on the combination with alcohol. While I would love to kill him, we need to keep our hand hidden for the moment.”

~***~

Sibilus watched her, his dark eyes nearly black in the dark. He felt bitter at her playful nature, and wondered how she could feel such a way despite the bullets that had gone through her head. Probably because she felt like she was winning, somehow. Maybe she was- Sibilus was always losing something. He was used to the feeling of defeat as along with the stars, it had been the only source of reliability. Perhaps a melodramatic thought, though it felt the truth.

He thinks he had a family once, a tribe- just like the rest of the conscripted boys inducted into the Legion. Though the memories of such a thing were taken from him, along with his free will, his good natured disposition, his future- and most importantly his hope.

Sibilus doesn’t like Aemilia, he decides. In fact, a small part of him bred and raised by the violence of the Legion wants to hate her. He can’t bring himself that far though, cannot cross that line.

Instead, he just seethes with mild inconvenience, as she continues to try and play him like Apollo’s lyre.

He doesn’t like not understanding her motivations, everyone else was so easy to pick apart. Yet he had never met someone with such a steady unwavering countenance except perhaps Vulpes Inculta himself. The way she was able to hide everything with a glib and charming smile, to pull the veil over his eyes…he didn’t like it. It made him feel useless.

The Legion had taught him to survive, you must have worth.

Her question sent a bolt through his spine, like electricity had struck him in the middle of the desert on a cloudless night. His muscles tightened slightly of their own accord.

‘Yes.’ His mind says in response to her question.

He listens to her logic but doesn’t relax. He never does, there is always a tension like a physical thing that lingers in between his shoulder blades. Perhaps it was the skeletal hand of Pluto’s remains, reminding him of all things and their mortality- his especially. “Your words are of sound logic, I must admit.” Though there was no logic to his fear, it simply just was. “While you could try to bury me in the desert, I doubt you brought such equipment to dig a deep enough grave to hide my body.” He levels a stare at her. “A loss of a frumentarius would be a loss of a great resource, indeed great enough to incur the wrath of Caesar.” Resource, not person. It was said easily, and truthfully. Perhaps even Sibilus was trying to also convince his illogical fear that he will not be killed this night. At least…not by Aemilia.

He notes that she doesn’t explain why she hadn’t killed him before when she had the chance, and that crawls under his skin too.

It’s another thing he doesn’t like.

“I suppose then I will rest.” He wonders if she would try to sneak away while he closes his eyes. Like some sort of apparition that disappears once you look away. “You should have killed me then, you know.” He says suddenly, tired of stepping around it. Like he is tired of everything else. He knows he will likely not get an answer for it, but he wants her to feel uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze. He wants her to feel as uncomfortable as she makes him feel. If she had thrown aside subtlety, then so could he.

His face is unreadable, having fallen into that practiced wall to close off the world. If nothing could get in, nothing could hurt him. He tilts his head back to lean against the rock he is propped up against, as if he doesn’t care to see her reaction. As if he is unbothered. “Sal idem est quod saccharum in vultu.” He speaks.

He doesn’t offer a translation. He wonders if she knows. If not…

He hopes it eats away at her as much as she has done to him.
 
Arcade didn’t fully trust that Vulpes didn’t want the caps back…but Arcade didn’t plan on it. He could put those caps to good use, after all. He’d probably donate some back to Julie to help with Freeside before he finally left the area, and figured out what to do with himself. Back with Aemilia, and done with the Legion.

Hopefully.

He didn’t enjoy Vulpes’s amusement, but as his hand made its way down his face, he was able to turn back towards the fake-gambler and look him in the eyes through the mirror as he tended to his wig. He couldn’t help but feel as if it was something he shouldn’t see. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t already seen more of Vulpes, but there was something strangely…docile about the act of removing the wig.

The plan was finally laid out. A fine bottle of cognac, spiked, for Nero. ‘Ah.’

“And once he’s out we can take a look around for any clues.” On where the facility was, on what other supplies they had ordered…yes, Arcade saw the logic, and nodded once, “I have plenty that will work,” he admitted, noting, “we don’t often have the luxury of working with, ah, sober patients in freeside. Let me take a look in my bag,” which was already in the room, so he just went right to it, knelt down as he opened it, and started to take aside his various medical items.

“Ah ha!” he took out a serum of profell and nodded, “This will do the trick,” it was obviously, usually, injected, so he explained, “this can be taken by injection or orally. Injection works faster, so that’s usually how we do it, but oral is fine. I have an idea of how much Nero will need,” Arcade could guess the size pretty well, “shouldn’t show much of a difference in how much cognac there is in the bottle, either.”

Although whether or not Nero noticed the bottle had been opened already was another story. “Unless you’re not wanting to taint the bottle? Lining the inside of a glass isn’t too hard, we’ll just have to remember which one,” possibly also not hard, and it would allow them to continue drinking the cognac without it appearing suspicious.

Arcade could play that he had ‘too much’ for the night already, and Nero probably wouldn’t care about not sharing.

He didn’t care about revealing he only played Vinny so he could win, after all.

~***~

‘For a frumentarius, you could use some work.’ Aemilia thought, blissfully unaware of how competent he could be in a true disguise. Sibilus seems so similar to Darvin, in a way. His tension was on display under the scrutinizing question, as was his frustration. The moon was no savior; the darkness was not enough to hide him at this distance. All the same, he relented to the logic.

Although, he still brings up the day of his survival in the Tops. ‘Should I claim you owe a life debt then?’ That wasn’t how those things worked, but she knew Sibilus was still looking for an answer. A way to remove that hanging question from over his head, with understanding, a favor – something.

And still, she ignored that statement.

Although her brows knit together at the next statement, in Latin.

She wasn’t fluent. She knew plenty, enough to start picking it apart. ‘Sugar.’ Something that was like sugar, although that word eluded her, as did the last. ‘Vulture? Sca—no, those aren’t root words.’ Arcade would know. She’d picked apart his sentence about the sun and gotten it, but those words were more familiar to her.

‘Well it’s not good.’ Something was being compared to sugar. To sweetness, really. It was a warning of sorts – but one for him, or one for her? He wasn’t exactly being sweet to fool her, as far as she could tell. He was being a bit, well, pathetic, but not sweet. She usually knew to mistrust flattery and things of that nature, though.

Realizing how long she had spent mulling it over, she couldn’t help a soft laugh. No doubt, he was already asleep by then, and unaware of the freeing sound as she shook her head. ‘Good job, Spark.’ The thought came so easily, but then, why not? It had been imbedded in so many already, and he didn’t have a name, did he?

Names were always given things, too. There’s no debate, no consideration of ‘better’ names. It just is.

“Sweet dreams, Spark.”

She assumes he is too far asleep to hear, although a memory sings out to her of the times her mother came into her room late at night, and sat at her bedside, and spoke to her. Kindly. Gently. Crying. It is terrible that these are the best memories Aemilia has of her mother, and it sobers her immediately into moving into a familiar ritual of taking Roland apart, cleaning him, and putting him back together.

She does it quietly, of course, never moving far from her bedroll as she also does the same in preparing Cuthbert for the journey onwards, and in stripping out of her leather armor to wipe it down and check for any holes that needed fixing.

It allows those memories to wash over her without impact, because her body is on autopilot when it is taking care of those precious objects, and no emotion will unsteady her hand lest she betray Roland and Cuthbert with anything less than intimate focus.

Dawn’s rosy fingers begin to appear on the horizon and Aemilia resists sighing as exhaustion has made it way into her bones. ‘Second wind.’ She reminds herself, but cannot believe it. She never does until it hits. ‘Today we have to catch Benny.’ Or else she wouldn’t. That, of course, she believes.

Aemilia stands then and shakes out her bedroll inappropriately loudly to wake the frumentarius, if he wasn’t already so, and goes to her bag to toss a lunchbox at him. She has three, containers for various rations she keeps with her, and she takes a semi-dried blood sausage out of the second to munch on as breakfast before stowing the box back into the bag. “Good morning~ take something to eat and let’s get on our way,” maybe he has rations of his own, but the offer is there regardless as she digs her Vault flask out to take a sip of water, before opening it up to dump another bit of purified water into it.

She’s ready for the long venture.

“Gods I’d kill for coffee,” no, there was no hiding she was tired, but Route 188 wasn’t too far now. They might have coffee.
 
“I figured as much.” Vulpes stated in response as Arcade states that they don’t often have sober patients. There was a slight crinkle at the tip of the man’s nose in- a surprisingly human gesture for the leader of the frumentarii- though it was obviously in distaste at the fact that the vices were so prevalent that the Followers found it necessary to have on hand sedatives that worked on those that had imbibed. Obviously, it was useful knowledge for the moment, but it didn’t make it any less unsavory in Vulpes’ opinion. How profligates could enjoy losing control of themselves, he’d never know. Then their medicine was a crutch used by the weak.

Vulpes slunk over to a nearby faux red leather club chair and sat down, he swung one leg to rest over the other as he propped his elbow on the arm of the chair. He leveled Arcade a stare with his intense hawkish yet contradictorily serene gaze. “The cognac is with my things in the Ultra-Luxe. Knowing that piggish man’s temper, it would be best to collect it tomorrow and enact the plan in the morning.” He rested his chin on his hand. “Nero has no qualms for what time he imbibes and given that he so often isolates himself away in his room, no one will think twice when he is indisposed of for however long the duration of the sedatives last. To be less suspicious it would be important to line the glass rather than attempt to tamper with the bottle. There isn’t a way to reseal it in a way to conceal the fact from Nero. If it was anyone else, it wouldn’t be noticed. Though the man likens himself as a ‘connoisseur’ and would want to open the bottle himself. Especially if it is to be the lucens coronam of his collection.” He explained his position on the matter. The Latin sliding from his lips sounded like silk felt.

“Until then, we will have to simply bide our time. Due to our cover it would not be well to have either of us sneaking off in the middle of the night to stay in alternate accommodations.” We’re stuck with each other. Was left unsaid, though it was perhaps pointedly left under the surface of his words. He leaned over to pluck a book off of the table near the chair he was seated in. As he lifts it up, the cover is visible that of the branches of a tree, the title being- ‘East of Eden’. It is most decidedly a fiction book, and not something more beneficial to read such as an informative book. Though he cracks it open without looking at Arcade, despite the fact that he doesn’t seem to have a bookmark there he lands on a page and seemingly begins reading. “Feel free to check the bookshelves- though my collection here is scarce and most of the books were things already left here- many are more for decoration than substance.” The room truly wasn’t meant for things like reading, it was Gomorrah after all. “Or you may rest if you are so inclined. I care not of what you do, provided you are not insufferable about it.”

~***~

The frumentarius does not fall asleep easily, he never does.

Neither does he fall asleep soundly, instead his mind wanders in some state between consciousness and slumber- as if treading a thin line. He hears the sounds funnel in from the waking world, and they mix with his dreams.

He wonders if the laugh was something true, or something his mind made up.

Sibilus lets his eyes remained closed once he surfaces from his light rest, by that time the sun still isn’t up- yet he feels wide awake despite the fact that his eyes are closed. His body is stiff from sitting upright to rest, though he doesn’t move- and pretends to still be asleep. Another frumentarius habit, to pretend you are resting to listen to things you might not normally hear while awake. It was one of the many ways he obtained information. Eventually the sun comes up after what must be the passage of half and hour or so, and sun rises softly and paints the curtains of his eyelids in an orangish hue. Sibilus had waited, but for nothing. Aemilia didn’t murmur to herself, hadn’t seemed to have done anything of interest that might give him more insight into her. Instead, he had wasted time for nothing- it seemed.

His hand shoots out on reflex as he hears something fly through the air towards him- his eyes are still closed. His instinct is to catch or block the thing thrown at him. Memories of throwing knives whistling through the air in the hours of early dawn replay in his mind, but at least he knows this is not that sound. It’s heavier, not meant to be thrown. Blunt. It hits his hand, and he catches it. His eyes snap open a second after, there is a feral glint in his dark eyes despite the unyielding stone of his carefully crafted neutral expression. Though upon finding it wasn’t something meant to cause him harm, the sudden burst of primitive instinct eventually settled like an animal going back into slumber hidden deep tucked away in their den.

Sibilus has steeled himself, knowing that he must not make the same mistakes he has been making regarding this courier. So, he decided to play a persona. A familiar one that had been played before, back when he was a recruit. Before he even knew that he naturally slid into different versions of himself during different tasks, back before he learned that is exactly the skill that the frumentarii looked for in their candidates.

‘If you are too walled off, too fortified- those who want to attack you will not bother going through all the effort once they realize the scope.’ He wasn’t more aggressive, or hostile- simply…detached. Though his body posture was tensed as if he was prepared for a fight. “I don’t incline myself into letting you have me accumulate little debts to you. I have my own rations.” He tossed the lunchbox back, and reaches under his trench coat to a small hidden bag on his side. He pulls out a canteen and a small pouch which seems to contain pinyon nuts. Sibilus stands smoothly, ignoring any stiffness in his body and not allowing it to show under any circumstances. He doesn’t do the ‘human’ thing and stretch out his muscles, because that would indicate he is sore. Instead he stomps on any potential vulnerabilities. “You could have wakened me last night for watch. Though I suppose iam factum est.” Again, he doesn’t opt to translate for her.

Most people, barring a select few- do not know much of their language outside of Caesar’s Legion. He wants to instill the foreign unknown of it into her bones. He wants to gain back his footing.

“I’m assuming we can travel while we eat.” He remarks stiffly, not giving an ounce of emotion on his face. He begins to walk.
 
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Arcade listened as Vulpes outlined the plan, and lining the cup. That was the safe way to go about it, “Okay,” he would have to feel out the situation more to see if he’d have to try and line it while they were there, or if Vulpes thought they could get away with bringing a cup. Perhaps both – there was no problem bringing a cup, and if it was denied, all Arcade had to do was find a way to be the one to pour the drink and let Vulpes play interference. It wouldn’t be hard to bring profell with him.

It could work.

He had already accepted he was likely there for the night. He hadn’t quite resigned himself to it, but he understood it, and sighed as it was spoken aloud, though it seemed Vulpes had chosen a chair.

Arcade could occupy the bed, or anywhere else.

He wouldn’t feel too unsafe about sleeping, given Vulpes seemed to want him alive for this plan, but he wasn’t secure, either. A book would be a good way to pass the time, and there did seem to be a few, as Vulpes grabbed one.

Arcade hadn’t read it, but he did know the name of Steinbeck, for he had seen it scattered about other bits of literature, as a great American author. Someone the Enclave had admired; perhaps that was why he’d never found much by Steinbeck. Anything the Enclave loved, tended to disappear.

Despite his curiosity, Arcade went to look at the other offerings. He did not read much novels, although he’d been told it might help him with his creativity. He preferred the dry texts, and he found a few on various scientific phenomena and achievements in the room, which was unexpected from Vulpes – or Caesar’s Legion at all. He picked one up on the subject of Pre-War computers, notably one about the differences in operating systems, before walking back to the bed.

He didn’t crack it open immediately, though.

His attention returned to Vulpes, and the book he had.

“I didn’t expect you to read novels.”

It is stated simply. There is no malice behind it. There isn’t even curiosity behind it, because the statement is not a question. It is a reveal of what he thought of Vulpes. “Is that where you get ideas for your personas, or how you’ve learned to impersonate other people so well?” That seemed somewhat logical, but he doubts that is all there is to it.

He wants to know more, despite his hatred of Caesar’s Legion.

Arcade knows one truth, one he has learned over and over: a group can be hated, but individuals are difficult to hate.

~***~

Sibilus was against accepting food, but Aemilia showed no offense, taking back the lunchbox and nodding, “Good, we won’t run out nearly as quickly,” perhaps she could have mentioned she was already indebted to the Legion, but that would require her to feel indebted for that dinner, and the honest truth was, she didn’t feel that way. The debt was paid by meeting with Vulpes and Sibilus. There was nothing more she owed to them for that meal, and the only thing she owed for the Mark was good behavior, not wholesale slaughter of the Legion.

At least, for now.

He noticed she was tired as she finished packing things back up, and spouted Latin again. That, she knew – it was a common enough saying, and so she answered, “So it is,” in English, because actually speaking Latin was something that didn’t slip her tongue so easily. Understanding it, sure, somewhat. Thinking up the proper way of saying it? Absolutely not.

“You’re right about the travel. We gave Benny too much of a lead,” and her meal was easy to munch on as they walked. The Pip-Boy was turned back up, news and music intermingling the morning. Likely, that exhaustion was the only thing that kept her from peppering Sibilus with more ‘innocent’ questions as they walked. The energy for small talk was absent, but she wasn’t made uncomfortable by the silence, and she stayed alert enough for trouble, smiled and waved to passing merchants and others along the road, which became more frequent as they drew closer to Route 188.

Once they were there, that second wind was starting to hit, and she bought a coffee with a few caps and questioned the usual folks about the Chairman who they didn’t see pass by, before the voice of a child disturbed her queries.

“If you’re looking for someone, I can help.”

She glanced at the child and their interesting headset. “How so?” Aemilia asked, not willing to laugh it off or deny the help.

“I sell thoughts,” the child said, and though such a thing might set a usual person off to disregard all they had to say, Aemilia let her attention remain, “I’m good at finding other people’s thoughts and connecting them, if there’s a connection between someone near. If you can tell me about who you’re looking for, I’m sure I can help you find them.”

“Does that headgear help you with finding them?”

“Oh, no, no. I actually have to take my medicine off,” he indicated, looking embarrassed, “it hurts when I don’t wear it. Thoughts are heavy.”

“Yeah,” Aemilia agreed, casually brushing her hand by the scars and making them visible on her head, “I know all about that.” A truth, though the scar suggested a greater severity.

Enough for the child to note, “Aww, I wish I had a spare for you,” he said, “but I don’t and it really does hurt.”

“No, no, I don’t want yours. I know how to live with it,” Aemilia crouched down to where the child sat, “What is your price?”

“100 Caps,” he said.

Perhaps she could have talked him down. After all, it was likely to be useless, and she was willing to barter with most, but she had a soft spot for children. Several, actually, and so she dug into her bag and laid out the caps, all one hundred. She’d had about 400 to start this with.

“I’m looking for a man named Benny. He’s a Chairman at the Tops, but he’s taking a journey into dangerous territory. I need to find him before he’s in danger.” Aemilia spoke earnestly, as if trying to protect a friend, and not hunt down a murderous bastard.

If the child detects Aemilia’s own murderous thoughts, it does not leak through when they take off their medicine, and begin to speak, as if from a distance: “Two to the skull, yet one gets up,” he began, “a connection as deep as life and death. A lengthy pursuit, one sent running unprepared for the dangerous. Rattling in the distance. Powder covers the Bear, but he doesn’t know the Bear is dead when he calls out to Charlie.”

The child flinched, “Pursuit will lead all to be covered in Powder. The rattling will ring in salvation for him, but not for you. Only a spark will provide that.”

Aemilia tries not to react to that word – but she does. It’s mild – a tension, a knitting of her brows, as if she doesn’t understand, but of course, she does.

As her mind fills in several other details: the Bear is a stand-in for the NCR. Powder – well, what else but Powder Gangers? She doesn’t understand rattling, but she understands enough.

Benny avoids something, but finds a different danger, in a place he expected to be safe. Some NCR haven.

It was, perhaps, foolish to listen, but that single word convinced her. “Thank you,” she rises, and throws in another 10 caps, “That helps.” She wouldn’t let Benny find salvation. She would change that. Despite Pandora's story and the warnings against trying to change things -- she didn't really believe these things to be unchangeable truths. There was time.

On went the Pip-boy as she started to walk, looking for what she needed on it.

Ranger Station Charlie.

She shows it to Sibilus, “We’re taking a detour.”
 
Vulpes may have not been looking upwards to watch the doctor’s movements. Though he listened acutely for his motions as he went about the room. The other man sounded like he had plucked up a book, but the frumentarius hadn’t bothered to glance upwards to see which one Arcade had chosen. If he had, he would have noticed it was one he had read through often ‘Terminal Systems: A programmer’s perspective’, a small sheet of paper would be slid inside, nestled after the table of contents of the book. The single page would be filled to the brim with his cramped yet clean and crisp handwriting, the loose leaf containing jotted notes from his own readings of the book. All his educational works Vulpes read had such notes inside, as he was remiss if he were to deface such a valuable treasure by writing in the margins of the book itself. Yet Vulpes liked to study by taking notes. So instead, he began the habit of tucking in slips of paper at the front, and things of note that he would need to come back to later to brush up on would be written there.

Though, Arcade hadn’t opened the book yet- so he likely wouldn’t know that.

Vulpes was fine to simply ignore the other man’s presence entirely with only a usual amount of caution that he reserved for all those useful but not allied with the Legion. As of right now, they seemed to have a truce. Only because they needed one another to accomplish their shared goal. He recognized that and did not have any misgivings to think otherwise.

The frumentarius did glance up briefly, as Arcade spoke. He raised his brows ever so slightly. “I didn’t presume you knew enough of me to expect anything from me at all.” He remarked mildly yet in a way that was simultaneously pointed at the same time. He continues, unbothered. “I respect all manner of written word, provided it is not straight filth- then it may have it’s uses.” He spoke, his eyes glancing back to the page he was on as he gently flipped it, the care to which he turned the page was telling. “Lectiones in omnibus sunt, Medicus Gannon. Though, yes- I do get ideas for my craft through the pages of books on occasion. To make a good identity is to make a story, one that is believable to an audience. Yes, I do also tend to draw inspiration from people I have observed as well.”

He is quiet for some time, his eyes trailing across the yellowed page of his book before he speaks again. “Normally, legionnaires do not have access to such things-“ He tapped the spine of the book with his pointer finger as if to punctuate his sentence. “It is the hubris of humankind to mistake knowledge for wisdom, and to believe they have outgrown their god. It is this defiance that rent the world asunder and nearly destroyed the world. So long ago to us, and yet a blink of an eye compared to the amount of history we have lost. I have worked my way to earn such a position that I might be able to better apply myself to my duties. To learn to be more effective is only practical. Though, the thirst for knowledge never truly goes away.” His words were surprisingly candid from the frumentarius.

~***~

Despite the woman having known the Latin phrase, Sibilus wasn’t deterred. In fact, he felt more in control- while certainly there was a give and take between them- it now wasn’t always the frumentarius on the backfoot. He felt like he had managed to claw back some agency in the conversation, given the fact that he hardly had any agency to begin with- the loss of any more was like suffering a lost limb.

They walked in relative silence, Aemilia normally spearheading their conversations. Though this morning she seemed to not be in the mood for idle chat. Perhaps Sibilus had managed to put her off any more attempts due to his shift in attitude. It meant she perhaps no longer considered him enough to be worth any extra effort. Which was good.

He didn’t feel guilty about it. It was necessary.

The travelers on the road were more congested around Route 188. With the bar and trader set up nearby, it was no wonder why the area had such foot traffic. Bells clinked as pack Brahmin wandered by on stamping hooves. The smell was more potent as they got closer, Sibilus’ heightened senses making him fight against pinching his nose against the smell of manure and the sourness of wandering traders who were road weathered. Instead, he focused on making sure to make himself look as even tempered as possible as Aemilia meandered through, conversing with people about her target.

Each answer was usually a different way to say the same thing every time.

No one had seen Benny.

Though, suddenly the courier was approached by a young child. They spoke in a strange manner, their words stilted and enigmatic. The child claimed to be able to help, and Sibilus doubted it.

Though even as caps exchanged hands, he did not say a thing. He did not voice his doubt despite the fact that it rested on the tip of his tongue.

Perhaps he was reminded of the young children in the Legion, the girls who are taught to submit in quiet servitude- who work their hands raw while learning to clean legionnaire armor and weapons, to be weighed down with yolk of burdens and treated perhaps less than the pack Brahmin that they had just passed. Or maybe Sibilus thought of the boys, the ones like him who were forced to dress in armor that was too heavy and were ordered to run until their legs could not carry them anymore, the ones that were beaten when they gave in- or who were crucified for being too weak. Or he thought of them all- the children that weren’t children under Caesar’s reign. Just tools to be used.

He crosses his arms and does not interrupt once.

Sibilus can’t help but wonder what would happen to the child should when Caesar seizes victory. They did not seem as young as most trainees, that was already a disadvantage. They also did not act in a traditional way, which meant that he would be very likely to be purged as to not ‘sully the gene pool’.

As Aemilia began to walk away after she had gotten her information, he plucked a pouch off his person which was filled with caps in order to fit in with the ‘profligates’. (He also had a stash of denarii of course, and even NCR paper money.) Sibilus dropped the pouch from his hand to the child when he thought she wasn’t looking, and brought his pointer finger to his lips as he looked at the child, as in a gesture to be quiet about what he’d done. The pouch was heavy, one of the benefits of being apart of the frumentarii.

He walked off then, after the woman who was looking at her Pip-Boy. He followed despite having his concerns over taking the information from a child. While he may pity them, he was not sure he believed them. Still, Vulpes ordered him to observe, and he would not stray from his orders.

Surely the words from a child could not be taken as the word of one of the Parcae. Yet Aemilia seemed to believe so, for whatever reason.

“Ranger Station Charlie.” He echoed. “It was wiped out recently, I believe.” He mutters the next part, for he knows who had done such a thing. His armor burns on his skin. “Do you truly believe that this detour will provide us with the man you seek?” He withheld judgement from his voice, though he did raise his brow slightly.

He had forgotten the persona for a brief moment. Again giving a glimpse of that curiosity, his head tilted ever so slightly, almost like that of a inquisitive crow- especially with his dark eyes as they trained on Aemila.
 
Arcade holds his frown as Vulpes first addresses his statement. ‘You make your living off of forcing assumptions on others.’ He wants to counter. He wants to remind Vulpes the Legion has a reputation, so some of what Arcade assumes should not come as a surprise to Vulpes. However, he does not need to.

Vulpes explains himself.

He can’t help but chuckle at how Vulpes claims there is knowledge in everything…but then denies it, if it is filth. That Vulpes would consider a novel to not be filth is already an oddity, that it makes Arcade wonder what Vulpes does actually consider to be filth, and so beneath his interest. He takes his pointers from books, and apparently, from people-watching.

Yet, Vulpes had an appreciation of knowledge, and a true understanding of all that was lost, “Yeah, I’ve noticed the way people have been abusing that lost knowledge to raise themselves up,” it is a comment towards Caesar, but he does not say as much. Certainly, Vulpes is aware of it. Perhaps he even admires Caesar for taking that character on and using it, to mold himself into what Vulpes thinks the world needs.

Arcade would still argue Augustus would have been the better choice, though.

“Do you think Legionnaires should have access to this kind of knowledge?” As Arcade asks, he does open the book – and does see that first, hand written page of notes. His eyes take a moment to adjust to the script, and he doesn’t look up from it as he adds, “The way you seem to think some women would be worthy of serving in roles forbidden to them?”

Individuals are hard to hate.

Progressives are hard to hate.

Arcade still wants to hate Vulpes, but he can admit if the Legion had more intelligent people like Vulpes in it, it might be better. It was obviously still terrible. They were still too brutal, and too unforgiving, to ever survive for long. They demonized things not worth demonizing, and would cause much pain and hardship.

So no, he couldn’t say Vulpes would ever change his opinion on the Legion.

But it did remind Arcade that there were individuals in it. Just as there were individuals everywhere, and some of them – despite being part of a terrible group – were not all terrible. Vulpes still was. He had still committed atrocities, as Nipton rang in his head. There was no ‘but’. But he had progressive views didn’t change that.

Vulpes had tormented Nipton and he had progressive views…for a Legionnaire.

As evidenced by his notes. “You don’t seem to revile technology,” a comment more to himself, but spoken aloud all the same as he flipped the page over, gathering what Vulpes had taken away without the context of reading the full book yet.

He would.

He also had no question these notes did belong to Vulpes. Sure, it could have been decoration and a lucky find…but Arcade didn’t believe that at all. Vulpes already admitted to his hunger for knowledge, after all.

~***~

Aemilia expects doubt.

Any sane person would doubt.

Aemilia should doubt, but Sibilus confirms the Station was wiped out. No more NCR. ‘A perfect place for the Powder Gangers, then.’ And not something that was common knowledge, given Benny would run into it – if all was to be believed.

And, she did. Even if that should also mean Benny would find salvation, she believed there could be an encounter, and she could change the way it went. “It’s not something I know for certain,” Aemilia said, “but it also isn’t far off course, so I think it is worth checking. Plus, it seems now the child knows three things that aren’t common if you know the station was cleared out.” Legion then. She will not ask more. “I think that’s worth it.”

‘But yes, I believe.’ That went unsaid, because she did not want to explain. Somethings followed logic, other things did not, and this felt strangely on that line. Aemilia had her reasons to believe, tied up in the child noting the connection between her and Benny (not common knowledge), the Ranger Station (not common knowledge), and the nickname (no one knew that) she held for Sibilus.

Three things, with one the child shouldn’t know at all.

Perhaps she should have asked what happens to Sibilus, though. ‘Hope.’ She didn’t believe the outcome for Benny, why worry about other outcomes?

“We should be there by late afternoon, or evening, if we don’t rest,” although she should rest, Aemilia will not. She will rest when Benny is dead at her feet, two shots through his skull. The image is more and more real in her head as they leave behind Route 188 and continue through the desert, Aemilia glancing more at her Pip-boy in the daylight than at night.

She eats lunch on the way, too, of course.

The sun is merciless and her energy is well and truly drained when it starts to go down again. If the Station hadn’t been as close as it was, she might have tried for a nap – but it was, and she puts off her own weariness. It isn’t long before that sensation of being watched is nagging at the back of her neck.

Nor long before a figure in an NCR Ranger outfit strolls up, “Sir, Ma’am,” he greets, “I’m going to have to ask you to disarm before you go any further. We’re doing a roadside check for Legion, and all Mojave citizens must comply.

Aemilia cants her head at the request. It’s phrased terribly. “I’m not actually a citizen of the Mojave,” which is true, she hails from elsewhere, and hasn’t called the Mojave home before. Although, most outside of the NCR don’t see citizenship in the same way as them. “Do I still have to disarm?”

The Ranger looks dumbfounded, and Aemilia doubts his position as a Ranger. “Yes. There’s a toll for non-citizens traveling this road, and we have to make sure you’re not, uh, going to supply the Legion with anything.”

“I’m actually working out a truce with the Legion and Mr. House, so I might end up supplying them,” if Aemilia were more awake, perhaps she would have reconsidered saying that. As it was, she was tired, and that translated to being a bit, well – annoyed with the game being played by the Fake-Ranger.

Which, the Fake-Ranger clearly had no idea how to handle someone confessing to such a crime. “I—wait, what? For real?” No, that couldn’t be real, except then he let out a breath, “Hoooly shit, you’re that Courier.” Aemilia sighed. “Oh, uh—I mean—fuck. Yes, OBVIOUSLY you have to disarm and come this way. Both of you.”

“You’re not very good at this.” She could probably take him. It was the people who were watching from the Station that were the problem, even if she doubted their skills. The ones in Goodspring hadn’t been all that intimidating.

Still, she chooses to disarm, setting Roland gently on the ground, before her bag, and then Cuthbert. Other ‘Rangers’ move into sight, no doubt to help gather what was placed down, and provide escort.
 
The words the other man says are pointed, it feels even if they are ‘casually’ making conversation- it feels like a battle. Vulpes doesn’t miss the jab, but again he is unaware of the context. Only that it was meant to be an insult in some way. He doesn’t respond, because Vulpes does not respond unless he is certain of something. It is frustrating, because not often is Vulpes not certain of something.

Perhaps the most frustrating thing about this doctor, the frumentarius thinks to himself- is that the man is clever. Perhaps even more intelligent and well learned than Vulpes himself, he could admit that. While the frumentarius had clawed his way up to be given the privilege to learn- this man did not. This man did not prove himself in order to be trusted with the knowledge he had, he simply obtained it- power unchecked that would likely eventually spell doom for him down the line, as it had for the old world.

Perhaps Vulpes is envious in a way, while also disgusted at the same time.

The question comes suddenly, and Vulpes says nothing for a long time. As if he was ignoring the man, and instead reading. Though his eyes did not move across the page like they had before, and while he had one of the pages in the book pinched between his fingers as if to flip it to the next- he did not. Like a statue frozen in time. “I trust Lord Caesar’s judgment.” He said finally. “He gives the gift of greater understanding to those he knows are loyal, to those who are most valuable.” He says it, pride lingering in his tone- because he was worthy.

“Despite being absorbed into the much greater identity of the Legion, most common legionaries are still savages at heart. A wolf may lose its teeth, but never it’s nature.”

He makes note of the page number he is on and closes the book to lean forwards. “While brutality and viciousness it welcomed for a warrior- it can go too far if it does not have pragmatism with it to temper it. Also, pure savagery and strength are not the only things one needs to be worthy.” He speaks, his intense gaze moving from his book to Arcade. “We of course curb the worst of these tendencies that are not useful through punishment, though it doesn’t change what they are deep underneath. Those that might sully the gene pool are executed before they may procreate and spread their unwanted characteristics. Quod in ossibus nascitur, per carnem exibit. It is something that must be bred out through future generations, to tame the nature within and provide more desirable characteristics to the progeny.” He spoke callously.

“Lord Caesar took mercy on all the insignificant, wretched, and barbaric souls he brought under his banner-“ He did not use language to omit himself from that list, it was small- nearly unnoticeable unless Arcade had been paying attention to his words still. “-and over time will build his subjects as he builds his Rome. In the future, once we have our new capital established, perhaps in the future generations that come along will be more worthy of the knowledge that Lord Caesar allows. Though as of now, very little are truly worthy of such a thing. Even I am not laudable enough to know everything that the Son of Mars knows, and I would never expect to ever become such.” His tone was still even, and there wasn’t a bit of emotion lining it. It simply was the truth to him.

He was valuable, not indispensable.

Vulpes Inculta knew that, for he had been the one to take the title from the previous man who held it.

He cracked open his book, and seemed to have no expectation that Arcade would ask him any further inane questions. Vulpes had spoken his mind, and he knew that Medicus Gannon would not like that.

Should no further questions be asked, he would flip through the rest of his book in silence.

~***~

For some reason beyond all logic, Aemilia seemed to believe.

Despite his own doubts, he did not voice them. He was merely there to be a fly on the wall, to be Vulpes’ eyes as Aemilia went about her plot for revenge. He was meant to sabotage it, if needed. They needed to control Benny, and the Platinum Chip by extension. She couldn’t be allowed to have it.

Sibilus wondered if she would kill him then, should she become aware of that fact. Or perhaps she was already aware of the fact that he was meant to block her path to revenge. If so, why would she allow him to travel with her?

There were too many questions, and Aemilia was tightfisted with any potential answers.

Sibilus goes without lunch, he has dried meats, and more pinyon nuts he could eat- though he doesn’t. Instead, he continues moving swiftly, keeping his head on a swivel. As they come closer to the vicinity of the ranger station, he smells smoke and sees in the distance the rising plume of it against the blue sky. Fires, that meant people- though there shouldn’t anyone at that station. He bites the inside of his mouth. “I doubt the NCR sent more to retake the station, they don’t have enough manpower to pull from other places.” He states, not minding parting with the information since it is already very much well known that the NCR is stretched too thin. It didn’t take some grand infiltration on the Legion’s part to see that glaring weakness in their enemy. Even their own citizens admit it freely.

Eventually they come face to face with a ranger… ‘ranger’ more like. Sibilus can tell immediately that they are not a ranger. They hold themselves wrong, and their words are poorly chosen. They have no training which is hammered in by the way they stand. The clothing is ill-fitting on the man. The pants are rolled up as if they were done to keep them from tripping on excess fabric. The clothing was close enough, but not perfect.

It wasn’t theirs.

Still, the other ‘rangers’ come to make sure they comply- and Aemilia strips her weapons and sets them down. Sibilus frowns deeply, opening his trench coat just enough not to reveal his armor but to unhook the machete from his hip. He drops it to the ground.

One of the rangers nudges him in the back with a pistol. “Take off the trench coat, sir. We have to make sure you aren’t carrying any more weapons.”

Like they would be able to tell. Sibilus regards the man with a blank face. “You don’t want to do this.” It is not pleading, but it is a warning. They wouldn’t want to know just who they captured, of who the powers that they tempt.

“Don’t make me tell you again, dipshit.” Anger made the other ‘ranger’ lose their poorly crafted persona.

Sibilus shrugs and unbuttons the trench coat. It also drops to the ground with his machete. There the blood red armor is finally visible, and the cowl made from that of a coyote’s head hangs around behind him at his upper shoulders. It is worn commonly by the vexillarii- the advance scouts of Caesar’s Legion. Though it is also worn by high ranking frumentarii. He doubts that that the men will understand the nuance of such a thing. The ‘ranger’ does understand what the armor represents, however. “Fuck, actual Caesar’s Legion?” The man hisses. “Come on, you’re….you’re going to the lock up.” The man stammers. “Until we figure out what to do with you- and you too, for harboring a criminal.”

Sibilus raises his brows. “I thought it was also criminal to pose as a member of the NCR.”

The pistol digs into the back of his armor. “Go!” the man barks, and Sibilus allows himself to be led. His mind mulling over how they would manage to escape against so many armed enemies. Stealth would be necessary, and luckily, he still had his hidden knives on him. Their ‘captors’ were so thrown off by his armor that they hadn’t bothered to check.

As they were pushed through the entrance gates, he noticed a nearby RV that seemed to have been repurposed from barracks into a holding cell area, with a mangled put together door that seemed to be locked from the outside. From the gaps between the metal panels of the door came a familiar voice. “Look, cool cats- this is all a misunderstanding. I promise--“ Benny’s eyes locked on them as he squinted through the gap in the door. “Well…shit- uh, hey boys. This little lady might not be the best to put in the same room as me. She kinda hates my guts, ya dig? So, if you want to keep me alive, you might not want to let us share the same air to breath.”

“Tie them up and throw them in. That should keep them from killling each other.” One ‘ranger’ orders, and one comes behind Sibilus and Aemilia each with rope. He tenses up his wrists subtly as they get tied, so that way he has slack to work with later. Escapology is one of the most prominent lessons a frumentarius learns.

He wonders if Aemilia has a plan.
 
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Arcade does think that Vulpes is going to ignore him, and he’s about to return to his own book with a scoff – when Vulpes speaks, and begins to answer, explaining his full faith in Caesar first. ‘It’s misplaced.’ Saying that is expected. Saying that will have no impact. Arcade would have to prove that Caesar is unworthy, and that is not something he knows how to do, nor is he certain he even cares enough to do so.

Would it really be worth it?

Was Vulpes deserving of seeing the error of his ways? What would it do to him? It wouldn’t fix all the bad he had done. Arcade can only listen with that mix of frustrated anger at how this intelligent man gave his life to Caesar, and absolute outrage at his existence in general, knowing that for all this, he still clung to Caesar. Trusted Caesar.

He holds his tongue.

Not because he accepts it, but because he recognizes a lost case.

He has no proof to use, but he does start to consider what it would take to make Vulpes really that Caesar isn’t worthy of his loyalty – and to wonder what a man like him would do, when that trust was broken. ‘When you realize you might be better than Caesar, and not so insignificant.’ Wretched, definitely.

Barbaric, absolutely.

“No, of course you aren’t. Lord Caesar has to protect himself from your unworthy self and what you might do, if only you were allowed the forbidden knowledge.” The knowledge that Caesar wasn’t worth a single denarii.

He adds nothing else, but turns his attention to the book, reading it, until some need for sleep does cross him, and despite the danger – he rests. He doesn’t get a full night’s sleep, but it is something, and he wakes in good time to accompany ‘Vinny’ out a bit onto the Strip for a tour, which of course includes The Tops, The Luxe, and a few other places, allowing Vulpes to get the bottle of cognac they can bring back to Gomorrah for Nero.

Arcade has the profell with him, of course, prepared to lace the glass they’ll need for Nero – prepared, as they go to his room together, as prepared as they can be to poison him and find answers in his room about where this facility is, so they can disrupt everything and put an end to the broc flower plot.

~***~

It was obvious to Sibilus as well that the ‘Rangers’ were not who they said they were. A real ‘Ranger’ would have probably killed Sibilus on sight…or bound him a lot quicker to keep him from executing himself and saving the secrets for interrogation. As it was, they seem surprised – and Aemilia wonders if her story holds anymore water, although she doubts they are going to consider that for long, given they likely don’t care much about the war between NCR and the Legion.

Aemilia can only snort at the comment of harboring a criminal, but she shrugs, willing enough to go along.

The child was right, after all.

As they enter the RV, Benny is there, and Aemilia can’t help but smirk. The temptation to step from the guard who reaches for her wrists is strong, but she resists. Kicking Benny in the head would likely have them separated, after all. She’d rather bite his throat out, so she complies, allowing her hands to be bound.

“Benny’s exaggerating,” Aemilia chuckles, but there is no humor in it. There is no smile, no play, although she doesn’t expect the fake rangers to notice. “We just had a tiff back at the Tops.” The rope itches, but it is all they do. They do not bind her legs, nor do they bind her into any place.

She doesn’t have a plan to escape, other than the few methods any know – finding something sharp to cut the rope on, or cutting her wrists to add blood as lubrication to escape. The fake rangers were, sadly, smart enough to bind them to a spot in the RV after their wrists were tied, so they couldn’t easily venture closer to one another, or untie the wrist of the other. They were positioned too far away from each other from that, even her and Sibilus, who were not inclined to kill each other.

All of this, Aemilia takes calmly, as the fake rangers leave to figure out what to do with their bounty of hostages. A guard is posted, evidenced by the shadow, but Aemilia doesn’t think the door itself is locked. Assuming they can get to the door.

Aemilia wishes she could lunge for Benny’s throat. She wishes she could put a boot against his throat and asphyxiate him. All she can do, of course, is look at him. Look at him, and move her hands a bit to see if there was anything to catch the rope on. “Hello Ben-ben. You know, I’ve been living to meet you,” she speaks softly so it won’t carry far.

Just far enough.

There’s nothing to catch the rope on, and it itches terribly as she twists her wrists, so for the moment, she refrains on much further. After all, she had been meaning to talk to Benny. Not for any villainous monologue to explain how he was going to die, and why. He knew all of that, just as she knew why he tried to kill her. Business. Cowardice. It was the stupidest decision of his life, obviously.

“Let’s not beat around the bush, baby,” he had been so fond of his damned terms of endearment. “One of us is going to die, and you’re not looking very lucky right now considering finding you here was part of my plan, when I could have just gone to Fortification Hill and waited for Caesar to hand you over to me like a gift when he found you in his territory,” blunt, and said with a tilt of her head towards Sibilus to seal it, as if the allegiance were already made. As if everything was just peachy with the Legion.

She knew where Benny was going. Expected he’d get out of this, even without her showing up. “You have a chance to talk your way out of crucifixion, or creative use of barbed wire and lime on intimate areas, so I suggest you use it wisely by explaining why I should accept the attempts you made on my life for the Platinum Chip, and maybe I’ll just put two bullets through your skull, love.”
 
Vulpes had glanced up at the jab, debated about saying something in return. Though in the end, he said nothing because it was the truth. The son of Mars had to protect himself from the hubris of mankind. Vulpes Inculta was not above it, he was just as the rest of humanity- crawling about like the worms in filth. He needed to prove himself, and it was a task he was willing to take for his Lord.

“Yes.” Was all he said simply- even after Arcade settles in to read. It was a murmur, and the man doesn’t bother to repeat it louder. Not caring if the doctor had heard him or not.

The frumentarius says nothing else the rest of the night. Quietly flipping through his book.

By the time that Arcade had woken up, the book that Vulpes had read (and seemingly finished reading) was settled back into its spot on the bookshelf which was organized by alphabetical order. The leader of the frumentarii did not have much of his collection here in this terrible place, but there was enough to pass the time when on an assignment at Gomorrah.

He had gotten showered and changed into a different suit, this one a rich purple. The wig was back on, the shock of nearly white hair sitting atop his head. “Good morning, babydoll.” ‘Vinny’ had greeted immediately.

As they went about their tour of New Vegas, it was finally when they did go back to the Ultra-Luxe that Vincent had returned to his room for the cognac. He didn’t grab any glasses, because he knew that Nero would insist on using his own.

When they returned back to Gomorrah, Vinny stopped one of Nero’s runners and asked to having a meeting with the man. “Tell him I have the Hors d’Age. He’ll know what I mean.” The runner looked a bit bewildered but left with the message. Only ten minutes later the runner came back and told them that Nero had wanted to see them immediately.

Sauntering up through the casino, they came to the double doors that had Nero’s own personal suite. Outside were a few guards milling about, though as they went inside there were no guards. Perhaps because Nero didn’t even trust his own guards as he worked on his various plots and schemes. The doors were closed behind them.

Nero was waiting for them, sitting at a desk with a cigar hanging from his mouth. “Listen you little fucking fink, you better not be lying. Especially after last night. I don’t care how important you are, I’ll fill you with holes right now if you’re lying.”

Vinny strode over to the desk, obviously not deterred by such a threat. He gave a charming grin and held up the bottle. “I managed to find it. Genuine, unopened, untarnished.” He set it down on the desk. “All yours.”

Nero plucked up the bottle as soon as it was put down. He discarded his cigar in an ashtray, too busy squinting at the bottle. “Shit, it’s really it. How the hell did you find this, is there more?”

Vinny tutted and wagged his finger before sitting down in one of the seats in front of the desk. They were lower than Nero’s large leather chair- an obvious power play to make any ‘guests’ in the room feel smaller. The merchant patted the chair beside him for his ‘lover’ to sit down as well. “The first one is free because I like ya, if you want more you’ll have to buy the next one. Now- what do you say. How about we celebrate? You’ve been looking for that for what, ten years now?”

Nero stood up from his seat, setting the bottle on the desk as he went over to a nearby cabinet which had some glasses and bottles inside. He picked out three of the most pristine glasses and set them on his desk. Abruptly, he plucked the cigar up and smashed the end of it into the ashtray to put it out before tossing it in the trash. “Spirits like this needs a far better partner to go with it. You want one, Vinny- what about your blondie-boy? He want one too?” Nero seemed to be rather appreciative of the gift, enough that his happy mood had made him nearly generous.

A lopsided grin in return. “Obviously I want one, what about you, babydoll. You want one?” Vinny reached out to place a casual hand over Arcade’s. His eyes darting to the glasses set out- he was wanting him to use the sedative once Nero had turned around to get their cigars.

~***~

The false rangers did not notice the lack of mirth in Aemilia’s chuckle- but Sibilus did.

He let himself be pushed inside and he was further bound once inside the RV. He was at one corner, and Aemilia and Benny were at opposite ones. Perhaps best, as he had no doubt that Aemilia would find some way to kill the man in the checkered suit if he was just a little bit closer.

While he could immediately work on his escape given the small amount of slack he had already given himself with the ropes by tensing his wrists- he didn’t. A part of Sibilus wanted to see this, wanted to understand Aemilia. He had a feeling this was something that no one else, or at least few others- had ever witnessed from her before. All reports of her from Mr. New Vegas said she was a generous kind person doing the best for the Mojave wasteland.

Seeing the hatred oozing from her gaze, he knew it wasn’t the complete truth. Maybe she was good, better than Sibilus in any case. Though there was a darkness that lurked beneath her skin and in her eyes.

Yes, salt did tend to look like sugar.

Benny swallowed, obviously trying to avoid eye contact- even as Aemilia talked to him. “Look-“ He chuckled nervously. “I get it, baby. You’re mad about everything. I wasn’t very kind to you at all, not what a dolly like you deserves in the slightest. No one has to die though, no need for anyone to flip their lid.” He lays on the charm, as if hoping that Aemilia would decide not to kill him once they escaped.

Sibilus doesn’t bother hiding the small snort of amusement that comes from him. It seems to startle Benny. “Something funny, pal?”

“Oh, no. Not at all.” He replies pleasantly. “Please, continue.”

Benny narrows his eyes some before glancing back to the true source of his attention, the feisty red head he’d tried to put in a grave twice. “If you know what I’m doing, that means you must have talked to Yes Man. Admit it, baby. It’s a right swell idea. House needs to go, New Vegas is a fat city- real great. It could be better though, without that scrooge in charge.”

The man wiggles some, as if trying to find a more comfortable position. Now that he was talking and laying on the charm, he seemed more at ease. It was only superficial- though. Sibilus could tell by the small twitch of his shoulders. Benny was still terrified. “If you and I work together, babe- we’ll have it made in the shade. With your go-getter personality and my plan, we can rule New Vegas together. Heck, you can even be the head honcho if you feel like it. Least I could do for trying to put you in the dirt. I just want to do what’s best for the big city- and no offense doll, but your Legion boyfriend is on the wrong side.” Sibilus rolled his eyes at that. Though Benny seemingly ignored it. “What’s best for New Vegas isn’t Caesar’s Legion, the NCR, and it sure as hell ain’t House. The Legion rips the life out of everything it touches, the NCR ain’t much better. House is too fucking stingy to help anyone else. Don’t you get it, we’re the solution.” He leans forward. “Sure, with Yes Man you might be able to get the Strip to yourself. You need me though, doll. You need me because you don’t know Vegas like I do. She may have welcomed you like her own, but her booze was the tit I suckled on as a baby. You might know Vegas, but you don’t live and breathe Vegas. Not like I do.”

He leans back and gives an idle shrug. “I get it though, sometimes forgiveness ain’t possible. Especially for what I’ve done. Just thought you might be willing to hear me out, since we both want the best for New Vegas. Besides, you’re running with him-“ He jerks his head to Sibilus. “-Takes an awful lot of forgiveness and goodwill for a good girl like you to be running around with a monster like him.”

Sibilus doesn’t emote- and he says nothing.

He begins to pull at the slack he’s made in his rope.
 
The waking could have done without the whiplash of being greeted by Vinny. Arcade groaned when he heard it, but gathered himself, and slipped into someone-clean Follower attire. He didn’t have anything truly clean, the Followers didn’t have the kind of money to keep the white coats truly white – but stained wasn’t dirty, and he could wear it, and go out alongside his richly dressed ‘lover’ and pretend to be starstruck by it all as he was shown around.

When they returned, they were able to get an instant response and be invited up to Nero’s room where he greeted with a threat – seemed fairly typical by now.

Arcade followed in and let Vulpes show the bottle and do the talking, glancing around Nero’s room to see how he chose to live, not at all impressed with what he saw.

Nero, however, was very impressed with what he saw. The generosity was the clearest sign of that, from a man who clearly didn’t have many selfless bones in his body – if he even had one. This could easily be a selfish ploy to get more by acting nice, and trying to get a better deal on it. The cups were brought out, the bottle set on the desk, and cigars offered.

Even if it might have bought a bit more time, Arcade gave a nervous chuckle and shook his head, lifting a hand to cover Vulpes’s and squeeze, understanding what needed to happen when Nero turned away. “After my first try of one last night, I’ll have to decline – but I appreciate the offer,” he knew he’d likely mess it up again and suck it down rather than just ‘taste’ it.

He was sure Nero wouldn’t really care or be hurt that he didn’t accept. That just meant he got to keep more cigars to himself, and once he turned away to fetch two, Arcade moved his hands to take the profell out, turning so his body shielded the work at the desk, though he expected Vulpes to do the real heavy lifting of making sure the distraction lasted.

It wasn’t as simple as just dumping in the profell, after all. He had measured it out, of course, but stray liquid at the base of a cup would be a clear problem. Thankfully, a great amount was needed, so he was able to pour some in, and then use his finger to smear it over the bottom sections, along the wall of the cup, and over the base.

Perhaps a stray drop, or a strange smear, would be noticeable, but given the glasses weren’t perfectly clean to begin with, that likely wasn’t a problem.

Now they just had to hope that Nero kept with that glass as Arcade took one of them and slid it towards himself, managing to seem excited to try, although he really wasn’t. “Why have you wanted this drink so much?” an innocent question, as he held up his glass to be ready to hold it out for a pour. It was an honestly curious query, too. Arcade knew liquor could improve with age, but he didn’t understand why this vintage was particularly desirable.

Did no one make cognac at all anymore?

Perhaps he’d understand after his obligatory sip, but right then, he really, really did not.

~***~

‘I can admit it.’ Aemilia did not verbalize the thought immediately. For all her anger, the reason she had a reputation as a peacemaker was that she saw could see logic and good intent where she looked for it, and even where she didn’t want to look for it. Aemilia understood why Benny thought he had to kill her, even if he could have literally just knocked her out and stolen the package.

Packages getting stolen was nothing new. Most didn’t have the resolve to track down a single package, and if Aemilia had just been knocked out and not given a villain’s monologue about ‘bad luck’ and ‘just business’, she probably would have let it slide, too. Unfortunately for Benny, he had decided to turn this into a mystery laden in 24k gold.

The terrible thing was, she might have forgiven him at the Tops if he laid it out. She would have even let him have the power, because the thought of that still frightened her, enough to keep Mr. House a player in her game of contenders for rulers of New Vegas. She believed he knew Vegas better…but she believed she had a lot of outside information from her travels that would aid it. Reno and Tahoe were notable contenders for inspiration for the future of Vegas.

“I can forgive,” Aemilia measured the words like one measured gunpowder for an explosive, “but it takes action, not pretty little words, you dig?” She couldn’t help but utilize his manner of speaking, just a bit. How honest she was being, not even she was certain, because she could forgive…but she wasn’t actually sure there was any action Benny could take to earn it. Not to mention, she’d consider a painless death forgiveness, but he didn’t need to know that. “Besides which, I have no interest in ruling Vegas, Benny – but I do have an interest in selecting who does. House, Legion, NCR…you,” an option, but not one she makes sound convincing, “So what do you say, Ben-ben? Do you want to work at it, or do you want to see if third time’s the charm for trying to kill me?” It was said lightly, airy, as if she didn’t care what he answered.

As if it didn’t matter.

And it might not, to him, if she decided forgiveness was a painless death.

Sibilus moves, but Aemilia does not. She has noticed Benny moving, and suspects his intentions are much the same – escape, because now more than before, he is a cornered animal, and he is afraid.

He has every reason to be afraid.
 
As Arcade tried to shield what he was doing, Vinny played intervention just like the good doctor had been assuming. “You going to use the La Aurora 2033 Sapphire brand cigar to pair with the cognac, correct?” Vinny walked over as Nero sifted through his cabinets, his body blocking the view of what Arcade was doing.

Nero snorted. “Yeah, sure- if I had the taste of a dolt like you, maybe. No, a cognac like this deserves imported old world taste.” He opens a box of cigars. “Cascada cigars.” He took out two and offered one to Vinny, and both men breathed in deeply to smell the cigar.

“Yes, you are quite right. This will pair quite nicely.” Vinny agreed, and subtly glanced back to Arcade to make certain that he was done with his task.

At the question, Nero finally turned back to look at Arcade- none the wiser as to what had just occurred. He began the routine for lighting his cigar, cutting it and lighting it before offering his lighter to Vinny when he pat down his suit for it. The Omerta leader grinned. “This is supposed to be some of the best alcohol of the old world. I’m a bit of an…avid collector of old-world spirits. After all, what’s the best way to flaunt your wealth and connections than to have a complete collection of tastes from the old world?”

He gestured to the cabinet behind him, where his collection was. “I’ve gone for only the best of the best, Montressor Amontillado, a sherry wine. Double barrel Aged Copper bourbon, Haliburton 1995 scotch- and now Claude-Jean Hors d’Age cognac. My jewel of my collection.” He sets his lit cigar in his ashtray and holds up the bottle like perhaps a man would with his first-born child. He opens it, the crack of the seal breaking echoing through the room. Nero has a sharp grin and he begins pouring in their glasses.

Vinny makes sure he reaches for the one that isn’t tainted, and raises his glass. “Cheers then, to such a fine collection- and to continued business relations.”

Nero laughs, as if he had been the one to pull the wool over Vinny’s eyes. The Omerta likely found himself feeling smart at the moment, being able to get such a prized item for free. “Yeah, right. Cheers.” He tapped their glasses together and slowly began to take a sip of his alcohol. There was a small pause. “Better than I could have imagined.” He drinks some more- slowly going through the glass and occasionally taking a moment to take a puff of his cigar.

The merchant takes a sip of his own drink, humming and nodding appreciatively. “Excellent body and flavor.” He agreed. His eyes slid over to Arcade. “Just like you.” He winked some and then laughed lightly. “Though truthfully, what do you think, my beautiful sunshine? Is the taste of the old world good enough for you?” There was some sharpness lingering on the question. He got closer, enough to murmur to the man. “It reminds me of you. Things that belong in a ‘better’ time. Aurum inter lutum.” The last part was whispered like a secret, and Vinny pulls away with a wide smirk.

To Vulpes, the alcohol was something that should have died out a long time ago, just like allusions of a greater time before mankind destroyed the world. Holding on to an ideal that didn’t and couldn’t exist anymore was…pathetic.

They could never be something more, they could never hope to rival the old world. Not unless they rebuilt something grander in its place, like what Caesar was doing.

“Hey, if you’re going to eye fuck each other you two can get out of my office.” Nero snarked with an audible slur. It seemed the sedative was already kicking in slightly.

Vincent chuckled and sat down again. “Nah, just playing around Nero. No funny business from me. Now- did you want to talk further business? You know I like my contracts written in advance.” The merchant put a delicate slur to his own words as well, blinking slowly. “Huh- those old-world spirits do hit hard, don’t they?”

~***~

Benny seemed to regard her carefully, before chuckling slightly. “Trust me, baby- I wouldn’t try again to hurt even a single hair on your pretty head. I learned my lesson, a gal like you is impossible to take down. Now I feel guilty for even trying.” He did look slightly guilty, but the expression felt like it was more practiced than sincere- at least to Sibilus’ trained eye.

The man continued. “I am sorry about that, by the way. I know I told you before, but it was just business- and it’s cut throat in New Vegas. House hires the best of the best, so I couldn’t just take the package and leave you still kicking, on the chance you might come a’ knocking. Though, I guess in the end you still did.” An idle shrug, and a wince. Benny had gone numb from being tied up so long. He continued to explain his attempts to kill Aemilia. “The second time I only sent my guards because I figured you were there to pay back the favor. With me being so close to my end game, I couldn’t take that chance. I’d be a bozo if I did.”

“Now it seems you don’t have a choice but to take that chance.” Sibilus remarks, and briefly catches Benny’s attention- though the Chairman seemed content to ignore his words.

The frumentarius knew even with the slight amount of slack in the ropes he had to work with, it wouldn’t be enough by itself. So- he’d need to use another methodology for escape as well.

A soft pop and he managed to dislocate one of his thumbs, though other than the slight sound- there was no outward expression that Sibilus had done anything. If anything, the legionnaire looked bored. Carefully, he managed to make his hand narrow enough to slide through the slack of the rope he had made thanks to his thumb being dislodged from its spot, his eyes glancing over towards the gaps in the door to make sure the guard outside wasn’t paying attention to him. The frumentarius still pretended to be tied, keeping his arms behind him as he popped his thumb back into place and started untying the knot that held his other hand.

Benny, just as clueless to his escape- just sighed. “Yeah, I guess. If you two have a way out, then I’d like to tag along. I can help too. I’m a pretty good crack shot, er- no offense.” Benny gave a small wobbly smile at Aemilia. “What do you say, baby. You and me- we can make New Vegas a better place. We do this together, and everything will turn out right as rain. I swear on Maria that I’ll do what I can to treat a gal like you right. You and me, partners? I can’t offer my hand to shake, but uh- just imagine that I am.”

He leans forwards some. “Just so you know, I don’t offer for anyone to do business with me. What I’m doing is a rarity, doll. It’s to prove to you that despite all of the terrible things I had to do to get where I needed to be- especially to you, my end goals are still on the up-and-up. I’m willing to trust you if you’re willing to give me another chance.”

Sibilus raised his brows but said nothing. He finished untying the knot. The frumentarius was free from his bonds, though he acted like he was still tied. Another subtle glance towards the door and he saw the guard was turned away lighting a smoke from a lighter that didn’t seem to have enough oil in it to keep a steady flame.

“Need a light?” Sibilus asked the ‘ranger’ in an amused tone- raising his voice to be heard through the door.

The man scoffed at him. “Shut up, maggot. Prisoners shouldn’t be talking.”

Aggressive and hostile, seemed to have a temper. Sibilus could work with that.

Another persona, another shift in personality. “At least I’m not the one who’s too incompetent to light a cigarette. A disgusting vice you profligates like to use. It will be a joy when we crucify you- perhaps cover you in pitch before we hang you on the cross. Don’t worry, I at least know my way around a lighter better than you do.”

The door swung open, and the man stalked inside- the door clanging closed behind him. “Mouthy bastard, eh? We can fix that- see how high and mighty you legion boys like to talk with a mouth full of blood.” Sibilus still acted like he was tied to the wall and took the punch to his stomach without attempting to block.

“Woah, woah, woah! Maybe we should cool our jets, Aemilia- why don’t you call down your little dog, so he doesn’t get us all in trouble.” Benny trilled, and the guard turned towards the Chairman.

Whatever he was about to say was cut off as Sibilus finally pounced and quickly and silently stabbed a blade through the base of his skull, severing the spinal cord immediately. He slowly lowered the body to the ground, then moved over to Aemilia, with the hidden blade in his hand. “They’ll likely want to check in soon. We don’t have much time. I have my blades- so you can take the weapon the guard was carrying.” He said, cutting her bonds. He then glanced over to Benny, then back to Aemilia. “He could be a useful distraction.” He offered, hoping he could keep her from killing him for the time being.

“Hey, not cool at all- party pooper.” Benny frowned. “I gotta say babe, I don’t dig the idea.” He looked to Aemilia.
 
‘I can think of several ways.’

Arcade would have thought the best way to flaunt wealth was to use it for good, but most wealthy people never seemed to think that way. Probably because wealth spent on good went too quickly, but wealth spent on vices? It was never lost. Good things were a constant expense. Medicine was always needed, food – but a cognac? Just one proved one’s status.

It was pathetic, but he couldn’t snap that at Nero in this role.

So he just, “Ooh’ed” as if he understood, and felt a bit silly for even asking.

Arcade met the cheers, and did take a small sip out of curiosity. It had a warm, not-quite fruity flavor to it. If Arcade was actually someone who delighted in hard liquor, he might have considered it to be enjoyable. As it was, he didn’t – and he didn’t find this one was going to change his opinion anytime soon. Not that he flinched or reacted in any way to the taste that would suggest anything like disgust or dislike.

He hummed in false pleasure instead, and internally groaned at the words coming from Vulpes about him. He really hated the Vinny persona, but of course, he ducked his head to shy away from a direct look at the direct praise coming from Vinny, before looking up and offering an answer, “It’s very…warm. And maybe a bit…um…sweet.” He didn’t say ‘fruit’ because the persona wouldn’t have gathered that.

Warm and sweet suited well enough for now.

He ignored the stabs at his character that were more genuine – being a relic. A useless one at that, in the opinion of Vulpes. Funny how Vulpes didn’t mind people bringing the past back when they were on his side.

The drug worked quick, thankfully, which meant Arcade wouldn’t have to deal with too much more of this. His words slurred, and Vulpes feigned the kick of it, so Arcade chuckled along, “It is that –hic— too.” A bit of a stilted manner, before he managed to actually force a hiccup.

That wasn’t the hard part. The hard part would be stopping later, but that was a problem for later, as he still took another small sip of the cognac, “Oh—business. I -hic- I can get the paper,” he rose, as if to do just that, as if he had any idea where the paper was in Nero’s suite, “for the broc flower. -Hic- We use that a lot with the fol-hic-followers. I could ask them, too,” he only kept talking, because he had to waste time for Nero to pass out.

So he gave Vinny a curious look to see if he’d want to make use of the connections the Followers had, knowing they’d never involve the Followers in this mess. At least, he hoped Vulpes wasn’t thinking of finding a way to rope them into this mess.

~***~

Aemilia heard those pops but did not look towards Sibilus as Benny spoke, promising to do her no harm. She didn’t believe him. She might be willing to give him a chance, but that didn’t mean she forgot how they got here, or that she would be an utter idiot about it. True, giving him a chance might be utter idiocy, but she was allowed to make that mistake.

Once.

‘And this is once.’ Or so she told herself, to rationalize it through the haze of anger that still wanted her to get up and just slam his head into the floor until his skull cracked. This was their first time actually talking, and actually negotiating. Benny could choose to be honest, or he could try to kill her again. “Don’t worry, Benny. I understand,” to his lack of a handshake, “I couldn’t quite accept.”

But he would give something better than his hand, though Aemilia had to mask the thought as it rose when Sibilus called out to the guard. ‘Good.’ He was free, then. She turned her head down as the fake Ranger came in and sent a punch to his gut. She winced, of course, and didn’t look up until she saw Sibilus’s shadow move.

And then, of course, the fake Ranger was down, and Sibilus was moving around to free her. “Thanks,” she let out a relieved sigh as she pulled her wrists forward and massaged her left one, briefly.

Her attention turned to the still-bound Chairman. “He has a name, Benny,” she remarked as she pulled her hands forward and massaged the wrist of her left, briefly, before rising to stand, “but you can call him Sibilus, not dog. He’s not really a dog, he’s more of a snake. The dog is actually several times scarier.”

She was thinking of Vulpes as she said it, as she took the 10mm from the guard and then knelt down in front of Benny and placed the nose of the gun against his thigh. She heard what Sibilus said, of course. She heard the anger push blood through her ears, almost drowning out every other sound, but she was calm.

“I know you didn’t tell these rangers about the Platinum Chip, Benny. And they didn’t take Caesar’s gold mark from me, so I know they’re stupid. Where are you keeping it? Tell me that, and the gun, and freedom, are yours, as well as my trust.” The last of which ought to be the most valuable, and if Benny was smart, he might realize that, even if he planned to betray it at some point.

“I promise, the party we’re about to throw here is going to be one you’ll enjoy, if you want back at these powder gangers for locking you up like this.”

She wasn’t leaving without Roland.

Benny probably wasn’t leaving without Maria – yet another damn reason she thought trust might not be ill spent. The way he said the name, she knew what it was. Not to mention, she remembered that gun too well, and recognized how beautiful it was, before it put two bullets in her skull. He swore on it, though. Anything she swore on Roland, she’d take seriously. After all, to break a bond sworn on Roland? Roland would backfire on her within a heartbeat the next time she tried to use it.

‘But there’s nothing rattling, his salvation isn’t….’

The child could be wrong.
 
Nero’s eyes looked like they were getting heavier. “I’ve got- I’ve got paper in the desk.” The man was obviously feeling the effects of the sedative. Though the man wasn’t inclined to show just how much he was being effected. Since Nero was under the impression that it was simply the liquor that was causing his lethargy, he was obviously trying to save face by holding out despite the effect it had on him. He shuffled to open the drawer in his desk and fumbled with it slightly. He then squinted at Arcade. “Followers, you said?”

Vinny took another sip of his cognac, once pulling it away from his lips he smiled in a friendly manner. His eyes were partially lidded as if he was also feeling the effects, though his pale eyes were icy and intense. He glances over at Arcade and reaches as if to pat him, but he misses. “I’m sure Nero doesn’t need the Followers, babydoll. Besides, I doubt they’d be charmed to do business with Gomorrah, they are all sticklers- well, except for you, love.”

The Omerta boss waved his hand. “Pah, I don’t need em anyways. I got people.” He pulls out a pen, and it nearly slips from his grip. He leaned over to take another swallow of his drink with a grumble.

The merchant gave an amused chuckle. “Maybe we should wait to do the contract when we aren’t drinking such fine spirits.” He raised his own glass and finished off the last dregs of the amber liquid. “Since you can’t hold your alcohol.” He taunted Nero, with an amused quirk of his lips.

“Ah fuck off.” Nero growled, as if spurred on by competition with Vinny- he finished the last of his drink too. He set the glass down. “Are you forgetting the last time you visited Gomorrah? Offered you the finest whores in Vegas and you fucking passed out before you even made it to your room with one. Didn’t even get laid.” He glances over at Arcade. “Better not be in a mood after drinks, because with his constitution there’s no way you’re getting laid. Not unless you don’t mind he’s asleep.” He barked a laugh at Vinny’s expense and took another puff of his cigar.

Vincent acted as if he was flustered and irritated, which seemed to be what Nero wanted. “I thought you didn’t want to hear about my sex life?” He remarked.

“Only when it’s funny.” Nero remarked and waved his pen. His movements were getting slower. “We should…ah shit. I was going to say we should get to the contract- but…” He shook his head. “I’m going to go lay down.” He stood, seeming wobbly. “I suggest you see yourselves out.”

Vinny raised his brows and stood as if he was actually going to leave. “What was that, about passing out?” He snarked, to which Nero just flicked him off as he walked out of his office and to the door that led to his bedroom- bumping into things as he went. Silently, Vulpes began to walk behind him, the man too disoriented to notice- the frumentarius was sensing the man was about to drop.

He did, like a stone in a lake. Vulpes grabbed him before he hit the floor- as not to make it suspicious when the man awoke. Vulpes would move him to his bedroom, assuming Nero would likely figure he just made it to his bed without remember. The Omerta was completely unconscious in his grip. Vulpes glanced over towards Arcade and jerked his head to the bedroom door. “If you would be so kind.” Vulpes was keeping the weight of the other man up and given that Nero was a good bit taller and heavy set from an idle life full of luxury, it wasn’t easy to try and reach for the knob himself.

~***~

Sibilus was surprised that Aemilia had spoken up for him. He wasn’t sure why, it’s not like it was even the truth. Sibilus wasn’t his name, it was a title. Just like Pandora…

Perhaps intimidation, or maybe she was attempting to get goodwill by acting as if she cared about the slight of Sibilus being called a dog. In any case, Sibilus didn’t care too much what the Chairman called him. He was of little concern to him.

Though he did find amusement in Aemilia’s reference to Vulpes Inculta, or at least he assumed she was talking about Vulpes in any case. He didn’t bother to remark he was a fox and not a dog, as he was sure she didn’t care for the semantics of such things.

The man in the checkered suit huffed out a small laugh. “Alright, baby. I’ll make sure to not call Sibby a dog- checked and noted.” He seemed to be under the impression that he was nearly close to his goal of being free, and seemed to be willing to accommodate Aemilia for the moment. Though he tensed as Aemilia pointed the 10mm at his thigh. Whatever danger sense that had once been at ease seemed to be triggered and on alert- as if realizing he wasn’t out of danger yet.

The fumentarius said nothing, squinting as he watched Benny flinch. Benny laughed nervously. “Come on, kitten. I know you don’t trust me, but there’s gotta be another way to prove it.”

“You could always willingly cut off one of your own fingers, or an ear, or a tongue….I vote the tongue.” Sibilus responded coldly, glancing out between the gaps of the door to make sure that the other fake Rangers weren’t looking for their friend yet. Luckily no one had gotten curious about the disappearance just yet- but Sibilus wanted to move as soon as possible. The farther they were from the body when they found it, the better.

Benny gave him a look that said that he would prefer if Sibilus would shut up- before glancing back to Aemilia. “Look, I’ll prove I ain’t doing a bit or just doing idle apple butter,” The Chairman started, and Sibilus wondered how much slang someone would need to use in order for it to be considered an entirely different language. Despite knowing each of the words individually, Sibilus had a challenging time understanding them together. From context clues he understood that Benny was just trying to insist he wasn’t a liar to save his own skin. “The Platinum Chip is inside my coat pocket, baby. Same place I had it when I- ya know…”

‘Taunted you before I shot you in the head’ was left unsaid. “Look, I know you want some insurance, so I’ll give you that as not to be seen as a man of bad faith…but I don’t think it should be the Platinum Chip. It’s the McGuffin that ties this whole shebang together and I’m the one that knows how to use it.” He thinks to himself. “I’ll let you take Maria, my gun. The one- well…you get the idea. That seems fair enough, don’t it, baby?” He swallows thickly. “Though I suppose in the situation, I don’t have much of a choice on what insurance you decide to take out. You’re already doing me a favor by not shooting me, right? If you think you need it…” Benny really didn’t want to get shot in the leg.

Sibilus on the outside looked bored, but on the inside he grimaced. He couldn’t allow Aemilia to get the Platinum Chip, if she had it- there would be nothing they would be able to hold over her head. If Benny had just been able to get to Caesar’s territory- then he would be taken in captivity and used as a prop to get Aemilia to be willing to work with them. A gift she couldn’t refuse.

The frumentarius knew that Benny was playing a con, maybe it took a snake to see one. Benny was definitely a snake too, that much was certain. He knew there was likely some angle he had, an ulterior goal. He would no doubt probably double cross them down the line, and cause more of Aemilia’s wrath to bubble from her eyes. She would chase him to the ends of the earth, Sibilus thinks. Perhaps to Tartarus itself and back just to get revenge. Though if she had the Platinum Chip- or killed him now- it would make the plan to go up in flames.

If Benny died and Aemilia took the Chip from his corpse, she would have exactly what she wanted. If she let Benny live- then without having the Platinum Chip, he wouldn’t need to go to Fortification Hill, without the Platinum Chip- Aemilia would have the potential to take New Vegas.

He couldn’t allow her to kill Benny, either. “Look, are you going to let me cut him loose? You shouldn’t shoot him, at the very least- it will just draw the other ‘Rangers’ to our location.” That was the truth, at least.
 
Arcade doesn’t quite understand the intense look. His name was known to Nero. For that matter, Vulpes had already told him he had been found with the Followers. Anyone could do the math, but he decides to ignore it for now. It wouldn’t be good to ask questions now anyways, no matter how much Nero was feeling the sedative. It didn’t erase memories. It could, of course, sedatives and alcohol always could, but that wasn’t a guarantee.

Nero was feeling it hard, though. Arcade was almost worried he put too much in, before he reminded himself who this was. ‘Although it would be bad for the future of our plans if Nero dies.’ They would have been the last ones in the room, after all. More things people could easily figure out.

But he couldn’t stop the laugh that burst forth at Nero’s commentary on Vulpes falling asleep before being given whores. Given, Arcade was certain that Vulpes had done that on purpose, it was still a bit amusing and he quickly covered his lips and shook his head, back into persona, “Well, I think he’s gained a bit more…endurance since then.” To try and appease his lover’s wounded ego.

Arcade was already standing, so he just made a few steps towards the door, and watched Vulpes trail Nero. When the man dropped, Vulpes was there to catch him. Though Arcade wouldn’t mind Nero hitting his head on the floor, again, he reminded himself now wasn’t the time to be harming Nero. Though, as he turned to start searching the room, Vulpes spoke up.

Arcade rolled his eyes, but stepped forward and opened the door to Nero’s room, giving a bit of a flourish as he bowed and gestured Vulpes in. He’d wait for the other man to step through, before heading out of the room to go back to the desk. Obviously, that would be the first place to search for information, and there was some within.

Receipts, mostly, but paper trails gave them information of what was being bought, and who was providing it. Some of it, Arcade was sure, had nothing at all to do with the broc flower plot, but as he continued to skim the finances, he found some information that…definitely didn’t look good. ‘X-22 bloodworm fertilizer, calmex.’

Arcade wasn’t familiar with the ‘X-22’ aspect, but he knew what bloodworms were, and he knew what calmex was. It was generally used in situations of overdose, pumping a person up to induce an adrenal response, but people also became addicted to it.

There was something here he didn’t understood, but he knew it was relevant, so he took a blank sheet of paper and began to jot the items down so he wouldn’t forget what they were, underlining the ‘X-22’ for his own reference, before he began to put things away again.

There wasn’t anything else useful in the finances part of things.

~***~

‘No, there is nothing else I want from you.’ Aemilia didn’t say it, though she held her gaze calmly on Benny as he continued with the ridiculous terms of endearment and offered up Maria, something that only made her narrow her eyes. Of course, it highlighted how dear that Chip was to him, but she wasn’t impressed with the alternative he offered.

Ear, tongue, and thumb, also weren’t really on the table, but she didn’t correct Sibilus. ‘Maybe….’ Well, she decided not to vocalize the one body part she might accept, not only because it was too morbid, even by her standards.

She slipped her hand into the coat pocket, “If you know how to use it, Benny, and you’re my ally, you’ll just have to stick close at hand, won’t you? We’ll get you to the place it needs to be, you just have to trust me, as I’m going to trust you,” with the chip in hand, she placed it in her own pocket. With Caesar’s Mark, with the lottery ticket. It slipped in nicely, though she took the zippo lighter out and set it on the ground near Benny’s leg, just as she set the gun down.

As she promised, he could have it for the escape.

She stood and went back around to untie him, not being harsh about it, but she was quick. “We need to get our weapons back,” that was said to Sibilus, rather than Benny, once he was untied, “I know you’re better at sneaking, Sibilus, so you can go first. Find a path out, and make it clear for us. We’ll follow, me first, then Benny, so he can cover my back if anything goes awry.”

A fool’s gesture. He could shoot her in the back, of course.

He’d also have Sibilus to deal with, so she didn’t think it was completely idiotic. Not to mention, as soon as he fired that gun, he’d alert the camp to the situation going on. Sibilus had much quieter weapons, so he could take down a guard or two that might otherwise disturb their trek, and get them clear.

So far, they were able to move.

No one had yet turned to check on their body, which didn’t exactly surprise Aemilia. The Powder Gangers were barely a gang, barely friends. They were just prisoners who wanted freedom, and worked together for that end. Then, several of them went different routes. These ones likely weren’t all that close, yet.
 
Vulpes rolled his eyes with a stern expression at the dramatic flourish the doctor did as he opened the door. Hauling Nero up, he ignored the other man as he walked the Omerta to his bed and threw the man none too gently onto the opulent piece of furniture. The man’s hefty body bounced enough to make the springs creak, though the man did not awaken at all- and did not even make any incoherent grumbles to indicate he was even slightly conscious. Vulpes needed to grab Nero’s head to turn his face to the side, so that way he didn’t suffocate into his mattress. After he was done, Vulpes gave a disgusted look and wiped his hands on his suit, as if it could get rid of the feeling of filth he felt at touching the Omerta. Vulpes had no other urge at the moment than to scrub his skin free of the grime that was Gomorrah, though unfortunately he had a job to do.

Vulpes looked about the room and sneered. The man was pathetic with his decadent display. His obscenely large bed with all the many useless pillows piled up, as if he was some sort of old-world king. It was self-indulgent and vile to him, Vulpes thought. The Omerta never had to work for anything and had simply been given it after House decided. Shaking his head slightly in distaste, Vulpes looked about Nero’s personal bedroom again. He saw a terminal in the far right of the room nestled near some bookshelves, and he decided to start there.

The computer was locked, of course. Though that wasn’t a deterrent for Vulpes. He settled into the chair at the terminal’s desk, the green flickering light of the string of code he was typing illuminating his face and making him look rather villainous in such lighting. It wasn’t long before there was a distinct like ‘chime’ as he managed to hack the terminal and bypass the security measures. It was then with sharp eyes he looked over the files of the terminal. The most recent were pictures of some of Clanden’s ‘work’ and he crinkled his nose and moved on. Others were of basic shipments to Gomorrah from companies like the Crimson Caravan, and even Vinny’s own ‘company’ the Quick Brown Caravan. A reference to the English-language pangram ‘The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.’ Of course.

He skips over those receipts, and instead keeps looking through the files. Finally- he comes across something quite interesting, and the date labels it as something recent. ‘V-X-22’. This file is also encrypted with extra security, which immediately makes him suspicious as he tries to access it. He hacks into that small deterrent relatively quickly as well, his fingers flickering over the keyboard as if by second nature.

His eyes scan through the words on the terminal. He finds a delivery of Calmex delivered to a place north of Vault 22. Going through the rest of the information, he finds that they have been reoccurring deliveries, on a schedule. This along with a special ‘exotic’ order from the Crismon Caravan had clued him in that this was relevant information to the broc flower scheme. The delivery from the Crimson Caravan was apparently a working old-world soil tester that went for quite the amount of currency. Nearly ten thousand caps for the machine, which apparently Nero hadn’t been too happy about given his notes on the topic.

Pressing the dim red light to turn off the terminal, he stood up and walked back to the room where Arcade was sifting through Nero’s office desk, closing the bedroom door behind him. “I found a terminal with what I believe to be the suspected location of the facility they are using for their scheme.” His voice is low as he approaches the other man, despite knowing that Nero was very sufficiently unconscious. Still, one couldn’t be too careful. “North of Vault 22 is where the information leads me to believe is the source of their operations.” He murmurs to Arcade.

For Vulpes, it was time to go see what Nero had hidden from the Legion. Then? He would bring the wrath of Mars upon Gomorrah. The likes of which the original Gomorrah would have not even dreamed of.

~***~

Sibilus bit back his intense wave of panic and put it behind a bored façade as Aemilia reached into Benny’s coat pocket and plucked out the Platinum Chip. It was surprisingly small for the thing that was supposed to be the catalyst for so much. It was underwhelming for the thing that could decide the fate of New Vegas.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest at the memory of Vulpes’ very clear instructions. ‘That ‘Benny’ has not had much of a head start, should you manage to catch up to him- make certain she does not get the Platinum Chip.’

The frumentarius wishes he could ask Vulpes, what now? He cannot keep the Platinum Chip from her without tipping his own hand. If she has the Platinum Chip, and if she has Benny- then the Legion has nothing. She is a wild card that they will not be able to control, and she will use the machine in that room- she will use it to take over New Vegas.

Once Caesar found out that the fault was his, he would be tortured. Death would be something he would beg for, before the end. Sibilus’ chest feels tight, and his throat feels like he has swallowed crushed glass. ‘This isn’t the way it’s supposed to go.’ He wants to tell Aemilia, but he can’t because she is playing by her own rules.

His skin feels too tight as he thinks of all the things that might be done to him once Lord Caesar finds out it is his fault that the Platinum Chip has ended up in the Courier’s hands. He wants to rip it off, it feels like stinging, biting insects are crawling and writhing underneath his skin. He wishes to remove it like a coat, to shake the feeling out and to get rid of all these weak emotions.

Instead, all he can do is let out controlled and measured breaths, he forces his body to comply and remain calm despite the burst of adrenaline in his body that makes him feel his impending doom looming over him, wrapping around his neck like a condemned man with a noose.

Benny sighs, as if resigned to the fact that he would have to play by Aemilia’s rules in order to keep himself from bodily harm. “Alright, you’ve made your point. Now get me outta here, please and thank you. My shoulders are killing me.” When Aemilia is done untying him, he makes a groan of relief as he starts to wring out the stiffness of his shoulder joints.

Sibilus doesn’t hear the man’s complaining, instead all he hears is a loud ringing in his ears, perhaps like that of an old-world church bell being rung at a funeral. He only just manages to drag himself out of his own stupor to Aemilia’s words. He swallows thickly and nods. “I can do that.” He says, as if to assure her- but it was more to assure himself. Despite looking completely calm like a still lake on the surface- underneath Sibilus is being dragged under by crashing thundering waves. He feels like he’s drowning in his own chest.

“Well, get to it, Snakey-Boy. We don’t have all day.” Benny leans to pick up his lighter, flicks it to check and see if it still makes a flame. When it does he puts it back in his coat pocket, as if it is some sort of consolation prize for losing such an important object to the woman he’d tried to kill.

Biting his tongue, Sibilus checks back through the gaps to make sure that no one is approaching. When he doesn’t see anyone, he silently slips out- his feet making nary a sound. As if he was floating rather than walking.

Sneaking is as easy as breathing.

Deceit is as easy as flexing his fingers around the hilt of his blade.

He can fix this.

He had to.
 
Arcade had chosen not to enter the bedroom, as Vulpes obviously had that area covered, so he investigated other areas of the room, careful not to pick up or touch too many things that he didn’t need to. There is not too much else to find in these rooms, but it doesn’t surprise Arcade. These are public facing rooms, moreso than any other, so when Vulpes comes out of the room he turns his attention to him.

He'd gone back to the desk out of hopes he’d missed something.

He finds himself grateful that Vulpes is not playing the Vinny persona now that Nero is out.

‘Vault 22.’

Arcade didn’t know it, but that suited the X-22 thing, so he nodded. “They’re using a bloodworm soil appended with X-22,” Arcade notes, “And calmex.” He had ideas about it, but he needed to see it. “We should get that way now if you know where to find it.” Arcade had no idea where Vault 22 was.

All he really knew was that a Vault meant trouble.

Oh sure, he knew about Vault 21 in Las Vegas, and the people who came out of it well enough, but he heard stories about others that weren’t so lucky, usually from explorers who found the Vaults after everyone left them, or died. He also knew Vaults were favorite places for scavengers, due to the value of Pip-boys.

He hadn’t asked how Aemilia got hers.

“I don’t suppose Vault 22 will be one of those good vaults,” he couldn’t help but sigh it quietly at the thought. Sure, they were going north of it, but Vault troubles…spread. “Or maybe the worst it’ll have is puppets.” That was…a strange vault, from all the stories he’d heard. He suspected the majority of them were false, though.

There was a drop of truth to it all.

Stories of horror were common for Vaults, which meant…well, horror was common for Vaults.

It didn’t matter. They needed to leave. “I don’t think we’ll find much more. I looked over this area.” So it was time to head out, and get on towards the Vault 22 area, assuming they had that information, or knew where to look for it.

~***~

Aemilia still shoots Benny an annoyed look for calling Sibilus ‘Snakey Boy’. Apparently she was getting all the nice terms of endearment from Benny, not that she really cared for any one of them. She was just assuming he couldn’t help himself, the way some people couldn’t stop themselves from sprinkling a little ‘fuck’ into every sentence.

She rather missed Arcade for his wit, and not just sprinkling his favorite words in every sentence. His favorite word was probably something stupidly long and obscure, anyways. ‘I should ask him.’ Maybe she should ask Benny and Sibilus…once they were out of this mess.

Sibilus doesn’t take too long once he’s on the move, and Aemilia watches, waiting for signals to move, and trying to understand how Sibilus does it so effortlessly. She can see things around her well, but there is something different to the way Sibilus handles his sneaking. It really is like he is a snake on the ground, unnoticed until the point of strike.

The problem they have, is that they cannot make a beeline out. It would have been easy if they could, but they have to find their weapons, which involves going into the buildings. Doors opening are a problem that can lead to being noticed, and Aemilia catches her breath each time.

Sibilus handles the trouble well so there is no discharge of the 10mm Benny has, but the camp is starting to notice the fallen bodies as they reach the station building itself and enter.

“…bet we’d get more gold out of this than Mr. House—”

One of the fake powder gangers is talking, and it’s enough to break Aemilia from any further attempts at stealth as she stands up and walks right into the room where bunkbeds are set up to see one of the powder gangers examining Cuthbert and the pommel, which was indeed ornately decorated. Not with jewels, but swirls of gold, a bit tarnished from time, but Aemilia had been gradually cleaning it up.

Cuthbert is more out of time than Roland – but Aemilia knew that when she found him. It doesn’t hinder his sharpness.

“Fuck—”

“Damnit, what are you doing?!” The two in the room rise and Aemilia shows her empty hands, although that does not make them any calmer.

Roland is on the table nearby. So is Maria, and a few other weapons, a mix of theirs, NCR weapons, and others.

She’s obvious in registering the weapon pile.

The movements after are quick. Aemilia grabs Roland and dives for safety as the fake rangers pull their guns.

She rolls to the safety of the bunkbeds – what little safety that is. The shots go over her.

She lifts into a kneel, aims, and Roland roars with black rage. Her hands aim as if she always knows where the shot is, from any position, from any height of her opponent.

The head isn’t just shot.

The head explodes. Aemilia’s never wondered about that, but the sudden splattering of bone and brain matter are enough to startle the one who had been standing right besides him. His mouth starts to open. A scream? A name?

A mystery, as the next shot is his, and he crumbles as the shot goes cleanly through his skull, buckling like a puppet that had its strings cut.

Aemilia knows they are not safe when she stands. “Get what you need quickly,” she goes over the bed to get to Cuthbert, “we can’t fortify here, they will use explosives,” running was now the only option, but that was fine.

They found the weapon stash, not that Aemilia even pays the other weapons a second glance as she takes Cuthbert like a mother would a scared child – gently, with great affection as she runs her fingers over the pommel that had been looked at as a money grab, before tucking it away on her back.
 
“I know where to find it.” He reveals. After all, he has all the information from the Legion’s most forward scouts. There is not much he doesn’t have mapped out inside his mind within the Mojave. “It is north of the NCR ranger station Foxtrot. East of Silver Peak Mine.” Vulpes adjusts the cuffs of the sleeves of his suit before he strides to the door. He pauses and clears his throat slightly before dipping back into his disguise. A shapeshifter without changing his shape at all. Vinny opens the doors and holds them open for Arcade with as much flourish as the doctor had when he had opened the door for Vulpes earlier. “After you, love.” He purred, as if he had never dropped the persona of the merchant. His words are murmured and sound a bit intoxicated.

As they exit the doors and close it behind them, one of Nero’s guards looks like he’s about to enter the room, but Vinny holds up a hand to stop him. “We had a bit too much to drink of fine spirits, and Nero wanted to lie down. He asked that I leave the message that he was not to be disturbed. Thanks, pal.” He patted the man’s cheek which made the guard in the pinstriped suit look mildly irritated- and Vinny went to lean on Arcade as if he was having a challenging time standing. “Now, I think it’s about time I give you a real treat.” He murmurs to the Follower with a grin as he tugs them along, as if he’s eager to get alone time with the other man.

The man scowls at their backs as they leave but doesn’t go inside the room. It seemed that Vinny had built up a reputation for being trusted to deliver Nero’s messages. Besides, the guard would be risking Nero’s wrath if he still decided to report to Nero- whatever he had to say could wait.

He leans close to Arcade’s ear. “We will need to be seen together while leaving Gomorrah. So, we will go gather your things at the room and whatever else you may need, and then leave. There we can split up; you can wait for me at the gate while I gather my own things at the Ultra-Luxe.” He leaned away and gave a smile and a passing nod to a gambler who was as equally drunk as Vinny acted.

Vincent opened his own room as they passed and allowed them both in. With the door closed he immediately pulled himself away from Arcade. “Feel free to take what you like- I will likely not be coming back here.” Not until he was to rend Gomorrah asunder, of course. “The trip will be likely around eleven hours provided we are not interrupted or take any breaks, which I tend to avoid.”

~***~

Benny gives a little half-hearted shrug at the look that he catches from the woman, and he as well follows with the provided weapon. He doesn’t dare to try and shoot Aemilia in the back of her head with it, from previous experience Benny thought she might just get back up if he were to try. Plus, there were the others and that Legion lackey to worry about. So, it wouldn’t do too well to go around and try to kill her. Too many things could go wrong.

If Benny would want to live, he would need to play nice. He would need to be in it for the long con. Again he would need to play second fiddle to someone, but at least if it got House out of the way- then he would be closer to his goal.

As they move, Sibilus is quick and decisive with his movements. He kills three other ‘Rangers’ that are in their path. If the frumentarius was by himself, he would have taken the time to move the bodies into less visible positions, but as it was with the two following him, he couldn’t- as it was, Benny’s horrible checkered suit was like a neon sign from New Vegas itself.

It didn’t help the fact that his hands threatened to tremble, and only remained steady when he gripped the hilt of his knife in a white-knuckled grip. It didn’t help that Sibilus felt like everything was muffled and underwater, his normally keen senses feeling like they were being drowned under the torrential pour of fear that washed over him like acid. ‘Hoc possum figere.’ He insisted to himself in his mind like a mantra as he forced his breathing to come out in beats of four. Breath in for four counts, hold for four counts, and release for four. It was a technique he’d learned in an old world book, and it helped when he needed to be in a certain headspace for a persona and needed to calm himself. Though less often, he would use it for times like this.

It was lucky to him that sneaking around and killing were instinctual at this point, truly like a snake with animal instincts to simply survive. For if Sibilus’ body did not have these instincts, he likely would have already alerted the ‘rangers’ to their location many times by now. As it was, he managed to be like nothing more than a breeze, hardly even there as if he wasn’t even a tangible thing.

Finally they came to the building, and that was when Aemilia pulled her own stunt. Sibilus has seen many things, many different types of gore- being in the Legion there were rather creative methods for interrogation and torture. Yet in all his time, Sibilus had never seen someone’s head explode from a bullet. There was nothing left but fragments of skull that acted as shrapnel and a fine mist of red, it was as if a bomb had gone off in the man’s skull. It was both impressive, and yet disturbing. Though he hid any flinch at the improbable event that just occurred.

Once both of them were down, Benny audibly gulped at the sight- apparently being just as disturbed as Sibilus felt. Sibilus rose to his full height and Benny did as well- not being able to draw his eyes from the bodies. Eventually once he did manage to drag his eyes away, he looks to Aemilia. “Good shot, baby. Glad I’m on your side.” He chuckles nervously, trying too hard to act casual- before also heading to the pile to pluck Maria from the table. “Good to have you back.” He remarks to the woman painted on the pearl handgrip. He sets down the 10mm into the pile now that he has his true weapon back. Though it isn’t long before Sibilus takes it, and Benny raises his brow at him. “Thought you Legion types don’t use guns.”

Sibilus says nothing in return as he takes the weapon, and as well as his Machete which had been taken from him before. It is nothing more than a lawn mower blade taped to a handle, like many of the Legion’s weapons for lower rank legionaries. In fact, this weapon is the same one that had gotten him through his time as a mere nameless and faceless recruit. It was hardly as impressive as Aemilia’s sword- which he still did not know the name to. Nor was it as intricate as the engraved and painted ‘Maria’ that Benny seemed so fond of.

Sibilus kept it sharpened, though- but that was the bare minimum he could do. It was rusty, the edge was not perfectly symmetrical, there was a chip in the blade that threatened to snap it any day now. Though he kept using it despite his promotion, and despite the fact that he could have requested better gear. Perhaps he keeps it as a reminder that he is much like the weapon, poorly crafted, barely held together, expected to break. He wonders if the blade could speak, what name it would ask to be called.

He sheathes his machete without pausing to look at it very long. For it is a silly concept, it is an inanimate object- it has no soul and no name. It is a tool to be used by it’s wielder for a specific purpose. Once it cannot complete such a purpose, it is useless.

(He doesn’t know if he’s thinking about the blade anymore.)

His panic hurts his chest, but he keeps it under. He cannot break, cannot become useless. “They will have heard the gunshots, we need to move fast.”

“Agitate the gravel, baby- I’m all for hitting the road. I’m about tired of these losers. With the three of us, hopefully we can avoid the kaboom.” He gestured to Aemilia. “Ladies first.”
 
‘Foxtrot.’ Arcade knows where that is. He knows, because there is a Follower’s Safehouse not far from there. ‘Also cazadores.’ He doesn’t groan over that thought, though. They’re not that close to the safehouse or Foxtrot, but he wouldn’t be surprised if they were close to where they were heading. He hopes not, though. Who would build a farm close enough to a place where cazadores roam?

“I know the area,” not well enough, apparently. He didn’t know about this farm, although he rarely needed to head to the safehouse since he didn’t wander far from New Vegas. ‘How quickly that’s changing.’ He follows Vulpes to the exit, and manages not to sigh as he’s thrown back into the persona of ‘lover’ again.

At least he can act less drunk, given the way Vulpes was acting and leaning on him, clearly the more intoxicated one. Arcade manages to fight through his hesitation to move an arm around Vulpes when he leans in, as he explains things to the guard about not interrupting Nero’s respite, which, thankfully, the guard seems to listen to. ‘It wouldn’t be too bad if he didn’t listen, would it?’ Nero was out.

Maybe that would be worrisome. Drunk people could be roused.

He understands what Vulpes says, “Of course, love,” he sounds pacifying as he speaks to answer the whispered words a bit louder, because he is handling a drunk lover, and that is what you do. You stay calm and agreeable, until you can toss them on the bed and let all their promises of good times dissolve in their sleep.

And then you sigh in disappointment and consider leaving – but wait until they wake up so you can do it properly.

Sadly he can’t leave Vulpes so early, and so they arrive at the room, personas dropping so Arcade can gather his things – and reach to take East of Eden, because he is curious about what Vulpes reads, and Vulpes said he could take what he liked. “You are vastly overestimating my endurance,” he does point that out, “I haven’t traveled the Mojave in a while, let alone that much in one sprint. I’ll need a rest.”

This is a fact. He is not trying to be a legionnaire. Vulpes will have to deal with his own shortcomings if he wants Arcade along, which, obviously, he does.

Still, they leave Gomorrah together, and Arcade takes his leave for Freeside, where he does pop in to see Julie once more and check in on things with her. He asks a few questions about what she might know of bloodworms and fertilizers, but it isn’t Julie’s area of expertise. She can’t offer him much at all, but he wasn’t expecting much.

He doesn’t offer much more than that, before he returns to the gates to await Vulpes, wondering how he’ll look now. Will it be the Fox? Vinny still? Or someone else entirely? He doesn’t like the thought that he might not recognize him in the crowd as he watches others pass by, because it means he could be surprised one day.

Surprised, and killed.

He was under the auspices of Caesar for the moment, thanks to a chance encounter…but gods and men were always fickle.

It could be revoked at any time.

~***~

The reaction of Benny is almost worth the mess of the shot itself, and though he seems surprised, Aemilia just shrugs, “Roland loves me,” is the simple answer, the simple revelation that she, too, had a gun she valued…and the hint this had happened before. It was nothing new to her, even if she couldn’t explain it. When she had purchased Roland – that first purchase with her caps from her first job – she had been told that magnums were some of the most powerful pistols out there.

The number of times she’d hurt herself firing the gun had confirmed it, but she’d worked with Roland through the years, modified him to her tastes. He didn’t hurt her anymore, after they learned how to talk to each other.

They regroup, take what they need – Sibilus grabbing extra, though it seems Benny has as little interest in extra as Aemilia, and she nods to Sibilus’s words. She knows as much as he does, that they will soon be under attack. Stealth will still be useful, but it is not the priority as she goes to the front of the barracks where she starts to hear murmuring from those approaching, before a shout.

Her shadow passed over a window.

She puts her back to the wall by the door, only because she knows someone will come to check first and make sure they aren’t blowing up their companions. When the door is pushed open, she slams Roland into the face of the powder ganger, the shock more than the strength causing him to stagger backwards, allowing her the space to move outside.

She turns the gun left and fires at the powder ganger that had been approaching with him, the bullet as true as ever, before she lunges right to avoid the hail of fire at the door, clearing it in a roll before she hears the sizzle of a lit stick of dynamite no doubt intended to be thrown through that open door. ‘Shoot the holder or get back.’

Aemilia can’t get the shot in time and she knows it as she scurries behind the wall, one powder ganger pulling away from the others to go after her direction. She has to hope the other two are able to shoot the one with the dynamite and get out of the building so they can keep moving, and so she waits at that wall, even though she knows she was seen going that way.

Even though she knows some are pulling away to go after her.

‘3 shots to reload.’

But she is calm as she waits for someone to round that corner of the wall for her, and she is calm as she prepares for the inevitable need to reload. This is not her first gunfight. It will not be her last, either.
 
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