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

‘Things from the Vault? Hm…’ Somehow, that really wasn’t a surprise to Arcade. Vaults and their reputations well preceded them, so oddities that could manifest a green beam naturally didn’t seem a stretch if a vault was in question, although Arcade was curious as to just what kind of thing it was. ‘Probably don’t want to find out.’ He satisfies himself with his imagination for the moment, even if his imagination starts concocting horrifying harpies of humanoid form that can spit plasma as his gun does.

The fantasy cannot last, thankfully.

They reach the building without issue, and even enter it without issue. There is a light that illuminates the first room, but there is little within that first room of note, just the pungent smell of sterilization and chemicals. Arcade can pick some of them out, but the stench of sterilization is overpowering to most of them.

He can scent out soil, damp, he’d swear moldy, fertilized well with something quite decayed.

Arcade tries to be as quite as Vulpes, though it does not matter when his foot lands on a board he doesn’t recognize as rickety. He curses internally when a voice from the back calls, “Hey, did you find out what the dogs were barking about?”

Arcade glances at Vulpes, as he hears steps head towards the hall. He considers hopping into a nearby room, but then decides against it. They do not know if there are others in the rooms, so instead he rises to his full height and when the figure in a lab coat pops their head out, they are greeted with the sight of the Follower holding a gun pointed at them, and a finger against his lips.

The man in the lab coat raises his arms quietly, trembling under the sight of the Follower, as well as the Legionnaire.

The dark-haired scientist looks quite tired, bags under his eyes from long days of research, and he is gaunt. One of his eyes is blackened from violence, and it is clear he’s gotten used to submitting to violence, as well, although not so used to it to take it without signs of protest…even if the only signs are the trembling, and the watering eyes, as he considers this may be his end.

These people have no reason to keep him alive.

"Ma...man Joe, that...that mantis did a number on y-ya, huh?" he says, the only way he can suggest he's not alone, the only hope he has that they'll not kill him.

'Well, you're not stupid.' Arcade can't help but think. Which, was fair if he was a scientist here, but plenty lacked common sense.

When Arcade cants his head, the scientist gestures with one of his raised hands across the hall, unbeknownst to Arcade or Vulpes to a bit of a kitchen area, when one of the guards had stayed back, to watch over their pet researcher -- but he had gone to get some food and smoke, safely away from the researcher and his research.

~***~

Despite knowing not to expect much emotion from a legionnaire over some dead nightstalkers, Aemilia is still a little disappointed that they are waved off so carelessly as resources. As if resources aren’t worthy. As if either of them would be anywhere without resources like water. Still, she does not press it more and nods as he is willing to let them rot out in the sun to be eaten by carrion hunters.

As to her own status, she can’t help but laugh a little. “I’ve suffered worse,” she isn’t even sure if she’s lying. Walking off two shots to the head felt easy after nightstalker venom, but then again, that didn’t linger. She was just…out of it for a bit. And then she woke up.

“I know Caesar will understand,” she didn’t, but it was implied Caesar would be aware of any and all things that happened, so why doubt it? “But I’d rather not give Benny any more of a headstart,” she’d be impressed if he managed to slip by the Legion. A part of her was still hoping to catch him before they did, even if it was unlikely.

It was always possible he might dress himself up in their skirted armor and try to pretend to be one…although she couldn’t imagine he’d pull it off. As soon as he called one of the legionnaires ‘baby’ it was all over for Benny. She’d only regret that she wouldn’t get to see the reaction, but for a moment, the thought brought a fleeting smile to her lips that she shook off – literally – with a slow shake of her head.

“You can lead the way, I’ll follow,” and when they got into Legion territory, she would bring the mark into sight, wearing it around her neck despite how heavy it felt, literally and otherwise. It was not a light item have wrapped around a neck, but with it in plain sight, and the frumentarius alongside her, trouble left them alone all the way to Cottonwood Cove.

The sight of more bodies on crosses does nothing to make Aemilia consider the Legion the right path. If she wasn’t already a bit cold from lack of blood, she would be from the sight of that. ‘Well, at least now you have an excuse for how you feel.’ That bit of nausea, the chill, the paleness, all easily written off as blood loss.

She has to resist the urge to grab Roland and shoot the man in the leather jacket on the cross as they pass near, to grant him mercy. She has to squeeze her eyes shut tightly and clench the fist always near Roland tighter to avoid that instinct, aware that she was not yet in Caesar’s good graces.

She could not pass mercy on his enemies.

Her eyes are open and her fist relaxed by the time she is walking into the camp proper, by the time they are approached by a Centurion bedecked in red and gold, almost to the point it looks ornamental rather than useful. A hunting rifle is on his back and he is all swagger, “Ave, frumentarius. Bringing in another profligate slave for the p—aah,” he corrects himself when he is close enough to see the mark on the gold, and then he frowns, swagger fading to contempt as he realizes he is not in the presence of a comrade and a mere slave, “This is the profligate Lord Caesar wished to see?” His disgust is obvious, before he just tsks and waves them away towards his right, “Cursor Lucullus is waiting for you at the docks.”

Aemilia considers a quip, but instead smiles brightly, “Thank you, Centurion!” it’s too cheery to be real, pitched higher to be more girly, more naïve, “I’m so excited to meet, Lord Caesar, would you tell me a little about him? I’m just a little nervous, he’s such an important man.”

It’s done to upset the Centurion, and it seems to work based on the way his jaw clenches, and the little twitch in his cheek, “Don’t try my patience,” he snarled, “a nod of my chin and you’ll be decorating one of those crosses.”

“Wow! I’ll let Lord Caesar know you said that!” and she all but traipses off towards the quite visible docks, seething as much as she’s laughing inside to see that minute flicker of fear at the thought that she would – at the thought Caesar would care.

It says enough about Caesar that the Centurion would be afraid that an off-handed comment in anger would condemn him.
 
Vulpes paused his own movements as Arcade steps on a metal tile that creaks under his weight. He narrows his eyes and bites down a growl of irritation as a voice from deeper inside the building calls out to them. He throws a look over his shoulder as the shadow of the Doctor moves and he finds the man rising to his full height with his weapon drawn towards the approaching person.

Well, isn’t that interesting- Vulpes thinks to himself. As the researcher rounds the corner and submits with his hands up in the air upon seeing the weapon pointed in his direction. The frumentarius didn’t think the other man would have the nerve to take a hostage. He supposed that Arcade Gannon perhaps was a bit more interesting than Vulpes initially thought.

As the man gestures across the hall to a small open doorway, he hears shifting and rummaging coming from the area. Quietly Vulpes slips away from the two, putting a surprising amount of faith in Arcade to keep the hostage controlled while he went to go take out the other person that the researcher had gestured to.

The doorway had no door to block the view into the small kitchen area. The man that was in the room had his back to Vulpes as he was milling about with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. “Hey, did the others come back yet?” The man called out seemingly down the hall to the researcher as he started using a can opener on a dented tin of pork n’ beans. He was completely unaware of Vulpes’ presence behind him.

Vulpes sheathed his combat knife, not wanting to make a mess of this kill. There was no dirt or foliage to absorb the spillage of blood here.

Snap!

The man crumpled after the frumentarius snapped his neck. Vulpes prided himself on clean and efficient kills, when necessary (though of course he knew when it was necessary to send a message as well), currently his intentions were to be as fast and stealthy as possible. Seeing a nearby door in the small room, he carefully opened it as he wasn’t sure what was beyond the door and found it to simply be a small closet likely meant to act as some sort of pantry given the amount of food stored inside.

Dragging the body inside, he leaves the dead man in the room and closes the door behind him in order to hide it. He returns after taking a small pause to make sure there weren’t any other hidden guards lingering inside still. Rising from his crouch, he regards the researcher as he comes to stand beside Arcade once again. “The eyes of Caesar fall upon this place. If you wish not to be imputed with the crimes done in this place of treachery, or if you do not wish to face Mars’ judgement for these crimes, then I suggest you speak the truth to me here and now. I will know if you are lying. Now, where is your research primarily held, is it physical copies or do you have a terminal set up in this place?”

~***~

There is a melancholy that fills his soul, but the frumentarius cannot afford to feel anything for the death of such creatures. They had suited their purpose admirably for some time, and they had assisted in his ploy. Though, Sibilus resented the fact that he had come to use living creatures as pawns as well. Another feeling he smothered down, that he weakly tried to offer internal justifications for.

It was better the Nightstalkers and their quick merciful deaths than it was for Sibilus to be tortured. Perhaps he’d be flayed alive if he had failed his mission, or perhaps something worse that not even Sibilus could imagine.

He pushed away the spike of panic that bubbled in his chest. He had kept Aemilia alive, surely Lord Caesar would not punish him too harshly- yes? Sibilus had simply done what he’d needed to do in order to keep the Platinum Chip from her hands.

Nodding as Aemilia told him to lead the way, he walked in silence. The walk to Cottonwood Cove never was an easy journey, as the crosses reminded him of what his fate might be if he ever slipped up. If he ever spoke of his doubt, or his lack of faith- he would likely end up on a cross overlooking the Colorado River as well.

As they walk into the camp, they are greeted by the Aurelius of Phoenix. The Centurion rather callously assuming that Aemilia was a slave. Though he seems to quickly correct himself when he sees the Mark of Caesar around her neck. “Ave, indeed, this is Courier Six whom Lord Caesar is most eager to speak with.” He remains polite and respectful as the Centurion is of a higher rank than him. Though he did subtly remind Aurelius who he was speaking of.

Though it seems he did not need to, as Aemilia spoke up for herself. He did not react, instead giving a steady countenance. He bows his head slightly. “Vale, we must not keep Lord Caesar waiting.” He turned away from the other legionnaire and nodded once to Aemilia. He carefully kept any slight twinges of amusement he felt from his face. He never did like Aurelius of Phoenix much, no matter how useful he was at Cottonwood Cove.

Boots against the wooden boards of the dock, he briefly turned to Aemilia. He spoke softly as to not be overheard. “Cursor Lucullus is…” He started, though had no words to adequately describe the man. Sibilus shook his head slightly. “You will not like him.” He admitted, because Sibilus had no doubt of that fact. “He should remain…adequately respectful once he sees the Mark. Though-“ He shrugs. “Be prepared.” He turns away from her, not saying anything else.

It was the least he could do.

“Why is that slave not properly bound?” The man on the barge moored to the docks asked roughly. He was quite tall as well, nearly as tall as the Aurelius of Phoenix.

Sibilus may have been outranked by the Centurion, though he had no such trouble with the ferryman. “This is not a slave, if you would look closely you would see she carries the Mark of Lord Caesar. I suggest you use your eyes and mind before you speak next time.”

He glares at the frumentarius. “A woman with the Mark of Caesar?” He spits the word ‘woman’ as if it is an insult. “That is foolish to think that Lord Caesar would allow a woman of all things to carry hi-“ Whatever words he was going to say dried up quickly as his eyes indeed caught the golden glimmer of the Mark of Caesar around Aemilia.

“Cursor Lucullus, I suggest you stick to your current assignment. The guest of the mighty Caesar requires you to ferry us to Fortification Hill.” Sibilus steps onto the barge easily, used to the feeling of it bobbing underneath him. He has taken this trip many times. “Unless you would like to explain to Lord Caesar why Courier Six suffered a deterrent to her travel to meet with him?”

Cursor Lucullus grit his jaw, the grip around his push pole tightened in a white knuckles grip. “Of course not. We shall leave right away then.” He hisses.
 
Once Vulpes has gone ahead, Arcade gestures the researcher back where he came, following close and keeping the gun out. The researcher may be cowed, but Arcade isn’t an idiot. He knows the researcher could choose to do something rash at any moment.

The room they enter is obviously a research room. The lights are UV, and there are several patches of soil with broc flowers growing out of them, and markings on the boxes holding them in that no doubt details something about the soil – but it’s not written. It’s symbols, no doubt so the researcher knows, but few others do.

There is the green glow of a terminal, and scattered papers, as well as a machine to test the soil, and another to mix it. Much of the room seems to be about the soil, more than the seeds, and Arcade can see the calmex in the room, empty containers of it, as well as variously filled ones scattered about.

It's a mess, but an organized mess.

“Are you the only researcher?” Arcade asks, before Vulpes joins them.

“Here, now? Y-yes, but not the only one that works here.”

“You’re the head researcher.”

It isn’t really a question, but the man nods.

“Please, whatever you want….”

The plea trails off as Vulpes enters with demands, and Arcade observes the way the researcher shrinks into himself, “There are logs on the terminal,” he points towards the one in the room, “it’s connected to the one in the barracks.”

‘Ideas in the night.’ Arcade was familiar with that.

“There’s…there’s also notes scattered…I’m not sure how many…but what do you want? Why is the Legion interested in this?”

“Oh don’t play stupid,” Arcade almost groaned that. The researcher was doing so well. “You know what you’re doing. Why are you doing it is the better question – this is going to hurt everyone, you know that, right?”

The researcher averts his gaze. ‘He knows.’ More than that, he felt guilt for it. Which meant, he didn’t want to be doing it, which was perhaps why he was telling them anything. ‘And he’ll do it again….’ That was…problematic, but there was a reason, one he kept behind tight lips, behind his refusal to admit he knew.

And in his mind was likely everything that was needed to continue.

So Arcade lays it on thick: “Broc flowers contaminated with calmex, to put into healing powder. People will use this without knowing it, and it will create an addiction, at best. At worst, it will start killing people. People who use healing powder frequently will start to realize what’s going on, but they’re not going to have much of a choice, because without using it, they could die. Those who don’t use it often…or children…well, they’ll never know until it’s too late. Until they’re dead, or suffering withdrawal symptoms. And those symptoms, wooo,” he chuckles, shaking his head, “Heart attack is the least of their worries.”

“I know! You think they let anyone work here?” the researcher snapped, agitated, fidgeting. “I know….”

Guilty.

~***~

‘I hate literally all of you.’ Aemilia thinks it with a smile when Lucullus also implies she was a slave. Did Caesar know a woman was approaching? Did he tell anyone a woman was expected? She isn’t sure if she wants to laugh or cry at the hilarity of it – and at the nerves building in her gut as no one seems to recognize what Caesar wanted.

Her Mark is the only salvation, and it works, each time.

The anger is satisfying in a vindictive way, and Aemilia’s grin is sharp when Lucullus realizes his error. She does not trust herself to step on the barge gracefully, though she manages well enough after reaching to set a hand on Sibilus’s shoulder before getting on. It does jostle her, but she can mask it by putting that shift into the balancing hand, before she is able to let go.

“Thank you so much, Cursor,” Aemilia’s tone is dripping saccharine poison as she addresses him, because no, Sibilus is right, she does not like him.

She does not like anyone so far. ‘Except you.’ The one spark in this mess, and when the barge begins to move, she does not attempt small talk with Lucullus. Mostly, because she doesn’t want her temper to flare and cause her to push the man into the water and hope his armor sinks him to the depths. ‘The Centurion would definitely sink.’ But Sibilus would likely have to dive in to save him, and then Aemilia would have to explain that to Caesar.

Maybe he’d find it hilarious one of his men was overpowered by a woman.

Maybe not.

She doesn’t yet know if he is a mercurial sort, only that the people do not question his will.

The trip takes too long for the tension, but eventually, they reach the shore and the encampment, which…is quite unlike anything Aemilia is used to seeing. There are several structures of wood, but they don’t look scrapped together – they look crafted. There are even stone structures, and one that stands out off in the distance, near the top of the Fort, and seems circular, though it’s hard to tell at this distance.

Aemilia steps off the barge on her own, since the dock doesn’t move, and forces herself not to turn back for Sibilus, although she doesn’t step too far ahead. She couldn’t, even if she wanted to.

“Lucullus, what are you thinking allowing this sla—aaAve,” the guard attempts to correct himself when Aemilia grabs the leather strap around her neck and holds it up so the gold catches the light of the sun, making the glint impossible to ignore, “Courier Six, I was not aware of your arrival today.”

‘Shove it.’

Aemilia doesn’t say that as she lets the Mark fall. “Aemilia,” she introduces, “I am here to see Caesar,” she omits the Lord, “May I go or am I going to be stopped by every single legionnaire on the way?”

“Apologies, Aemilia,” speaking a name sounds foreign on his tongue, even if the name is of his tongue, “You may go forward, but not armed. You are not one of the Legion and as such, your weapons go no further.”

“Can I entrust them to Sibilus?” Aemilia asks, not wanting to be separated from them at this juncture. She will, of course – but why not try?
 
The Follower had managed to keep control of the hostage. It was at least one thing that had managed to go right on this mess of an infiltration mission. Vulpes wasn’t sure how long they had until the other guards returned from their search. This information needed to be extracted quickly.

Vulpes bites back a scoff at the rather stupid question that the researcher asks, and he crosses his arms over his chest. Glaring some at the researcher. He says nothing though, simply listening as Arcade tries to play the angle of morality to get the man to buckle. The frumentarius doesn’t argue with this tactic, as any way to get the enemy to crack and give the information they know is useful. Interrogation doesn’t always have to be inherently violent, there are some times in which ‘flies’ are more lured by honey than vinegar.

“You could put a stop to this.” He remarked, uncrossing his arms, and walking over to one of the nearby tables to look as some of the scattered notes. He read through them idly, squinting at some of the terrible rushed handwriting on the papers. “Depending on the spread of the yield, broc flower not only in the Mojave but everywhere else it grows might end up becoming contaminated in the end. Communities with a reliance on herbal remedies will be hit the hardest and will be the first ones to fall no doubt. Then it will be the hunters and survivalists that likely succumb to addiction or the other unsavory side effects of such a vice. With so many bodies, animals will scavenge on them. Vultures might be unaffected; they have strong enough stomach acid to kill contaminates like anthrax, however unless you have done tests, we do not know what sort of effect it will have. Even if vultures managed not to suffer any side effects, other carrion eating creatures might not be as lucky. Not to mention creatures like brahmin or bighorners occasionally graze on broc flower, and some use healing powder on their domesticated animals. Have you thought of what kind of influence that this would have not only on people, but on the entire ecosystem?” He questioned, also putting pressure on how deadly the outcome could be.

Truthfully, Vulpes cared not what happened to profligates- though the Legion likely wouldn’t survive such a terrible crisis. Despite despising the treachery, Vulpes could admit (at least internally) of what a surprisingly cunning a plan it was.

Putting some research notes down, he turned to the hostage with a heavy pale gaze. “The effects of such tampering will be felt for generations to come. Perhaps your work may not culminate in such a decisively swift and terrible weapon like the ones that ended the world the first time, though, it will cause a great loss of life.” He raises his brows. “Is the reason you are doing this worth all the blood you will have on your hands? At least I look people in the eye when I kill them, but you? Like the grim reaper, not even giving anyone a chance to save themselves.”

~***~

Sibilus remained still, allowing Aemilia to use him as a crutch to step onto the barge. He did not mention it, or even glance at her to indicate he had noticed. Though internally, his gut clenched. ‘She wouldn’t touch you if she knew what you’ve done.’ That same voice hissed in his head. It felt like a rope of a noose being tightened ever so slowly as he sunk down.

‘I had to.’

‘Daphne disagrees.’

The weight of the named throwing knife burns from where it is hidden. As if it is red hot metal, almost similar to how he felt when carrying Roland for Aemilia that time when leaving the Tops. The time she had chosen not to kill him.

Why didn’t she kill him?

He still doesn’t have an answer.

The frumentarius’ death could have easily been attributed to the ambush. No one would think twice about his passing. Yet she hadn’t, despite the fact that surely she must know that it would have been better for her in the long run to kill him. Instead, she had let him walk away- to report to Vulpes Inculta, to sabotage her as he traveled with her on her revenge quest.

Maybe she will kill him when she finds out. Perhaps she will find a way to cover her tracks, to hide his body where no one would ever find it. Not a hard thing to do in the vast wide open desert. Would she put a bullet in his head like she’d done to all of her other enemies? Or would her wrath and hatred make her want to do terrible things to him like she threatened upon Benny?

Sibilus couldn’t find the urge to panic like he normally did when he thought of how many ways his life could be ended terribly. Instead, he found himself resigned to it in a way. If it was not by the Legion’s hands, it would be by one of the many people he has wronged in his life.

Aemilia might be cruel, but even her hatred could not give her the same sadistic creativity that the Legion had.

He blinked the thoughts away, as if he could dislodge them like trying to blink dust from the eyes. Finally, the came to the opposite shore after the long travel down the Colorado River. After Aemilia steps onto the docks (and finds herself being harassed by another legionnaire briefly) he inclines his head to the guard at the gate. “She will not be armed. Courier Six will hand her weapons to me.”

“You know that’s not standard protocol, frumentarius.” The man stammered.

Sibilus tilts his head, regarding the man with a cold stare. “She is not a standard guest. In any case, if she feels at ease with allowing me to carry her weapons- then I see not why it would be an issue. Aemilia would not get her weapons until exiting Fortification Hill.”

The man frowns, but knows he cannot argue with someone of a higher rank than him. “Alright, make the switch where I can see it- and you will be allowed in.”

Sibilus offers his hands, to take her weapons. If Aemilia desired he hold them, surely it was the least he could do.
 
The guilt is obviously eating at the man as Vulpes adds on how this would be a catastrophic event, and he isn’t wrong. Arcade nods his agreement with the assessment. Unchecked, uncontrolled, this could end up terrible if the broc flowers didn’t poison those which pollenated them.

“Daily,” the researcher breathes, “but I can’t—I don’t have a choice, they have my family,” he says it, clearly desperate, and Arcade steps forward and sets his hands on the shoulders of the researcher.

“Breathe,” Arcade says, calmly, because the researcher is breathing erratically. The researcher has begun to panic, but he’s told them the key to this – his family. All they needed to do, in order to get help, was protect his family. Then, the researcher would destroy all of this in a far more…impactful way than he or Vulpes could likely do on their own.

This place would burn.

The other minds might even burn with it, but his could be spared.

The trick would be making him believe that, because there would have to be a lot of trust going on here, and Arcade isn’t with the most…trustworthy of people.

Once the breathing starts to settle, he lets go of the researcher’s shoulders and steps back, “You understand the position you’re in, and that we’re in. We can’t let this research continue, and you won’t stop it. The easy thing would be to kill everyone and raze this place to the ground, but that won’t quite eliminate it. A lot has already been done here, and the soil needs to be neutralized in a way fire won’t do. It all needs to go away, and you’re the one who can do that, so killing you…not to our advantage.”

Yet.

“If your family was safe, would you help us?”

The researcher hesitates. Wary, “Yes, but…how would I know? You couldn’t bring them here.”

‘And any item we take from them could mean we just pulled it off a corpse.’ Arcade wants to ask him what choice he has. He’s looking at death from every direction, but Arcade understands. He thinks he can protect his family by not revealing their names, or where they are at. He is afraid that Arcade or Vulpes may harm them, or use them against him, too.

And there, Arcade stumbles on how to win over the man’s trust without threatening further violence.

~***~

Sibilus offers to carry the weapons, and though it isn’t standard – his way wins out. Although Aemilia knows it’s unlikely she’d ever get the weapons off of him, it’s a small comfort all the same. So, first she takes Roland and offers it to him, waiting for him to take it and tuck it away, before she takes the sword.

“Cuthbert,” the name is an introduction, one he hasn’t had yet. He hadn’t been trusted with Cuthbert, after all. He couldn’t sneak a sword like that into a casino.

She ignores the quizzical look the other legionnaire gives when she speaks a name, and does not explain it as she turns to him and shows her hands, “That’s all I have, he can vouch for it,” the leather armor doesn’t have much room to hide weapons, except small ones. It’s evident the legionnaire doesn’t want to believe, but one glance at Sibilus seems to silence any debate.

“Carry on then, Courier,” back to a title, “do not make Lord Caesar wait.”

‘Fuck you very much~!’

“Thank you~,” escapes her lips instead of the thought, “I’ll get right on my way,” though she knows she must defer to Sibilus, as she doesn’t know the way around the camp, she has no intention of making it look like she is following, and plans to keep pace with him, or be just a half-step behind while taking in the sights of the area.

The young boys in armor running around, looking exhausted, under shouts from drill sergeants. ‘They probably have some sort of special title.’ There are no crucified bodies within the Fort, at least, although she sees some outside the walls as they advance.

She feels the eyes of the Legion on her, from each individual. It’s in the stutter as a drill sergeant notices her, the pause of a woman under the yolk of a heavy burden who stares at her in confused wonder, the furtive gazes of two younger legionnaires – one elbowing the other the words passing no doubt tactless and cruel, and the child who openly gawks and calls out, “Hey, why isn’t she collared?” before he takes a smack to the back of his head from the man near him.

There’s no kindness in those eyes, and he doesn’t answer the boy.

He doesn’t approach Sibilus about it, either, though.

Closer to the top, Aemilia sees the structures are mostly of stone, but still ornate, in a way. Their edges are rounded, and the ground is actually paved in it. There is more mingling, and there are people in clothes, not armor. There are stalls, there is the scent of food, and there is housing, as well as that strange round structure.

Her curiosity can’t last, “What’s that place? Is that where Caesar is?” she points to that structure, somehow doubting it. It’s too open – it has no roof. Caesar would be under a roof, wouldn’t he?
 
Family.

Oh how many times Vulpes had used the same tactic to get lesser men and women to cooperate with him. Someone who wouldn’t be willing to part with information Vulpes wanted to know? Perhaps some mention of their spouse and children, mother, and father. It was child’s play to speak their names, give them a description- reveal that he knew their location, their daily routine as well. Wouldn’t it be terrible if something terrible befell upon them?

For those that wore their hearts on their sleeves, it was an easy target to dig a blade into indeed.

A weakness, a foolish one.

They could use such a weakness, only if they played this right. It would require extra effort on their part of course. Though Vulpes didn’t want to take such a detour when working on such a time sensitive mission, he was intelligent enough to understand that this was neither he or Arcade’s particular field of study. To have someone that was working on the project able to corrupt and destroy the evidence beyond what either Arcade or he himself could accomplish themselves would prove invaluable to the mission.

Despite the extra effort that would be required should they go down this path, the frumentarius knew logically it would be the best course of action to completely neutralize whatever the Omertas had planned.

The problem would be either manipulating the man into agreeing, or genuinely going about such a task to ‘save’ his family and prove they were alive. The researcher was right, they couldn’t bring the man’s family back to prove they were alive. However, they could get them just close enough.

He reached into his bag and pulled out the handheld radio. Quickly he adjusted the frequency to one the NCR did not use, then the frumentarius took a piece of paper and jotted down the new frequency he calibrated into it for future reference. Tucking the paper away into a safe location, he handed the radio to the researcher. “Here, this is small enough to hide and it will allow us to contact you within a range of four to six miles. We can get close enough to get within range to allow you to speak to your family members to prove that the are alive. Provided that you keep to your word and help us sabotage this plot of course, if you do as such then your family will be unharmed. Under the mercy of the almighty Caesar I will even allow you and your family to go free afterwards.” To avoid the destruction he would bring upon the Omertas. “However, make no mistake. If this is an attempt to manipulate us to do your bidding while not holding up your end of the bargain-“ He let his words trail off ominously, allowing the researcher to fill in the rest.

“Do we have a deal?”

Like selling his soul away to the devil for protection against a different evil.

The only question was, better the devil you know? Or the one you don’t?

~***~

Roland is a familiar weight in his hands. He doesn’t bother to conceal the weapons as he had on the Strip, as there was no need to hide them. He simply hooked the weapon to the side of his belt. When it is secure he then offers his hands outwardly to receive the sword that is on her back. She does…

-And she speaks of it’s name.

Cuthbert.

‘You are going to regret telling me that.’ He decided as a rush of emotions crashed over him, it roiled in an uncomfortable way. There were so many that he couldn’t pry their knotted strings apart from the mess inside his chest and understand them. Sibilus hopes that they don’t shine in his eyes- he keeps them from his face however. He locks down any expression that might be determined to slip.

Sibilus couldn’t make a mistake, not here.

They walk through the familiar path deeper into Fortification Hill. It is different from the last time Sibilus had set eyes upon it. How many months ago had it been now since he had last physically stepped foot here? Well, it doesn’t matter.

Despite having upgraded his standing, he never could quite shake the feeling that he held as a recruit. The feeling that everything was so much bigger than him, like a vast ocean that would swallow and consume him whole. Perhaps like that one child’s tale he once had snuck away to read. The story where a puppet wanting to be a real boy was swallowed by a creature known as ‘The Attila of fish and fishermen’.

Sibilus had compared the Dogfish antagonist as a sort of wish destroyer, something that crushed hope and simply consumed everything.

‘Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?’ The thought comes unbidden to him, and he hisses through his teeth quietly. He bites his tongue as if to try and pry the treasonous thoughts from his head with the pain. To banish them.

Not here. Not while in the belly of the beast itself.

He glances up as Aemilia regards him, and points to the circular amphitheater at the top of the hill. “That is the coliseum. It is meant to be an arena for battles to test one’s mettle. Many watch the fights as entertainment including Lord Caesar himself. Though, that is not where he resides. His own abode is more modest in comparison.”

He continues to lead them, up further through the maze of paths and people. Brahmin hooves and the sound of wooden cartwheels rattling along the stone pathways is a prominent sound. So, to are the whispers and murmured hushed voices of people as they passed by. Their gazes were heavy. Most were from the men, as the woman mostly kept their eyes cast downwards. Even though some women were dressed in better clothes than others, there was one thing that united them all.

The collars.

Sibilus (like always) tries not to give it much thought. “I’m assuming that Lord Caesar will be notified of our arrival.” He says idly, as if to try and displace the crushing feeling of being back in this place. He pauses to point out Caesar’s abode further up the hill. “There is where we are going.”
 
Arcade is surprised, and impressed, with Vulpes’s action. He expected violence. He expected threats. Instead, he finds Vulpes handing over a radio with the promise to have the man’s family talk to him so he knows they’re safe. There is a threat to it, of course – if the researcher does not do what they need him to do, his family will then be in danger.

But the hope is obvious, and a weight seems to leave the researcher’s shoulders as he takes the radio. “No—no if you get them to safety—I will.” Arcade doesn’t doubt him. His guilt seemed sincere; he doesn’t want to be a part of this at all. “I’m—my name is Joab, they’ll know. They’re…they’re at Gomorrah, or that’s what I’ve been told. Safe…enjoying the Strip,” of course, he knows it could be a lie, and as he says it, he seems to think perhaps it was all lies.

“My wife is Sita, my daughters – I have two, Dina and Kari,” he offers, and then shuts his eyes tightly against the offer, as if he could take it back. As if he could protect them, despite their names now being out of his mouth, and their location, as well.

He cannot, so he exhales and opens his eyes, first looking at the legionnaire, before looking at the Follower, the more trustworthy figure, “We have a deal, just please…please get them out of the hands of the Omertas, and I’ll do what I can.”

Arcade nods. “We will. Oh—er…Vulpes…the other one in here…did you…kill them?” It’s an awkward question, but it has to be asked, because, “we…might need to make this whole scene look a bit more violent or they might blame Joab if they’re already keeping him here under threat.”

Might also need to scuff Joab up a bit, but definitely wreck the lab some, and steal some things, or otherwise destroy it. At least give Joab plausible deniability for the guard’s death. Sure, he had nothing to do with it – but Arcade had a suspicious mind, and he knew others did, too.

Joab pales.

Despite tipping them off, he obviously didn’t consider the consequences of it, but now that he does, “They’ll…they definitely…they definitely wouldn’t believe I didn’t do something….” Arcade sighs at the thought of it.

Purposeful chaos and theft, along with injury, was not how he was looking to ending this, but they can’t have Joab under even more suspicion, either.

~***~

Coliseum is a foreign word, although the concept is not. She had seen other battle arenas, for men and for animals alike. Aemilia’s never understood the appeal of it, and she reviled the ones that used animals, but people? If they were all consenting parties, she saw no reason for them not to form a fight club and punch the shit out of each other.

She doubts all such fights in the coliseum are consensual, though.

It’s only too easy to imagine they use animals, as well, when one of the hounds runs by her feet.

The weight of the Legion is still heavy as they come into sight of the ‘humble’ abode. ‘Well, compared to Benny’s room at the Tops, maybe it is.’ It looked smaller, despite being a home. A guard is stationed outside of it, and Aemilia expects to hear a comment about a missing slave collar when they get close enough, but instead, the guard straightens up.

“Ave,” he greets, and his tone is almost friendly, “Aemilia, Lord Caesar has been made aware of your arrival and he will see you now.” Then, a nod to Sibilus, “You as well, Frumentarius.”

‘Isn’t Sibilus enough of a title?’ Aemilia holds her tongue on that, lest they decide to call her Courier again, as if that was all she was. She was being a rather shit courier lately, still chasing one missing package…and not even sure she would be handing it back.

“Follow me,” the man opens the door, and leads them through the entrance hall, which Aemilia notes is decorated with symbols of the Legion, and other bits of artwork that are clearly new – and Legion-favoring, of course. Caesar would have nothing else in his abode. There is even a blood red rug that leads them down the hall, and another beneath the throne where Caesar sits, talking idly to another man in a coyote hat at his side.

He stops, of course, as he hears the steps and he fixes his gaze on the trio that enter. The guard only stays long enough to announce, “My Lord, this is Courier 6, Aemilia,” he does not bother to introduce Sibilus, for there is no need, and Aemilia only too easily steps ahead of him when she finds herself in an audience chamber.

This is familiar to her.

Playing to a leader is familiar to her in a way she never thought it would be.

Perhaps she should have bowed, but she does not. Though she intends to speak first, the words are stolen by Caesar as he smiles, and rises from his throne, “So I finally get to meet the courier who's accomplished so much in so little time,” he steps from his throne to meet her, a bit taller, but not much.

Not the impressive height of Arcade. In fact, not much about him is impressive, and it takes Aemilia off guard that he is…Other than what was built up in her mind. “If I had known shooting people in the head could create such ambition I would have started that a long time ago.”

He’s jovial, and sly, as he adds, “But I know that’s not all there is to you, or the entire reason you’ve become such a novelty in the Wastes that has everyone clawing for your attention. You must have some questions for me.”

“Only the obvious,” Aemilia answers. Thrown off guard, has only put her on guard, the usual airs she’d wear cut through by his own. “I want to know why you summoned me here.”

“The obvious answer would be a trap,” Caesar admits, “but I have enough assassins not to waste my time on that, and Fortune is a fickle mistress – I should know,” he notes, “no, this is no trap, Aemilia. You have proven an extraordinary woman, loathed as many in my Legion are to admit it.”

“Perhaps if you gave women a chance….”

His smile seems a grimace. A flinch. “Perhaps,” it’s not a true agreement. “Regardless,” he sweeps over it, “I have asked you here because I want to work with you, and you can get things done that those men,” a gesture outside, “can’t. They don’t have the reputation, knowledge, or abilities, that you have. But I’m not asking you to do this for free, or demanding an answer now,” his gaze softens. “It’s not hard to see you’ve faced some hardships on the way here, and no decision should be made dirty and hungry. Let me show you to where you can stay a night to get cleaned up, and here my pitch, and offer, at dinner.”

Aemilia’s gaze betrays some of her concerns, going back towards Sibilus.

Caesar speaks to it easily, “If you’re concerned of the others in the Legion harassing you, you can keep him at your side. Sibilus is a fine enough warrior, though a bit too much of a knack for poison,” Caesar speaks the backhanded compliment easily. A warrior should be fierce and strong, not clever, after all. But it works. “I will need to steal him for a report or two, but that can wait until you’re at least settled.”

Aemilia is tempted to deny it. Tempted to feign confidence in her surroundings and Caesar’s promises of security, but she cannot, and so she inclines her head in gratitude, “Thank you, Caesar.”

“Then that’s settled. Let me show you to where you will stay,” he offers his arm, and Aemilia takes it, as he asks, “Was Aemilia always your name?”

“Yes – it’s Latin.”

“Oh, I know,” he agrees, “it’s curious how far the language spreads sometimes,” he agrees, “it’s not one of my favorite names, but it’s a good one.”

“I only really knew it came from a moth.”

“Really?” Caesar laughs, “it means Eager in our tongue.”

What he doesn’t say is that it also meant Rival, and he knows one of Fortune’s Favorites when he sees them. He knows, because he is one…and he will stand for no rivals.

But he puts on the airs of magnanimous host as he makes sure he is seen leading her and pausing to talk with a few merchants and legionnaires, asking after needs and arranging it, before they reach the solid structure – because it would be ill to put her in a tent, easily opened by any of the many men in the area.

Aemilia is a bit overwhelmed with the offers – the leather, the clean tunica, the food, the offer of a bath – that she accepts it easily, and accepts when Caesar asks for Sibilus to accompany back, with the promise he’ll send Sibilus back to her when he’s done.

Caesar’s demeanor only changes slightly when they exit the guest house, to a laughing comment, “Were you that low on poison that you needed to stop by your cache before coming here, Frumentarius?” the comment is its own threat – Caesar knew what Sibilus did.

He knew what happened because of it, even if it gave Caesar an easy way to shrug off Aemilia to speak to Sibilus alone by giving her time and place to regroup. He is not happy about it, in either case.

He knows more than that, though; the prisoner locked away sung plenty when threatened, and sung one name loudly.
 
The researcher finally gives in. The compromise is not one that Vulpes likes, as he would have to go back to that infernal den of iniquity that was Gomorrah. Though if it allows the most prominent mind working on the project to be an accomplice to their sabotage plan then the frumentarius knew that the negotiation needed to happen. This was one of many times where a more delicate and deliberate approach was needed rather than brute force.

It was why the frumentarii were needed in the first place.

As the Follower’s Doctor asks about the man who had been guarding the researcher- Joab, Vulpes rolls his eyes. “Of course, I killed him. While the body is a problem, a larger problem would be a witness. If he had seen you and had been allowed to remain alive, he could pass identifying information along to the Omertas. Then our element of surprise would be completely obliterated.” As well as their way in. Given that ‘Vinny’ was now tied to Arcade, if the Omertas had learned of a man matching Arcade’s description at the scene, then they would also be suspicious of his persona as well.

One of the reasons why Vulpes would have much preferred if Arcade had deigned to wear a disguise while also in Gomorrah. Still, the frumentarius doubted the man would be able to play a charade very well. He may be keeping secrets, but that didn’t equal a talent in pretending to be someone else completely.

Mulling over what to do with the body, his eyes caught Arcade’s plasma defender- and he hummed. “If they don’t find the body, the guards might be less inclined to immediately pass blame. For logically how could he dispose of a body by himself in the short amount of time it took for the guards to look for potential intruders?” Vulpes gestured to Joab, not even inclined to speak as if the man wasn’t standing directly in front of him. “If the body is missing, that also creates an opening to spin a tale.”

It was a rather strange and outlandish plan that Vulpes had in mind, but it might give them better footing than simply making the scene look like some thieves broke in. It wouldn’t make sense for the guard to be dead, and for the researcher to only be slightly beaten down. If the guards had any intelligence whatsoever, they would question why the researcher was left alive when the guard wasn’t Obviously conspiracy would be the most likely initial thought, and could pose a problem should Joab be pressed for information. Vulpes doubted the man could stand up to torture.

Though if the body was no where to be found, wouldn’t it be far more likely that the guard had simply walked off after hearing a potential intruder outside and simply never returned? Perhaps dragged away by whatever lurked in the nearby Vault. The superstitions of the guards would likely help feed into whatever potential paranoia they already had. Vulpes regards Arcade cooly.

“Doctor Gannon, your weapon is capable of liquifying a human body.”

It wasn’t a question.

He continued. “I doubt the guards have any understanding of what goes on in this lab. If there were to be a…unique glowing green substance noted- it could easily be passed off as something pertaining to the process here. I doubt that they would know any better. Novacula Occami. Except in this case, the truth is stranger than fiction.”

~***~

Taking a small subtle inhale through his nose to calm his nerves, he entered with Aemilia as the guard announced Aemilia’s arrival. Sibilus knelt down to one knee and did not so much as twitch a single muscle as Caesar and Aemilia talked to each other. He made sure his face was indecipherable, despite the fact he focused to remain impassive- a part of himself couldn’t help but to feel the cold chill of terror at his throat that every single thought might be playing behind his eyes. Easy for Lord Caesar to see, to grasp and to hold like a physical thing.

He wanted to run, to flee far- so far that his feet hit the ocean. He wanted to keep going even then, to swim and swim until he came to another land so far away that no one had ever even heard of the Legion. Though Sibilus knew it was a foolish instinct, and immediately trampled it. Would it reflect in his gaze? Would Caesar be able to see what a treacherous snake he was?

There was no use in running.

Despite being the lightest of his weapons on his person at the time, Daphne felt perhaps similar to the weight that Atlas bore on his shoulders.

Daphne, the one who ran from Apollo, the one that was turned into a laurel tree.

Daphne the Nightstalker that fled from him, and had a blade sink into the back of it’s skull for the trouble.

Daphne, the throwing knife taken from that very beast.

She reminded him that there was no escape from his folly.

He swallowed quietly, and yet it sounded loud to his own ears. He could also hear his own heartbeat pounding in his head. It was like the roar of a war drum, or explosions breaking the silence of night. Could everyone else hear his heartbeat too? Could they hear his panicked thoughts?

Aemilia glances back at him, and briefly he catches her eyes. She has worries too about this place. She seeks him out for some manner of comfort? A trustworthy face in the crowd of unfamiliar faces… it is too bad she doesn’t know that he had been the one to stab her in the back.

She would soon. He knew that much in his bones.

The truth doesn’t wait for anyone.

Caesar extends the offer for Sibilus to remain at Aemilia’s side. It is a strand of hope, no matter the backhanded compliment. Though internally he bristled.

‘It’s venom, not poison.’

Smartly, he curbs that comment and doesn’t allow it to slip off his tongue- at the fear of it being removed for his insolence.

It doesn’t matter in the end. If Lord Caesar is making such an offer, it means Sibilus would need to remain alive for a little while longer.

He can explain himself, he can try to justify his actions.

Sibilus rises from his kneeling position as the Son of Mars walks with Aemilia arm in arm. Leading her as a gentlemen would do back in those pre-war novels. Silently he follows them as a shadow might follow someone facing the sun.

He feels like there is a clock ticking in his mind, counting down the moments to his doom.

Every step is agony, both feeling like it is too long and yet not long enough. Soon…far sooner that Sibilus would have liked- Aemilia was gone.

He fought not to flinch at the pointed comment. Struggled hard not to gasp for air, because he felt like he was drowning yet again. The frumentarius wanted to claw at his skin, rip it off- it felt tight and constricting. Instead, he kept calm, forced his breathing to come out evenly. Sibilus could only hope that his he panic wasn’t visible somehow on the surface. Was his skin pale and clammy? Were his eyes dilated by the natural adrenaline response of his flight or fight instinct?

“No, my Lord.” His voice is deceptively calm, despite how much he wants to shake apart on the inside. He bows his head slightly, a show of submission- of shame and remorse.

The only thing Sibilus could do now was try and balance on the edge of a razor blade, he needed to be seen as apologetic without groveling. For legionaries don’t grovel. “May I have your permission to report to you my findings, my Lord? I only acted in such a… hasty way due to learning about the Platinum Chip the chairman carries. It is no excuse of course, my Lord.”

‘Don’t panic.’

‘Sich jseo myrtvin.’

The thought came to him suddenly and unbidden in his native tongue. It was filled with dread and terror.
 
Arcade doesn’t argue; the witness would be a far larger problem, but it doesn’t eliminate the problem of a dead body, either. However, Vulpes’s idea seems ridiculous at first. ‘How are we going to hide…?’ Vulpes, of course, has an idea.

Arcade frowns, as Joab cants his head at the Latin he doesn’t understand. Arcade gets it immediately. “Do you honestly think they’re that stupid?” Arcade is only too able to recognize destruction wrought by laser weapons as well as plasma – it’s so much second nature that, sadly, he forgets others aren’t able to pick up such things as easily.

Joab, however, nods fervently. “Yes—yes! That would work! They don’t really understand…anything here,” which meant he could delay and lie, most of the time. There were others who came to check the progress that understood better, and his fellow researchers did, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t slow things down a little.

Arcade still frowns, but sighs, shrugs. “Fine, but if it doesn’t work, I hope you have a Plan B.” Not Vulpes, but Joab, since by the time the guards return, it won’t be as much their problem as it will be Joab’s. They’ll be long gone, after all.

“It’ll work,” although Joab does sound a bit more doubtful with that threat over his head, he decides to accept and play the role of it just being ‘science’. He can bullshit it as some weird mold that came from his research.

Arcade can only sigh. “Fine, fine. Where do you want the…gloop?” Arcade can’t even believe he’s going along with this, and Joab skims his lab area, and gestures to a place where there is water damage, but enough room to obviously lay a body out underneath a table.

‘If they believe this….’ He isn’t sure if he’ll weep for the stupidity of humanity or wish he never stopped smoking for his own nerves and frustration. Not that it actually helped, but it was a useful distraction at times that kept him from thinking of those things. That was a kind of help.

~***~

Sibilus Anguis tries to hide, but Caesar can see his snake and the way he coils in on himself, making himself seem that much smaller than Caesar knows he is. It’s no surprise the snake would try to hide from him, knowing what Caesar knows – and of course, with Sibilus not knowing how much he knows, just yet. Not that anyone, even his frumentarii, ever doubt Caesar’s knowledge.

He does not deny what he did, of course.

How could he, when it was presented so? Caesar nods as he requests permission to speak, “Just as soon as we are back at my abode,” Caesar agrees, “there’s no reason for the entire Legion to know your shame.” Not that the entire Legion would, but public spaces are that for a reason, and Caesar knows how to use them, as much as he knows how to use private ones.

The walk to his abode was not long, anyways. The same praetorian standing outside inclines his body to Caesar and greets him, letting Caesar and Sibilus pass in. Caesar returns to the throne room, but instead of remaining standing, he returns to his throne and takes his seat in judgment over what Sibilus will report.

“I know you wouldn’t have risked Courier 6’s life without very good reason, Sibilus,” he does know this, but that doesn’t mean there will be no consequences for it all the same, something Sibilus likely, also, knew when he acted. “You may begin your report and explanation of your actions, in whatever order makes sense – though I do not require much on your time with the Kings.”

Caesar had received regular reportings, even if they were not face-to-face.

Enough to know the Kings weren’t worth his time, enough not to be dissatisfied with Sibilus being here, and not at his post. Obviously, Vulpes had a hand in his movement, and he trusts Vulpes’s opinion to move Sibilus, and send him after Aemilia.

Just as he suspects it is Vulpes behind Sibilus’s decision to harm the Courier, to some degree. It is still Sibilus’s action, of course. It is still his consequence, but there is logic there, and Caesar hopes to understand it so he can make sure such a stunt never happens again.
 
Vulpes scoffed at Arcade’s initial disbelief that someone could be so ignorant. While it was true that energy weapons weren’t rare by any means, they still weren’t common by any stretch of the imagination. The frumentarius doubted the Omertas splurged costs on guards that were actually competent.

Though Joab seems to insist that it will work. At least until Arcade mentions a potential backup plan, to which he seems to deflate slightly. Of course a backup plan was always useful, though in this case it wouldn’t be necessary. “If they don’t believe your lie then there is no backup plan to be had. So lie convincingly, researcher. It is only your life and your family’s lives on the line after all.”

With that particular ‘pep talk’ out of the way, Vulpes went back to the closet to obtain the body he had stowed away. That way Arcade could use his weapon to turn it into ‘goop’ as he called it. Which Vulpes had to not crinkle his nose at. What a childish way to call liquified human remains due to plasma blasts. Perhaps the Follower thought it was easier not to think about what exactly was in the goop.

Dragging the body to the specified location, Vulpes stepped away from the body. The dead man’s head was decidedly at a very wrong angle compared to his body. The frumentarius didn’t give the corpse a second thought, far too used to disposing of them in his line of work. Though the doctor might not be so familiar.

Vulpes had his doubts that Arcade would be able to follow through with the ‘desecration’ of human remains. He didn’t voice this, however and instead indicated with his hand towards the Follower as he stood off to the side out of his way. “If you would be so kind, we must be leaving soon. I doubt the guard will be gone for much longer.”

Speaking of- Vulpes walked down the short hallway to the front exit. On instinct he dodged the rickety metal as he opened the door ever so slightly to check to see if he could see the light of the guards’ lanterns in the distance. The frumentarius didn’t see anything near them, so they at least had long enough to destroy the body and leave without being seen. Provided that the doctor was capable. Hopefully his ‘morals’ wouldn’t prevent him from it.

The frumentarius listened for the sound of the weapon discharge.

~***~

Shame.

Yes, Sibilus was ashamed. He felt terrible for what he had done, though terrifyingly enough- not because Caesar could order Sibilus’ life to be ended at any moment.

He didn’t want to think about what other reason he could possibly feel ashamed, because he feared the answer might be treason.

Following Caesar on quiet feet, he did not speak to the guard as they were allowed to enter the Son of Mars’ abode. As the great leader sat upon his throne to judge his sins, Sibilus yet again took a knee to kneel before Lord Caesar’s presence. As he was given permission to begin his report, he spoke- trying to remain as stoic as possible.

Vulpes always made it look so easy.

“Vulpes Inculta requested my presence at the Strip during his talk with Courier Six.” He was incredibly careful not to slip up and call her by her name. To keep his voice monotonous was a struggle when each passing moment he knew could be his last. “With his permission I offered my services to help Courier Six to sneak her weapon into the casino so that she might get revenge on the person that shot her. The chairman had already left, fled and led us into an ambush. Though after defeating the ambush we managed to find something of importance in ‘Benny’s’ suite. A Securitron going by the moniker of ‘Yes Man’ told us the true use of the Platinum Chip that House was so desperate to have delivered. The purpose of the Chip is to upgrade his defenses, Yes Man told us that there was a bunker underneath Fortifcation Hill that had specialized equipment that could read the data encoded on the Chip and install said upgrades.” He took a quiet inhale through his nose.

He continued, hoping his worry wasn’t written on his face that he tried so hard to keep impassive. “Benny had plans to use this ‘Yes Man’ to take over Mr. House’s network, making him the leader of New Vegas and the one controlling all of the new modifications and upgrades installed by the Platinum Chip. However, the chairman didn’t think to include properties in the Securitron to make it where it listened to only him. Meaning that anyone with access to the room and to Yes Man could take control of the robot…Courier Six asked one of the other chairman for ownership of the room that houses Yes Man. With the potential consequences being so high, Vulpes ordered me to keep the Platinum Chip from the Courier at all costs- provided she did not die. I had been hoping with enough of a head start, we would not catch up to the chairman. Though the man had been taken hostage by Powder Gangers posing as NCR rangers at Ranger Station Charlie. Upon releasing him, the two had made a truce to work together for the time being. I knew I needed to get the Chip out of her hands and back into the chairman’s. There was no question of where he would be going, as he needed to upgrade the system using the hidden bunker underneath this place. The Nightstalkers were chosen only because I already had ample amounts of antivenom on my person. I never intended to lose you such a valuable resource, My Lord.”

He bowed his head slightly, truthfully because he was not able to keep eye contact with the Son of Mars any longer. “I accept any punishment that you see as fitting with willingness Lord Caesar, as is expected.” Servitude, submission, devotion- Sibilus tried to mimic the qualities he think Vulpes might have should he ever be in a similar situation. Not that he would, but still. The frumentarius needed to be seen as a loyal servant… not a snake.

Though internally, he pleaded not to be killed in a horrific fashion. Though he had no idea if the god sitting above in his throne would be merciful enough to grant him that prayer.
 
Arcade sighs deeply as the body is dragged in, head askew. Joab looks away, clearly uncomfortable, and Arcade wonders how he'll deal with the corpse gloopified on his lab floor. Likely, he’d forget it was a body. Most did, when it wasn’t bloody and lacked eyes. The eyes was what seemed to unnerve people the most. This was one of the reasons Arcade wasn’t allowed to tell horror stories anymore – no one appreciated eye horror.

He dismissed the oddity from his thoughts, not even sure why it came up, as Vulpes left the area. He started to aim, but was interrupted by the simple question: “Why are you helping The Legion? I didn’t think Followers would support them….”

“They don’t,” he said, and added swiftly, “I don’t. Though Caesar used to be a Follower,” he hated that fact, but it made sense. Caesar could learn much from the Followers, and then use it. Arcade could have probably used it to become a self-proclaimed god of the wastes with his healing talent. The wastes were lucky he didn’t bend towards evil. “What is going on here is evil, and it’ll impact most.”

“They said it would be targetted at the Legion,” Joab admitted.

“You know better than that,” no matter what lies started it, no matter what pretty promises of finding a way to target the Legion, there was simply no way. Joab’s sigh said enough for his own understanding. “Yeah. You’ll have to live with that,” no sugarcoating, “I hope you’ll be able to explain it all to your family.”

“Wouldn’t you do the same for yours?”

It’s a question that is hard to answer, and so Arcade doesn’t. He shoots the body, and watches the corpse turn into glowing green goop. ‘No, I don’t think I would.’ But he’s never been in that position where someone he loved was threatened like that, and he was asked to do something horrendous.

He doesn’t think he would do it, only because he thinks his loved ones would rather be dead. Most of them had incredibly strong resolves.

Most of them would leave him for dead, if asked to do something against their own code. Maybe not Daisy and Judah, but the others…he’s not so sure about. Their moral stances nearly broke them apart several times, after all. “Good luck,” is all he says to Joab before he walks out and joins Vulpes at the door.

No lights are visible.

He nods, “It’s done, let’s get back to Gomorrah,” he isn’t sure what the plan is, but knows now isn’t the time to talk about it. They need to get on the main road before they consider discussing any plans, not here, where they need to be silent.

He’ll let Vulpes take the lead out, and follow close, and low, so they can avoid the trouble of the guards, and hopefully, the trouble of the Vault, as well.

~***~

Caesar listened to the report that Sibilus offered him without interruption. He had not been wrong in assuming Vulpes was behind the change of placement; no one else could really direct Sibilus away from duty besides Caesar himself, so he would not be irate with the change of position. Sibilus had followed the chain of command, and he had also taken another officer’s command in making sure Aemilia did not have the platinum chip.

Caesar held it.

He had noticed the oddity of it’s markings, matching those in the bunker beneath where his own home rested. He had chosen the place both because of height and because of its nearness to that. He had never been able to open it, no matter what resource he went to, but the Chip looked like a key. It would rest easily within the hatch and allow it to be opened.

Caesar wasn’t fool enough to try that himself. He didn’t know what further protections Mr. House had within there, and he knew it would not be wise to find out himself, or risk demoralizing soldiers by sending them in just yet. Not when he feared it. The answer seemed to arrive at his doorstep in the woman Mr. House had deigned fit to speak with.

The danger was that she might not be reliable and want the same thing as Benny wanted – he’d screamed about some powerful weapon underneath. It seemed this was a story that Sibilus could confirm. It would upgrade the robots. That was a danger and Caesar understood why Vulpes saw it that way. It was better that Caesar had the chip, even if he knew what he’d have to do with it.

He couldn’t send any ham-fisted legionnaire down there to just mess the place up. That would risk destroying their Fort.

“You realize it isn’t just the venom that’s at issue, don’t you, Sibilus?” Caesar drawled as he admitted to his reasonings, to doing it, and to why. “Nightstalkers could have simply given Courier 6 a fatal wound. You have no control of those animals. Enough to agitate them, but once agitated, I don’t imagine any lived, did they?” It had to be a massacre. That was the problem with animals.

With some tribals.

Extermination was the only course of action. “I understand why you thought it was necessary. You needed to stay in Courier 6’s good graces – she couldn’t know what you or Vulpes plotted. It is a good thing you were right about Benny,” Caesar chuckled, “he arrived only a little before you. I have the Platinum Chip in my hands. I intended to offer Benny to Courier 6 as a gift, so she can decide the manner in which the man who shot her in the head, dies.” What he would do with the chip, he still wasn’t sure.

He understood the risks all the way around. He was sitting on a ticking timebomb.

“Lucius made him talk, and he sung out Sibilus as if it might protect him, and said he was only doing what you asked of him, before he started to tell the truth of his own motivations for being here, and impersonating a legionnaire,” Caesar grinned, “you know, he went through all the work of getting an outfit, and sneaking on our boat with some old-world stealth tech, only to keep his hair?” Caesar shook his head. “Ridiculous.”

But that wasn’t anything about punishment or repentance.

“As you did have Courier 6 intentionally harmed, you will face punishment. I cannot punish you greatly – I understand why you did it, and it was on the orders of a superior. Perhaps not to harm her, but nonetheless…orders.” Also, he had promised Aemilia that Sibilus would return, and this was an important relationship to maintain. He wouldn’t be allowed to maim Sibilus greatly or Aemilia would notice. “Ten lashes, deep but not visible. Lucius will see to it – and not bloody, Lucius, he has to remain pretty enough for Courier 6, she seems to have taken a liking to him,” a joke, but not one at all, “and you will trade your shoes for the wooden sandals until you leave our grounds.”

The wooden sandals were brutal in their way; there was no flexibility, no pliability. Even the most calloused of soles suffered in them while walking over the hard ground. It was a subtle thing that made every step agony after about an hour, or less, on one’s feet.
 
There is some hesitation before the sound of the weapon goes off. Perhaps it was nerves, or perhaps the researcher and Arcade had been talking, Vulpes thought he heard some murmuring. The frumentarius knew better than to think they were conspiring together behind his own back as well. Of course, he didn’t trust the Follower, it was simply logical that Arcade wouldn’t be scheming. The idea of the broc flower becoming contaminated did indeed harm everyone, which of course a Follower of the Apocalypse couldn’t allow. Even if it meant not taking a blow that could potentially cripple the Legion.

And the researcher?

Well, Vulpes had been given exactly the reins to control that one.

‘Love’. What an obnoxiously useful weakness indeed. Vulpes could scoff at it but doesn’t as he hears Arcade’s footsteps as he walks towards the hallway that Vulpes is positioned at the end of.

As Arcade comes to join him, he gives a stiff nod as Arcade speaks. Though he doesn’t respond verbally.

The frumentarius doesn’t bother to go back and send a final parting intimidating promise of death upon Joab’s family if the researcher doesn’t cooperate. As the leader of the frumentarii deems the man sufficiently aware of the consequences should he fail. Instead, he opens the door (only part of the way, just like last time- in order to avoid the door creaking. More out of habit than necessity.) and steps out into the night, Arcade on his heels.

Low and silent, Vulpes quickly creeps away from the clearing and back towards the cover of the forest. They don’t come across the guards again; Arcade had rather sufficiently sent them on a ‘wild goose chase’. It proved to be rather fruitful for them, as they didn’t need to worry about one of the guards stumbling upon them. Not that Vulpes was worried, he simply needed to keep the amount of bodies to a minimum in order to curb suspicions for long enough to give them time to get Joab’s family.

The frumentarius still isn’t how sure how far guards had gone looking for their suspects, so he doesn’t immediately become relieved as soon as they find the main road again. Vulpes decides to stay under cover and travel parallel to the road for some time in the forest, just in case they needed to dart into the shadows. Though, once deemed adequately far enough, he leads them back onto the asphalt. Pausing only to reach into his bag and quickly pulls on the trench coat that he’d been wearing upon leaving New Vegas, to cover his armor. With the NCR in the area, he knew they sent out ranger patrols often and didn’t want to risk being seen. He pulls down the coyote cowl as well and pulls back on his bag, breaking his brief intermission to continue walking. The farther they got from such a place, the better.

Though he did have an intention to stop to rest. Not for himself, no- Vulpes could have easily made it back to New Vegas without resting. Though the Doctor he knew must be sore, if it was to be believed that he truly wasn’t used to traveling. “We’ll stop to rest when we come upon the point where this road meets Highway 95 at its terminus.” He spoke. “We will rest until first light, and then will be back to traveling so we may get back to New Vegas as quickly as possible.”

~***~

Judgement had been passed.

Sibilus should feel only relief that Lord Caesar was so merciful, though he could not stop the bitterness inside of him that he was being punished in the first place.

He reminded himself that he had been the one to cause harm to Courier Six. Sibilus was at fault, he knew the consequences of what would happen if he enacted his plan. He should feel no bitterness at all. He forced Caesar’s hand after all, for disobeying- for nearly getting Aemilia killed.

It was his fault. Caesar was simply making sure that justice was upheld.

Why didn’t it feel like justice?

“Thank you, Lord Caesar.” He said simply. A part of Sibilus was well and truly thankful that he hadn’t had to suffer a worse fate. It could always be worse.

Merciful, the Son of Mars had given him mercy.

Then why didn’t it feel like mercy?

Only did Sibilus stand in order to follow Lucius, who bowed at the command. “Yes, my Lord, I will see to it at once.” The man was normally rather lenient, though despite that he inspired respect from many legionnaires. Though Sibilus knew that the man had a brutality to him, a dark side- just like everyone in the Legion needed just to survive.

It was lucky that Aemilia had some fondness for him- it was the only thing that saved the frumentarius from likely being lashed to death, crucified or worse.

Sibilus wants to laugh, he stamps the urge down violently.

If Aemilia knew all that he did, she would likely had told Caesar to put him on a cross.

He and Lucius leave to go have his punishment enacted. Once away from prying eyes, he strips off his armor and pulls down the top of his tunica to expose his back, Lucius hadn’t needed to order him to do so- he already knew how this worked.

Sibilus felt that the humiliation was a part of it. Not just the pain of the lashing itself, but in stripping and being vulnerable.

“You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.” Lucius says, not in an unkind way. Simply a matter of fact. “You need to be careful, Sibilus- Vulpes does have a fondness for your talents. It would be a shame to lose you from something so simple as a bad decision or a lapse in judgement.” The frumentarius kneels, and he nods- not sure exactly what to say. “It will be over with swiftly.” A small comfort, though Sibilus knows Lucius will not be holding back his blows to lessen the pain of his punishment. No- only to keep his skin intact as Lord Caesar ordered.

Sibilus breathes between strikes, counts them in his head. He leans into the pain, it isn’t the worse that he’s had. Though he knows that the shoes were truly what would prolong his discomfort. Though, the bruises would be deep- he can already feel them bubble up near his bones. It is a hard dull impact sort of pain instead of the usual sharp cut. It shouldn’t be worse, but it still hurts. He doesn’t cry out, has learned to keep stoic despite the pain.

“There.” Lucius says, giving a small nod. “You took your first part of your punishment honorably. Now, go and trade your footwear for the sandals. You’re dismissed.”

“Thank you, Lucius.” His words might have trembled slightly from the force of holding back a small grunt of pain as he rose to his feet. Though Lucius either wasn’t perceptive enough to hear the tremble or simply did not mention it. Sibilus was thankful it was Lucius, as he hadn’t thrown any mockery at him as well as the punishment. The frumentarius wasn’t sure if it was professionalism or something else.

Pulling on the upper half of his tunica, biting back a hiss- he decided to carry his armor. He did not want to put it on when the strikes were still fresh. Sibilus knew he would need to eventually and it would likely be worse when the bruises swelled- but he did not want to deal with it just yet. Swapping his boots for the wooden sandals, he immediately knew why such a punishment was enacted. Subtle, but devious- the pain would again be bone deep and hidden from prying eyes. The pain wouldn’t begin immediately, but when it did it would be an ache that couldn’t be ignored.

He bowed his head and took his leave, Lucius had no parting words for him- though he thought he felt the other man’s eyes on his back.

The frumentarius straightened despite the pain, not wanting to show any weakness as he left Lucius’ area. He himself decided to get clean from his travel, and to change into clothing instead of walking around in his partially worn armor.

Returning to the area where the frumentarii bunked when they were at the Fort (except for Vulpes, of course, he had his own room) he used a washbasin to clean the grime and sweat from himself before getting changed into a different and clean tunica. He had to call in a slave to help with his toga both because of the pain prevented him from doing so, as well as the fact that togas were difficult to drape oneself, he only wore the toga as he seemed to be expected to go to the dinner that Aemilia was to have with Lord Caesar.

The slave that aided him seemed oddly familiar- for some reason he could not place. Such intense eyes that made him feel under scrutiny despite the obvious power dynamic between them. He nodded his thanks as the slave left once completing her job, and she seemed relieved to be away from him. Sibilus didn’t blame her.

He wondered if she had a name.

Sibilus left then to go regroup with Aemilia. Returning to the abode that had been provided by Lord Caesar, he lifted his hand to knock stiffly against her door.

The discomfort from the sandals were slowly growing. He ignored that and the bruised on his back the best he could.
 
No trouble catches them, either from the guards, or from Vault 22. If there was something that threw green plasma from its hands, Arcade and Vulpes did not have to deal with it. They made it safely to the road. Then, they made it safely out of the forest, and they could continue their trek along the normal path up to Highway 95, where Arcade would be allowed a bit of a respite.

He was, indeed, tired by the time they got to that point, not only from walking, but from the way his mind refused to turn off and continued to spin through ideas and options, even if he didn’t fully know what to do next.

That was likely why he couldn’t turn it off.

‘I would rather be learning with anyone else.’ Yet here he was, stuck with Vulpes, as they settled down under the darkness of night, and Arcade took a seat, folding his legs awkwardly before him, and resting his arms on them as he leaned into them.

He is silent for a few moments, before he admits, “I can’t go into Gomorrah as I am, can I? The Vinny thing…isn’t going to work for this.” Vinny was a merchant, and had no business with this family. Arcade didn’t know what identity would work to get close to the family. He doubted that they were being well kept, though.

At least, not well in the sense that Joab would want.

Alive, certainly. Hopefully. Unless Clanden got them?

“They’re lying to him about his family.” Arcade shuts his eyes.

‘And we’ll be lucky if they’re alive and in one piece.’

He doesn’t say that. He assumes Vulpes knows that, too. The man didn’t have much interaction with his family…they could say whatever they needed to about his family, and Joab had to trust it was okay. “They’re not the kind of people who house others without…using them, too.” Somehow, someway, and Arcade hated all that thought meant in a place like Gomorrah. “What persona is going to get us close to his family?” he sighs it out, accepting his own fate of having to try something on.

Aware he has limited practice, but he thinks he has enough.

He knows how to lie about what’s important.

He might not be able to change much of the key factors about himself like Vulpes can, but he can be different, all the same. He can bury parts of himself. He’s done it before. He’s always doing it, in truth.

It’s that resolve and knowledge that comes to the surface in accepting what has to be done here. For the greater good, he can do it.

~***~

Caesar and Sibilus left, but Aemilia was not alone for long. Soon, strips of leather were brought, something called a ‘peplos’ was brought – red, it was always red – and a bath, hot water, soap, healing powder. All, by slaves, and the sight of it made Aemilia want to scream.

She practically did once Aemilia had dressed down into a red tunica to repair her armor, and one of the women took the armor herself. “No!” her voice may as well have been a whip crack. The woman flinches and drops it, then drops to her knees, forehead on the ground, quivering.

“I—I meant no offense, I wanted to repair the armor, I saw—”

“I repair it,” Aemilia picked the top up. There wasn’t much wrong with it, just that hole where a bullet grazed her side. Well, and some marks where nightstalkers got their claws into her pants, but those weren’t so bad. “I…you can get up,” Aemilia sighs at the sight, and sets the armor on the bed aside for her to offer her hand.

The woman doesn’t take it, but rises, head down.

“I can help with your wounds? Or with the bath? Whatever you need.”

‘I don’t need you to do anything.’ Aemilia swallows that down. She tries not to stare at the collar.

“What is your name?” Aemilia asks.

“Pardon?” the woman looks up.

“Your name.”

“They call me—”

“What do you call yourself?”

There is a heavy beat of silence, before Aemilia steps forward and takes both of the woman’s hands, “You’d rather stay in here for a bit with me than out there, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” her voice trembles, “I don’t know what sort of person you are to come here…to…to want to help…them.” She looks up, and it’s more like a child peering up than it is a grown woman. A child who’s been beaten, repeatedly, for doing such a thing. “Why are you here?”

‘I don’t know.’

She isn’t there for Caesar. Not really. She is there to know him, to figure out what she can do, but the driving push to go that quickly was Benny, and she didn’t know if Benny had made it first. “I haven’t decided,” Aemilia answers. “I’m figuring it out, and I’m only going to hear from Caesar and his trusted few, if you won’t tell me what you can. Shouldn’t I know that, to decide what I’m doing here?”

Aemilia lets go of her hands, “You can’t repair my armor,” she said, “but maybe you can show me more about repairing armor. I’m not unskilled.”

The woman nods, and for a while, she does help instruct Aemilia on repairing the hole, and strengthening other weak elements in the armor from years of use, and years of mixed leather repair; the armor was a patchwork of material and quality, a testament to life on the wastes.

“If you hope to be a warrior in the Legion, it will not be. If you hope for any freedom….”

“You don’t think Caesar’s mind can be changed?” Aemilia asks while working on the armor under the still-nameless woman’s gaze.

“I…I do not know, but I do not think so. Even so, there is the Legate, and he…he is the worst of all.”

‘And heir apparent.’ Not named, but if Caesar died, he would take over.

“Would you want it to change? If I could change it, do you think there is enough redeemable?”

The woman hesitates. “There are those I like. Even among the men,” she admits, “there are…not all terrible souls here. People forced by circumstance. People who believe because they know naught else. They are not cruel by nature but practice.”

‘And habit is hard to break.’

Aemilia knew that too well. “I can finish the job. You still need to cleanse yourself and tend to your wounds, then dress for dinner.”

“I want to wear this.”

“Caesar will be wroth.”

Aemilia can’t help the bit of a tight smirk. “He has to impress me. I don’t have to impress him.” She was in an interesting position, and she’d failed to make use of it. She couldn’t let that happen again. “Besides I don’t know how to wear that thing.”

“I can help—”

“No,” Aemilia denies again. “You can help if you have a proper dress somewhere here. Not this relic.”

“This is…new.”

Aemilia sighs. “Then I want something old. Something people of a better time wore. I’ll wear that.” She would not blend into their time.

“I—I may know where some are. If I can find it, will you wear it?”

Aemilia glances up from the armor. She still wants to wear the armor, but…, “Sure.” If.

The woman rises, bows, “I will return,” and off she goes, leaving Aemilia to her work. There is time enough to wash up afterwards, and she doesn’t go back to the leathers as soon as she is clean, but cleans them off, before the woman returns with, to Aemilia’s surprise, a dress.

A real dress.

And, of course, red.

Despite the color, and the laugh Aemilia can’t suppress, she decides to wear it, but with her boots, not whatever weird sandals they wore here.

She never gets the woman’s name before she’s gone, before Sibilus knocks on the door, and Aemilia answers.

When her eyes land on him, she laughs at the outfit, before quickly covering her lips and trying to suppress the bubbling amusement at the relic he’s wearing. “Are you a senator, Sibilus?” she can’t help but ask as she gestures him in, “does Caesar have senators?” better question, because the answer was probably ‘no’ to both questions. “Now I really want to go back into my armor if you’re going to be wearing that to dinner.”

The false…safety of cloth worries her more than it should.
 
The frumentarius still doesn’t make a campfire, he doesn’t know if the guards are still searching and he doesn’t want to give them a smoke trail to follow. Instead, he simply sits down cross-legged on the ground. Despite seeming to be ‘at rest’ he is definitely not ‘at ease’ with the way his hard and intense eyes scrutinize the landscape for dots of light on the horizon. He does glance his cool impassive gaze onto Arcade as he speaks, and he hums quietly. “No, you can’t. Neither can I go as Vincent Thebes. There is a high plausibility that whatever persona we use to enter will need to be burned afterwards, and I am not destroying a persona with so many valuable resources tied up within it.”

A small nod and a head tilt in affirmative. “Of course, they are lying, they likely have them forced into working as whores. Do you truly believe all the prostitutes working underneath the Omertas are there because it is liberating work?” He glanced away as he saw movement from his peripheral vision, but it was only the breeze catching swirling motes of dust in the form of a small wispy sand plume. On instinct he had moved his hand towards his ripper, but he drew away from it. Though his hand never strayed too far from were his primary weapon lay.

Always ready.

A frumentarius could never let their guard down.

“One of us could attempt to find occupation within Gomorrah. It would give us reason enough to be able to roam- more so if we are seen with a ‘client’ that could be another disguise. Though I am loathe to stoop so low. Though it might also catch the attention of Clanden. Which I am not eager to set you within the sights of without your weapon.” Vulpes could protect himself easily enough without them, even without his hidden blades. Arcade didn’t seem the sort. The doctor was also simply too valuable a tool to allow die by the hands of some sadist.

He continues his thought experiment. “Catching his attention could prove to be…useful however. It would allow us more leniency with where we go should he provide his favoritism, but of course only until Clanden decided he was done ‘playing’ and wanted to finish what he started.” Vulpes tapped his chin, squinting slightly as he mulled over any other potential options.

A gambler was an easy disguise, but it didn’t allow the freedom of being able to go into areas that were only meant for employees. It would be difficult and unlike other casinos the Omertas didn’t take pity on ‘lost drunks’ and wouldn’t hesitate to make bodies disappear.

“A chem pusher could be another adequate way to get into the Omerta’s good graces. They use them often enough.” Though given that Vulpes didn’t know much about profligate chems, he didn’t offer himself to take up that role.

He gestured to Arcade. “Though, if you have any thoughts- don’t be silent Doctor Gannon.” Surprisingly amendable to listening to the other man’s thoughts on the matter.

~***~

Sibilus glances up as the door swings open, initially keeping his eyes towards the ground as he waited. Though as his eyes traveled up to Aemilia’s outfit, his brows rose ever so slightly, and he did not speak for a moment. Even though Aemilia was snickering at his expense.

He bites his tongue slightly. Not from embarrassment, but almost mourning the fact that the dress was red. A rich emerald might be nice, green like her eyes... not red like the blood of Mars. The blood that drowned everything in a torrential downpour of violence and war.

She looks…well- like one of those women from the old world. She had a similar appearance to how they used to look in faded and time weathered magazines. The ones with the easy smiles and dangerous charm, the dress spoke of the old world. Before Mars supposedly destroyed everything. It was…

Realizing finally that she was laughing at him, Sibilus was drawn out of his stupor, in which he completely ignored the first jesting part of her greeting- he blinked owlishly at her. A faint flush rising to his face. Either from embarrassment or something else. He wasn’t quite sure. He knew she mocked his outfit, though he didn’t bother to comment on it since he hadn’t been paying enough attention to know fully what he was answering to. He felt off kilter, and he didn’t like it much at all.

Why did Aemilia always make him feel like he was always on the back foot?

Eventually he spoke, his words hardly above a murmur. “You should wear the dress. You look….nice.” He finishes lamely. He then clears his throat and averts his gaze again. He feels immense guilt for what, complimenting her? What right did he have to do that? He had nearly gotten her killed.

The ten lashes and wooden sandals didn’t feel like enough of a punishment.

Though it shouldn’t come from Caesar, should it? He hadn’t been the one Sibilus had wronged.

“Of course, it is up to you.” He spoke, quietly. Though sternly, as he managed to gain back his façade. Or at least a bit, enough to cover the fact that he felt like a recruit all over again. Weak, helpless, being snatched away by the tide.

It was easier when he was pretending, but for some reason- it was hard to pretend around Aemilia. It was as if his words didn’t come to him as easily, perhaps off guard by her natural charisma that seemed to win everyone over. Sibilus thought he would be used to such a figure, but no.

Or maybe Sibilus was just mentally weak, too weak to be a frumentarius. He shouldn’t be having a second thought about sabotaging the Courier- she was nothing but a pawn in the grand game that was the holy crusade of Caesar. He should feel no remorse, no guilt- that was not how a frumentarius acted.

He shouldn’t have brought Daphne with him, he should have thrown it into the Colorado River. He didn’t though, instead the object with a name was hidden under layers of draped fabric.

“I doubt Lord Caesar will be prepared for our arrival just yet, as he hasn’t sent a runner to come retrieve us. Would you like to walk, or stay in your abode until then?” He changes the subject to something easier.
 
Arcade isn’t surprised by the lack of a fire. His coat is heavy enough against the chill that comes across a desert at night, although the nights haven’t been too bad lately. He wasn’t planning to start one, either.

He wasn’t sure what he was planning for Gomorrah, but his idea sticks on one that Vulpes mentions, even if it is the most detestable option. ‘Seeking work. Clanden.’ Clanden already showed interest in him when he pretended to be with ‘Vinny’. Arcade couldn’t shapeshift the way Vulpes could, but take off his glasses, strip him down, and he’d likely still appeal to Clanden.

Or change the frames. That might be better. Clanden seemed to have an innocence kink and glasses added to that. He had a couple of spares back in his room with the Followers. The Wastes were a hard place to get glasses; he kept whatever worked, and he had a rounded pair he didn’t really like the look of anymore.

Although, Arcade knows he’s not the best without his weapons, he’s better than some. He has some experience at making just about anything into a weapon. He’s needed to before. “You’re onto something with the occupation seeking, and Clanden was already interested,” Arcade notes, frowning, but only in thought. Not at the idea itself. “It wouldn’t be that hard to play the role of looking for occupation there, and I know enough about chems to know what to expect if I have to take any in the role.”

And enough to get himself clean afterwards.

“Clanden seems close to Nero and Big Sal, so he might have some information…or know who he isn’t allowed to touch,” which, the family might at least have that protection. Perhaps he could find a way to pry that out of Clanden, or just drop a name – someone who told him about the opportunity? “It’d probably be too forward to mention that one of family told me about the opportunity.”

Arcade lifts one hand and rests his chin in it, tapping his cheek with one finger. “Maybe asking to meet others in the line of business wouldn’t be, though. Newer ones. Once I have a foot in the door.”

~***~

‘Are you blushing?’

Aemilia wants to jump at the sight of blood in his cheeks immediately. She wants to be merciless, because this is Sibilus, he is a legionnaire, and he is blushing at a bit of leg in a skirt, a bit of shoulder visible around a red strap, and there is something more hilarious about that than the toga he’s donned. It removes any question about the dress, at any rate, even if she also considered it to be the wrong color.

Of course, he’s also likely flushed from the comment of a toga, too, and he tries to redirect, offering to go for a walk. Which, Aemilia does want to continue exploring the area, and going on her own hadn’t…quite felt safe. She wouldn’t have minded that with Roland at her hip, but without a weapon, she’s only too aware of how defenseless she is. She never learned to throw a proper punch, and every single man here could.

Every single man here was taught to be able to fight without a weapon – and they weren’t nice. They thought they could take whatever they wanted from women. The mark might protect her, but it felt as much a collar as a slave collar. She still wore it, but she hated it more after being helped by the nameless woman.

“Then I’ll wear the dress, for you,” Aemilia can’t completely leave it alone, the humor in her voice, even if she doesn’t go for blood. Perhaps later, outside the Legion camp. Here, there is too much other tension in the air to bother him with something as silly as that. “I’ve never seen you that red before. It was cute.”

Cute.

As if a legionnaire could be cute.

“I did want to see the coliseum closer,” she says, giving her opinion on the walking or not walking, blissfully unaware of what a trial it will be for Sibilus, “And then any secret little places worth seeing. I hardly know this area or its sights like I could guess on the Strip,” and her sight-seeing tour there was cut short.

Next time. “Preferably places that aren’t going to get more ‘where is your slave collar’ thrown at me, because I might eventually punch someone for that, and while that won’t hurt anyone, I’m sure it will exasperate Caesar.” And possibly get her hurt, which she didn’t want. “Although I can handle that at the coliseum to see it.”
 
A small tilt of his head, Vulpes regarded Arcade with a single slightly arched brow. The Doctor seemed surprisingly willing to accept the cover as a potential prostitute. Despite the danger that Clanden potentially posed. Either foolishness or confidence in his abilities. The frumentarius supposed only time would tell.

“A foot in, you say…” he mulled over his own options. “A prostitute could have a need for a ‘pimp’ as the profligates like to call them.” He sneered slightly as he said this. His obvious disgust for the lecherous culture was not hidden very much at all. His normal monotone breaking ever so slightly into something a bit less unyielding to better show his revulsion. “A prostitute used to working the streets, and their souteneur trying to build an empire by attempting to strike a deal with the Omertas. It would give me ample reason for me to have a need to be nearby, the only problem being that the Omertas don’t like to share their whores. Though I imagine that a show of how much caps the prostitute had ‘earned’ might sway their opinion, perhaps the Omertas could be convinced with ample tribute.” At this point Vulpes was less talking to Arcade directly and instead more thinking out loud.

“Though that might also make it more difficult for me to pull away to look for the family without looking suspicious, should the negotiations last longer than I’d like. It might simply be easier to play the role of a potential client or even an ‘erotic dancer’ that they tend to hire.” He offered as he thought of other ideas as they came to him.

He does turn to look back at Arcade eventually, and squints his eyes as he gazed at him with a critical eye. “Your hair is far too memorable as it is. You will either need to wear a wig or you will need to temporarily dye it.” He explained. “It is far too striking and will easily be able to identify you, even without your attire.” Vulpes assumed that this was something the other man might have already realized, though Vulpes figured it couldn’t hurt to bring it up. “Most important when in disguise is to remember to be consistent, any slight holes in a story can be brushed aside with explaining. Though if you do not recall them later then it will be suspicious.” Again, common sense, though a reminder since Vulpes was rather experienced in pretending to be a different person.

~***~

‘Cute.’

There is nothing cute about a snake.

The comment sends him on guard, makes him want to recoil. He does, slightly, with a tense jaw and averted eyes. “You shouldn’t say things like that.” He warns. She’ll regret every word that comes from her lips now, once she learns the truth. Aemilia will regret feeling as if she was close with Sibilus. As if there is something more to him than venom and fangs, because she will only be sorely dissatisfied when she learns the truth.

A snake cannot change its scales.

Sibilus had hoped that she wouldn’t be inclined toward a walk and would instead like to remain in the relative comfort of her given abode. Though of course she wanted to explore. Being someplace new, it was a novelty for people wasn’t it? He swallowed the sigh that built up in his chest.

It was better, to suffer. It was his punishment after all. Wasn’t it appropriate that Aemilia’s choice would further that punishment? She was, after all, the one he wronged the most through his sabotage scheme.

He didn’t owe his allegiance to her, he shouldn’t feel guilty. He should feel ashamed because he went against the will of Caesar. He shouldn’t care about Aemilia’s ‘feelings’ on the matter.

Shouldn’t being the operative word.

“Then we shall take the paths that are hopefully less busy.” He doesn’t offer his arm, like Caesar had. Sibilus doesn’t want to touch her- doesn’t want to give her the impression that they are closer than they are. Since when the truth comes out it will only hurt more. (For who he’s not quite certain.)

They aren’t friends, and given Aemilia and her desire to get the Platinum Chip- they certainly weren’t even allies either. “We can go see the coliseum first, if you’d like. You aren’t allowed to enter it, however…” women weren’t allowed to enter as a combatant. There had been only one exception to that rule, and she was a slave obtained from Ranger Station Charlie. A ranger herself.

He begins to lead them, leading them off the branching path that is the main route and towards the smaller paths that wind through the large settlement. There are still some obstacles, some legionaries that leer at Aemilia- though when they notice the mark of Caesar their lecherous gaze tends to turn sour with envy or disgust that a woman might carry the Mark of Caesar. The frumentarius keeps his pace swift despite the sandals, knowing that Aemilia might be more comfortable not dallying under the stares.
 
Arcade tries not to laugh at the way Vulpes says ‘pimp’. Or at the mere idea of Vulpes acting as a pimp, because he knows, deep down, that Vulpes will somehow pull it off despite his utter revulsion to the idea. His expression remains curious, though. He can’t make it impassive as Vulpes can, while the frumentarius outlines his options aloud.

Erotic dancer, however, almost breaks him to a snort. ‘What, and call yourself Vixen? Oh lord you probably would.’ Arcade starts to shake his head, “There’s no real reason we have to go as a pair, is there?” There might be, but it distracts, a moment, from his hair.

He doesn’t own any wigs.

He has no plans to dye his hair, either.

He’s sure Vulpes would let him borrow a wig, though. ‘How is my hair that notable? It’s just short and blond.’ He can argue later, when they’ve hashed out identities. “I mean, okay, I get that if you’re someone tied to me, it gives you an excuse to hang around me, but plenty of people just…get drawn to a person, so if you go in as any regular gambler, there’s nothing saying you couldn’t be just a potential client when it’s needed, is there? Offer more than Clanden at the right time….”

And sweep Arcade away.

“It’s not like my persona has to know you aren’t someone big in Gomorrah. Some lies about knowing Big Sal, some caps, and off I go.” Maybe with some trouble from Clanden, but that wasn’t too important, was it?

“Plus I don’t think you can pull off erotic dancer. No offense, and please, do not prove it, I don’t need that burned into my memory,” Arcade laughs, a bit, and shakes his head, “it’s just hard to imagine you knowing any dance whatsoever.” Let alone any dealing with anything erotic, given he fell asleep to avoid whores.

“And I know how to keep a cover story,” he sighs, “but is my hair really that memorable? It’s just blonde. I have some round glasses I plan to wear, that should help mask a lot….”

~***~

Aemilia recognizes the tension, and wonders if Sibilus was that protective of a reputation that ‘cute’ is so offensive. The reaction is stowed away, and it does dampen her mood, a little. She meant to tease – not offend.

Still, he is willing to take her by the coliseum. ‘Can you not sneak me in?’ She wants to ask, but refrains, deciding to see if there is an opportunity. The Mark provides her with several already – including the envious and disgusted look of legionnaires they pass. Aemilia pretends not to notice, though her eyes catch several looks as she looks around, taking the camp in as they walk, keeping up with the brisk pace even if she wouldn’t have minded it a bit slower.

Just to see more.

Of course, as they get closer, Aemilia does quicken her own pace a bit, eager to see the marvel of stone. It is, indeed, too high to see over the walls to know what the inside looks like. ‘How many slaves worked on this?’ Her awe almost dies as that pointed thought shoots through her mind, but not entirely. It’s still a marvel, no matter how it was made.

That it was made by slaves, likely, doesn’t diminish what it is, just the people who ordered it created that way.

‘I will see it.’ Aemilia doesn’t shy away from getting close to the structure, “Did you see it built?” She asks Sibilus, walking around the structure, looking for an opening. She’s somewhat surprised there aren’t several, but there is one – and it is unguarded. So, Aemilia adds to her question, “Have you ever fought in it? Or watched a fight?” while angling herself towards the entryway.

Intending fully to walk through it, and hoping Sibilus won’t stop her.

It’s an innocent thing, after all. At least, in her mind – a small crime that shouldn’t upset Caesar all that much. He never has to know, anyways.
 
“No, I suppose we don’t have to go together as a pair. Though it would be helpful for the both of us to be able to go places that regular gamblers cannot.” He pursed his lips, but ultimately found that being a gambler would be the simplest identity. It would also be one to draw the least attention.

Even if he couldn’t disguise himself as someone with restricted area access, it wouldn’t be difficult to meander quietly through the hallways and avoid any guards. Being so close to the Omertas for so long, Vulpes knows the patrol routines in the restricted areas- a map in his mind of times pertaining to the schedules and shifts. In addition, Gomorrah had many places to hide bodies.

“I suppose recycling James Fox might be the easiest, he is often seen on the Strip and has often visited Gomorrah in particular.” For anyone else it might be strange talking about themselves in third person, though for a frumentarius it was simply another odd quirk picked up from juggling so many different identities. The spies that didn’t tend to have separation of themselves and their identities were often the ones who were not able to remain pure in the scum of debauchery.

He squinted slightly. “If you do take this persona to play, Doctor Gannon- do be sure you can adequately keep yourself from being exposed while also managing to get the information we need. We cannot afford any hinderances to this mission. Though, I suppose you already know that.” Vulpes very much had doubts about Arcade’s ability to play a role convincingly. The only reason he wasn’t discouraging it outright was due to the Follower’s previous actions when playing the part of Vinny’s ‘lover’. There was promise, but the frumentarius wasn’t certain how well crafted it was just yet.

Vulpes does allow himself to roll his eyes. “Doctor Gannon-“ He gives a sharp smirk, his eyes having a predatory gleam in them. “-I can play any role and excel at it.” He doesn’t offer any further evidence, and simply allows his smirk to slip quickly back underneath the flat emotionless mask the frumentarius wears as an instinct.

“Of course, your hair is memorable, Doctor Gannon. Light hair that isn’t artificial is rather unique, and so is your eye color.” He offers simply before continuing. “The three things any eyewitness usually notices about a person is their hair, their eyes and build. Which you are quite notable in all areas.” It is a matter of fact, rather than any sort of compliment. That much is obvious given the way it was said.

“If you are to walk in as you are, even with a different persona- the fact that you have all the same attributes as you had the first time you walked in will likely immediately garner suspicion. The glasses will certainly help as they can give the illusion of a different shaped face, though the hair will likely need to be adjusted in some way as well if you would like to remain cautious.”

~***~

His feet are aching now, not terribly but it is there and noticeable against the backdrop that is the bruises on his back. Bitterly, he focuses instead as Aemilia quickens beside him to rush to the amphitheater. She seems eager, though Sibilus can’t find himself from faulting her for it. It is quite a construct, though for some reason Sibilus never did like it. “I was here when construction began on it.” He agreed. “I wasn’t with the initial group that had come from Flagstaff, though I was in the next group that was assigned to the frontlines not long after. By the time I had come to Fortification Hill, construction had just begun. Before then, the temporary arena had been made of wood rather than stone. I fought in that arena, but I wasn’t here when the coliseum was completed due to an assignment.” He explained.

Thirteen months. That’s how long he’s been away, and—he hadn’t missed Fortification Hill in the slightest.

Homesick? Pah.

He continues, slowing down his walking pace slightly. As if it might help the already sore soles of his feet. “I’ve been back for an occasional face-to-face mission report, so I’ve seen it. Though I’ve never been inside myself.” Not that he much cared for going in, either.

Though Aemilia…seemingly did.

Sibilus does not grab for her or even act like he will, but his voice does come out slightly louder than his usual low murmur. “What are you doing?” He hissed. “You can’t go in- it’s not… women aren’t allowed inside. Not even to observe fights. If Lord Caesar finds about you going inside, you will likely have your Mark revoked and I’ll be crucified.” His panic trickled through his voice, the same panic that he always tried to hard to conceal. He clenched his hands by his side, Sibilus’ blunt nails biting into the palms of his hands. He took a short breath to try and reinforce his unbothered demeanor.

“We don’t know if anyone is inside. Despite the fact that there isn’t anyone guarding the entrance, that doesn’t mean it’s completely empty.” Against the discomfort he moved quickly to try and catch up with Aemilia, trying to talk some sense into her. “Some building isn’t worth your life.”

Even with the Mark, Sibilus heavily doubts that Caesar will be pleased about the courier wandering into his coliseum. Perhaps she could feign ignorance well enough, though- then if she did the blame would be put onto him. The frumentarius doubts even with Aemilia having some sort of ‘favor’ towards him that it would save him if he did not keep her from going into a restricted area. No, Sibilus also must be extra careful now, as he had already been punished once. He doubts the Son of Mars would have such mercy on him again.

In the Legion, mistakes or anything seen as mistakes or failure was punished harshly.

No one was safe from Caesar’s wrath, not even his closest of allies, not even him. The one that had been covered in pitch and set aflame before thrown into the Grand Canyon. Caesar was not merciful, and Sibilus did not want to test the boundaries of how far he could go before he suffered a similar fate.
 
Vulpes warms to the idea of being a nobody – or rather, James Fox, the gambler frequently seen around. Still, in some respects, a nobody, just a familiar one. Not a strange face in the crowd, but a face that belonged. That might help their odds. Arcade nods, accepting that possibility. And if he wanted to then play client, he could, if it was needed.

All Arcade had to do was find Clanden, convince him he wanted to work for the Omertas, get roped up into him a bit…ask to meet a few of the whores…he’d find a way to find the family and not get himself killed.

It wasn’t as though he’d dealt with only vanilla lovers in his life.

He still doubted Vulpes’s ability to play any role, but he doesn’t challenge it further, reminding himself he doesn’t actually want answers. Ever. ‘Play a decent human being.’ No, he does not even offer that challenge. Maybe at another point, but right now, they are working together. That requires some restraint of his tongue.

Instead he sighs at his hair being commented on. “Fine, fine, I’ll wear a wig if you have a good one I can borrow, but I don’t know how to wear one,” he had no practice, and hadn’t fully understood what Vulpes was doing when he removed the one he’d worn earlier. He obviously used some sort of substance to make it stick. “So you’ll have to show me that, too.”

He couldn’t change his height, but his hair, and his glasses, he could do – along with his clothes. He supposed all of those would go a long way towards this. “I may also need some help picking out clothes for this. I don’t exactly frequent these places, and I don’t think I can just walk in shirtless with pasties on my chest, in short-shorts when I don’t work there, yet.” Which otherwise seemed a like an outfit that was supported. He'd seen a few while he was in there, after all.

Maybe he could, but there was probably a bit of decorum required until he was gainfully employed.

~***~

Sibilus clearly has no idea how much the phrase ‘women aren’t allowed’ was pushing Aemilia to defy Caesar’s laws. No one would tell her what she could or couldn’t do, based on something as flimsy as the fact she was a woman. She wanted in precisely because she wasn’t allowed in, and for the stupidest of reasons.

She steps through the archway. She sees the stands opposite, she sees the outline of the arena. She wants to see where Caesar likely sits. She wants to see where the combatants are kept – but Sibilus cries ‘crucifixion’ and she sighs, closing her hands into fists so her own nails dig into her palms as she stops and looks up at him, and how far he’d followed.

‘If Caesar would kill me for such a small slight as this, he doesn’t deserve to lead.’

Reality is a different beast, and here, Caesar leads. Here, he could revoke his mark, and though Aemilia doubts that he would – there is the chance. It is true, he has to appear magnanimous to win her favor, but he also has to balance that with the Legion’s opinion of him. If she tilts the opinion too far away from favor, then he has to act decisively against her.

This is small in her world – one building, indeed.

Perhaps it is much bigger in their world, where it is The Building.

“I will walk in here and see it one day.” It is a promise, a threat, everything wrapped up in that determined statement. Somehow, someway, she would see the forbidden thing, because it was forbidden.

Because she has tasted power and ambition, and decided she likes it.

“But I’ll wait until your life isn’t at stake. Just mine.” And so she walks by him, out of the coliseum entry, and back into the world of the Legion. She waits for him, of course, and gestures, “You have control now. You can show me to places that guarantee you won’t get in any trouble,” but of course, she does want to see more. She’d already told him as much, though.
 
“That is acceptable.” The frumentarius agreed easily enough to Arcade’s need to be taught how to wear a wig. Vulpes had assumed on some level that he would need to teach the Follower some things in order to better prepare for taking on the role. Truthfully it felt no different than teaching a fledgling frumentarius. Vulpes was very particular about his agents and their training, and while he couldn’t personally oversee all of his frumentarii with their training- he did train those who in his opinion had the most potential. Gabban had been the first frumentarius he’d personally trained, Sibilus his most recent.

He appreciated Gabban’s loyalty, he lacked the creativity of other frumentarii under his command and as such was usually more often put into positions where he was playing an already built/preconceived role by Vulpes. If given a part, Gabban was able to play it flawlessly. Sibilus however was one of the few who the frumentarii leader had given the reins to establish his own identity. Quick with his wit, and even more so with a hidden blade. It had been a waste to send the man to Freeside and Vulpes is rather pleased that he was able to get him reassigned.

A slight amused glimmer passed behind Vulpes’ eyes, for a single moment dulling the sharp edge to his stern gaze. The doctor’s words rather entertained him. “Clothing will be important. You can tell much about a person from how they dress.” It was crafting a story through visual cues, so that way before one even opened their mouth to speak- the audience one was attempting to sway would come to a conclusion. It was their job to make sure it was the conclusion they crafted. “More important is your backstory, it does not have to be elaborate- though it is pertinent to at least have some manner of it laid out beforehand. Making up too many pieces of information ‘on the spot’ can cause the loss of consistency if one isn’t careful. Aranea contortus in eius telam.”

Again he hammered in the importance of consistency, and truthfully it should be obvious. Common sense. Though Vulpes knew from experience that not everyone was cut to the task of pretending to be someone that they are not. “In any case, Doctor Gannon; I suggest you get some rest. I will keep watch. We will leave at first light.”

~***~

Sibilus only lets his own hands go slack beside him when he noticed Aemilia’s own hands balling up into fists. He only realized that he had his own hands clenched in the first place upon noticing her reaction. Trained to watch, to pick people apart from the sidelines. Certainly, when he was in a persona, he could spin his words like Arachne did threads. Though Sibilus could- he frankly preferred watching. Of picking up the details as everyone around him ignored him. People tended to let more information slip when they thought no one was paying attention.

He could hear the conviction in her words, and despite knowing it was a foolish endeavor for something so trivial, he believed she would. Believed that she would make it mean something, even if it didn’t mean much to Sibilius. Perhaps it was another injustice, another small slight that added up to the mountain and it was one that she wanted to rebel against. He honestly couldn’t say why it mattered so much to her, the frumentarius only had his guesses to go off of. Though he never seemed to be good enough to guess what Aemilia could possibly be thinking.

He physically has to subdue the reaction to flinch violently as she makes her remark. Sibilus’ life mattered- but only to him. Only because he was too much of a coward to see what was behind the final curtain. Why and how could Aemilia possibly care? Sibilus dying had little effect on her, Caesar could just as easily assign someone else to ‘escort’ her around the fort.

He sucks in a breath between his teeth. ‘Your life isn’t worth some stupid building either.’ He wants to say, though he doesn’t. While it may not be important to him, it is obviously important to Aemilia. Though he doesn’t understand her reasoning (and even if he did he may not agree with it) that still didn’t give him the right to dismiss it.

As she turns away from the coliseum, he watches her for a moment- before glancing back towards the entryway. He bites the flesh on the inside of his cheek, worries at it enough to pick open old sores in his mouth that makes them bleed again. It’s a bad habit, and it’s not one he bothers trying to break.

Her words make him tip up his head to regard her, and he smothers a small frown. Control, is that what she thinks his warning was? An attempt to control her?

Sibilus wants to laugh, it threatens to bubble up- he has to focus on not letting it out. It is a maniacal desperate thing, but he keeps it in check. It doesn’t escape despite the fact it tries.

Like Sibilus has control of anything.

He glances around, eyes darting as if looking for something to suddenly pop out of the shadows.

Sibilus doesn’t have control…but…

“If we hurry…you can take a glance.”

He doesn’t know why he says it.

(A part of him already knows. Maybe he wants to give her one good memory of him before she learns the truth and hates him. Like she should.)
 
Vulpes agreed to help Arcade out with the persona, which wasn’t much of a surprise. He saw the amusement flash, despite the dim lighting, and felt it almost curve his own lips into a smile to recognize the sense of humor was somewhat shared. Obviously, Arcade never really meant to go waltzing in like that – but he might for a laugh. He was a bit too gangly and not muscular enough to pull that look off, in his humble opinion.

He'd seen bodies it worked on, and it wasn’t his.

He couldn’t help but lose the slight curve, and roll his eyes, “I’m not an idiot, Vulpes. I know how to lie and continue a lie. I’ve caught enough people in lies to recognize what a bad lie is. You know how many addicts came into the Mormon Fort and tried to lie about it?” Not that such is how he knows.

He has greater lies. Greater things he’s hidden, and had to cover up, like knowledge of vertibirds and other things relating to the Enclave. He usually just pretends not to know, but when it slips, he has hidden it well. It helps that he’s always been in the role of a researcher – a seeker of knowledge always stumbles on information outside of their expertise.

However, sleep is necessary. “You know, Arachne,” Arcade knows Vulpes was speaking of spiders in general, as he lays down, “was only turned into a spider for her lies. They’re not the best example to use for good liars since they’re being punished for it. Everyone knows what they are, thanks to Athena,” he doesn’t know how well Vulpes knows the story. Was Athena given much credit in the Legion? It seems unlikely with Mars-Ares taking precedence.

He also knows that's not the full story. Arachne committed suicide after losing to the goddess, and Athena gave her life again so she could weave to her heart's content. Still, she wouldn't have been in the position if she hadn't boasted about her ability...if she hadn't lied and claimed to be better than Athena.

Still, “Crows are better. Foxes.” He gives him that, hating himself for it, “I guess that’s where you get your idea.” Personally, he preferred crows. Carrion birds, but smart – ridiculously smart. “If you need some rest, just wake me.” It had been a long trip for Vulpes, too, but he doesn’t encourage it beyond that as he shuts his eyes to rest.

He was going to need a name, and a story, and so his mind wandered while he rested, while he slept.

When he wakes, it’s again with the sun, easily as ever, and rubbing at his eyes, he murmurs, “Gonna need a black wig,” with the addition, “Morgan,” as the name his sleepy mind had wandered to, the story weaving itself of an orphan who was always seeking affection in all the wrong places, and spiraling out from there, the name from a Goddess, but Vulpes hardly needed to know of a competing pantheon.

Besides, if he chose Apollo for the crow thoughts, he’d have to keep his hair.

~***~

Although the conflict is hard to read, it is there. Aemilia could have cast it as merely a conflict of where to go by the way Sibilus’s eyes darted, but that wasn’t it. There was an expression – expressions – he refused access to his lips. Aemilia found she hated it, that he’d become so much more…reserved in the camp. Not that he’d been terribly expressive on the road, but he’d been more.

‘The Legion has truly fucked you up.’

He was so afraid of being killed over such a small thing.

He still offers her something, though. A tease, with a glance, and an urgency, and though Aemilia wants to squash her own excitement at the knowledge of all that’s already been stolen from her here – the sight of the coliseum, the ability to walk without fear, her weapons – she cannot help but to feel the sparks of excitement and hope again, of something new and interesting and secret.

How easily she’s drawn in by such things! It’s probably a terrible thing to be this easily lured by promises of interesting secrets, but Aemilia’s only been almost killed a few times – what’s another?

So the smile returns. “Then let’s hurry!” She takes a step, of course – before turning right back to him to encourage to actually show the way of it, since she has no idea which direction to run in to see this mysterious, wonderful, interesting thing – she doesn’t even know what she’s looking for!

But Sibilus has laid the bait, and so far, he hasn’t led her wrong.

Besides, those conflicting expressions might have been his own frustrations at the situation of things Aemilia couldn’t see, and couldn’t do, while here. Aemilia can try to think the best, even if she doesn’t quite believe it.
 
Vulpes doesn’t bother to explain that he had meant spiders being caught in their own webs as an example of a bad liar. He was well aware of the the story with Minerva (or Athena he supposed) and Arachne. Instead he keeps silent, focusing on the horizon. He doesn’t see any pinpricks of artificial lights in the darkness- he doubted he would but still, wise to be cautious.

Eventually darkness melts away from the horizon as the sun peaks over the Mojave. The reddish hues of dawn over the Charleston Mountain peak above is quite a… nice view he supposed. Though Vulpes much prefers dusk to dawn. Dusk means that night isn’t far behind, and the natural cloak of night was always a boon to stealth.

When he was young, he’d learned to dread morning as well. Another day creeping closer towards his final day, something a child could hardly comprehend though at the same time dreaded.

He wasn’t a weak nameless child anymore, however.

Arcade stirs just as Vulpes rises to his feet. The frumentarius takes a sip of water from the skin he had carried with him. He doesn’t bother to eat any rations, opting to reserve them instead. “I have a black wig.” He agreed after he’d wiped his lips off with the back of his hand. The frumentarii leader didn’t bother with a ‘good morning’. Though polite to a point, he had no desire for idle chit-chat and pleasantries with the other man. He was useful, but not so useful that Vulpes would attempt to cultivate a proper working relationship with the man. Vulpes expected this was the last time he’d be working with the doctor, and that was fine by him.

“We should get moving, before the sun gets higher in the sky. Collect yourself and we will leave.” Vulpes slips on the straw hat he’d had on when they left the strip and made his way towards the old road sign that displayed what road they traveled. He waited near it, and when Arcade seemed to be ready- they again set off on their journey.

~***~

Sibilus continued to chew on the inside of his mouth, berating himself the moment the promise slipped from his lips. He couldn’t simply withdraw it, however- it hung in the air. Either the frumentarius could uphold his word, or he could go back on them. Like a snake.

“Let me make sure there is no one inside, first.” He explained, wondering if it was apparent that he would sneak Aemilia into the coliseum. No one had to know, did they? Frumentarii were trained to keep secrets, and no one was watching them. Like Sibilus had said earlier, if they were quick- a glance truly couldn’t hurt. Could it?

It was defying Lord Caesar’s law.

He could get killed if he found out.

Sibilus had defied Lord Caesar’s word before, by swiping books and reading them. Burning them in the fire after he read them to conceal evidence always left an ache in his heart, though he had done it anyways. Even though he knew he could get crucified or worse for such disobedience. The temptation of stories to fill his mind, the escape into a world that wasn’t his own- it was alluring.

He walks into the entryway, enough to look around to make sure they weren’t going to walk in on some guards posted inside. He then glanced back, nervously looking towards the streets. As if someone would appear out of thin air to ask what they were doing.

His heart pounded in his chest, and the anxiety drowned out the ache of his feet. He waved Aemilia into the coliseum. “A glance, that is it.” He whispered, his voice dropping as if on instinct because of the secretive nature of what they were doing. Sibilus leads deeper into the coliseum, glancing over his shoulder to see if Aemilia is following.

He shouldn’t be doing this…

Sibilus’ mind helpfully supplies many terrible ways he could be agonizingly tortured to death should Caesar find out. Though he doesn’t find himself turning back despite knowing he should- he’s not drowning in the fear so much as he is swimming in it. Something compels him to fight against the current of his own unease. Excitement? Anticipation?

He doesn’t know, but he wonders if it’s wrong. Foolish, certainly.

Sibilus walks into the coliseum, they are indeed alone. The empty stone arches and the round open sky above the unroofed structure made it feel daunting in a way. The frumentarius wonders what it would be like to fight in the coliseum, a far larger crowd- Caesar sitting above them all in an arena built strictly for he and his attendants. He imagines the place full of watching eyes, as if they are witnesses to his crime.

He looks back towards Aemilia.

‘Is it everything you desired to see?’ He wants to ask her.

He keeps quiet and doesn’t voice it, as if in fear that the stone had ears to hear him.
 
Arcade did not expect a good morning, given he hardly greeted with one. Vulpes had the wig, and that was important. Arcade gathers himself, and he does eat a ration, and drink water – though the ration he eats while they walk, making their way back towards the Strip, which wasn’t too far to begin with. Arcade still has to stop now and then, because he is not accustomed to this degree of travel.

‘To think I once was….’ Well, everyone envies the strength and energy of their youth, don’t they? ‘I’m not that old….’ Although he suspects he’s decently older than Vulpes, despite the skill the other man has shown in numerous areas.

They reach Freeside, and Arcade notes, “I can go to the Mormon Fort and catch up with you on the Strip.” He imagined they would head to the Ultra-Luxe, so Arcade could get the wig fitted, but Vulpes might have another idea and want to get the clothes portion of things out of the way first.

Vulpes clothes definitely wouldn’t fit him.

“I need to get the glasses and put some things up,” he didn’t need to carry all of this with him now, obviously. “Just tell me where to meet you at,” it’ll no doubt be as James Fox, which Vulpes will need to take time to get into that disguise again, but Arcade’s not worried about that.

He doubts it’ll take Vulpes long.

Or perhaps he’ll be Vinny, since clothes shopping will be with Arcade, not Morgan.

‘I’m not sure I can handle more Vinny.’ He would endure it if he had to.

~***~

It takes Aemilia a second to catch on to what Sibilus is doing, and when it dawns on her, her expression lights up with glee. ‘The coliseum!’ He hadn’t meant elsewhere, he meant to show her the actual coliseum, going against his fears. ‘How do you thank someone for facing crucifixion to show you a stupid building?’ A question for later, as Sibilus waves Aemilia forward, and she darts towards him.

Aemilia nods rapidly at his insistence that it just be ‘a glance’, fully aware of how difficult that would be for her. Still, she would take the time she could get – and when Sibilus said enough, she’d accept that.

All she wanted was to see it, not linger in it, not fight in it. See it.

Aemilia moves through the stone archway and onto the ground. It is not stone, it is not even dirt. ‘Sand.’ They took all that time to have sand here, an unstable ground that had to impact the fighting. Her eyes move silently over the stands, pick out the area that sits higher than others, but closer – a boxed area, like she’d seen in ruined sports arenas. ‘That is where Caesar sits.’ There is even the hint that shade could be pulled over that area, but nowhere else. Everything else is open to the sun.

‘Nothing new under the sun.’ Arcade’s phrase comes back to mind, and she knows this, also, isn’t new, even if she’s never seen anything like this. This came from ancient Rome, and she wonders if it was used the same there – for fights to the death. Was ancient Rome so barbaric, too?

She could imagine so many other uses, just like those sports arenas. Sports. Performance. So many things not inherently violent, and her heart aches as the thought of how much blood had been spilled on these sands. ‘I could change it.’ Could she change the Legion? Unlikely.

Unlikely, but not impossible.

That was one of the reasons she was there, to understand them. It might be impossible…but Pandora left her Hope.

She will keep that Hope warm, as she finally catches Spark’s Sibilus’s gaze and nods, keeping her silence because this was a secret not to be broken. Their voices were not to be heard. However, she offers gratitude in a gesture when she steps back to him, and reaches to catch his hand and squeeze it in both of hers, before heading back towards the exit, glancing around a moment to make sure no one appeared to be looking – and stepping back out of the shadow of the coliseum stands.
 
They managed to arrive in Freeside just as the noon sun begins to burn high up in sky (despite the frequent stops that the Follower needed to take). With time slowly creeping forwards, the heat also begins to rise during the days. Vulpes knows this time within a few months the heat will be nearly unbearable. For now, the heat isn’t intolerable by any means, but it is certainly not gentle. Likely partially the source of why Doctor Gannon needed to stop so often.

As they come to the gates, Arcade speaks and Vulpes hums in affirmative. “That will be acceptable. Do not dally long, I would like to get this over with quickly.” There was no telling if the family was already dead, the Omertas very well could be lying to Joab in order to keep him under control. Every second wasted was more time that could spin everything out of control. Being in many battles, Vulpes knows very well that the tide of one can be changed immediately in a split second.

Every moment counts.

“Join me at the Strip’s gate. From there we can go procure the necessary attire you will need, we will return to my room at the Ultra-Luxe and get you prepared for Gomorrah.” He nodded sternly, and left without another word. Vulpes would need to dress in his own disguise. If he was to be seen with Arcade, it wouldn’t do well to have him being seen with ‘another man’. Especially since it has already been established that Vinny and Arcade were ‘lovers’. He would need to temporarily don Vincent Thebes in order to get their shopping trip completed, and once done he could retire it’s usage at Gomorrah and instead get ready as ‘James Fox’.

Traveling through Freeside and to the Strip, he didn’t pause on his journey and instead made a beeline towards the Ultra-Luxe.

Despite being dressed strangely for the Strip compared to most of the gamblers, he didn’t get many looks. The hat and the duster made him seem like just a mercenary who had finally put together enough caps to get a taste of the high life.

In his room, he took the time to get cleaned up and to change his outfit and his own wig. It wasn’t long before he was donned in the persona of Vincent Thebes yet again, and it isn’t the first nor the last time that Vulpes wishes to retire the persona permanently.

Once sufficiently adorned in a cream-colored outfit and some silver sunglasses, he left his room and headed back towards the gate into New Vegas with the casual swagger and charm that Vinny exuded.

~***~

Every moment in the coliseum made his heart pound harder in his ribcage, he had been holding his breath- as if expecting any moment to be caught. Though luck seemed to favor them, and they were uninterrupted for the very short moments that they were inside the stone arena.

Their eyes meet, and Sibilus wants to pull his eyes away. To break the prolonged eye contact, because this was the opposite of putting distance between them. The inevitable fall from grace was going to be painful. For who?

He still didn’t know.

Sibilus’ sins would come kicking and screaming into the light eventually, and once shown what an ugly little snake he was- there would be no return. He knew this, and yet he did not look away.

She takes his hands; he could push them away. Instead he stiffens, as if she somehow has the power in her smaller hands to break his larger calloused ones. As if one squeeze could crumble him into dust.

His gaze is like tar, pitch black, and toxic. Though Aemilia doesn’t know that, does she?

After she squeezes her hands in his, he pulls away. Not violently, but instead slowly. She walks silently back to the arched entryway of the coliseum, and he scrunched his eyes closed for a brief moment before he follows on sore soles.

They exit back onto the street, and Sibilus can’t help but to have his gaze dart about in paranoia as they exited. No one had seen them, but it felt like everyone did at the same time.

“We should…continue.” He says abruptly, softly- yet it still shatters the silence between them like a stone breaking a stained glass window. Sibilus takes the lead again, walking further away from the shade of the coliseum that stands behind them. A monument to a rule broken.

He takes them down an empty alley, and figures it is best to merge back onto the main street in order to head back towards the area where Caesar’s abode is.

As he steps onto the main street he glances over his shoulder and waits for Aemilia to catch up. Though as he turns back to face forwards, he freezes. It is as if he had just been dunked into an icy river, his bones felt like lead had filled them- and his eyes widened ever so slightly.

The man, a Centurion out of armor but the design of his toga showed what he was all the same. Even if he had been wearing only a tunica, Sibilus would know who that man was without any introductions necessary.

Memories of that night flash inside his mind, and he hears his mother crying and screaming.

“We’ll drown the runt if you bite me again.” The memory hits him like water rushing up his nose and into his lungs. A familiar ache.

Their eyes meet, and there is no flash of recognition from the Centurion. Nothing at all, except casual regard. Though when his eyes land on Aemilia and her Mark, his brows raise before a smirk crosses his lips.

The man is crossing the street towards them, and Sibilus is too struck with terror to do anything except watch in poorly concealed horror as his living nightmare approaches. “Ave! I assume you must be the Courier Six, the one outsider worthy enough for Lord Caesar’s mark.” His voice is normal, not inhuman like his memories twist them into. Sibilus doesn’t know if the reality is worse than his distorted nightmarish versions. The Centurion dips his head slightly, respectfully towards Aemilia. “My name is Scipio, dear Courier.” He reaches out his hand for Aemilia’s, and Sibilus instinctively twitches his body ever so slightly so he may rebuff the attempt. ‘Scipio’s’ face suddenly falls slightly.

Though it isn’t long before he recollects himself and reoffers his ‘kind’ smile. “No attempt at harm, I assure you- frumentarius. While many in the Legion have…ill views on women, I will accept any with the Mark of our mighty Lord. It is by his will that you are here, and by his will he deems you worthy.”

‘I know exactly how you treat women.’ He wants to hiss and snap. Though he doesn’t, because his tongue is tied. He says nothing, and instead stares with a gaze that would burn the flesh off of Scipio’s face if only it could.

“A simple introduction is fine with you, isn’t it, my dear Courier?” The question from the Centurion is pointed towards Aemilia, as if to get her permission to try and move the frumentarius out of the way.

Subtly, Sibilus’ hand gravitates towards Daphne, that was hidden under his layers of toga.

He could kill him right now, even without the poison. The strike would be sudden, unexpected. He wasn’t wearing armor, and his neck was open- a quick stab into the artery there and he would bleed out before anything could save him.

Sibilus doesn’t, and instead remains frozen. Though his eyes burn.
 
Arcade tries to sneak in and out of the Mormon Fort, but it just isn’t possible. He makes it to his room, and he changes out his glasses. Away go his favorite square ones, and on go the ridiculous round ones. ‘And I once thought these were cool.’ He shakes his head at himself, and slips off his coat. He rearranges some of the items from those pockets into others after he changes into something a touch more casual, but he can’t stow it all.

He shouldn’t need it all.

He has to part with his gun, of course. He wouldn’t be able to get that into Gomorrah anyways, but he does pack his Ripper. ‘Might be difficult, but….’ Perhaps he could pass it off to Vulpes. He’s only a little annoyed that Vulpes also uses one.

It is a good weapon, though.

“Arcade.”

Julie’s voice brings him out of his thoughts and he straightens up swiftly to see her disapproving, disappointed, look. “Julie! Hi!”

“I heard you’ve been traveling with…well, not Aemilia. A…merchant?"

“Eh, yeeaaah, it’s….” he could lie and claim he found a lover, since that was the truth, but lying to Julie feels wrong. “It’s a long story,” he says instead, “but Aemilia had to handle some things without me, and there’s something I’m working on right now that’ll help a lot of people.”

“In Gomorrah?”

“Yes,” he has to state it firmly as he straightens up. “I know, I know, it’s a den of sin and addiction, all the more reason! I—just trust me,” she cants her head. The doubt is obvious, and he manages a weak smile, “I’ll tell you about it later, but I’m trying to do some good for this world.”

“I know,” Julie apparently has no doubt in that, and Arcade is relieved to hear it. “Just…be careful out there, Arcade,” she sighs. “I don’t need any explanation, just…don’t get yourself hurt.”

He knows she doesn’t mean physically.

He knows Julie has always considered him rather…unaware of the world.

He knows she isn’t fully wrong to worry, either. So he just nods, “Thank you,” he appreciated her faith in him, regardless, and when he steps to leave, he also embraces her, before walking out, and heading back to The Strip.

He manages not to sigh when he sees that it is not James waiting for him, or anyone else – it is Vinny, not quite near Gomorrah, but close enough. So Arcade puts on a doltish smile and lifts his hand in a wave before he starts to make his approach.

He’s halted on the way by one of the prostitutes dancing outside of Gomorrah suddenly snaking her hands around his shoulders, “Hey there, big boy.”

“Heeey, um, you’re barking up the wrong tree,” he says as he feels her press herself against his back, and he tries to squirm away from the uncomfortable contact.

She releases him on recognizing that, looking a bit apologetic when he turns to face her – but she still steps closer and whispers, “Not to be rude, but are you and Vinny really a thing?” Arcade is caught by surprise by the question, and she adds swiftly, “because if not, I was hoping you might have a break soon so I could step in. He pays so well and doesn’t want anything, it’s such a nice change of pace.”

“Um…what?” Arcade isn’t even sure if his baffled act is real or fake, a bit too flabbergasted by the question and implications.

Her eyes light up in surprise, and then horror, “Oh—oh you are—I’m sorry, um. Look he’s a sweet guy, so be gentle with him, I don’t think he has much, um, experience. Or maybe he does now,” she winks, and rather bashfully, embarrassed, hurries away to another post to try and lure people into Gomorrah, leaving Arcade reeling a moment.

‘Wait, wait.’

His mind starts putting it together with the information about Vulpes sleeping to avoid whores. ‘Oh. OH.’ He paid whores…to just…exist in his presence so he didn’t seem…weird.

~***~

The pair of them move on, lawbreakers of the Legion. Aemilia still feels the thrum of excitement, and it dances in each step, something she cannot hide well. It makes her better able to deal with the gazes with an easily tossed smile, to keep her head up. She has done something she Shouldn’t, something Forbidden, and that is Power in her world.

Like surviving two shots to the head.

Like going into the Lucky 38.

There is a small warning that speaks in the back of her head to remind her: Luck was fickle, and Luck had two sides. Luck always loved to drop people from the highest heights, but it’s hard to consider it when on the rise.

‘When you celebrate Lakshmi, do not forget her sister, Jyestha.’ Ever the advice Aemilia had heard when she was young and lucky, from her favorite of the ghouls who had kept her hometown stable while it lasted.

The sister comes in the form of a centurion with a smirk this time, although Aemilia does not realize it as she retains her smile and pleasant demeanor to his greeting. It isn’t until Sibilus moves that she recognizes he is not happy with this man’s approach, as he not-so-subtly gets in the way of a handshake. ‘Why?’ Something was wrong with Scipio, then. Something dangerous to one of them.

Both of them?

Aemilia listens, and understands something with the haze of fortune batted away from her eyes. The casual drop of ‘my dear’ – a possessive – is heard. The fact he was fond of such an endearment, also, heard. Fond of endearments in general, as he used them with Caesar, and though Aemilia cannot place with any certainty what threat he could pose then, she decides to trust Sibilus’s reaction.

However, she is in public, and she bears the mark – so she doesn’t wilt.

She steps ahead of Sibilus with that same, easy smile.

A shield, as much as a sword, in her presentation ahead of him.

“A simple introduction is just fine, my dear Scipio,” she imitates him, “my name is Aemilia, but you can call me Aemi,” she offers her hand, to continue what was thwarted before, offers the nickname for false familiarity, “I’m glad there are some men with sense here, I had thought Caesar and Sibilus the only ones in this entire encampment so far.” False relief, a false drop of guards.

She doesn’t expect Scipio to reveal what he is here, but she knows that feigning familiarity is an easy way to get familiar with someone. “I hope you’ll forgive my frumentarius escort,” she still mimicked him with possessives, though now turned to Sibilus, easily claiming whatever was around her, “any excess of caution, my trip here – my trips anywhere,” an easy laugh, “have been fraught with bad luck. It wouldn’t be a surprise if something happened on my way to dinner with Lord Caesar at this point.”
 
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