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Chapter Text

[THE WOMAN]

LEVEL 10

Barter: 11, Energy Weapons: 39, Explosives: 60, Guns: 10, Lockpick: 100, Medicine: 20, Melee Weapons: 40, Repair: 15, Science: 15, Sneak: 9, Speech: 11, Survival: 35, Unarmed: 20

There's a stale, empty building. Its concrete walls are crumbling, and the metal bars that once held it up with a sure confidence now wilt and rust and stick out at awkward angles. The building is bathed in a tired, orange sunrise, leaving the shade seemingly black and cold.

A thick layer of dust and ash floats in the sunlit air, the only movement in the room. Dead bodies—about eight of them, men and women alike—litter the ground. Their wide eyes are blank and stare dead-set on whatever is in front, the color absent from their faces, just like the paint on the walls that flaked off long ago. The bodies are fresh, and the blood's just begun to dry. Their skin's irritated and sickly, and they wear scraps backed up by trash cans and skull helmets. One man has a meter-long spear stuck through his chest, and another woman has a bullet hole just between her eyes. The bodies all reside together in the room, now in sync with the crumbling landscape.

A steady 50s swing song approaches from the silence. Footsteps follow; sometimes light, sometimes heavy, while exuberant, staticky drums and trumpets echo through the empty space.

A muscular young woman in a tight, dark green armored suit rounds a corner. She has bright green hair that barely reaches her shoulders, flushed pink cheeks, and light brown eyes lined in black that peer behind dark aviators. A leather belt hugs her hips, lined with seemingly endless tools of death. An old radio with a lopsided antenna hangs loosely from a clip, banging against her thigh every time she hops or steps to the music.

She whistles along with the radio and spins a bloody machete around her finger, hopping over a dead body and yanking a dripping spear from his chest. She tucks it next to her collection, then kicks another body aside and twirls around on her heels, avoiding a pool of blood.

The young woman takes a large bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla from her pack and pops the cap with her thumb. The soda sizzles and she downs it in a few gulps, then tucks the cap away for later.

Her eyes search the sunlit walls, then fall on some words spray painted across one concrete slab that hadn't completely crumbled away:

WAR NEVER CHANGES

The girl snorts with laughter, then kicks another limp body.

"Ain't that right, buddy?" She drops the bottle conclusively. It clanks around, then settles next to a man's absent head."...New Vegas sends its regards."

[FOX HANDALL]

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LEVEL 2

Barter: 15, Energy Weapons: 17, Explosives: 17, Guns: 50, Lockpick: 32, Medicine: 15, Melee Weapons: 17, Repair: 15, Science: 15, Sneak: 28, Speech: 30, Survival: 11, Unarmed: 11

Fox Handall's sitting at the cheapest bar in town: the lights above are dirty and dim, the place smells of cigar smoke and dust, and a bartender stands in front of a shelf of alcohol, cleaning a hazy yellow glass.

A man waddles over and sits heavily next to Fox. He's about fifty and wears spectacles that squeeze at his fleshy temples. His voice is low and grumbly, and the stool squeaks under his weight.

"Fox Handall." He coughs. "What's a guy like you doin' here? At a bar? You lookin' sad, bud."

Fox lifts his head. His eyes are green and soft, hair black like ink, combed to the side, one tuft of it leaning over his hairline. He's twenty-five—or something like that—but his face has a certain maturity to it, and small bits of unshaven stubble grow along his jaw. "Mourning. Wasted all my caps at the slots at The Tops, Rich. Can't do anything but gamble. I'm addicted."

Rich shakes his head. "You poor soul."

Fox turns to the bartender and places three caps on the countertop, "Whiskey, please," then solemnly watches them disappear into the rusty cash register. "Got five caps now."

Rich leans towards him and sighs, "Come on. You need to find other ways to solve your problems 'cept gambling an' whiskey. I know you can."

"You're right, I should just start doing Jet and Hydra and turn into one of those Fiends, eh?"

"Naw, Fox. Not that. Go do what you love."

The bartender places a small cup of the amber-colored drink in front of them. Fox snatches and downs it, Rich watching with somber eyes. The cup slams back onto the table and Fox wipes his mouth conclusively. "Can't do what I love anymore."

Rich raises an eyebrow.

Fox continues, "Kicked outta The Kings gang, turned down by the Great Khans, Merchants, guard jobs, man, even the goddamn Primm police didn't want me. Man, I was even thinking of joining the NCR."

"Well, thank the Lord you didn't." Rich clasps his two pudgy hands together and peers curiously at him. "What gotcha kicked outta The Kings an' turned down so many times? You done nothin' wrong."

He presses his fingers in between his eyes. "Someone fuckin' framed me for murdering one of The King's groupies, name was Darcy."

Mumbling, Rich shakes his head. "Oh, Lord."

He buries his face in his hands. "Yep. One of the guys found her body stuffed in my locker, throat slit. Guy must've known my fuckin' lock combo. Course everyone would point the finger at me, no one knows that 'cept me."

Rich gives him a sympathetic pat on the back.

"The King was angry. Real angry. Told me to pack my things and leave. Word spread, probably why I've been turned down so many times." He sits up straight and looks at Rich with brimming eyes. "I wanna belong somewhere Rich. But I can't belong anywhere now. Been turned down too many times for that to happen...My parents came to New Vegas to give us a fresh start...God, look at me now. Nothing's changed!" He bangs the table with his fist in a drunken rage. For a moment, the low hum of conversation is interrupted, and some heads turn.

Rich chooses his words carefully, as to not upset the red-faced gunslinger any further.

"Awe...Fox. Hope ain't gone yet. You c'n always wander the wastes, or be a prospector...Hey, you're good with guns an' the like, yea?"

Fox nods solemnly and holds his head. The familiar buzz of the bar returns. "Yea, I s'pose."

Rich shifts his weight on the stool and it squeaks in protest.

"Just wander 'round! Go search for hidden goodies. Lotsa people make a livin' offa that."

"Not the killing part, though."

"Well, yeah. That part's only for a select few, like you! Maybe you'll find another person who's in the same boat?"

Fox stares at the scratched wooden floorboards underneath the stool. "Doubt it." 

The young, green-haired woman holds a large, smelly bag in front of an NCR man. Flies buzz around it and the bottom is soaked with blood.

The NCR man looks the bag up and down with disgust, then takes it reluctantly.

"This Driver Nephi?" he asks.

"Was."

He opens the bag, peeks in, then gags in disgust. "Well, well, well. Driver Nephi. Nothing to say, you son of a bitch? No tips on my golf swing?" He quickly shuts the bag. "Well, thanks for killing those Fiends. Here's your pay." He places a small bag into the woman's hands, who smiles as it jingles. "Well, I can't think of any more bounties to give you...let's see...you got Violet's head, and Cook Cook's, and Driver Nephi's...can't think of any more. Think that's the last of them."

The woman chuckles, then holds out her hand. "Glad they're dead."

They shake on it.

"And I'm glad we got you serving us. Really, thank you."

"Hey, anything for caps."

"So, what'll you do now? I would offer you a position in the NCR, but I have a feeling you got other things to do."

She nods. "I'll be going back into the wasteland. But...Well, might make a stop in the Strip, wander through Freeside, that sort of thing. Haven't pampered myself in the casinos for a long while. Probably time I took a break. Got enough caps."

The man chuckles. She sure looks like she needs a break. There're scratches all over her body and her face is dusty, bloody and dirty; the typical condition of a weathered wastelander. "Yea, you sure do. Ever been to The Tops casino? They've got a nice place. Good slots, good rooms, good bars. Guy named Benny runs it. I hear he's an asshole, but he sure knows how to run a business. You should stay there, you would have a good time."

The woman nods and smiles, dimples imprinting her cheeks. "I'll make sure to stop by."

After a few last words of conversation, the woman walks towards the exit of Camp McCarran with a soft smile.

Finally, after five grueling months in the Mojave, she gets her vacation! Soft, velvet couches, warm showers, feathery beds, gambling, fine alcohol, and those hot guys with the black hair wandering Freeside await her!

She eagerly quickens her pace and clicks the switch on her radio, and it buzzes on, playing a fine country song. Her wandering days are over, at least for now.

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The woman stands giddily in front of The Tops front doors. The casino sure is a piece of work. Flashing neon lights dance around the building in her wondrous gaze.

As another wave of women in beautiful dresses and men in dapper tuxedos shuffle in, she decides it would be easier to move with traffic, so she shuffles along with the rest through the doors.

Inside, the joyful jingle of slot machines followed by the giddy cheers from gamblers ring in her ears. The massive casino is warmly lit, and there's that familiar scent of tobacco, alcohol, and smoked Brahmin steak floating in the air.

The woman's about to continue forward before a man at the other end of the room calls out to her.

"Hey hey, baby doll, welcome to the Tops Hotel and Casino! I'm going to have to ask you to hand over any weapons you might be carrying."

The woman looks up and sees the greeter over at the large, round desk. He's dressed in a formal gray suit and his hair's slicked back, illumined by the yellow neon signs and stadium lights behind him.

CHOICE

Follow Rules (Go to Chapter #2)

Refuse to Give up Weapons (Go to Chapter #3)

Chapter Text

You Picked: Follow Rules

"Oh, sure." Damn company rules.

"Smooth 'n easy, just the way I like it." He approaches with a large sack. "Don't worry, they'll be as safe as kittens till you're ready to leave."

The woman sighs and quickly picks each and every knife, spear, C-4 pack, grenade and pistol out of her belt and drops them through, then moves onto the bigger weapons, which are in her pack.

Everyone from across the room watches as she plucks out countless hunting rifles, laser pistols, double-barreled shotguns, and guns of every kind.

The man holding the sack struggles to keep it up, but the woman is relentless. She tosses in handfuls of frag grenades, then skillfully throws countless frag mines as if they were frisbees.

The people in the lobby watch in awe.

"What the hell's she got now?" someone whispers.

The man with the sack gives up holding it out of courtesy once she pulls out a Missile Launcher.

To continue your story, go to  Chapter #4

Chapter Text

You Picked: Refuse to Give up Weapons

A guard approaches with a large sack. "Weapons in here." He grunts and shakes it impatiently.

The woman eyes him and folds her arms. "Five words: From. My. Cold. Dead. Hands."

The man with the sack grumbles and gives his boss a look of annoyance.

The Chairman greeter sighs. "Them's the breaks. You want in...you don't bring the guns." He moves his jacket aside the flash of a pistol gives her warning enough.

The man with the sack gives her a warning stare, repeating harshly, "Weapons. In here."

After giving the two men a stiff glare, she reluctantly picks each and every knife, spear, C-4 pack, grenade and pistol out of her belt and drops them through, then moves onto the bigger weapons, which are in her pack. Luckily, however, she keeps her holdout knife in her boot, and none of the men notice.

Everyone from across the room watches as she plucks out countless hunting rifles, laser pistols, double-barreled shotguns, and guns of every kind.

The man holding the sack struggles to keep it up, but the woman is relentless. She tosses in handfuls of frag grenades, then skillfully throws countless frag mines as if they were frisbees.

The people in the lobby watch in awe.

"What the hell's she got now?" someone whispers.

The man with the sack gives up holding it out of courtesy once she pulls out a Missile Launcher.

To continue your story, go to  Chapter #4

Chapter Text

Fox tucks one of his revolvers into his boot. He's getting ready to move on from sleeping in the filth of Freeside's ruins.

Rich was right. He should travel to the wasteland, get himself a better reputation.

Fox is almost ready to head out into the Mojave, but he's missing only one thing: his rabbit's foot necklace.

Just after he got kicked out of The Kings, and when he still had caps, he rented a casino room in The Strip. When he left, he forgot it at The Tops casino. Fox sighs. He's going to have to deal with Benny.

CHOICE

Get rabbit's foot (Chapter #5)

Don't need it (Chapter #6)

Chapter Text

You Picked: Get Rabbit's foot

Fox rubs his neck. He feels incomplete without that necklace. His father had given it to him.

He remembers that day so clearly. It was during the bitter cold of wintertime, and he was six. His father had gone hunting and brought back the severed mutated rabbit foot, all bloody and torn, just for him. He'd cried that entire night, hidden beneath the sheets of his bed, weeping for that poor rabbit, who probably had a mom and dad, a wife, and children just like him of its own. He refused to eat the rabbit stew that night and demanded that his father throw the foot away. But he didn't, and told Fox that when he was ready, he was free to wear it, and kept it on a string, mounted over the house fan. For six whole years, Fox avoided it, but once he'd shot his first bottle off a fence post, he'd ran inside and thrown that necklace over his head. The moment that foot fell over his neck, he felt he was worth something.

And even if he would die in the Mojave with no caps on him, no gun at his side, rationless, no supplies, stripped naked, at least the prospectors could take his rabbit's foot, and he wouldn't just be another worthless pile of bones lost to the wind-swept desert.

"Alright, the Tops it is," Fox huffs, and continues down Freeside's crumbling pavement, towards The Strip, its twinkling neon lights flickering in his eyes.

To continue your story, go to  Chapter #7

Chapter Text

You Picked: Don't need it

Fox grunts and turns down the street. He didn't need that rabbit's foot, even though his father had given it to him in his childhood. It's merely a severed foot on a string, it has no other use than that. A silly decoration.

He quickens his stride down Freeside's crumbling pavement. Thank God, he wouldn't have to deal with Benny.

To continue your story, go to  Chapter #7

Chapter Text

The young woman rifles through a wardrobe full of clothing and pulls out a small, skimpy leopard-print nightgown. She holds it up to her naked, newly-washed figure, swings her hips this way and that, then checks the tag.

Naughty Nightwear

Courtesy of The Tops Casino

The woman sighs and tosses it onto her bed. She most likely won't be using these anytime soon. Not with any partner, for that matter.

She pulls out another gown, pink this time.

Sexy Sleepwear

Courtesy of The Tops Casino

This was more like it. Shooting a Legion man's head off with a Hunting Shotgun in some sexy lingerie was on her bucket list. That'd show The Legion who they were up against—a tough, fine woman who still looked perfect covered in their blood.

She slides into the gown and smiles into the mirror. It fit perfectly.

After trying on one of her best dresses, she walks out the door and makes her way downstairs, where the happy jingling of slot machines ring distantly, beckoning her.

A couple smiling in each other's faces and holding hands pass her, and once they got to the nearest room, the man grabs his girl and they smooch, then disappear through the door.

The woman continues down the steps, slightly shaken from the encounter. How long had it been since she'd kissed someone? A year? She's young, only twenty, and her first kiss was lost to some hormonal boy in a broken-down schoolhouse.

The satisfying sound of her heels on polished tile wakes her from her train of thought.

Cigarette smoke hangs and swirls into the air like a daydream. There's a slow song on the radio echoing across the massive casino hall. Men and women laugh over clinking glasses and game cards.

A smile blooms on her face. This is heaven compared to those countless, sleepless nights pissing in sand, shitting in holes, living off of dry maize and boxes of stale cram. She has hot and cold running water now, good food, good booze, and a soft bed with cushions and sheets and blankets and pillows. It's simply heaven.

With a newfound confidence, she struts over to a bar and delicately lowers herself down onto a stool, like a lady.

The smiling bartender comes over, all dressed up in a tux and bow tie. He cleans out a sparkling glass and asks, "Can I get you anythin', miss?"

She smiles and leans forward over the counter, "Oh, yes. I would like..." She thinks for a moment. What would a lady order? "...Wine. Wine, please."

The bartender smiles and gets to work on her drink. "Good choice."

The tall glass of wine appears in front of her in no time, and the bartender winks. "Here you are, miss."

Flattered, she blushes and cradles the glass in her palm, as a lady would have done, slides 15 caps on the table, then sits back and lets the casino sing in her ears.

Slot machines ding and laughs trail over the hazy air. Chandeliers twinkle and glasses clink. She could even hear the dice roll over the green casino tables and thumbs flick lighters into flame.

The wine's good. Real good. It had been well-aged, alright. The only good thing the Nuclear War brought was good alcohol that'd been aged for decades in the wastes. So she gets the bartender to fill her glass again. And again. And again until the world around her is fuzzy and the sounds she was once so keen to now garbled and a part of an incessant buzz.

Right next to her, she notices a tattered man sit and hunch over the counter. He smells of urine and dirt, his clothes stained in both.

At first, he turns to two men smoking and conversing casually, but they turn him away. His head lowers, then slowly turns to her. He's a ghoul.

His face is torn and flaky, battered from radiation. His voice struggles to form a raspy whisper, "Do you have caps to spare? For water?"

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CHOICE

Turn Him Away (Go to Chapter #8)

Buy Him Purified Water (Go to Chapter #9)

Chapter Text

You Picked: Turn Him Away

You've lost Karma!

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The woman gives him the same cold glare she gave the guard at the entrance. "I don't waste caps on filth."

He moves back a bit and his eyes droop, avoiding her razor-sharp gaze. "Oh, sorry, miss..." A coughing fit takes over and he leaves with his head craned to the floor and tears welling in his red eyes.

The woman sighs and sits against the bar. The rim of the cup touches her cold lips, and the violet wine enters her veins.

There're strict rules to the wasteland: every man for himself, and she's never broken them.

He could die for all she cared.

—

Okay, so this is where the stories mostly split.  Continuing your story depends on some factors. If you've forgotten some of the choices you made you can always go back to the earlier chapters. I'll mark in the titles where the choices are. I've also made a Story Insignia, which will show up in the titles, too, and help guide you through your individual journey. Some will evolve over time.

If you:

- Refused to Give up your Weapons at the entrance and didn't go after the Rabbit's Foot, go to Chapter #14

This Story Insignia is:  +

- Had Fox go after his Rabbit's Foot, go to Chapter #15

This Story Insignia is:  #

- Followed the Roles at the entrance and didn't go after the Rabbit's Foot, go to Chapter #16

This Story Insignia is:  ++

Chapter Text

You Picked: Buy Him Purified Water

You've gained Karma!

Her gaze softens. There're rules to the wasteland she's so used to living in; every man for himself.

But this man—she had to have mercy on him; plus she had a soft spot for ghouls. Once, when her camp was raided by some exceptionally frivolous Great Khans and she was left bound by rope in a Mole Rat-infested cave, a ghoul heard her muffled cries and got her out. He coulda just walked by, left her as a nibbling post. But he didn't.

And all this guy needed was a little water.

Her lips lift into a bright smile. "Sure."

The bartender saunters over. "This guy givin' you any trouble, miss?" He eyes him as if he's a feral tearing her into pieces.

She sets her wine down. "No, of course not." Her hands dig into the small coin bag and scrape up 30 more caps. They jingle like bells as they spill onto the countertop. "Can we get some purified water?"

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The bartender's pressed eyebrows release. He smirks and nods lightly in the ghoul's direction. "Alright."

The ghoul holds the glass as if it were the Holy Grail itself. He tips it over his cracked lips and the water spills down his pumping Adam's apple and through the dirty rips in his clothes.

The woman laughs, and the bartender awkwardly stares, then goes back to cleaning some cups in the back.

"You sure're thirsty," she says as he sets it down.

His back's straight now, and the desperate look's been replaced with sincere gratitude and refreshment. His veiny eyes meet hers, "...Thank you. I was about to die of thirst, I swear." He laughs weakly, "I'd shake your hand, but I'm sure you wouldn't like that..." He glances down at his cracked hands.

But her hand is already out for him to shake. "It's not like it's contagious." She gives him another warm smile. "I've touched worse anyways."

He pauses to wipe his eyes, then accepts. "I'm Eric."

"Nice ta meetcha, Eric."

Eric gingerly swings around on his seat to face the counter. "Ladies dressed as fancy and as pretty as you usually don't have time for guys like me."

"Oh, you think I'm fancy? I got this dress wandering the wastes. Kept it in good condition I guess." Her fingers gently caressed the brown fabric of her Pre-War relaxed wear. It buttoned up to the collar and came with a tight black leather belt that hugged her waist and a shiny pair of black heels: the only thing that made her feel like a woman in this apocalypse.

"You're one of the few I've seen that look good in a brown dress, you know that? Goes well with your green hair stuff. Reminds me of the nature before the War."

She blushes slightly. "Oh, well you're sweet."

As the bartender gets to work cleaning his cup, Eric stands up and bows low. "I don't know how I'll ever repay you. I hope you can forgive me—I have to go."

Then he leaves her with the words, "Hope we meet again, friend."

—

Okay, so this is where the stories mostly split. Continuing your story depends on some factors. If you've forgotten some of the choices you made you can always go back to the earlier chapters. I'll mark in the titles where the choices are. I've also made a Story Insignia, which will show up in the titles, too, and help guide you through your individual journey. Some will evolve over time.

If you:

- Followed the Rules at the entrance and had Fox go after his Rabbit's Foot, go to  Chapter #10

This Story Insignia is:  *

- Refused to Give up your Weapons at the entrance and had Fox go after his Rabbit's Foot, go to  Chapter #11

This Story Insignia is:  ^

- Followed the Rules at the entrance and didn't go after the Rabbit's Foot, go to  Chapter #12

This Story Insignia is:  %

- Refused to Give up your Weapons at the entrance and didn't go after the Rabbit's Foot, go to  Chapter #13

This Story Insignia is:  =

Chapter Text

[Scroll to the bottom of Chapter 9 for instructions, just to make sure you're on the right track—trust me, you wouldn't want to be lost in this wasteland, would you?]

After Eric leaves the woman sits in silence for a few minutes, then goes to wander the casino hall: watch gamblers grumble or cheer, people mill about, guards stare at the wall. She has a slight temptation to go use one of the flashing slot machines, but her coin bag feels dangerously light. Getting a room for a day in this casino is expensive, and all those drinks she'd bought did a lot of the work draining her money.

Her fingers instinctively snatch the coin bag and fumble around until she realizes what's in it: nothing. No caps, just dust and air.

A surge of embarrassment and worry rush red into her cheeks. She still owes the casino money. She still has to pay for her stay.

She knew she had 175 caps she'd counted and kept track of back in her suite...but another night cost 200.

She holds her head and lowers herself into a chair. She spent her last bit of money on the water and the wine at the bar...

"Hey, what're you doing flapping that empty coin bag around?"

The first thing she sees is a black and white checkered suit, like something you'd play a game of chess on, then she sees a man. He's got slick-backed hair and a 24-carrot smile, perfectly white teeth—too perfect as if they were washed in chrome. Two guards armed with silenced .22 SMGs stand, bulky and tough, a few meters away.

"Name's Benny."

She gives him a long stare as if she'd been caught stealing. "...Oh, hi, Benny."

He leans against the table and looks her over from the sly corner of his eye, arms folded.

"You're smart not to be gamblin', cause," he chuckles to himself and glances at the empty bag, "I think you just got outplayed by the alcohol."

She turns redder than a cherry.

His eyes move over her again and he takes in a deep, satisfactory breath of air. "Mind if I collect your room fee now?"

She just stares blankly at the floor.

He chuckles, "You can't pay for it. Yeah, I can tell. Been doing business for as long as I can remember. I can smell fear in people when they've been beat. And here and now, it smells like alcohol. Wait, and...what is that?" His eyebrows press together. "Awe, baby. You were a bit too nice to someone, right? You smell like charitable giving. Ugh, one of my least favorite things. No wonder you're in the hole."

She swallows hard, then turns out of her chair. "I could sell some of my rations to the bar for caps—"

He steps off the table and halts her with an arm. "Naw, baby. You're sticking with me. No caps, no payment. But not all deals have to be settled through caps, you know."

Her eyes meet his. "What is it."

His lips curl into another smile. "Come on by my suite at nine tonight. There I'll offer you some compensation. You dig?"

"Off to no good, Benny?"

Benny lets out a frustrated groan.

There's a tall man leaning against the wall behind them with sharp green eyes that flicker over to the woman, who freezes in her seat. She notices his trigger-trained fingers twitch and rub together as if itching for a gun at his side. That stain of gunpowder on his palm. That loose leather holster resting under his waist...

"Look who it is, Mr. Broke and Fuckin' Unemployed," Benny grumbles.

"You preying on your customers now? That's not your style."

It really wasn't. Usually, Benny didn't make passes at random girls wandering the casino hall cause he had his hookers. Something about this one broad really got him goin'.

Benny shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Oh, c'mon I don't prey on helpless ladies, would never."

She hisses, and a part of her wastelander-self shows through the tidy dress and lipstick, "You callin' me helpless?"

The man's muscles show through his white cotton sleeves. "Should be careful, Benny. She's got a dangerous look about her."

Benny glances in her direction, then lifts an eyebrow. "What?"

"You're not as smart as you make yourself out to be. She may be in the hole, but you might as well be in a grave if you keep this up."

Benny straightens his jacket. "You're pretty foolhardy to be sayin' that to me here and now."

"Not as foolhardy as you, approchin' a girl like that and saying those things."

Benny narrows his eyes. "What do you want, Fox?"

"I've lost something. And I know about your lost and found policy."

A smirk slithers through Benny's lips. "Oh, we're talkin' business? Perfect."

"I'm not payin' a hundred caps for something I've lost."

"Well, then you ain't gettin' it back."

Fox nods to the woman and smiles. "How about I pay the same way she's payin'? Apparently whatever you're offering her as compensation is worth a nights stay, that's two hundred caps, right?"

Benny folds his arms. "You know that ain't going to work. A hundred or your little trinket ain't yours."

"I see. Well, I got my answer anyways: you're a cheap asshole." He gives both of them a quick nod and disappears.

"Huh. He's just as desperate as you are." He knocks on her table. "Remember, 9 pm tonight, baby."

Then he leaves, and the woman's once again left by herself. Her fingers grip the empty bag, and she whispers, "Dear Lord, what have I gotten myself into?"

But her thoughts trail back to Fox—that was his name, apparently—and boy, he sure was a fox. He stood out from the crowd like a sore thumb—and a good looking thumb at that.

No. What is she thinking? Falling in love in this post-apocalyptic wasteland's something that most often just got you killed. Especially here in New Vegas.

To continue your story, go to  Chapter #17 .

Chapter Text

[Scroll to the bottom of Chapter 9 for instructions, just to make sure you're on the right track—trust me, you wouldn't want to be lost in this wasteland, would you?]

After Eric leaves the woman sits in silence for a few minutes, then goes to wander the casino hall: watch gamblers grumble or cheer, people mill about, guards stare at the wall. She has a slight temptation to go use one of the flashing slot machines, but her coin bag feels dangerously light. Getting a room for a day in this casino is expensive, and all those drinks she'd bought did a lot of the work draining her money.

Her fingers instinctively snatch the coin bag and fumble around until she realizes what's in it: nothing. No caps, just dust and air.

A surge of embarrassment and worry rush red into her cheeks. She still owes the casino money. She still has to pay for her stay.

She knew she had 175 caps she'd counted and kept track of back in her suite...the room fee cost 200.

She holds her head and lowers herself into a chair. She spent her last bit of money on the water and the wine at the bar...

"Hey, what're you doing flapping that empty coin bag around?"

The first thing she sees is a black and white checkered suit, like something you'd play a game of chess on, then she sees a man. He's got slick-backed hair and a 24-carrot smile, perfectly white teeth—too perfect as if they were washed in chrome. Two guards armed with silenced .22 SMGs stand, bulky and tough, a few meters away. She feels the sharp combat knife hidden underneath her skirt.

"Name's Benny."

She gives him a long stare. "Hi, Benny."

He leans against the table and looks her over from the sly corner of his eye, arms folded.

"You're smart not to be gamblin', cause," he chuckles to himself and glances at the empty bag, "I think you just got outplayed by the alcohol."

She turns redder than a cherry, partly from the rage building in her stomach.

His eyes move over her again and he takes in a deep, satisfactory breath of air. "Mind if I collect your room fee now?"

She just stares blankly at him.

He chuckles, "You can't pay for it. Yeah, I can tell. Been doing business for as long as I can remember. I can smell fear in people when they've been beat. And here and now, it smells like alcohol. Wait, and...what is that?" His eyebrows press together. "Awe, baby. You were a bit too nice to someone, right? You smell like charitable giving. Ugh, one of my least favorite things. No wonder you're in the hole."

She keeps back a growl and gestures to the bartender across the room, "Well then I'll just sell him my Sarsaparilla—"

He steps off the table and halts her with an arm. "Naw, baby. You're sticking with me. No caps, no payment. But not all deals have to be settled through caps, you know."

Her eyes meet his. "What is it."

His lips curl into another smile. "Come on by my suite at nine tonight. There I'll offer you some compensation. You dig?"

I'll dig your grave.

"Off to no good, Benny?"

Benny lets out a frustrated groan.

There's a tall man leaning against the wall behind them with sharp green eyes that instantly flicker over to the woman, who instantly freezes in her seat. She notices his trigger-trained fingers twitch and rub together as if itching for a gun at his side. That stain of gunpowder on his palm. That loose leather holster resting under his waist...But who is he?

"Look who it is, Mr. Broke and Fuckin' Unemployed," Benny grumbles.

"You preying on your customers now? That's not your style."

It really wasn't. Usually, Benny didn't make passes at random girls wandering the casino hall cause he had his groupies. Something about this one broad really got him goin'.

Benny shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Oh, c'mon I don't prey on helpless ladies, would never."

She hisses, and a part of her wastelander-self shows through the tidy dress and lipstick, "You callin' me helpless?"

The man's muscles show through his white cotton sleeves. "Should be careful, Benny. She's got a dangerous look about her."

Benny glances in her direction, then lifts an eyebrow. "What?"

"You're not as smart as you make yourself out to be. She may be in the hole, but you might as well be in a grave if you keep this up."

Benny straightens his jacket. "You're pretty foolhardy to be sayin' that to me here and now."

"Not as foolhardy as you, approchin' a girl like that and saying those things."

Benny narrows his eyes. "What do you want, Fox?"

"I've lost something And I know about your lost and found policy."

A smirk slithers through Benny's lips. "Oh, we're talkin' business? Perfect."

"I'm not payin' 100 caps for something I've lost."

"Well, then you ain't gettin' it back."

Fox nods to the woman and smiles, "How about I pay the same way she's payin'? Apparently whatever you're offering her as compensation is worth a nights stay, that's two hundred caps, right?"

Benny folds his arms. "You know that ain't going to work. Hundred caps or your little trinket ain't yours."

"I see. Well I got my answer anyways: you're a cheap asshole." He gives both of them a quick nod and saunters away.

"Huh. He's just as desperate as you are." He knocks on her table. "Remember, 9pm tonight, baby."

Then he leaves, and the woman's once again left by herself. Her fingers slide across the imprint of the combat knife underneath her dress, and she whispers, "Yeah, 9pm tonight and you'll get fuckin' shanked."

But her thoughts trail back to Fox—that was his name, apparently—and boy, he sure was a fox. He stood out from the crowd like a sore thumb—and a good looking thumb at that.

No. What is she thinking? Falling in love in this post-apocalyptic wasteland's something that most often just got you killed. Especially here in New Vegas.

To continue your story, go to  Chapter #18

Chapter Text

[Scroll to the bottom of Chapter 9 for instructions, just to make sure you're on the right track—trust me, you wouldn't want to be lost in this wasteland, would you?]

After Eric leaves the woman sits in silence for a few minutes, then goes to wander the casino hall: watch gamblers grumble or cheer, people mill about, guards stare at the wall. She has a slight temptation to go use one of the flashing slot machines, but her coin bag feels dangerously light. Getting a room for two days in this casino is expensive, and all those drinks she'd bought did a lot of the work draining her money.

Her fingers instinctively snatch the coin bag and fumble around until she realizes what's in it: nothing. No caps, just dust and air.

A surge of embarrassment and worry rush red into her cheeks. She still owes the casino money. She still has to pay for her stay.

She knew she had 175 caps she'd counted and kept track of back in her suite...the room fee cost 200.

She holds her head and lowers herself into a chair. She spent her last bit of money on the water and the wine at the bar...

"Hey, what're you doing flapping that empty coin bag around?"

The first thing she sees is a black and white checkered suit, like something you'd play a game of chess on, then she sees a man. He's got slick-backed hair and a 24-carrot smile, perfectly white teeth—too perfect as if they were washed in chrome. Two guards armed with silenced .22 SMGs stand, bulky and tough, a few meters away.

"Name's Benny."

She gives him a long stare as if she'd been caught stealing, "...Oh, hi, Benny."

He leans against the table and looks her over from the sly corner of his eye, arms folded.

"You're smart not to be gamblin', cause," he whispers, "game's rigged," then chuckles to himself. "But there're more games going on here than you think, baby." He glances at the empty bag, "An' I think you just got outplayed by alcohol.

She turns redder than a cherry.

His eyes move over her again and he takes in a deep, satisfactory breath of air. "Mind if I collect your room fee?"

She just stares blankly at the floor.

He chuckles, "You can't pay for it. Yeah, I can tell. Been doing business for as long as I can remember. I can smell the fear in even the most powerful men when they've been beat. And here and now, it smells like alcohol. Wait, and...what is that?" His eyebrows press together. "Awe, baby. You were a bit too nice to someone, right? You smell like charitable giving. Ugh, one of my least favorite things. No wonder you're in the hole."

She swallows hard, then turns out of her chair. "I could sell some of my rations to the bar for caps—"

He steps off the table and halts her with an arm. "Naw, baby. You're sticking with me. No caps, no payment. But not all deals have to be settled through caps, you know."

Her eyes meet his. "What is it."

His lips curl into another smile. "Come on by my suite at nine tonight. There I'll offer you some compensation. You dig?"

Her fingers grip the empty bag. Now she's really in the hole. She knew the kind of power the casinos had in The Strip, there was no challenging that. No weapons at the entrance for a reason. The casinos in The Strip make their own rules, and he had her cornered.

Her eyes stare blankly at the table and she nods solemnly.

"Alright."

To continue your story, go to Chapter #19

Chapter Text

[Scroll to the bottom of Chapter 9 for instructions, just to make sure you're on the right track—trust me, you wouldn't want to be lost in this wasteland, would you?]

After Eric leaves the woman sits in silence for a few minutes, then goes to wander the casino hall: watch gamblers grumble or cheer, people mill about, guards stare at the wall. She has a slight temptation to go use one of the flashing slot machines, but her coin bag feels dangerously light. Getting a room for a day in this casino is expensive, and all those drinks she'd bought did a lot of the work draining her money.

Her fingers instinctively snatch the coin bag and fumble around until she realizes what's in it: nothing. No caps, just dust and air.

A surge of embarrassment and worry rush red into her cheeks. She still owes the casino money. She still has to pay for her second night.

She knew she had 175 caps she'd counted and kept track of back in her suite...but another night cost 200.

She holds her head and lowers herself into a chair. She spent her last bit of money on the water and the wine at the bar...

"Hey, what're you doing flapping that empty coin bag around?"

The first thing she sees is a black and white checkered suit, like something you'd play a game of chess on, then she sees a man. He's got slick-backed hair and a 24-carrot smile, perfectly white teeth—too perfect as if they were washed in chrome. Two guards armed with silenced .22 SMGs stand, bulky and tough, a few meters away. She feels the sharp combat knife hidden underneath her skirt.

"Name's Benny."

She gives him a long stare. "Hi, Benny."

He leans against the table and looks her over from the sly corner of his eye, arms folded.

"You're smart not to be gamblin', cause," he chuckles to himself and glances at the empty bag, "I think you just got outplayed by the alcohol."

She turns redder than a cherry, partly from the rage building in her stomach.

His eyes move over her again and he takes in a deep, satisfactory breath of air. "Mind if I collect your second day rent now?"

She just stares blankly at him.

He chuckles, "You can't pay for it. Yeah, I can tell. Been doing business for as long as I can remember. I can smell the fear in even the most powerful men when they've been beat. And here and now, it smells like alcohol. Wait, and...what is that?" His eyebrows press together. "Awe, baby. You were a bit too nice to someone, right? You smell like charitable giving. Ugh, one of my least favorite things. No wonder you're in the hole."

She keeps back a growl, "I could sell some of my rations to the bar for caps—"

He steps off the table and halts her with an arm. "Naw, baby. You're sticking with me. No caps, no payment. But not all deals have to be settled through caps, you know."

Her eyes meet his. "What is it."

His lips curl into another smile, "Come on by my suite at nine tonight. There I'll offer you some compensation. You dig?"

I'll dig your grave.

He knocks on her table. "Remember, 9pm tonight, baby."

Then he leaves, and the woman's once again left by herself. Her fingers slide across the imprint of the combat knife underneath her dress, and she whispers, "Yeah, 9pm tonight and you'll get shanked."

To continue your story, go to Chapter #20

Chapter Text

[Scroll to the bottom of Chapter 8 for instructions, just to make sure you're on the right track—trust me, you wouldn't want to be lost in this wasteland, would you?]

She leaves the bar to go admire the scenery. Some gamblers give her passing looks: they can sense she's out of place. Maybe it's the constant hard gleam in her eyes that sets her apart, or the way she held herself, ready for anything.

But she feels something's off: there's one pair of eyes that won't stop staring, somewhere in the casino. She can feel it, and her feeling only grows stronger as the times passes.

"Hey, baby."

She turns to face a black and white checkered suit, like something you'd play a game of chess on, then she sees the man in it. He's got slicked-back hair and a 24-carrot smile, perfect teeth—too perfect as if washed in chrome. Two guards armed with silenced .22 SMGs stand, bulky and tough, a few meters away.

"Name's Benny. You know, you're lookin' like a fine broad in that dress." His mouth was used to admiring the whores he spent nights with in his room, so nothing he said deviated from a flirtatious compliment.

The guards exchange glances. Usually, the boss isn't so set on making a pass at women wandering the casino halls. But something about this one gal really got him goin'. They keep their steady ground. Something about her seems a bit dangerous.

"You're also one of the few broads I know who can pull the plasma-green hair off. And that shabby relaxedwear, too, come to think of it." She's leaning against the railing and can feel him glance at her backside.

"You likin' this place so far?"

"Sure." She stares at the floor tiling.

He smirks, as if in victory. "Yeah? Well, I run this place, baby."

God, if only I had a gun...

"Oh, really? Well I'll be. The owner of The Tops."

"That's right, baby. Probably the best businessmen in The Strip. I do all sorts of it, every kind you can imagine. And I'm good at it, too." He smirks slyly.

She picks at her nails, but they're strangely clean from the shower; no dirt under them, completely washed. She sort of misses the feeling of scraping it out when she's bored.

"So, where you from?" He leans on the bar rest next to her. "You don't look like you're from The Strip." He laughs, "Let me guess—NCR takin' another booze break? You guys are all over the place." He lifts a finger. "Wait—maybe you're from Novac?"

"No. The wastes."

"The wasteland?" He's a bit surprised for a moment but quickly regains the smirk. "Oh, no. That makes sense now. That's right—you and those muscles, those hard eyes...Always loved a tough girl. You dig a slick guy yourself?" He slid a hand through his hair.

"Listen, buddy, get bent. Not interested."

She hears the guards hold back a snicker. Benny leans back and lifts his hands. "Jesus, cool it, Ginger-Snap." He shoves his hands in his pockets and scoffs, "Thought you were a lady."

"I'm a lady, what, you want me to make you a knuckle sandwich?"

Benny smirks at his guards. "Must be feral."

"Ugh. If you ain't gonna beat it, I will."

He watches her curving figure stride away in that brown dress, tight in all the right places, her heels clicking sharply on the tile floor. People like Benny didn't catch her eye. She wanted someone who could handle a gun and a good punch to the gut, someone who'd been dragged through the dirt and mud, someone who'd seen the deepest horrors of the world but still had faith.

In short, someone fit for the nuclear apocalypse.

To continue your story, go to  Chapter #21

Chapter Text

[Scroll to the bottom of Chapter 8 for instructions, just to make sure you're on the right track—trust me, you wouldn't want to be lost in this wasteland, would you?]

She leaves the bar to go admire the scenery. Some gamblers give her passing looks: They can sense she's out of place, but she feels something's off. There's one pair of eyes that won't stop staring, somewhere in the casino. She can feel it, and her feeling only grows stronger as the times passes.

"Hey, baby."

She turns to face a black and white checkered suit, like something you'd play a game of chess on, then she sees the man in it. He's got slicked-back hair and a 24-carrot smile, perfect teeth—too perfect, as if washed in chrome. Two guards armed with silenced .22 SMGs stand, bulky and tough, a few meters away.

"Name's Benny. You know, you're lookin' like a fine broad in that dress." His mouth was used to admiring the whores he spent nights with in his room, so nothing he said deviated from a flirtatious compliment. "You're also one of the few broads I know who can pull the plasma-green hair off. And that shabby relaxedwear, too, come to think of it."

She's leaning against the railing and can feel him glance at her backside.

The guards exchange glances. Usually the boss isn't so set on making a pass at women wandering the casino halls. But something about this one gal really got him goin'.

"You likin' this place so far?"

"Sure." She stares down at the floor tiling.

He smirks, as if in victory. "Yeah? Well, I run this place, baby."

God, if only I had a gun...

"Oh, really? Well I'll be. The owner of The Tops."

—

Fox finally finds that rat at the other end of the casino, chattin' up a gal with bright green hair. Her eyes instantly lift to his, and she smiles. She's obviously not interested in whatever Benny has to say.

He makes his way over to the guards and tells them he's got business with Benny. That always gets their attention.

One moves over to the boss and taps his shoulder.

"You wanna get- Hey, what're you doin'? What is it that requires my immediate attention, you asshole?"

The guard sticks his thumb over his shoulder at Fox.

"Says he wants to talk business, boss."

Benny glares at Fox.

"Look who it is, Mr. Broke and Fuckin' Unemployed," Benny grumbles.

Fox crosses his arms, where muscles show through his white cotton sleeves. "Hey."

"Guessing you're coming back for that trinket of yours?"

"Yep."

"Well, Fox, you know my lost and found policy."

"I'm not payin' a hundred caps for something I've lost."

"Well, then you ain't gettin' it back."

Fox sighs, "What a shame. Well, I got my answer anyways: you're a cheap asshole."

The girl cracks a snicker, to which Benny frowns.

"Well, good luck." Fox gives her a wink and walks away.

She blushes hard. Real hard. Her cheeks're no more than two glowing cherries.

Fox—that was his name, apparently—and boy, he sure was a fox. He stood out from the crowd like a sore thumb—and a good looking thumb at that.

No. What was she thinking? This wasn't like her. Falling in love in this post-apocalyptic wasteland was something that most often just got you killed. Especially here in New Vegas.

To continue your story, go to Chapter #22

Chapter Text

[Scroll to the bottom of Chapter 8 for instructions, just to make sure you're on the right track—trust me, you wouldn't want to be lost in this wasteland, would you?]

She leaves the bar to go admire the scenery. Some gamblers give her passing looks: they can sense she's out of place. It's hard to hide it when your roots are in the wasteland, so she tries to stand up a little straighter. But she feels something's off: there's one pair of eyes that won't stop staring, somewhere in the casino. She can feel it, and her feeling only grows stronger as the times passes.

"Hey, baby."

She turns to face a black and white checkered suit, like something you'd play a game of chess on, then she sees the man in it. He's got slicked-back hair and a 24-carrot smile, perfect teeth—too perfect as if washed in chrome. Two guards armed with silenced .22 SMGs stand, bulky and tough, a few meters away.

"Name's Benny. You know, you're lookin' like a fine broad in that dress." His mouth was used to admiring the whores he spent nights with in his room, so nothing he said deviated from a flirtatious compliment. "You're also one of the few broads I know who can pull the plasma-green hair off. And that shabby relaxedwear, too, come to think of it."

She's leaning against the railing and can feel him glance at her backside.

The guards exchange glances. Usually, the boss isn't so set on making a pass at women wandering the casino halls: he had his hookers. But something about this one gal really got him goin'.

"You likin' this place so far?"

"Oh, I like it lots." She stares down at the floor tiling.

He smirks, as if in victory. "Yeah? Well, I run this place, baby."

"Oh, really? Well I'll be. The owner of The Tops. "

"That's right, baby. Probably the best businessmen in The Strip. I do all sorts of it, every kind you can imagine. And I'm good at it, too." He smirks slyly.

Good at overpricing your rooms, more like.

She picks at her nails, but they're strangely clean from the shower; no dirt under them, completely washed. She sort of misses the feeling of scraping it out when she's bored.

"So, where you from?" He leans on the bar rest next to her. "You don't look like you're from The Strip." He laughs, "Let me guess—NCR takin' another booze break? You guys are all over the place." He lifts a finger. "Wait—maybe you're from Novac?"

"I'm from the wastes"

"The wasteland?" He's a bit surprised for a moment but quickly regains the smirk. "Oh, no. That makes sense now. That's right—you and those muscles, those hard eyes...Always loved a tough girl. Do you like a slick guy yourself?" He slid a hand through his hair.

It took him about twelve more minutes of flirting to realize she wasn't interested.

After telling her he had more important things to do, he watches her curving figure stride away in that brown dress, tight in all the right places, her heels clicking sharply on the tile floor.

She didn't mind his rudeness. People like Benny didn't catch her eye. She wanted someone who could handle a gun and a good punch to the gut, someone who'd been dragged through the dirt and mud, someone who'd seen the deepest horrors of the world but still had faith.

In short, someone fit for the nuclear apocalypse.

To continue your story, go to Chapter #21

New Story Insignia!

It is now: +

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from  Chapter #10 ]

It's 9 pm and the hallway to Benny's room is as silent as the wastes themselves. There's only the buzzing of the dim lights above and the panicked beating of her heart.

Before she knows it, Benny's holding the door open for her. He's still in his pressed checkered suit but there's a dead rose in his right coat pocket.

"Hey, baby."

She steps in, her eyes frozen open. His room's real fancy. There's a mini bar off to the right, and after locking the door behind him, he goes over to pour her a drink.

"Here." He hands it over. "This'll keep those legs of yours from shaking so much. You're like a Cazador."

She doesn't take the drink, just thrusts a bag of caps forward. "Sold some of my rations. Two hundred, right here."

Benny's brow furrows. "Aw, baby. Didn't I tell you not to be going off like that?"

"But—"

"It's just business." He zones in on her like a shark, grips her hips, kisses her neck and sets her cup aside on the bar while rocking forward. "We made a deal."

She shuts her eyes tight. "Why don't you just take the fuckin' caps?"

He stops for a moment and looks up at her. "Baby, I've got all the caps in the world I could ever want." He spins her and walks her over to the king sized bed that's been fixed and tended and waiting. "I just want you now."

He smells like hookers, cigarettes, and all sorts of alcohol as he chucks the checkered suit jacket the the headrest, one hand feeling for her dress zipper and the other digging for the one on his pants. The woman simply lays there, like a dead fish waiting to be gutted.

Benny starts peeling the dress off real slow. "Ohh, you're a real fine broad, aren't you?"

There's the quiet clicking of a lock, and the door swings open.

Fox is leaning against the door frame with a revolver in one hand, Benny's Suite Key in the other, and a rabbit's foot hanging from his neck.

"Nice seein' the famous businessman of The Strip in his boxers. If I'd come any later, you'd have your little ring-a-ding-dinger dangling, huh?" He points the revolver. "Put your fuckin' hands up."

Benny throws them in the air. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Don't shoot!"

"Yeah, yeah, shuckster. Stop flappin' your mouth. An' keep your suite key from stickin' straight outta your fuckin' pocket, took me two seconds to swipe it." Fox makes his way over and asks the woman, "You okay?"

She nods.

"You can put your dress back on. I won't look. But you bet I'll keep this dip stick in my sights." He turns back to Benny with the revolver held steady.

She hurriedly slips back into the dress and tries zipping the back by herself. Fox glances back and sees her struggle.

He takes a few sweeping steps forward, and before she knew it, zipped it up, and now extends a hand to help her off the bed.

"There. Let's get outta here before Mr. Candyass calls for help, yeah?"

She's entranced with his eyes but manages a word, "Yeah."

"I have a feeling you got stuff you need to pick up?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, let's get on with it then." They run, and distantly hear Benny bellowing for his guards.

"What room?" he asks.

"Five."

He finds it in an instant and she rushes in. She packs her things so quick it was as if a tornado came in and swept everything away. She runs out with her pack, breathing quick. "I have weapons, too. Lots."

Fox ponders a moment. "I think I have an idea of where they're stored—"

"Hand me a bobby pin," she says.

"What?"

She holds out an open palm. "Bobby pin."

He quickly rifles through his pockets and hands her three.

She takes them and sprints off.

"Wait—where're you going?"

He can't find her anywhere until he sees her nonchalantly walk out from behind a desk in the casino plaza with an overstuffed pack. The tip of a missile sticks out from the top.

Dozens of chairmen come sprinting in with their pistols at the ready. "That's them!"

Fox sees the woman crack a smile and pull a Recharger pistol from her pack. Gamblers scream and scatter. That smile—something you'd only see on a real professional who knew the joys of a good gunfight.

They get alongside each other.

"You ready to leave?" he asks.

"I sure as hell am." She snickers and they sprint out the casino doors as bullets zing past their heads and chip the walls.

Oh man, this woman.

To continue your story, go to  Chapter #23

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #11]

It's 9 pm and the hallway to Benny's room is as silent as the wastes themselves. There's only the buzzing of the dim lights above and the quiet metallic clang of the knife along her thigh.

Before she knows it, Benny's holding the door open for her. He's still in his pressed checkered suit but there's a dead rose in his right coat pocket.

"Hey, baby."

She steps in and her cold eyes move over everything. His room's real fancy. There's a mini bar off to the right, and after locking the door behind him, Benny goes over to pour her a drink.

"Here." He hands it over. "Loosen up. You're as stiff as a board." He winks. "Shouldn't that be my job?"

She doesn't take the drink, just laughs dryly. "Funny."

He'd be stiff in a way he didn't expect. Cold and stiff.

Benny zones in on her like a shark, grips her hips, kisses her neck and sets her cup aside on the bar while rocking forward. "So." He whispers, "We made a deal."

Her eyes narrow, but she lets him continue.

He stops for a moment and looks up at her. "Baby, I've got all the caps in the world I could ever want..." He spins her and walks her over to the king sized bed that's been fixed and tended and waiting. "But isn't it funny? I just want you now."

He smells like hookers, cigarettes, and all sorts of alcohol as he chucks the checkered suit jacket the the headrest, one hand feeling for her dress zipper and the other digging for the one on his pants. The woman simply lays there, like a dead fish waiting to be gutted.

"Ohh, you're a real fine broad, aren't you? I'd like to see more."

Suddenly she grabs his collar.

"Oh," he chuckles, kisses her neck, and smiles gleefully. "You want it rough, don't you?" But his smile quickly fades when he feels the cold blade pressed against his neck.

"Yeah. You could say that."

Her knees lock around his neck and press him back into the blankets. She pins his wrists down. Her eyes are ice.

"You're going to let me off this payment. Yeah?" She lets the edge of the blade press further in.

He struggles with his voice for a moment, eyes frozen on the blade. "...Y-yeah."

There's the quiet clicking of a lock, and the door swings open.

Fox runs in with a revolver in one hand, a bobby pin in the other, and a rabbit's foot hanging from his neck.

He sees her with the knife and instantly lowers his gun. "Holy shit...thought I was too late..."

She lifts the knife in his direction. "What're you doing here?"

He carefully puts his revolver away and lifts his hands. "Swear I'm friendly. I didn't like what he was doing, so I came to get you out of it, after I sorted out my things." He held up the rabbit's foot. "But seems you've taken care of the situation already."

Benny takes quick breaths, "How'd you guys get these weapons in?!"

The woman grips his shoulders and points the tip of the knife at his face. "Shut up." Then she turns to Fox and smiles. "Well, thanks." She hops off Benny, "Could you watch him while I get dressed?"

Fox carefully draws his revolver, "Alright."

She hurriedly slips back into the dress and tries zipping the back by herself. The zipper was stuck, but she enjoyed the delay. It gave her more time to admire those muscles. They got her all flustered, but in that nice way.

Fox glances back and sees her struggle. He takes a few sweeping steps forward, and before she knew it, zipped it up, and now extends a hand to help her off the bed.

She smiles and can't stop staring into his eyes. It takes her a moment to speak. "So...should we get outta here before he calls for help?"

"Is that your plan?" he asks.

She holds up her skirt and slides the knife into the holster on her thigh. "Yeah. I don't wanna stay here any hour longer."

"You got stuff you need to pick up?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, let's get on with it then." They run, and distantly hear Benny bellowing for his guards.

"What room?" he asks.

"Five."

He finds it in an instant and she rushes in. She packs her things so quick it was as if a tornado came in and swept everything away. She runs out with her pack, breathing quick. "I have other weapons too. Lots."

Fox ponders a moment. "I think I have an idea of where they're stored—"

"Hand me a bobby pin," she says.

"What?"

She holds out an open palm. "Bobby pin."

He quickly rifles through his pockets and hands her three.

She takes them and sprints off.

"Wait—where're you going?"

He can't find her anywhere until he sees her nonchalantly walk out from behind a desk in the casino plaza with an overstuffed pack. The tip of a missile sticks out from the top.

Dozens of chairmen come sprinting in with their pistols at the ready. "That's them!" They yell.

Fox sees the woman crack a smile and pull a Recharger pistol from her pack. Gamblers scream and scatter. That smile—something you'd only see on a real professional who knew the joys of a good gunfight.

They get alongside each other.

"You ready to leave?" he asks.

"You sure as hell I am." She snickers and they sprint out the casino doors as bullets zing past their heads and chip the walls.

Oh man, this woman.

To continue your story, go to Chapter #24

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #12]

It's 9 pm and the hallway to Benny's room is as silent as the wastes themselves. There's only the buzzing of the dim lights above and the panicked beating of her heart.

Before she knows it, Benny's holding the door open for her. He's still in his pressed checkered suit but there's a dead rose in his right coat pocket.

"Hey, baby."

She steps in, her eyes frozen open. His room's real fancy. There's a mini bar off to the right, and after locking the door behind him, he goes over to pour her a drink.

"Here." He hands it over. "This'll keep those legs of yours from shaking so much. You're like a Cazador."

She doesn't take the drink, just thrusts a bag of caps forward. "Here, two hundred. Sold some of my rations for some more caps."

Benny's brow furrows. "Aw, baby. Didn't I tell you not to be going off like that?"

"But—"

"It's just business." He zones in on her like a shark, grips her hips, kisses her neck and sets her cup aside on the bar while rocking forward. "So." He whispers, "We made a deal."

She shuts her eyes tight. "Why don't you just take the fuckin' caps?"

He stops for a moment and looks up at her. "Baby, I've got all the caps in the world I could ever want." He spins her and walks her over to the king sized bed that's been fixed and tended and waiting. "I just want you now."

He smells like hookers, cigarettes, and all sorts of alcohol as he chucks the checkered suit jacket the the headrest, one hand feeling for her dress zipper and the other digging for the one on his pants. The woman simply lays there, like a dead fish waiting to be gutted.

"Ohh, you're a real fine broad, aren't you? I'd like to see more."

And he did. She spent the most of the time gripping the sheets until her knuckles turned white and her cheeks whiter. Sometimes, in his peaking groans, she had this lingering feeling of expectation, like maybe this high roller would finally get on with it and let her be on her way, but he had an appetite. The door was shut and locked, and it stayed that way throughout the night.

To continue your story, go to Chapter #25

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #13]

It's 9 pm and the hallway to Benny's room is as silent as the wastes themselves. There's only the buzzing of the dim lights above and the quiet metallic clang of the knife along her thigh.

Before she knows it, Benny's holding the door open for her. He's still in his pressed checkered suit but there's a dead rose in his right coat pocket.

"Hey, baby."

She steps in and her cold eyes move over everything. His room's real fancy. There's a mini bar off to the right, and after locking the door behind him, Benny goes over to pour her a drink.

"Here." He hands it over. "Loosen up. You're as stiff as a board." He winks. "Shouldn't that be my job?"

She doesn't take the drink, just laughs dryly. "Funny."

He'd be stiff in a way he didn't expect. Cold and stiff.

Benny zones in on her like a shark, grips her hips, kisses her neck and sets her cup aside on the bar while rocking forward. "So." He whispers, "We made a deal."

Her eyes narrow, but she lets him continue.

He stops for a moment and looks up at her. "Baby, I've got all the caps in the world I could ever want..." He spins her and walks her over to the king sized bed that's been fixed and tended and waiting. "But isn't it funny? I just want you now."

He smells like hookers, cigarettes, and all sorts of alcohol as he chucks the checkered suit jacket at the headrest, one hand feeling for her dress zipper and the other digging for the one on his pants.

"Ohh, you're a real fine broad, aren't you?"

Suddenly she grabs his collar.

"Oh," he chuckles, kisses her neck, and smiles gleefully. "You want it rough, don't you?" But his smile quickly fades when he feels the cold blade pressed against his neck.

"Yeah. You could say that..." She gathers a deep breath through her nostrils, teeth shining through a smirk. "...You're going to let me off this payment. Yeah?" The edge of the blade presses further in.

He struggles with his voice for a moment, and his eyes dart down at the trickle of blood snaking its way down his collarbone. "...Y-yeah."

"Good." She smiles.

The handle of the knife kicks into his skull and he falls unconscious into the pillows.

She steps off his body, slides the dress back onto her shoulders, jerks the zipper up and hops off the bed, then straps into her heels and slides the knife into the belt along her thigh.

The man at the check-in desk's got the night shift. Everything's usually quiet after 10 pm, even though they kept the casino lights on. Just for safety measures, really.

He's tasting the tip of his cigarette when he hears the click-clacking of heels. He sees a fuzzy shadow coming from the casino hall focus into a woman. She has a little green dress and delicate red lipstick.

"Hey missy. What's keepin' you up? Plannin' on leavin'?"

She looked over from the darkness and gave him an irresistible smile, "Oh, no—I'm just staying one more night. I'll check out tomorrow." Then she unlocks the door to her room and disappears.

To continue your story, go to Chapter #28

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #14 or Chapter #16]

She'd go back to the wasteland tomorrow morning; continue scavenging, continue collecting bounties. Life would just become another boring fight for survival.

What a wasted trip. She met no cute boys, only some jackass that wouldn't stop staring at her ass. He kept trying to win her over with caps and magazines, and she let him play the game for a while, but it got boring after a half hour or so listening to him talk about himself. So, now what? There was no one else here to enjoy The Strip with her.

100 Bottle Cap(s) Added

Meeting People Added

Patriot's Cookbook Added

╔══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╗

╚══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╝

She rolls over in bed onto her side, props herself up with her elbow, and stares at the dusty lamp on her bedside table.

What an idiot I've been. In a huff, she reaches for the switch and bites her lip. Of course I'd meet no one I'd fancy. She fiddles with it for a few seconds. It's the Nuclear fucking apocalypse. The room goes dark. No one loves each other anymore. She falls back into her pillows. Making my trip out of here tomorrow. Now let's go the fuck to bed.

—

Fox stands still in the darkness, under the moon. He sighs, then moves slowly under the shadow of the Old Mormon Fort and stops at Freeside's North gate.

He stares at it for a long while, like it's trapped him in place. After he takes a deep breath, he pushes the gates open and continues his way over the cracks in the road, then is engulfed by the inky darkness ahead in the wastes.

To continue your story, go to  Chapter #26

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #15 ]

She goes to bed with the thought of that man stuck in her head: she isn't thinking of Benny, though—she'd already long forgotten about him—but she is thinking of Fox. Benny kept trying to win her over with caps and magazines, and she let him play the game for a while, but it got boring after a half an hour or so of listening him talk about himself.

100 Bottle Cap(s) Added

Meeting People Added

Patriot's Cookbook Added

╔══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╗

╚══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╝

But the image of Fox was stuck in her brain, whether she liked it or not. He had these amazingly green eyes, with his smile just as bright and pleasant. She's noticed his trigger-trained fingers twitch and rub together as if itching for a gun at his side. That stain of gunpowder on his palm. That loose leather holster resting under his waist...But who was he? And where had he come from? Why was he at The Tops? She wants to know so badly, but a part of her knows they would probably never meet again. He'd go back to whatever job he has in New Vegas — most likely the Kings gang, come to think of it: he sorta had the haircut, though it was a bit scuffed, and she'd go back to the wasteland tomorrow morning. Continue scavenging, continue her annoying work with the NCR. Life would just become another boring fight for survival.

She rolls over in bed onto her side, propping herself up with her elbow, and stares at the dusty lamp on her bedside table.

Why the hell am I dwelling on this so much? In a huff, she reaches for the switch and bites her lip, Just another fucking man, She fiddles with it for a few seconds, Who I shouldn't give a shit about. The room goes dark. She falls back into her pillows. Making my trip out of here tomorrow. Now let's go the fuck to bed.

—

As Fox replaces his .44 Magnum into its holster and makes his way out of The Tops casino doors, a wide grin grows over his face. When the guards're out of sight, he fishes in his pockets for a few moments, then throws the Rabbit's foot necklace over his neck. He fiddles with it and smiles for a long while, but stops suddenly. He stands still in the darkness, under the moon.

As if the thought of the girl hadn't exhausted itself in his head enough: he's been thinking of her all day. He thought of her when he left The Tops at noon, thought of her when he got drunk off of his last bottle of whisky behind the Atomic Wrangler in the pm, thought of her when he snuck back into the casino and stole his necklace in the am, and now he's still thinking of her.

But he knows they won't meet again. She was sweet. Life is bitter.

Fox sighs and approaches the Securitrons watching him from the Strip Exit doors. They gave him a quick scan, then belted, "Move along."

He gives them a quick nod and walks through the screeching gates.

After packing his few bits of goods left from behind the Atomic Wrangler, he travels safely through Freeside, moves slowly past under the shadow of the Old Mormon Fort and stops at Freeside's North gate.

He stares at it for a long while, like it's trapped him in place. His fingers brush over the Rabbit's foot. No double take. He pushes the gates open, continues his way over the cracks in the road, then is engulfed by the inky darkness ahead in the wastes.

To continue your story, go to  Chapter #27

Chapter Text

[Only read  if you came from Chapter #17]

They left under the stars, sped past the robots in the Strip, and hopped onto the roads of Freeside. The woman can't stop smiling at him. The moonlight captures his figure perfectly, even as he runs next to heaps of trash and crumbling buildings. She couldn't help a little giggle, either.

Fox looks back at her. They're walking now. "What?"

"Oh, nothing." She tries to hide it by looking away. "Just...Thanks for gettin' me outta that hellhole."

"Yeah, no problem. Never liked Benny anyways."

She pointed to the rabbit's foot dangling from his neck. "So...what's that? That's new."

He glances down and turns a bit red in the cheeks. "Oh, this? This's my one piece of luck. I keep it with me."

"Oh, is that what you were trying to bargain for with Benny? About the lost and found?"

"Yeah."

"Aw." Her smile only grew bigger. "That's cute."

And he only turned redder. "Thanks."

They pass under the shadow of the Old Mormon Fort and stop at Freeside's North Gate.

Fox looks back at her, "Oh, you're still following me."

"You bet I am."

"Why?"

"You can't just have a gunfight with a guy and then let him beat feet. And where else do you think I have to go?"

Fox lights a cigarette. "I don't know, do you live somewhere in Freeside?"

"No."

"Goodsprings?"

"Nope."

"Primm?"

"Naw."

"Boulder City?"

"No one lives there."

"Novac?"

"Thank God no."

"...Nipton?"

"No!"

"Where the hell do you live then?"

She puts her hands on her hips. "Where do you think? I got a giant pack full of illegal weapons, rations, crazy green hair."

"...Wastelander?"

"Yeah, you dipstick."

"Oh. Prospector?"

"Sorta. Not really."

"Huh?"

She chuckles, "The real question here is where do you live? You stopped here at the North gate, so I'm starting to wonder if you're a wastelander, too. But you don't look like it. You look more like a King's member that's gone down the hole."

He frowns and flicks the cigarette into the pavement, squashing it with his shoe. That isn't exactly a topic he'd like to explain. "Oh, I see. Turnin' the tables on me."

"Yeah."

He decides to keep it simple, keep all the King's stuff out of it. "I don't live anywhere."

"Kay, where're you goin'?"

"Into the wasteland."

She strolls up to him and snickers, "Well ain't that dandy? We're goin' the same way. Soooo...Since you got nowhere else to go, wanna come with?"

Fox glances at her face. It's nothing short of adorable, like watching a puppy. But he knows she was far from a puppy. Maybe the analogy would work better if it were a coyote or something.

"Yeah, I could come with."

She bursts into a cry of joy and laughter, runs across the broken pavement, and grips the lock on the North gate. "Come on then, I'll show you the twists and turns of the Mojave, and we'll both make sure we don't get eaten or blown to bits, right?"

He smiles back. "Right."

To continue your story, go to Chapter #29

Chapter Text

[Only read  if you came from Chapter #18]

They left under the stars, sped past the robots in the Strip, and hopped onto the roads of Freeside. The woman can't stop grinning at him. The moonlight captures his figure perfectly, even as he runs next to heaps of trash and crumbling buildings. She couldn't help a little giggle, either.

Fox looks back at her. They were walking now. "What?"

"Oh, nothing." Her face falls to a smirk. "Thanks for fightin' those Chairmen with me."

"Yeah, no problem. Never liked The Tops anyways."

"So let me make this straight...You burst in on me and Benny cuz of what?"

"To make sure he never went through on that deal. It was nasty. He's a fuckin' rat."

She chuckles, "Boy, you sure gave me a scare. I thought you were one of his guards or somethin'. I was ready to splatter blood on the walls."

Fox laughs nervously, "Yeah...Didn't know you'd brought a knife with you."

"Hey, you snuck a pistol in, too!"

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, "great minds think alike."

She pointed to the rabbit's foot dangling from his neck. "So what's that? That's new."

He glances down and turns a bit red in the cheeks, "Oh, this? This's my one piece of luck. I keep it with me."

"Oh, is that what you were trying to bargain for with Benny? About the lost and found?"

"Yeah."

"Aw." Her smile only grew bigger. "That's cute."

And he only turned redder. "Thanks."

They pass under the shadow of the Old Mormon Fort and stop at Freeside's North Gate.

Fox looks back at her. "Oh, you're still following me."

"You bet I am."

"Why?"

"You can't just have a gunfight with a guy and then let him beat feet. And where else do you think I have to go?"

Fox lights a cigarette. "I don't know, do you live somewhere in Freeside?"

"No."

"Goodsprings?"

"Nope."

"Primm?"

"Naw."

"Boulder City?"

"No one lives there."

"Novac?"

"Thank God no."

"...Nipton?"

"No!"

"Where the hell do you live then?"

She puts her hands on her hips. "Where do you think? I got a giant pack full of illegal weapons, rations, crazy green hair."

"...Wastelander?"

"Yeah, you dipstick."

"Oh. Prospector?"

"Sorta. Not really."

"Huh?"

She chuckles, "The real question here is where do you live? You stopped here at the North gate, so I'm starting to wonder if you're a wastelander, too. But you don't look like it. You look more like a King's member that's gone down the hole."

He frowns and flicks the cigarette into the pavement, squashing it with his shoe. That isn't exactly a topic he'd like to explain. "Oh, I see. Turnin' the tables on me."

"Yeah."

He decides to keep it simple, keep all the King's stuff out of it, "I don't live anywhere."

"Kay, where're you goin'?"

"Into the wasteland."

She strolls up to him and snickers, "Well ain't that dandy? We're goin' the same way. Soooo...Since you got nowhere else to go, wanna come with?"

Fox glances at her face. It was like watching a coyote—calm yet mischievous eyes, clever as hell. But boy she was adorable, too.

"Yeah, I could come with."

She bursts into a cry of laughter, runs across the broken pavement, and grips the lock on the North gate. "Come on then, I'll show you the twists and turns of the Mojave, and we'll both make sure we don't get eaten or blown to bits, right?"

He smiles back. "Right."

To continue your story, go to Chapter #30

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #19]

Her breath feels muggy under the sheets, the air heavy and damp, her head in a daze. Everything's cold: the flesh on her arms, the tips of her toes, even her skull. She glances at the clock on the wall, listens to its incessant ticking. Five am. Benny is fast asleep, his hands heavy on her waist, breaths deep. She slips under his fingers and inches under the covers till her toes touch the floor. It's freezing, and a shiver drives itself over her bare skin. She steps into the frail green dress on the floor and carefully tries zipping it up by herself. It gets caught midway so she leaves it undone. She moves across the creaking floorboards slowly and picks up her heels on her way out the door.

The man at the check-in desk's got the night shift. Everything's usually quiet after 10 pm, even though they kept the casino lights on. Just for safety measures, really.

He's tasting the tip of his cigarette when he hears the pitter-pattering of feet. He sees a fuzzy shadow coming from the elevator hall focus into a woman. She has a little green dress on and holds a pair of heels.

"Hey, missy. What's keepin' you up? Plannin' on leavin'?"

She looks over from the darkness. “Oh, no—I'll um, I'll check out soon…” Then she unlocks the door to her room and disappears.

To continue your story, go to Chapter #31

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #21]

She leaves while the orange light yawns over the broken streets, her steps quick, eyes set forward, weapons thrown over her shoulder. Checking out was smooth, leaving The Strip was easy, that all got along fine. Everything on the street's quiet, seemingly abandoned, and even the thieves are sleeping. She turns the rusty switch on her radio and it crackles quietly into life as she passes through Freeside.

Dust stirs under the wires weaving the North gate as she approaches as if the restless wasteland were seeping through to peek inside. She kicks the dust as if it were a naughty dog and grunts as she pulls the lock and opens the gates. The wasteland hisses and flies in with the rising breeze. As she closes the gate behind her and steps into the sand-ridden road, it wrings around her ankles and follows her as she struts under the shadow of the I-15. Pale plants and rocks drying in the sun sit and watch her go past, the sun wakening behind them.

Her eyes catch sight of footprints in the dust. Single footprints—definitely not a caravan or gang. Whoever it was's solo. Shouldn't be that far away. The prints seemed a bit fresh, maybe from last night. If she picks the pace up a little she'd be able to catch up with them, see what they're up to. Travelling alone in the Mojave isn't very common, and often very dangerous.

—

Everything had been going just fine for Fox. He traveled all night and had gotten pretty far. Followed the I-15 South and turned off the interstate once the Rock Crushing Plant came into view. He was just approaching the Hunter's Farm. He could see a hot rod rusting out front and a wagon wilting somewhere near the back with a packed sack sitting near the wheels.

Fox's stomach grumbles. He clutches his cotton shirt and tries rubbing the tiredness from his eyes but can't seem to shake the weary sleeplessness that's been weighing him down like a boulder. He's gotten no sleep for two days straight, been getting drunk or walking away from his problems the whole time. Now he can feel the hangover seeping in.

He rummages through the sack. Maize, barrel cactus fruits, a few honey mesquite pods, and some dusty bottles of NukaCola sit near the bottom. Someone must've forgotten it all, or they left and died in the wastes.

He took a few lazy bites of the barrel cactus fruit, which was dry and unwelcoming, but food nonetheless, then popped the cap off the NukaCola and took a big, sizzling gulp. God, he can't believe this stuff's still around after the bombs. Each bottle's a living relic, and probably terribly irradiated. But it's like a cold spring running down his throat. Something that isn't alcohol for once. That stuff burns.

He heaves a sigh as his eyes drag over the empty Mojave. Dust dances in the warming air and the long shadows retreat. It all blurs as the bottle falls from his hand and he snores under the rising sun.

To continue your story, go to Chapter #32

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #22]

She leaves while the orange light yawns over the broken streets, her steps quick, eyes set forward, weapons thrown over her shoulder. Checking out was smooth, leaving The Strip was easy, that all got along fine. Everything on the street's quiet, seemingly abandoned, and even the thieves are sleeping. She turns the rusty switch on her radio and it crackles quietly into life as she passes through Freeside.

Dust stirs under the wires weaving the North gate as she approaches as if the restless wasteland were seeping through to peek inside. She kicks the dust as if it were a naughty dog and grunts as she pulls the lock and opens the gates. The wasteland hisses and flies in with the rising breeze. As she closes the gate behind her and steps into the sand-ridden road, it wrings around her ankles and follows her as she struts under the shadow of the I-15. Pale plants and rocks drying in the sun sit and watch her go past, the sun wakening behind them.

Her eyes catch sight of footprints in the dust. Single footprints—definitely not a caravan or gang. Whoever it was's solo. Shouldn't be that far away. The prints seemed a bit fresh, maybe from last night. If she picks the pace up a little she'd be able to catch up with them, see what they're up to. Travelling alone in the Mojave isn't very common, and often very dangerous.

—

Everything had been going just fine for Fox. He traveled all night and had gotten pretty far. Followed the I-15 South and turned off the interstate once the Monte Carlo Suites came into view. His journey so far's been surprisingly quiet — he'd been expecting at least a few gunfights with the notorious South Vegas Fiends, but the ruins were eerily still. He's just now approaching the Poseidon Gas Station, and cuts across the dusty plain to avoid the stinking pile of radioactive waste simmering out front. He slumps against the back concrete wall under the shade of the roof and finds a packed sack sitting near the boarded up window.

Fox's stomach grumbles. He clutches his cotton shirt and tries rubbing the tiredness from his eyes but can't seem to shake the weary sleeplessness that's been weighing him down like a boulder. He's gotten no sleep for two days straight, been getting drunk or walking away from his problems the whole time. Now he can feel the hangover seeping in.

He slumps in the shade next to the wheels and rummages through the sack. Maize, barrel cactus fruits, a few honey mesquite pods, and some dusty bottles of NukaCola sit near the bottom. Someone must've forgotten it all, or they left and died in the wastes.

He took a few lazy bites of the barrel cactus fruit, which was dry and unwelcoming, but food nonetheless, then popped the cap off the NukaCola and took a big, sizzling gulp. God, he can't believe this stuff's still around after the bombs. Each bottle's a living relic, and probably terribly irradiated. But it's like a cold spring running down his throat. Something that isn't alcohol for once. That stuff burns.

He heaves a sigh as his eyes drag over the empty Mojave. Dust dances in the warming air and long shadows retreat. It all blurs as the bottle falls from his hand and he snores under the rising sun.

To continue your story, go to Chapter #33

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #20]

When the early morning came, Benny didn't give her any trouble. Must've thought last night was just some wet dream. She bathed, packed her things daintily, and now leaves while the sun washes over the broken streets, her steps quick, eyes set forward, weapons thrown over her shoulder. Everything on the street's quiet, seemingly abandoned, and even the thieves are sleeping. She turns the rusty switch on her radio and it crackles quietly into life as she passes through Freeside.

Dust stirs under the wires weaving the North gate when she approaches as if the restless wasteland were seeping through to peek inside. She kicks the dust as if it were a naughty dog and grunts as she pulls the lock and opens the gates. The wasteland hissed and flew in with the rising breeze. As she closed the gate behind her and stepped into the sand-ridden road, it wrung round and round her ankles and followed her the way down while she kept trying to kick it away. Plants and rocks, white and black under the moonlight, sit and watch her enviously go past, the faded sky watching behind them.

Her eyes catch sight of footprints in the dust. Old ones, maybe from a day or two ago: the wind had mostly swept them away. Whoever it was is traveling solo, which is a bit strange. Going alone into the Mojave isn't very common, and most often very dangerous. She picks up the pace a little. She might happen by them on the way, dead or alive.

To continue your story, go to Chapter #34

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #23]

They kept a good eye on each other till dawn. The wasteland was quiet and left them lots of room for conversation, though they didn't make much use of it. Most of the time the green-haired woman was watching the shadows behind the boulders and the dusty dry tops of the plateaus in the distance, her gun always drawn. That's what unnerved Fox the most. She seemed pretty apple-butter until now: now she's all bad news in a helluva good dress. It'd been a long while since Fox had stepped foot in the wastes, so he wasn't as wise and kept his revolvers holstered.

The sun yawns over the desolate rocks and dust, cacti bristle in the whispering young breeze, and calm white clouds drift over. It's finally morning.

Suddenly the woman grabs his arm. "There." She's pointing to something in the distance. "D'you see that sign?"

Fox squints. Something rectangular comes into focus. It's made of wood and has white lettering. "Yeah."

She lowers her pistol. "We're almost to Goodsprings."

"Goodsprings?" The word's like honey on his tongue. Everyone adores that town to death, it's one of the few respectable towns in the Mojave: all the others are either disgusting or corrupt.

The Prospector Saloon and General Store slowly ascend from the dust as a tumbleweed skids across the broken road.

"I'm sure we can get a room in Victor's Shack. Victor won't mind, I'm sure. He doesn't sleep in a bed anyways."

"Victor? Who's that?"

She chuckles, and Fox can see her previous icy survival attitude's starting to melt. "You don't know? Damn. Victor's a robot. He kinda likes to bash ears but the town's alright with him. Real nice guy, er, robot."

"Hm."

She's still smiling. "You really haven't been here for a while...Wait. Have you ever been?"

"I went once when my dad and I first came to New Vegas."

She giggles, "It's a cute town, but it sure does a good job of makin' the rest of the Mojave seem like a dump."

"Yeah."

Dust encircles their feet and the sign creaks by.

"And here we are." She holds his shoulder. "I'm gonna check inside real quick. Wanna come with?"

—

The Prospector's Saloon is warm and humid, the floorboards creaky, the lights dim, just as it should be. They pass the table and chairs and enter the bar area, where customers sit in contemplation and Trudy takes their orders. Trudy welcomes them both with a wave, but when her eyes fall on the woman, her eyes widen. "Oh my God! Is that really you?" She puts a dirty cup down. "You've changed so much since I last saw you!"

She laughs, "Yeah, it's been so long."

"And who's this troublemaker you're runnin' around with?" She gestures to Fox and smiles jokingly. "You two gonna cause any trouble?"

"Him? He ain't a troublemaker. He's one of the nicest guys you'll meet here, Trudy. I got in a shuffle with Benny at The Tops and he got me out of it. We ran like hell and he's travellin' with me now."

Trudy leans in on the counter and shakes her head. "Benny is nothin' but trouble. Be glad you got out alive." She nods to Fox. "And thanks for taking care of her. She's got a habit of gettin' into trouble with bad men. Now, you two need any water before you shrivel like dry sponges?"

Fox notices his parched lips. Now that he thinks about it, he's thirsty as hell.

The green haired woman sits on the stool across from Trudy. "Aw, sure," and she motions for Fox, "Come sit."

He smiles a little and sits on the next stool over.

"I went to school here before the old schoolhouse was overrun by giant mantises. It was a good place to grow up."

He gives both of them a long stare. "So...is Trudy your...mom?"

Both women laugh.

Trudy sets their glasses on the counter and they both gulp it down in one go. "Aw, no honey. It's flattering, but no. We ain't blood-related."

After wiping her mouth, the green-haired woman continues, "I was a big troublemaker back then. Goodsprings took me in when I was 'bout eight, ran away from my family. They're Legion—dad is, at least. 'Scaped cross that big river."

Fox is taken aback. He knew there was something off about her, and this proves it. "God damn...Seriously?" Fox glances at her face. She didn't look at all sad. Her cheeks're still pink, her lips still curved into a smile. "That's insane."

"Ah, it's fine. Taught me how to survive  and take a beating at least before I left. Really comes in handy out in the wastes."

Trudy chuckled and refilled their glasses with a sparkling pitcher. "Yeah, you really were a wild child. So, are you two staying in Victor's shack for tonight?"

"Yeah. Is that okay with him?"

"What do you mean? Of course it's okay with Victor. It's always okay with him."

She giggled, "No truer words."

They spend the next hour and a half reminiscing about the past: her times in school, the battles against Powder Gangers, the Fire Gecko hunts. It's rich and full of adventure, yet her name was never once mentioned.

Then the woman gets up. "Alright, Trudy. I think we're ready to hit the sack. Been walkin' all night, I'm surprised and glad we got this far. So see ya. We'll be leavin' in a few hours."

"Alright. You two stay outta trouble." She smiles and cleans their glasses. "Have a good sleep."

To continue your story, go to Chapter #35

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #24]

They kept a good eye on each other till dawn. The wasteland was quiet and left them lots of room for conversation, though they didn't make much use of it. Most of the time the green-haired woman was watching the shadows behind the boulders and the dusty dry tops of the plateaus in the distance, her gun always drawn. That's what unnerved Fox the most. She seemed pretty apple-butter until now: now she's all bad news in a helluva good dress. It'd been a long while since Fox had stepped foot in the wastes, so he wasn't as wise and kept his revolvers holstered the entire time.

The sun yawns over the desolate rocks and dust, cacti bristle in the whispering young breeze, and calm white clouds drift over. It's finally morning.

Suddenly the woman grabs his arm. "There." She's pointing to something in the distance. "Do you see that sign?"

Fox squints. Something rectangular comes into focus. It's made of wood and has white lettering. "Yeah."

She lowers her pistol. "We're almost to Goodsprings."

"Goodsprings?" The word's like honey on his tongue. Everyone adores that town to death, it's one of the few respectable towns in the Mojave: all the others are either disgusting or corrupt.

The Prospector Saloon and General Store slowly ascend from the dust as a tumbleweed skids across the broken road.

"I'm sure we can get a room in Victor's Shack. Victor won't mind, I'm sure. He doesn't sleep in a bed anyways."

"Victor? Who's that?"

She chuckles, and Fox can see her previous icy survival attitude's starting to melt. "You don't know? Damn. Victor's a robot. He kinda likes to bash ears but the town adores him. Real nice guy, er, robot."

"Hm."

She's still smiling, "You really haven't been here for a while...Wait. Have you ever been?"

"I went once when my dad and I first came to New Vegas."

She nodded, "It's a cute town, but it sure does a good job of makin' the rest of the Mojave seem like a dump."

"Yeah."

Dust encircles their feet and the sign creaks by.

"And here we are." She holds his shoulder, "I'm gonna check inside real quick. Wanna come with?"

—

The Prospector's Saloon is warm and humid, the floorboards creaky, the lights dim, just as it should be. They pass the table and chairs and enter the bar area, where customers sit in contemplation and Trudy takes their orders. Trudy welcomes them both with a wave, but when her eyes fall on the woman, her eyes widen. "Oh my God! Is that really you?" She puts a dirty cup down, "You've changed so much since I last saw you!"

She laughs, "Yeah, it's been a long time."

"And who's this troublemaker you're runnin' around with?" She gestures to Fox and smiles jokingly. "You two gonna cause any trouble?"

"Him? He ain't a troublemaker. He's one of the nicest guys you'll meet here, Trudy. I got in a shuffle with that nosebleed Benny at The Tops and he helped me out. We ran like hell and he's travellin' with me now."

Trudy leans in on the counter and shakes her head, "Benny is nothin' but trouble. Be glad you got out alive." She nods to Fox, "And thanks for protecting her. She's got a habit of gettin' into trouble with bad men. Now, you two need any water before you shrivel like dry sponges?"

Fox notices his parched lips. Now that he thinks about it, he's thirsty as hell.

The green haired woman sits on the stool across from Trudy. "Sure," and she motions for Fox, "Come sit."

He smiles a little and sits on the next stool over.

"I went to school here before the old schoolhouse was overrun by giant mantises. It was a good place to grow up."

He gives both of them a long stare. "So...is Trudy your...mom?"

Both women laugh.

Trudy sets their glasses on the counter and they both gulp it down in one go. "Aw, no honey. It's flattering, but no. We ain't blood-related."

After wiping her mouth, the green-haired woman continues, "I was a big troublemaker back then. Goodsprings took me in when I was 'bout eight, ran away from my family. They're Legion—dad is, at least. 'Scaped cross that big river."

Fox is taken aback. He knew there was something off about her, and this proves it. "God damn...Seriously?" Fox glances at her face. She didn't look at all sad. Her cheeks're still pink, her lips still curved into a smile. "That's insane."

"Ah, it's fine. Taught me how to survive  and take a beating at least before I left. Really comes in handy out in the wastes."

Trudy refilled their glasses with a sparkling pitcher. "So, are you two staying in Victor's shack for tonight?"

"Yeah. Is that okay with him?"

"What do you mean? Of course it's okay with Victor. It's always okay with him."

She giggled, "No truer words."

They spend the next hour and a half reminiscing about the past: her times in school, the battles against Powder Gangers, the Fire Gecko hunts. It's rich and full of adventure, yet her name was never once mentioned.

Then the woman gets up. "Alright, Trudy. I think we're ready to hit the sack. Been walkin' all night, I'm surprised we got this far. So see ya. We'll be leavin' tonight."

"Alright. You two stay outta trouble." She smiles and cleans their glasses. "Have a good sleep."

To continue your story, go to Chapter #38

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #25]

The lights down the hallway and in her room had lost their glamor. She sat over her bedsheets with tears streaming down her face. Later on, as she was checking out in the casino hall, Benny didn't breathe a word of it, but kept casting her these disgustingly satisfied glances. She hated it.

Now she's stepping up the stairs with her pack slung over her shoulder, her eyes never lifting above the tile floor.

She hears a voice down the steps, and her bones freeze.

"Hey, baby."

She quickens her pace and tries to rush past him, but he steps in her way.

"Hey, what's this all about? I had a blast, like Cloud Nine happy, why won't you look at me?" He grabs her shoulder. "Look at me, baby."

A burst of rage boils up from her insides. "Fuck off." She shoves him aside and keeps walking.

He calls after her, "Oh, yeah, walk away, skank! Get outta my casino! Yeah, fuck off!"

She leaves while the sun washes over the broken streets, her steps quick, eyes set forward, weapons thrown over her shoulder. Everything on the street's quiet, seemingly abandoned, and bathed in yellow. She turns the rusty switch on her radio and it crackles quietly into life as she passes through Freeside.

Dust stirs under the wires weaving the North gate when she approaches as if the restless wasteland were seeping through to peek inside. She kicks the dust as if it were a naughty dog and grunts as she pulls the lock and opens the gates. The wasteland hissed and flew in with the rising breeze. As she closed the gate behind her and stepped into the sand-ridden road, it wrung round and round her ankles and followed her the way down while she kept trying to kick it away. Plants and rocks, orange and red under the sunrise, sit and watch her go past, the fading night watching from behind.

Her eyes catch sight of footprints in the dust running along the train tracks, under the shadow of the I-15. Old ones, maybe from a day or two ago: the wind had mostly swept them away. Whoever it was's traveling solo, which is a bit strange. Going alone into the Mojave isn't very common, and often very dangerous. She picks up the pace a little. She might happen by them on the way, dead or alive.

To continue your story, go to Chapter #41

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #26]

The day brushes along as she continues on I-15. Her pack jingles with her steps and her breathing heavies as the heat rises with the afternoon. She was never a fan of traveling during the day: the sun is too piercingly hot and makes her sweat all over.

She's almost to Hunter's Farm now. As she approaches, she catches sight of a lump on the ground with an empty sack next to it. It was a person sleeping in the shade, an empty Nuka-Cola bottle at his side. He had hair as black as ink and wore an old Kings outfit.

He stirs and she instantly hides behind a protruding rock about a hundred meters away to watch.

He rolls over and groans, then continues sleeping.

The woman draws back into the shadow of the rock. This would be a good spot to set up camp.

Tonight, she's going to follow him. No reason in particular. There's not much excitement that goes on in the wasteland except for a few deathclaw showdowns. Those are fun, but this man was something special. Like a motion picture all on his own. How will he fare in the wastes? That, she would love to watch. He's the actor, the Mojave's the set.

She smiles at the thought and sets her pack down. She gathers some boxes of Sugar Bombs, her favorite wasteland snack, and opens a box. Sure, it was dry and stale cereal, but you could still taste the sweetness. That was something that barely ever deteriorated with time; sugar. She munches happily and gets comfy in the sand and the shade. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a good ol' bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla and watches the small whisks of clouds brush across the sky.

Perhaps he'll get into some trouble with all those bark scorpions nesting near Hidden Valley, or have some fun with those monsters at Quarry Junction? Man, why the hell's he traveling the I-15, though? Place's only for wastelanders who pack real heat. It's possible he's got no idea what he's doing. Or maybe he's just a sonuvabitch who doesn't give two fucks.

She giggled, popped the cap off the bottle, and gave her cheers to the bright sunlight and the bristling cacti.

Let's see where he takes us, huh?

To continue your story, go to Chapter #42

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #27]

The day brushes along as she continues past Cook-Cook’s now abandoned campsite, the sand and dilapidated concrete walls spattered in rusty colored blood. His body’s gone: probably dragged away by the coyotes.

Her pack jingles with her steps and her breathing heavies as the heat rises with the afternoon. She was never a fan of traveling during the day: the sun is too piercingly hot and makes her sweat all over.

She's almost to the Poseidon Gas Station now. As she approaches, she catches sight of a lump on the ground with an empty sack next to it. It was a person sleeping in the shade, an empty Nuka-Cola bottle at his side. He had hair as black as ink and wore an old Kings outfit.

It was Fox, the man from the casino.

He stirs and she instantly hides behind a protruding rock about a hundred meters away to watch.

He rolls over and groans, then continues sleeping.

The woman draws back into the shadow of the rock. This would be a good spot to set up camp.

Tonight, she's going to follow him. No reason in particular. Well, she was already following his footprints out here...but perhaps it's his striking jawline, his sharp green eyes, his rough gaze and smooth but dark voice that brought her here. There's not much excitement that goes on in the wasteland except for a few deathclaw showdowns. Those are fun, but this man was something special. Like a motion picture all on his own. How will he fare in the wastes? That, she would love to watch. If he's an actor, the Mojave's the set—she's the director.

She smiles and sets her pack down, then gathers some boxes of Sugar Bombs, her favorite wasteland snack, and opens a box. Sure, it was dry and stale cereal, but you could still taste the sweetness. That was something that barely ever deteriorated with time; sugar. She munches happily and gets comfy in the sand and the shade. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a good ol' bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla and watches the small whisks of moonlit clouds brush across the sky.

Perhaps he'll get into some trouble with all those bark scorpions nesting near Hidden Valley, or have some fun with those monsters at Quarry Junction? Man, why the hell's he traveling the 160 , though? Place's only for wastelanders who pack real heat. It's possible he's got no idea what he's doing. Or maybe he's just a sonuvabitch who doesn't give two fucks.

She giggled, popped the cap off the bottle, and gave her cheers to the bright sunlight and the bristling cacti.

Let's see where he takes us, huh?

To continue your story, go to Chapter #43

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #28]

It's morning time. Fox's lips are dry and his stomach is empty. A few days in the Mojave really had him beaten to a pulp. No water, no food, scrapes on his knees and elbows, his head a hazy blur. A day or two before, he'd rationed a few bits and pieces from the Poseidon Gas Station, but those are now long gone. Following Route 160 with his energy and pace at an all-time low, he's barely gotten past Nopah Cave. He's been following a small road that, according to a Freeside local, would eventually lead him to Goodsprings: that quiet little town everyone adored. He stopped by there once, a long time ago, when his father first brought him to New Vegas.

Dawn brings life to the desert as the canyon opens up into a beautiful grassy field with wandering Bighorners, drawing long shadows across the rocky grounds. Eventually he passes a large rock sign that reads:

RED ROCK CANYON
Southwest Commonwealth Conservation Area

In the distance, he sees a few buildings glowing in the sunrise. A hopeful smile spreads across his face and he starts to quicken his pace.

As he enters the town, he sees figures resting under the shadows. There are more than one, perhaps five, all gathered on the porches of the wooden skeleton-like buildings.

Fox, though he has very little knowledge of the wastes, knows what a bunch of bad news looks like. His footsteps falter in the sandy road and he stands still for a moment.

A gunshot whizzes past his head.

His instincts kick in immediately. He pulls out his revolvers and fires two rounds. Both hit their targets, but they barely flinch. Damn. Leather armor.

He dives behind remnants of a burnt down house and uses the charred walls as cover.

Bullets chip the edges. He hears footsteps approaching.

A woman with spiky hair and sharp knuckles comes running around the corner. "Filthy scavenger! Die, die! The Viper Gang rules all!"

Fox yells and crawls back as she throws her fists in his face and scrapes gashes across his cheeks. He quickly lifts the revolver and pulls the trigger. The air rains blood. Her head falls back into the dirt.

Fox has trouble getting back on his feet. His eyes are wide, his body covered in splatters of blood, his knees shaky and worn out.

Another shotgun blast throws planks of rotting wood three feet into the air.

Fox hastily reloads and listens to footsteps. One guy's still on the porch, a few others are sneaking round the back of another building just a few yards North of him.

He runs into the middle of the town and lifts his revolvers again. The man on the porch's head bursts over the walls. Fox headshots two others running towards him. Only one man left.

And they have the shotgun.

The blast has Fox's ears ringing and his left gut oozing blood. He falls into the sand and gasps for air, then catches sight of the man raising the shotgun again.

Fox's fingers grip his revolver again. He can see the man's eyes from here. Dark and unmerciful, insane. A void. These were the wastelanders corrupted by the apocalypse.

He shoots the man in the leg, chest, and face, and feels nothing but pity as the man topples to the ground and moves no more. Their eyes meet again, now both level with the ground. The dead man's eyes are still as blank as they were alive.

Fox takes a shaky breath and tries sitting up, but he's too weak. Instead, he crawls towards their encampment on the porch, hoping for some rations to last him through the night.

LEVEL UP

LEVEL 3

Barter: 15, Energy Weapons: 17, Explosives: 17, Guns: 50, Lockpick: 32, Medicine: 15, Melee Weapons: 17, Repair: 20, Science: 15, Sneak: 30, Speech: 35, Survival: 11, Unarmed: 11

To continue your story, go to Chapter #44

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #29]

She leads him into the shack and drops her bag on the floor.

"Thank God they have the windows boarded up. Keeps all that sun out."

"Yeah." Fox glances over the small room. There's only one bed. Its mattress is covered in dust, and there're no pillows.

"Where am I sleeping, exactly?"

She unpacks a combat knife and lays it on the bed. "Well, unless you wanna get close and comfortable, I'd sleep on the couch or somethin', cause I'm sleeping here no matter what," she chuckles. "Sorry, first come first serve, you know?"

Fox nods. "All good, I get it."

She starts rummaging through some crates and retrieves some dirty bed sheets and a pillow. "Ah, here's where they went. You can have 'em. I got my mattress."

Fox catches the bundle in his arms and starts organizing his nest of bed sheets on the couch.

The woman offers him some Sugar Bombs, and they both happily munch over some conversation. Fox notices that the girl won't stop glancing at him. "You're quite...nice-lookin' for a Freesider." She hides her red cheeks behind the cereal box and laughs a little.

CHOICE

Flirt Back (Go to Chapter #36)

New Story Insignia!  *$

Not Interested (Go to Chapter #37)

New Story Insignia!  *}

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #35]

You Picked: Flirt Back

[SPEECH 30/45]

Fox walks over to sit in a wooden chair and feels his nerves coming on, so he lights another cigarette.

She watches him and her cheeks are still rose-red.

The smoke twirls out of his mouth. "And you're quite...nice for a wastelander." God, I must sound like a prick...Fuuuck. Get it together, Fox. Damn.

"Thank you?" She gives him this funny look, then starts unstrapping her heels, and her lips lift into a rosy smile. "You're funny, Fox."

Fox rubs his neck. "Hah, by the way...I never caught your name. We spent all that time in the desert and I guess I just—"

"It's okay. You can just call me V."

"Vee? Like V - e - e?"

"No. Just V—but whatever, it doesn't really matter."

He can't help the grin on his face as his lips form her name. "Alright, V."

"—Or V.V. I go by both. Seriously doesn't matter though. You could call me Fuckface and it wouldn't make a difference."

Fox chuckles, "O-oh, okay...I'll call you V, how 'bout that?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure." Her eyes trail to across the walls and she shifts in her seat. "...So, where're you from?"

Fox sits back. "Jesus, now that's a story."

She pops open a bottle of whiskey. "Well, I ain't goin' nowhere."

He sits back. "Klamath, Southern Oregon." He sighs happily, staring at the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. "It was heaven there. My mother made us leave, though... See, she loved gambling. She and my dad were gecko hunters, and once they found a cave full of golden geckos—their pelts sell for a lot—she told us to grab the money and head to New Vegas. I was fifteen, then. A naïve kid, followed wherever she wanted me to go. When we finally got there, she bought the nicest dress available and disappeared into The Strip, leaving my dad and I in Freeside with a few rusty caps. She was already a terrible gambler, lost all our hard-earned money to some stupid card games. She'd visit us sometimes, and tell us about how amazing the casino was. Told us she went to the Ultra Luxe...One night she went in and never came back. Freeside thug caught my dad on his way home a year later...so the King took me in when I turned eighteen. Found me useful, did his dirty work." He nodded down at his revolver.

"Awe..." V.V. leans forward and caresses his back a little. He feels an electricity in her fingertips that makes his skin flush pink, and his heart thump against his chest. Then, she moves to over to rifle through her bags. "...And now you ain't even a King. I'm sorry all that's happened."

"It's fine." Fox tries to shrug off the butterflies in his stomach. "Not too sad about it. I'm all good, it's all good. Happens to a lot of people 'round here."

"Sure does." Now she's started to take her dress off and Fox has trouble keeping his eyes occupied with the cigarette in his hands.

He sets the lighter aflame and sucks on the tip of the cigarette. "You're undressing here?"

A cloud of smoke escapes his lips. She looks up at him after pulling the silk pink sleepwear over her head. "Oh? Sorry. Are you not used to it? Happens all the time when you bunk up with a wastelander. One minute you're gutting mole rats and the next you're butt-naked with your junk out cleaning your clothes off in a pail of water. Plus, it's nighttime. Loosen up, we're in Goodsprings. No need to sleep all ready and ramblin'."

Fox flicks his cigarette into an ashtray and gets up from the chair, laughing a little, "Alright, alright."

She lays on her side and watches him settle into the soft covers on the couch. "What, you're gonna sleep in that?" she asks.

"Yeah, lady. I'm not a crazy wastelander, you kidding me?"

"Oh, come on. It's over ninety degrees in here."

"You trying to get me to strip for you?"

"Jus' the shirt, come on. You jus' look so uptight. Really, you gotta loosen up. I won't be able to sleep with you sweatin' like a pig all night. You'll smell like B.O. from hell tomorrow morning."

"Fine, fine." He pulls the white shirt over his head and leaves it on the floor next to her dress.

V.V. turns a little pink this time.

They share a smile for a second, then both turn over on their sides and close their eyes, wild thoughts circling through and through.

To continue your story, go to Chapter #47

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #35]

You Picked: Not Interested

Fox walks over to sit in a wooden chair and feels his nerves coming on, so he lights another cigarette.

She watches him and her cheeks are still rose-red.

The smoke twirls out of his mouth. "Uh, well..." He tries changing the subject. The woman's nice, but...she isn't his type. "What's the plan for tomorrow?"

Her smile falls. "Oh...Well, I was, uh, thinking we'd go to Quarry Junction. You'll find it real interesting there." She starts smiling again, as if she'd forgotten the awkwardness already. "It'll be real fun. This is my third trip there, I think. You can borrow my NCR ranger armor. It's got a real cool leather coat that comes with it, and the helmet's got some 'built-in, low-light optics'—at least that's what the guy at the safehouse told me. God, he was a bore."

Fox smiles, too. "Oh, wow. Ranger armor? I mean, we're not doing recon or anything...Why do I need that fancy stuff?"

"Ah, don't worry about it, you'll be fine."

Fox raises an eyebrow. And before he can say anything more, the woman asks, "So, where're you from, Fox? What's your story?"

"Oh, uh, I'm from Klamath, Southern Oregon." He takes another drag of his cigarette and stares at the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. "...It was heaven there, I gotta admit. My mother made us leave, though... See, she loved gambling. She and my dad were gecko hunters, and once they found a cave full of golden geckos—their pelts sell for a lot—she told us to grab the money and head to New Vegas. I was fifteen, then. A naïve kid, followed wherever she wanted me to go. When we finally got there, she bought the nicest dress available and disappeared into The Strip, leaving my dad and I in Freeside with a few rusty caps. She was already a terrible gambler, lost all our hard-earned money to some stupid card games. She'd visit us sometimes, and tell us about how amazing the casino was. Told us she went to the Ultra Luxe...One night she went in and never came back. Freeside thug caught my dad on his way home a year later...so the King took me in when I turned eighteen. Found me useful, did his dirty work." He nodded down at his revolver.

"Awe." She leans forward and lays a hand of his shoulder. "And now you ain't even a King. I'm sorry all that's happened."

Fox shrugs. "It's fine. I'm not too sad about it. Not about my mom, at least. I miss my dad a little, though. It happens to a lot of people around here."

She nods solemnly and starts unstrapping her heels, then starts undressing. "Sure does."

Fox keeps his eyes occupied with the cigarette in his hands. "You're undressing here?"

She looks up at him after pulling the silk pink sleepwear over her head, "Oh? Sorry. Are you not used to it? Happens all the time when you bunk up with a wastelander. One minute you're gutting mole rats and the next you're butt-naked with your junk out cleaning your clothes off in a pail of water. Plus, it's nighttime. Loosen up, we're in Goodsprings. No need to sleep all ready and ramblin'."

Fox gets up from the chair, laughing a little. "Alright, alright."

She lays on her side and watches him settle into the soft covers on the couch.

"Is it comfortable enough?" she asks.

"Oh, yea. It's fine. Thanks." He smiles. "Question is, are you comfortable? That bed looks like a rock."

She yawns, "Naw, well, much better than the ground. Well...goodnight."

"Goodnight."

They share a smile for a moment, then both turn on their sides and close their eyes.

To continue your story, go to Chapter #48

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #30]

She leads him into the shack and drops her bag on the floor.

"Thank God they have the windows boarded up. Keeps all that sun out."

"Yeah." Fox glances over the small room. There's only one bed. Its mattress is covered in dust, and there're no pillows.

"Where am I sleeping, exactly?"

She unpacks a combat knife and lays it on the bed. "Sleep on the couch or somethin'. I'm sleeping here no matter what," she chuckles. "First come first serve, y'know?"

Fox nods. "All good."

She starts rummaging through some crates and retrieves some dirty bed sheets and a pillow. "Ah, here's where they went. You can have 'em. I got my mattress."

Fox catches the bundle in his arms and starts organizing his nest of bed sheets on the couch.

The woman offers him some Sugar Bombs, and they both happily munch over some conversation. Fox notices that the girl won't stop staring at him. "You're quite...dazzling for a Freesider, you know that?" The corners of her mouth lift into a sly smile.

CHOICE

Flirt Back (Go to Chapter #39)

New Story Insignia!  ^$

Not Interested (Go to Chapter #40)

New Story Insignia!  ^}

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #38]

You Picked: Flirt Back

[SPEECH 30/45]

Fox walks over to sit in a wooden chair and feels his nerves coming on, so he lights another cigarette. The smoke twirls out of his mouth. "And you're quite...nice for a wastelander." God, I must sound like a prick...Fuuuck. Get it together, Fox. Damn.

"Thank you?" She gives him this funny look, then starts unstrapping her heels, and her lips lift into a rosy smile. "You're funny, Fox."

Fox rubs his neck. "Hah, by the way...I never caught your name. We spent all that time in the desert and I guess I just—"

"It's okay. You can call me Ves."

He can't help the grin on his face as his lips form her name. "Alright, Ves."

Her eyes trail to across the walls and she shifts in her seat. "...So, where're you from, Mr. Straight-From-the-Fridge?"

He sits back. "Jesus, now that's a story."

She pops open a bottle of whiskey. "Well, I ain't goin' nowhere."

He sits back. "Klamath, Southern Oregon." He sighs happily, staring at the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. "It was heaven there. My mother made us leave, though... See, she loved gambling. She and my dad were gecko hunters, and once they found a cave full of golden geckos—their pelts sell for a lot—she told us to grab the money and head to New Vegas. I was fifteen, then. A naïve kid, followed wherever she wanted me to go. When we finally got there, she bought the nicest dress available and disappeared into The Strip, leaving my dad and I in Freeside with a few rusty caps. She was already a terrible gambler, lost all our hard-earned money to some stupid card games. She'd visit us sometimes, and tell us about how amazing the casino was. Told us she went to the Ultra Luxe...One night she went in and never came back. Dad was killed a year later by a Freeside thug. King took me in when I turned eighteen. Found me useful, did his dirty work." He nodded down at his revolver.

"Hm. And now you ain't even a King. I'm sorry all that's happened." She leans back on the bed.

Fox shrugs, "It's fine. I'm not too sad about it. Not about my mom, at least. I miss my dad a little, though. It happens to a lot of people around here."

"Sure does." Now she's started to take her dress off and Fox has trouble keeping his eyes occupied with the cigarette in his hands.

He sets the lighter aflame and sucks on the tip of the cigarette. "You're undressing here?"

She looks up at him after pulling the silk pink sleepwear over her head. "Oh? Are you not used to it? Happens all the time when you bunk up with a wastelander. One minute you're gutting mole rats and the next you're butt-naked with your junk out cleaning your clothes off in a pail of water. Plus, it's nighttime. Loosen up, we're in Goodsprings. No need to sleep all ready and ramblin'."

Fox gets up from the chair, laughing a little, "Alright, alright."

She lays on her side and watches him settle into the soft covers on the floor. "What, you're gonna sleep in that?"

"Yeah, lady. I'm not a crazy wastelander, you kidding me?"

"Oh, come on. It's over ninety degrees in here."

"You trying to get me to strip for you?"

"Jus' the shirt, come on. You jus' look so uptight. Really, you gotta loosen up. I won't be able to sleep with you sweatin' like a pig all night. You'll smell like B.O. from hell tomorrow morning."

"Fine, fine." He pulls the white shirt over his head and leaves it on the floor next to her dress.

Ves turns a little pink this time.

They both turn over on their sides and close their eyes, wild thoughts circling through and through.

To continue your story, go to Chapter #49

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #38]

You Picked: Not Interested

Fox walks over to sit in a wooden chair and feels his nerves coming on, so he lights another cigarette. The smoke twirls out of his mouth. "Uh, well..." He tries changing the subject. The woman's nice, but...she isn't his type. "What's the plan for tomorrow?"

Her smile falls. "Oh...Well, I was, uh, thinking we'd go to Quarry Junction. You'll find it real interesting there." She starts smiling again, as if she'd forgotten the awkwardness already. "It'll be real fun. This is my third trip there, I think. You can borrow my NCR ranger armor. It's got a real cool leather coat that comes with it, and the helmet's got some 'built-in, low-light optics'—at least that's what the guy at the safehouse told me. God, he was a bore."

Fox smiles, too. "Oh, wow. Ranger armor? I mean, we're not doing recon or anything...Why do I need that fancy stuff?"

"Ah, don't worry about it, you'll be fine."

Fox raises an eyebrow. And before he can say anything more, the woman asks, "So, where're you from, Fox? What's your story?"

"Oh, uh, I'm from Klamath, Southern Oregon." He takes another drag of his cigarette and stares at the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. "...It was heaven there, I gotta admit. My mother made us leave, though... See, she loved gambling. She and my dad were gecko hunters, and once they found a cave full of golden geckos—their pelts sell for a lot—she told us to grab the money and head to New Vegas. I was fifteen, then. A naïve kid, followed wherever she wanted me to go. When we finally got there, she bought the nicest dress available and disappeared into The Strip, leaving my dad and I in Freeside with a few rusty caps. She was already a terrible gambler, lost all our hard-earned money to some stupid card games. She'd visit us sometimes, and tell us about how amazing the casino was. Told us she went to the Ultra Luxe...One night she went in and never came back. Dad was killed a year later by a Freeside thug. King took me in when I turned eighteen. Found me useful, did his dirty work." He nodded down at his revolver.

"Hm. And now you ain't even a King. I'm sorry all that's happened."

Fox shrugs, "It's fine. I'm not too sad about it. Not about my mom, at least. I miss my dad a little, though. It happens to a lot of people around here."

She nods solemnly, "Sure does." She unstraps her heels, then starts undressing.

Fox keeps his eyes occupied with the cigarette in his hands. "You're undressing here?"

She looks up at him after pulling the silk pink sleepwear over her head. "Oh? Are you not used to it? Happens all the time when you bunk up with a wastelander. One minute you're gutting mole rats and the next you're butt-naked with your junk out cleaning your clothes off in a pail of water. Plus, it's nighttime. Loosen up, we're in Goodsprings. No need to sleep all ready and ramblin'."

Fox gets up from the chair, laughing a little. "Alright, alright."

She lays on her side and watches him settle into the soft covers on the floor.

"Well...goodnight."

"Goodnight."

They both turn on their sides and close their eyes, the silence of the wastes lulling them to sleep.

To continue your story, go to Chapter #50

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #31]

Everything had been going just fine for Fox. He traveled all night and had gotten pretty far. Followed the I-15 South and turned off the highway once the Rock Crushing Plant came into view. Now he's just approaching the Hunter's Farm. He can see a hot rod rusting out front and a wagon wilting somewhere near the back with a packed sack sitting near the wheels.

Fox's stomach grumbles. He clutches his cotton shirt and tries rubbing the tiredness from his eyes but can't seem to shake the weary sleeplessness that's been weighing him down like a boulder. He's gotten no sleep for two days straight, been getting drunk or walking away from his problems the whole time. Now he can feel the hangover seeping in.

He slumps in the shade next to the wheels and rummages through the sack. Maize, barrel cactus fruits, a few honey mesquite pods, and some dusty bottles of NukaCola sit near the bottom. Someone must've forgotten it all, or they left and died in the wastes.

He took a few lazy bites of the barrel cactus fruit, which was dry and unwelcoming, but food nonetheless, then popped the cap off the NukaCola and took a big, sizzling gulp. God, he can't believe this stuff's still around after the bombs. Each bottle's a living relic, and probably terribly irradiated. But it's like a cold spring running down his throat. Something that isn't alcohol for once. That stuff burns.

He heaves a sigh as his eyes drag over the empty Mojave. Dust dances in the warming air and long shadows retreat. It all blurs as the bottle falls from his hand and he snores under the rising sun.

—

It's morning time. Fox's lips are dry and his stomach is empty. A few days in the Mojave really had him beaten to a pulp. No water, no food, scrapes on his knees and elbows, his head a hazy blur. A day or two before, he'd rationed a few bits and pieces from the Poseidon Gas Station, but those are now long gone. Following Route 160 with his energy and pace at an all-time low, he's barely gotten past Nopah Cave. He's been following a small road that, according to a Freeside local, would eventually lead him to Goodsprings: that quiet little town everyone adored. He stopped by there once, a long time ago, when his father first brought him to New Vegas.

Dawn brings life to the desert as the canyon opens up into a beautiful grassy field with wandering Bighorners, drawing long shadows across the rocky grounds. Eventually he passes a large rock sign that reads:

RED ROCK CANYON
Southwest Commonwealth Conservation Area

In the distance, he sees a few buildings glowing in the sunrise. A hopeful smile spreads across his face and his footsteps quicken.

As he enters the town, he sees figures resting under the shadows. There are more than one, perhaps five, all gathered on the porches of the wooden skeleton-like buildings.

Fox, though he has very little knowledge of the wastes, knows what a bunch of bad news looks like. His footsteps falter in the sandy road and he stands still for a moment, his weakness causing him to falter.

A gunshot whizzes past his head.

His instincts kick in immediately. He pulls out his revolvers and fires two rounds. Both hit their targets, but they barely flinch. Damn. Leather armor.

He dives behind remnants of a burnt down house and uses the charred walls as cover.

Bullets chip the edges. He hears footsteps approaching.

A woman with spiky hair and sharp knuckles comes running around the corner. "Filthy scavenger! Die, die! The Viper Gang rules all!"

Fox yells and crawls back as she throws her fists in his face and scrapes gashes across his cheeks. He quickly lifts the revolver and pulls the trigger. The air rains blood. Her head falls back into the dirt.

Fox has trouble getting back on his feet. His eyes are wide, his body covered in splatters of blood, his knees shaky and worn out.

Another shotgun blast throws planks of rotting wood three feet into the air.

Fox hastily reloads and listens to footsteps. One guy's still on the porch, a few others are sneaking round the back of another building just a few yards North of him.

He runs into the middle of the town and lifts his revolvers again. The man on the porch's head bursts over the walls. Fox headshots two others running towards him. Only one man left.

And they have the shotgun.

The blast has Fox's ears ringing and his left gut oozing blood. He falls into the sand and gasps for air, then catches sight of the man raising the shotgun again.

Fox's fingers grip his revolver again. He can see the man's eyes from here. Dark and unmerciful, insane. A void. These were the wastelanders corrupted by the apocalypse.

He shoots the man in the leg, chest, and face, and feels nothing but pity as the man topples to the ground and moves no more. Their eyes meet again, now both level with the ground. The dead man's eyes are still as blank as they were alive.

Fox takes a shaky breath and tries sitting up, but he's too weak. Instead, he crawls towards their encampment on the porch, hoping for some rations to last him through the night.

LEVEL UP

LEVEL 3

Barter: 15, Energy Weapons: 17, Explosives: 17, Guns: 50, Lockpick: 32, Medicine: 15, Melee Weapons: 17, Repair: 20, Science: 15, Sneak: 30, Speech: 35, Survival: 11, Unarmed: 11

To continue your story, go to Chapter #51

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #32]

She's drawing figures in the sand as the stars dot themselves across the black paper sky. She hears a snore catch itself in Fox's throat, and he sits up like he's been slapped in the face. The woman freezes, and her fingers instinctively brush the combat knife in one of her pockets.

Fox groans, half-awake, and starts clumsily rifling through the canvas bag, scraping up the last crumbs of the Coyote Tobacco chew. He chews on them like a newborn heifer and slowly stands, wiping the clingy bits of sand off his jeans and T-shirt.

The woman peers again from behind the boulder. He starts heading towards the old Whittaker Farmstead, his head tilted towards the Ultra Luxe billboard, dragging his feet a little across the broken pavement. The woman moves behind the old rusted car outside Hunter's Farm, sits back against the wall, lights a cigarette, and watches him through the empty windows like it's the curtains of a theatre.

Fox steps over a pile of old scrap metal and concrete and picks out a little rock, bouncing it off the side of the house. He chuckles at an old lawnmower stuck in the dirt a few yards away, then freezes when he hears a snarl from the other side of the house. A huge, purple gecko comes running around the corner, and Fox's never seen anything like it. Sure, golden geckos, blue ones, but...never purple. And usually not this big.

Fox raises an eyebrow, studying it for a second before the end of his revolver is smoking, and the gecko falters, blood pouring from between its eyes. The gecko shakes its head, then looks up at him again and opens its mouth wide, displaying an impressive set of teeth.

"Damn, buddy, still kickin-AaaAAgh!" He covers his face and falls back into the dirt as an inferno sprays over him. "What the fuck?!"

The woman has to cover her mouth to keep herself from snorting with laughter. She slaps her knee and shakes her head, taking another drag from her cigarette.

Never seen a Fire Gecko before, damn, he's real green.

As soon as Fox gets his bearings, he turns over and pops another .44 bullet through the gecko's open mouth, and it crumples to the ground, limp. The woman raises her eyebrows.

Not too bad with those revolvers, though.

Fox's still laying on the ground, and shakes his head as if to rearrange the thoughts in his brain. He hauls himself to his feet and continues West, towards another old farm in the distance. Once he's about a hundred yards away, the woman begins following him under the cover of passing boulders and cacti. He's on the Westward-bound trail, not the safest route. Must've gotten bad directions, 'cuz Route 159 leads straight past a big, happy family of Deathclaws.

To continue your story, go to Chapter #54

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #33]

She's drawing figures in the sand as the stars dot themselves across the black paper sky. She hears a snore catch itself in Fox's throat, and he sits up like he's been slapped in the face. The woman freezes and her fingers instinctively brush the combat knife in one of her pockets.

Fox groans, half-awake, and starts clumsily rifling through the canvas bag, scraping up the last crumbs of the Coyote Tobacco chew. He chews on them like a newborn heifer and slowly stands, wiping the clingy bits of sand off his jeans and T-shirt.

The woman peers again from behind the boulder. He starts heading towards the old Whittaker Farmstead, his head tilted towards the Ultra Luxe billboard, dragging his feet a little across the broken pavement. The woman moves behind the old rusted car outside Hunter's Farm, sits back against the wall, lights a cigarette, and watches him through the empty windows like it's the curtains of a theatre.

Fox steps over a pile of old scrap metal and concrete and picks out a little rock, bouncing it off the side of the house. He chuckles at an old lawnmower stuck in the dirt a few yards away, then freezes when he hears a snarl from the other side of the house. A huge, purple gecko comes running around the corner, and Fox's never seen anything like it. Sure, golden geckos, blue ones, but...never purple. And usually not this big.

Fox raises an eyebrow, studying it for a second before the end of his revolver is smoking, and the gecko falters, blood pouring from between its eyes. The gecko shakes its head, then looks up at him again and opens its mouth wide, displaying an impressive set of teeth.

"Damn, buddy, still kickin-AaaAAgh!" He covers his face and falls back into the dirt as an inferno sprays over him. "What the fuck?!"

The woman has to cover her mouth to keep herself from snorting with laughter. She slaps her knee and shakes her head, taking another drag from her cigarette.

Never seen a Fire Gecko before, damn, he's real green.

As soon as Fox gets his bearings, he turns over and pops another .44 bullet through the gecko's open mouth, and it crumples to the ground, limp. The woman raises her eyebrows.

Not too bad with those revolvers, though.

Fox's still laying on the ground, and shakes his head as if to rearrange the thoughts in his brain. He hauls himself to his feet and continues West, towards another old farm in the distance. Once he's about a hundred yards away, the woman begins following him under the cover of passing boulders and cacti. He's on the Westward-bound trail, not the safest route. Must've gotten bad directions, 'cuz Route 159 leads straight past a big, happy family of Deathclaws.

To continue your story, go to Chapter #57

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #34]

He survived on dry, crunchy BlamCo Mac & Cheese, bubblegum, and some Sugar Bombs. God, were those Sugar Bombs good. The blast sugar-high was probably the only thing that kept his system in motion. It gave him the energy to rip a strip off of his T-shirt and wrap the bullet wound that had pierced his side.

Now he lays in the dark, feeling the soft, cold breeze of midnight. He doesn't have the energy to move very far, so he's left himself propped up against a few rickety wooden boards that had once made the wall of a house.

Then he hears footsteps in the sand. They suddenly pause, as if they're contemplating something.

He sees the figure now, moving cautiously towards him, and their hand brushes the handle of a pistol.

He breathes rapidly on the porch, holding his side, and draws his revolver.

CHOICE

Shoot 'em dead! (Go to Chapter #45)

New story insignia!  =*

Wait for your fate (Go to Chapter #46)

New story insignia! =^

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #44]

You Picked: Shoot 'em dead!

His gunslinger instincts give him perfect precision, but as Fox pulls the trigger, his shaky, blood-drained fingers skew the bullet, and it pierces their throat.

For a second, the blue-fire blast of the revolver illuminates the face of a beautiful woman, her soft skin, her bright green hair, her rosy cheeks. She looks a bit dangerous, but there's a twinkle of kindness in her shocked pupils. He screams when her body falls into the sand, and the blood gurgles in her throat. It's disgusting, and he is filled with immediate, bottom-of-the-ocean, pressurized guilt when two Stimpaks roll out from her palm.

"I'm so sorry! Oh, my God." His adrenaline makes his screams hoarsely shrill once he realizes she wasn't there to harm him. "I'm SO SORRY! I'm SO SORRY! OH MY GOD." A surprise attack of tears rush and drip down his cheeks.

But she's still moving. Her face is pressed into the bloody sand, but her fingers are shakily reaching for something. Fox feels the life still seeping from him, and he sees what she's doing. He lets the revolver fall.

He hears the click of a pin being pulled, and something heavy hits the porch. It's ice cold as it brushes his pant leg.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers.

The blast of the grenade ends them both.

END

Satisfied? Or wanna restart? Pick a different choice or go to  Chapter # motherfuckin' 1 !

Your story summarized:

- You picked not to go after the Rabbit's Foot, so Fox and the woman never met

- You bought the ghoul at the bar a drink, so the woman's more likely to be kind to others, or be perceived as kind

- You chose to kill Benny, so the woman is more likely to take risks and kill others

- The woman didn't follow the rules at the entrance, so she is more likely to take risks

- But, despite all this, you chose to shoot her dead!

Fox Handall Stats:

LEVEL 3

Barter: 15, Energy Weapons: 17, Explosives: 17, Guns: 50, Lockpick: 32, Medicine: 15, Melee Weapons: 17, Repair: 20, Science: 15, Sneak: 30, Speech: 35, Survival: 11, Unarmed: 11

The Woman Stats:

LEVEL 10

Barter: 11, Energy Weapons: 39, Explosives: 60, Guns: 10, Lockpick: 100, Medicine: 20, Melee Weapons: 40, Repair: 15, Science: 15, Sneak: 9, Speech: 11, Survival: 35, Unarmed: 20

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #44]

You Picked: Wait for your fate

Fox's hands are shaking as they stare each other down. But he waits. He doesn't know for what, or why. But he just doesn't want to pull that trigger.

"Put that gun down." The voice belongs to a woman. "I mean it."

He lowers his arm and flicks the safety on.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," she says, voice softening, letting go of her pistol. "It's just when I see some dude lurkin' in the dark, I'm gonna have to be ready to draw my pistol, 'specially when he's got his revolver pointed at my head."

Fox nods, and his lips form the word "Sorry."

She rushes to his aid, slides her pack off her shoulders, and rifles through it, soon pulling out a Doctor's bag, laden with medical equipment. He can see her face now, rosy-cheeked, big, dangerous but kind eyes. She has bright green hair. Her figure is muscled but kind of fun to look at. Nice to look at. That dark green armored suit fit her really goddamn well.

"Looks like you got shot."

Fox turns away. His lips form another word, "Yeah."

She pries away his blood-stained shirt rag, and Fox groans.

She quietly says, "Sorry, just breathe," then stuffs her hand in the doctor's bag and pulls out a pair of tweezers, then she snaps on a pair of rubber gloves.

Before he knows it, she's sifting through his open wound with them, and he starts yelling and writhing. She places a hand around his mouth. Tears run down his cheeks.

"Shhh, the whole Mojave is gonna hear you."

Finally, the tweezers find the lead shotgun bullet lodged a few inches in. Her gloves are dripping with blood as she pulls it out and drops it on the deck.

It makes an innocent clang and settles, red and hot and sticky. Fox gasps.

She removes her hand from his mouth.

When she first takes a good look at him, her attention is drawn to his strikingly beautiful green eyes. He has this handsomely sharp jawline, too. Rough stubble. Nice build.

Fox meets her eyes, and, instantly, her eyes dart away and she begins searching through the doctor's bag again, this time pulling out bandages and dressings. She dresses his wounds, and when that's done, offers him some Sunset Sarsaparilla and a cold wasteland omelet. He eats and drinks like everything she's given him is ambrosia, and once he finishes, she tosses the bottle away and kneels next to him, gesturing.

"Here, put your arm 'round my shoulder, I'll help you to that campfire over there." She nods towards some embers sitting next one of the only standing buildings. Together, they clamber down the stairs of the porch and, with the woman's help, Fox limps towards the burnt-out campfire.

She sets him down in the dusty dirt and begins making a fire, gathering dry pieces of wood, taking a lighter and some absinthe out of her pack.

She sits down next to him, arranging the wood scraps into the classic tipi-style. "I was followin' your footprints, you know."

Fox holds the dressed wound. Blood's already begun to soak through the bandages. "You were?"

"Yeah, I saw you were travellin' by yourself. That's pretty dangerous, mister."

He laughs softly. "Yeah, I know."

"Gotta learn to watch yourself out here. By the looks of you, you ain't a wastelander."

"Yeah, I'm not. I'm from Freeside."

"You look like you're from The Kings gang. Least, you're wearing their clothes. Got their hair." She'd always fancied their style.

"Yeah, I was a part of them once."

"What happened?"

He chuckles and clutches his side. "Jesus, now that's a story."

She pours on the absinthe, flicks the lighter, and the wooden scraps roar into life. She sits back in the dust and pops open a bottle of whiskey. "Do tell."

"I was framed." Fox rubbed his eyes, somewhat from embarrassment, but mostly from exhaustion. "For murdering one of The King's groupies. I was kicked out."

She believes him, for the most part. She can also tell he's passing out. His eyes keep drooping and he's trying to find a comfortable spot to lay his head on his chest.

"Here, why don't you sleep on —" she pulls a dirty sleeping bag out of her pack, "— this? It's better than you passing out like that."

Fox can only nod sleepily as he lays on the soft fabric, and, instantly, as if he's been hit on the head with a rock, slips straight into unconsciousness.

The woman sips on her bottle of whiskey as the stars dance in the sky, her legs crossed in front of her, her eyes keeping an ever-keen watch over the wastes.

To continue your story, go to Chapter #60

New Story Insignia!

It is now: =

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #36]

Fox shifts in his bedsheets and yawns, then his heavy eyes pass over the slivers of the late afternoon light peeking through the planks of the shack. The mattress where V.V. slept is empty. He slowly gets up, and even just a day in the Mojave has his joints feeling like they're made of concrete.

Jesus, how does a girl like V survive out on her own like this?

While he's got the shack to himself, he washes his sweat-soaked clothes in a bucket and heats up a couple pots of water on the stove for a warm bath. As he's bathing and scrubbing under his arms, he can't fight back the thoughts of her racing in his head. That pink sleepwear, goddamn. Oh, and she knew how to handle a piece...

He splashes water on his face. Fuck. Keep your head on straight.

—

V.V. is leaning back against the post near the entrance of the Prospector's Saloon, Easy Pete sitting opposite of her.

"—Oh, sure, V. Anythin' to put those skills I taught you to use." He hands her a copy of the Patriot's Cookbook. "Here you go. And no need to borrow, you can keep it. Just promise me you'll put it to good use." He winks.

Patriot's Cookbook Added

╔══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╗

╚══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╝

She snickers, "Oh, you know I will, Pete."

As she turns to leave, Easy Pete calls after her, "Hey..almost forgot." He leans over and slips a paper note out of his back pocket. "...Some gentleman came by this morning and wanted me to hand you this."

She grabs the note. "Huh? Just some guy?"

"Yeah, nothin' striking in particular about him."

She opens the paper and her eyes flicker across the all too familiar handwriting:

Working with NCR? You disgust me.

She shuts the note, sighing, "Alright. Thanks, Pete..." then gives him a parting wave as she meanders back towards Victor's shack, "...see you when I see you."

He sits back in his chair, watching the sunset and the tumbleweeds meander by. "Yup."

—

Fox exits the bathroom with a towel wrapped below his waist, enveloping the shack in a warm haze. He lets the towel slip to the floor as he retrieves his clothes from the oven, which he'd put on low heat to help them dry.

He hasn't quite gotten his pants zipper up when the door swings open and V.V. walks in carrying a magazine. Her eyes wander down his figure as she makes her way to her pack across the room. "Oh, hello." She smiles.

"Oh, hello, hah, if you had walked in any earlier..."

She sits neatly on her mattress. "Do you like explosions, Fox?"

He pauses as he buttons his jeans. "...Yes?"

"You're gonna enjoy what I've got planned for us tonight, then."

He lifts an eyebrow and turns a little red. "What's that?"

"Well, it's so great that you're here cuz I've been meaning to do this job I've been putting off for a while, and there's caps in it for us. Big caps."

He reaches down for his shirt. Not exactly where I thought that was going...

She leans forward. "A thousand. Each."

Fox pauses as he's pulling his shirt over his head. "Whoa, what?"

"Yeah."

"...What kind of work is this, exactly?" He points at the magazine in her hand with the dynamite sticks on the cover. "Does it involve explosions?"

"Just pest extermination."

"...With explosions?"

She sits back and holds up her hands. "Hey, I mean, if you don't want the thousand caps I get it..."

"Nah, I'll do it." He doesn't even flinch. There's something inside him that can't help but want to impress her. Maybe he's just stupid.

"YES!" She leaps up and sifts through her pack. "We're headed to Quarry Junction. You'll find it real interesting there." She starts smiling again. "It'll be real fun. You can borrow my NCR ranger armor. It's got a real cool leather coat that comes with it, and the helmet's got some 'built-in, low-light optics'—at least that's what the guy at the safehouse told me. God, he was a bore."

Fox smiles, too. "Oh, wow. Ranger armor?" She tosses the folded outfit to him and he catches it against his chest. "Damn. Thanks."

"I think you'll look good in it." She hauls her pack over her shoulder and swings open the door. "I'll be waiting for ya outside," she winks, giving him a final salute, "Fox."

To continue your story, go to  Chapter #63

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #37]

Fox shifts in his bedsheets and yawns, then his heavy eyes pass over the slivers of the late afternoon light peeking through the planks of the shack. The mattress where the woman slept is empty. He slowly gets up, and even just a day in the Mojave has his joints feeling like they're made of concrete.

Jesus, how does that girl survive out on her own like this?

While he's got the shack to himself, he washes his sweat-soaked clothes in a bucket and heats up a couple pots of water on the stove for a warm bath.

—

The woman is leaning back against the post near the entrance of the Prospector's Saloon, Easy Pete sitting opposite of her.

"—Oh, sure. Anythin' to put those skills I taught you to use." He hands her a copy of the Patriot's Cookbook. "Here you go. And no need to borrow, you can keep it. Just promise me you'll put it to good use." He winks.

Patriot's Cookbook Added

╔══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╗

╚══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╝

She snickers, "Oh, you know I will, Pete."

As she turns to leave, Easy Pete calls after her, "Hey...almost forgot." He leans over and slips a paper note out of his back pocket. "...Some gentleman came by this morning and wanted me to hand you this."

She grabs the note. "Huh? Just some guy?"

"Yeah, nothin' striking in particular about him."

She opens the paper and her eyes flicker across the all too familiar handwriting:

Working with NCR? You disgust me.

She shuts the note, sighing, "Alright. Thanks, Pete..." then gives him a parting wave as she meanders back towards Victor's shack, "...see you when I see you."

He sits back in his chair, watching the sunset and the tumbleweeds meander by. "Yup."

—

Fox exits the bathroom with a towel wrapped below his waist, enveloping the shack in a warm haze. He lets the towel slip to the floor as he retrieves his clothes from the oven, which he'd put on low heat to help them dry.

Once he's buttoned his pants and pulled his shirt over his head, the door swings open and the woman walks in carrying a magazine. Her eyes wander down his figure as she makes her way to her pack across the room. 

"Yello," Fox says.

She sits neatly on her mattress. "Do you like explosions, Fox?"

He lifts an eyebrow and glances at the magazine in her hand with the dynamite sticks on the cover. "Sure, yeah."

"You're gonna enjoy what I've got planned for us tonight, then. I've been meaning to do this job I've been putting off for a while, and now that you're here I got enough manpower. And there's caps in it for us. Big caps." A smile grows across her lips. "A thousand. Each."

He pauses as he's fixing his hair in the mirror. "Whoa, what?"

"Yeah."

"...What kind of work is this, exactly?"

"Just pest extermination."

"...With explosions?"

She sits back and holds up her hands. "Hey, I mean, if you don't want the thousand caps I get it..."

"Nah, I'll do it." He doesn't even flinch. He's only got 5 caps, for fucks sake.

"YES!" She leaps up and sifts through her pack. "We're headed to Quarry Junction. You'll find it real interesting there." She starts smiling again. "It'll be real fun. You can borrow my NCR ranger armor. It's got a real cool leather coat that comes with it, and the helmet's got some 'built-in, low-light optics'—at least that's what the guy at the safehouse told me. God, he was a bore."

Fox smiles, too. "Oh, wow. Ranger armor?" She tosses the folded outfit to him and he catches it against his chest. "Damn. Thanks."

She hauls her pack over her shoulder and swings open the door. "I'll be waiting for ya outside," she winks, giving him a final salute, "pardner."

To continue your story, go to Chapter #64

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #39]

Fox shifts in his bedsheets and yawns, then his heavy eyes pass over the slivers of the late afternoon light peeking through the planks of the shack. The mattress where Ves slept is empty. He slowly gets up, and even just a day in the Mojave has his joints feeling like they're made of concrete.

Jesus, how does a girl like Ves survive out on her own like this?

While he's got the shack to himself, he washes his sweat-soaked clothes in a bucket and heats up a couple pots of water on the stove for a warm bath. As he's bathing and scrubbing under his arms, he can't fight back the thoughts of her racing in his head. That pink sleepwear, goddamn. Oh, and she knew how to handle a piece...

He splashes water on his face. Fuck. Keep your head on straight.

—

Ves is leaning back against the post near the entrance of the Prospector's Saloon, Easy Pete sitting opposite of her.

"—Oh, sure, Ves. Anythin' to put those skills I taught you to use." He hands her a copy of the Patriot's Cookbook. "Here you go. And no need to borrow, you can keep it. Just promise me you'll put it to good use." He winks.

Patriot's Cookbook Added

╔══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╗

╚══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╝

She snickers, "Oh, you know I will, Pete."

As she turns to leave, Easy Pete calls after her, "Hey...almost forgot." He leans over and slips a paper note out of his back pocket. "...Some gentleman came by this morning and wanted me to hand you this."

She snatches the note. "Huh? Just some guy?"

"Yeah, nothin' striking in particular about him."

She opens the paper and her eyes flicker across the all too familiar handwriting:

Working with NCR? You disgust me.

"Alright. Thanks, Pete..." She shuts the note, lets out a huff of air, then gives him a parting wave as she meanders back towards Victor's shack, "...see you when I see you."

He sits back in his chair, watching the sunset and the tumbleweeds meander by. "Yup."

—

Fox exits the bathroom with a towel wrapped below his waist, enveloping the shack in a warm haze. He lets the towel slip to the floor as he retrieves his clothes from the oven, which he'd put on low heat to help them dry.

He hasn't quite gotten his pants zipper up when the door swings open and Ves walks in carrying a magazine. Her eyes wander down his figure as she makes her way to her pack across the room. "Yello." She smiles.

"Oh, hello, hah, if you had walked in any earlier..."

She hucks a crumpled up piece of paper into a trash can across the room. "You like explosions, Fox?"

He pauses as he buttons his jeans. "...Yes?"

She falls back into her mattress. "Then you're gonna enjoy what I've got planned for us tonight."

He lifts an eyebrow and turns a little red. "What's that?"

"Well, I've been meaning to do this job, been putting it off for a while, and now that I got your manpower, can finally pull it off. There's caps in it for us. Big caps."

He reaches down for his shirt. Not exactly where I thought that was going...

She leans forward. "A thousand. Each."

Fox pauses as he's pulling his shirt over his head. "Whoa, what?"

"Yeah."

"...What kind of work is this, exactly?" He points at the magazine in her hand with the dynamite sticks on the cover. "Does it involve explosions?"

"Just pest extermination."

"...With explosions?"

She sits back and folds her arms. "Hey, if you don't got it in you, you don't got it in you. Jus' keep in mind, Mojave work's hard to find."

"No. I'll do it." He doesn't even flinch. There's something inside him that can't help but want to impress her. Maybe he's just stupid.

"HELL YEAH!" She throws a fist through the air and leaps up. "We're headed to Quarry Junction. You'll find it real interesting there." She smiles ear-to-ear and starts sifting through her pack. "It'll be real fun. You can borrow my NCR ranger armor. It's got a real cool leather coat that comes with it, and the helmet's got some 'built-in, low-light optics'—at least that's what the guy at the safehouse told me. God, he was a bore."

Fox smiles, too. "Oh, wow. Ranger armor?" She tosses the folded outfit to him and he catches it against his chest. "Damn. Thanks."

"I think you'll look good in it." She hauls her pack over her shoulder and swings open the door. "Don't keep me waiting," she winks, giving him a final salute, "Fox."

To continue your story, go to Chapter #65

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #40]

Fox shifts in his bedsheets and yawns, then his heavy eyes pass over the slivers of the late afternoon light peeking through the planks of the shack. The mattress where the woman slept is empty. He slowly gets up, and even just a day in the Mojave has his joints feeling like they're made of concrete.

Jesus, how does that girl survive out on her own like this?

While he's got the shack to himself, he washes his sweat-soaked clothes in a bucket and heats up a couple pots of water on the stove for a warm bath.

—

The woman is leaning back against the post near the entrance of the Prospector's Saloon, Easy Pete sitting opposite of her.

"—Oh, sure. Anythin' to put those skills I taught you to use." He hands her a copy of the Patriot's Cookbook. "Here you go. And no need to borrow, you can keep it. Just promise me you'll put it to good use." He winks.

Patriot's Cookbook Added

╔══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╗

╚══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╝

She snickers, "Oh, you know I will, Pete."

As she turns to leave, Easy Pete calls after her, "Hey...almost forgot." He leans over and slips a paper note out of his back pocket. "...Some gentleman came by this morning and wanted me to hand you this."

She snatches the note. "Huh? Just some guy?"

"Yeah, nothin' striking in particular about him."

She opens the paper and her eyes flicker across the all too familiar handwriting:

Working with NCR? You disgust me.

"Alright. Thanks, Pete..." She shuts the note, lets out a huff of air, then gives him a parting wave as she meanders back towards Victor's shack, "...see you when I see you."

He sits back in his chair, watching the sunset and the tumbleweeds meander by. "Yup."

—

Fox exits the bathroom with a towel wrapped below his waist, enveloping the shack in a warm haze. He lets the towel slip to the floor as he retrieves his clothes from the oven, which he'd put on low heat to help them dry.

Once he's buttoned his pants and pulled his shirt over his head, the door swings open and the woman walks in carrying a magazine. Her eyes wander down his figure as she makes her way to her pack across the room. "Yello." She smiles.

"Yello."

She sits neatly on her mattress. "D'you like explosions, Fox?"

He lifts an eyebrow and glances at the magazine in her hand with the dynamite sticks on the cover. "Sure, yeah."

"Then you're gonna enjoy what I've got planned for us tonight. I've been meaning to do this job, been putting it off for a while, and now that I got your manpower, can finally pull it off. There's caps in it for us. Big caps."

He pauses as he's fixing his hair in the mirror. "Whoa, what?"

"Yeah."

"...What kind of work is this, exactly?"

"Just pest extermination."

"...With explosions?"

She sits back and folds her arms. "Hey, if you don't got it in you, you don't got it in you. Jus' keep in mind, Mojave work's hard to find."

"Nah, I'll do it." He doesn't even flinch. He's only got 5 caps, for fucks sake.

"HELL YEAH!" She throws a fist through the air and leaps up. "We're headed to Quarry Junction. You'll find it real interesting there." She smiles ear-to-ear and starts sifting through her pack. "It'll be real fun. You can borrow my NCR ranger armor. It's got a real cool leather coat that comes with it, and the helmet's got some 'built-in, low-light optics'—at least that's what the guy at the safehouse told me. God, he was a bore."

Fox smiles, too. "Oh, wow. Ranger armor?" She tosses the folded outfit to him and he catches it against his chest. "Damn. Thanks."

She hauls her pack over her shoulder and swings open the door. "I'll be waiting for ya outside," she winks, giving him a final salute, "pardner."

To continue your story, go to Chapter #66

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #41]

He survived on dry, crunchy BlamCo Mac & Cheese, bubblegum, and some Sugar Bombs. God, were those Sugar Bombs good. The blast sugar-high was probably the only thing that kept his system in motion. It gave him the energy to rip a strip off of his T-shirt and wrap the bullet wound that had pierced his side.

Now he lays in the dark, feeling the soft, cold breeze of midnight. He doesn't have the energy to move very far, so he's left himself propped up against a few rickety wooden boards that had once made the wall of a house.

Then he hears footsteps in the sand. Then they suddenly pause, as if they're contemplating something.

He sees the figure now, moving cautiously towards him, and their hand brushes the handle of a pistol.

He breathes rapidly on the porch, holding his side, and draws his revolver.

CHOICE

Wait for your fate (Go to Chapter #52)

New story insignia! % $

Shoot 'em dead! (Go to Chapter #53)

New story insignia!  %}

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #51]

You Picked: Wait for your fate

Fox's hands are shaking as they stare each other down. But he waits. He doesn't know for what, or why. But he just doesn't want to pull that trigger.

"Put that gun down." The voice belongs to a woman. "I mean it."

He lowers his arm and flicks the safety on.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," she says, voice softening, letting go of her pistol. "It's just when I see some dude lurkin' in the dark, I'm gonna have to be ready to draw my pistol, 'specially when he's got his revolver pointed at my head."

Fox nods, and his lips form the word "Sorry."

She rushes to his aid, slides her pack off her shoulders, and rifles through it, soon pulling out a Doctor's bag, laden with medical equipment. He can see her face now, rosy-cheeked, big, kind eyes, and bright green hair.

"Looks like you got shot."

Fox turns away. His lips form another word, "Yeah."

She pries away his blood-stained shirt rag, and Fox groans.

She quietly says, "Sorry, just breathe," then stuffs her hand in the doctor's bag and pulls out a pair of tweezers, then she snaps on a pair of rubber gloves.

Before he knows it, she's sifting through his open wound with them, and he starts yelling and writhing. She places a hand around his mouth. Tears run down his cheeks.

"Shhh, the whole Mojave is gonna hear you."

Finally, the tweezers find the lead shotgun bullet lodged a few inches in. Her gloves are dripping with blood as she pulls it out and drops it on the deck.

It makes an innocent clang and settles, red and hot and sticky. Fox gasps.

She removes her hand from his mouth.

When she first takes a good look at him, her attention is drawn to his strikingly beautiful green eyes. He has this handsomely sharp jawline, too. Rough stubble. Nice build.

Fox meets her eyes. They're sparkling in the wasteland sun, but look tired and red as if she had been crying. Her eyes dart away and she begins searching through the doctor's bag again, this time pulling out bandages and dressings. She dresses his wounds, and when that's done, offers him some Sunset Sarsaparilla and a cold wasteland omelet. He eats and drinks like everything she's given him is ambrosia, and once he finishes, she tosses the bottle away and kneels next to him, gesturing.

"Here, put your arm 'round my shoulder, I'll help you to that campfire over there." She nods towards some embers sitting next to one of the only standing buildings. Together, they clamber down the stairs of the porch and, with the woman's help, Fox limps towards the burnt-out campfire.

She sets him down in the dusty dirt and begins making a fire, gathering dry pieces of wood, taking a lighter and some absinthe out of her pack.

She sits down next to him, arranging the wood scraps into the classic tipi-style. "I was followin' your footprints, you know."

Fox holds the dressed wound. Blood's already begun to soak through the bandages. "You were?"

"Yeah, I saw you were travellin' by yourself. That's pretty dangerous, mister."

He laughs softly. "Yeah, I know."

"Gotta learn to watch yourself out here. By the looks of you...Sorry, but you ain't a wastelander."

"Yeah, I'm not. I'm from Freeside."

"You look like you're from The Kings. Least, you're wearing their clothes. Got their hair." She'd always fancied their style, and a small smile grows across her lips.

"Yeah, I was a part of them once."

"What happened?"

He chuckles and clutches his side. "Jesus, now that's a story."

She pours on the absinthe, flicks the lighter, and the wooden scraps roar into life. She sits back in the dust and pops open a bottle of whiskey. "I got the time."

"I was framed." Fox rubbed his eyes, somewhat from embarrassment, but mostly from exhaustion. "For murdering one of The King's groupies. I was kicked out."

She believes him, for the most part. She can also tell he's passing out. His eyes keep drooping and he's trying to find a comfortable spot to lay his head on his chest.

"Here, why don't you sleep on —" she pulls a dirty sleeping bag out of her pack, "— this? It's better than you passing out like that."

Fox can only nod sleepily as he lays on the soft fabric, and, instantly, as if he's been hit on the head with a rock, slips straight into unconsciousness.

The woman sips on her bottle of whiskey as the stars dance in the sky, her legs crossed in front of her, her eyes keeping an ever-keen watch over the wastes.

New Story Insignia!  %

To continue your story, go to Chapter #67

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #51]

You Picked: Shoot 'em dead!

His gunslinger instincts give him perfect precision, but as Fox pulls the trigger, his shaky, blood-drained fingers skew the bullet, and it pierces their throat.

For a second, the blue-fire blast of the revolver illuminates the face of a beautiful woman, her soft skin, her bright green hair, her rosy cheeks. There's a twinkle of kindness in her shocked pupils. He screams when her body falls into the sand, and the blood gurgles in her throat. It's disgusting, and he is filled with immediate, bottom-of-the-ocean, pressurized guilt when two Stimpaks roll out from her palm.

"I'm so sorry! Oh, my God." His adrenaline makes his screams hoarsely shrill once he realizes she wasn't there to harm him. "I'm SO SORRY! I'm SO SORRY! OH MY GOD." A surprise attack of tears rush and drip down his cheeks.

But she's still moving. Her face is pressed into the bloody sand. Fox feels the life still seeping from him.

She is writhing like a dead ant.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers.

He pulls the trigger again, this time it pierces her straight through the skull, and she's limp.

He spends the next few days starving, waiting for someone to either find him and heal him or find him and shoot him dead, just as he had done to that poor girl, now a rotting body he must helplessly watch as the days roll by.

Should've gotten that rabbit's foot.

His lips cracked and bloody, unable to move, unable to eat, unable to drink, he dies alone in the wasteland.

END

Satisfied? Or wanna restart? Pick a different choice or go to Chapter # motherfuckin' 1!

Your story summarized:

- You picked not to go after the Rabbit's Foot, so Fox and the woman never met

- You bought the ghoul at the bar a drink, so the woman's more likely to be kind to others, or be perceived as kind

- The woman didn't follow the rules at the entrance, so she is more likely to take risks

- But, despite all this, you chose to shoot her dead!

Fox Handall Stats:

LEVEL 3

Barter: 15, Energy Weapons: 17, Explosives: 17, Guns: 50, Lockpick: 32, Medicine: 15, Melee Weapons: 17, Repair: 20, Science: 15, Sneak: 30, Speech: 35, Survival: 11, Unarmed: 11

The Woman Stats:

LEVEL 10

Barter: 11, Energy Weapons: 39, Explosives: 60, Guns: 10, Lockpick: 100, Medicine: 20, Melee Weapons: 40, Repair: 15, Science: 15, Sneak: 9, Speech: 11, Survival: 35, Unarmed: 20

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #42]

The blades of an old wind turbine squeak back and forth as the silence of the wastes ensues.

Whittaker Farmstead is approaching now, and as the wind blows harder he swears he could hear the snuffing of a beast. His hands bolt to his revolvers, and his eyes search the dark, towering rocky hills and pale, shivering brush.

There Bighorners out here or somethin'?

He hears the snuff again, this time followed by a slow, guttural growl. Fox feels the blood drain from his face as there's the thump of two heavy footsteps some yards away. Another curious snort sounds from behind the remains of a house half-sunken in the sand.

Deathclaws.

Fox has only heard them mentioned from grim fairytales his parents told to scare him out of trouble. Before, he thought the Deathclaws were just oversized lizards, but this...this is a real-life horror. He never imagined he'd witness one in the flesh. Or have his flesh...eaten by one.

The Dealthclaws wander through the sweeping dust, their colorless eyes searching for their next meal. Fox crouches low and moves slowly towards the Whittaker Farmstead standing behind him, calculating his life in every step.

[SNEAK 28/25]

(Uh oh, Sneak -10 bc Jingle Jangle Jingle is playing)

[SNEAK 18/25]

Fox's eyes are glued on the four beasts as he takes another step back. Suddenly, a loud crunching sound echoes through the hills. His foot had landed on an old, dead bush in the road.

Fuck.

The wind picks up and sends a flurry of sand through the air. The Deathclaw snorts again, then its empty eyes fall straight on Fox, who erupts in a full sprint.

The Deathclaw growls shrilly and pursues him at full speed, needle-like claws outstretched, the others joining in pursuit.

Fox yells and frantically tugs the handle of the back door of the Farmstead, but it's locked. He feels the thumping of the Deathclaw's feet grow faster, heavier, closer. "SHIT SHIT—" he sends a fist through the window immediately to his right and hops in feet-first, a trail of blood snaking down his arm. "—SHIT SHIT!"

As he's rushing to barricade a table against the window, he hears a loud, shrill whistle, as if someone had set off a firework.

...KABOOM!

The ground shakes. Rocks and sand batter the walls and the windows as a shockwave hits the frame of the house. Before Fox can get up to look, a bleeding mass comes crashing through the window, and the severed head of a Deathclaw rolls into the center of the floor, its tongue rolling out of its mouth and curled horns shattered. A massive, clawed arm is resting over the window ledge and a pool of blood quickly grows across the floor. Fox scrambles backwards and peers back at the Deathclaw's absent eyes, then rushes to the broken window, shading his eyes with a hand.

There's a blackened crater engulfed in flames at the center of the field, leaving two Deathclaws left limping across the dust. Hot smoke dances around a small greenish figure sitting over it all from the top of an old trailer. It's a woman, and she's holding a missile launcher.

She locks the next missile into place, glancing down at the Patriot's Cookbook magazine sitting at her feet. She licks her finger and flips a page, then mumbles, "Oh, I see," and flicks a few switches on the launcher nonchalantly, the red lights flashing in response. A smirk grows over her lips as she peers through the glowing sights again. "Alright, Annabelle..." She presses the trigger and the missile is off in a whistling cloud of smoke. "...Finish 'em off."

Fox's mouth is agape as he watches the two Deathclaws fly a hundred feet into the star-spangled sky, their limbs quenching the desert with a heavy, bloody rain.

The woman hauls the missile launcher on to her back and hops off the trailer, sighing as she notices Fox's wide eyes disappear under the broken window.

Guess my cover's blown now. Haha — no pun intended...Had no choice once he brought on those Deathclaws, they jus' tear up everything in their way till you put 'em down... She wipes a fleck of seared Deathclaw flesh from her face. Whatever. Wasn't meant to be a Mojave movie director anyways.

As she's meandering towards the house, Fox is desperately wrapping a piece of his shirt sleeve over his dripping right fist with his teeth and clutching a revolver in the opposite hand.

Just a few meters outside he hears her voice.

"Damn, no 'Thank you,' 'Gracias,' anything?"

He slowly looks around a corner and catches sight of her in the pale moonlight standing with her hand on her hip outside the window, eyebrow raised. He can see her face now, rosy-cheeked, big, dangerous eyes. She has bright green hair. Her figure is muscled but kind of fun to look at. Nice to look at. That dark green armored suit fit her really goddamn well.

He can't do anything but stare, lowering his revolver to the floor. "...Oh, sorry, thank you...uh..."

When she first takes a good look at him, her attention is drawn to his strikingly beautiful green eyes. He has this handsomely sharp jawline, too. Rough stubble. Nice build.

"I was followin' your footprints, you know."

Fox holds the dressed wound across his palm. Blood's already begun to soak through the bandages. "You were?"

"Yeah, I saw you were travellin' by yourself. That's pretty dangerous, mister. Gotta learn to watch yourself out here. By the looks of you, you ain't a wastelander."

"I'm actually from, uh, Freeside."

"Yeah, you look like you're from The Kings gang. Least, you're wearing their clothes. Got their hair." She'd always fancied their style.

"Yeah, I do."

She's stuffing the missile launcher back into her pack. "So, what the hell're you doing out here?"

He chuckles, then winces. "Jesus, now that's a story."

"Here, how 'bout you tell it on the road?" She nods out at the 159. "Were you headed to Goodsprings?" She glances down at his bandage. "They got a doctor."

He gets up, unlocks the back door, and slowly steps outside. "Sure was. Just...who're you? And what's with the uh...fireworks?" He eyes the massive metal barrel which has got little yellow stars painted on and 'Annabelle' printed in large swooping red cursive letters.

"Aw, just a prospector..." She hops onto the road and there's a little radio on her hip that swings as she dances in the moonlit dust. "—With a little flavor. Hope you don't mind if I share the road with ya."

He starts walking behind her, watching her bounce down the road. "Not at all...Thanks for, uh, looking out for me there."

She snickers, "You could say that," then nods at him, "My turn. Who're you and what the hell're doin' out here you dipstick?"

Fox snorts and looks up at the winking stars. "I know, I know. I'm a city boy. My name's Fox. I was kicked out of the Kings, can't find work in Freeside anymore. That's why I'm out here."

She's picking her teeth with a piece of grass. "Huh. What'd you do?"

"I was framed for murdering one of The King's groupies. Some bastard set me up."

"Sure, sure."

"What, you don't believe me?"

She shrugs, "Nah, I do. Freeside's tough. Everyone's tryna get a one-up on each other there." She smiles out at the rocky plateaus. "You'll find a little more freedom out in the Mojave, I think." Silence ensues between them until, suddenly, she points to something in the distance. "There. D'you see that? We're entering Khan territory."

Fox watches the tall skeleton-like statues appear over the rocky cliffs, the chains encircling them rocking back and forth in the breeze. As they continue down the road, a small town comes into view with smoke billowing from some of the buildings. "That's where the Viper's gang is holed up."

Fox squints. He sees a couple of mean-looking people in battle gear meandering around. He swears they're looking their way, but something's holding them back.

"Ah, good old friends, they are." When he looks over at the woman she's resting the missile launcher over her shoulder, playing around with the switches and testing out the sights on one of the buildings. "Don't worry about 'em. They know me well enough to try anything."

He eyes the smoked, scorched buildings at the center of the town, then her. "Oh."

The sun yawns over the desolate rocks and dust, cacti bristle in the whispering young breeze, and calm white clouds drift over. It's finally morning.

"...Hey, we're almost to Goodsprings."

His knees are getting tired as he's reaching the crest of the hill. "Goodsprings?" The word's like honey on his tongue.

The Goodsprings Gas Station and several small townhouses slowly ascend from the dust. A tumbleweed skids across the broken road. Dust encircles their feet and as they pass a Sunset Sarsaparilla vending machine next to the Gas Station. "I remember this machine." The woman runs up to it, gives it one hefty punch, and two bottles come tumbling out. She gestures ahead to a sturdy white building with a flag waving out front. "Doc Mitchell's up ahead." She gives him a wave, strutting down the road to the Saloon, popping the cap off of her Sarsaparilla bottle. "I'm gonna go say hi to some old friends. If you need a place to stay, you c'n bunk up with me in Victor's shack. Victor won't mind. He doesn't sleep in a bed anyways. Or you can sleep in the dirty old Gas Station, up to you." She takes a swig and burps the word, "Bye."

CHOICE

Bunk up with the woman in Victor's Shack (Romantic Interest - Go to Chapter #55)

New story insignia!  +$

Bunk up in the Gas Station (No Romantic Interest - Go to Chapter #56)

New story insignia!  +}

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #54]

You Picked: Bunk up with the woman in Victor's Shack

Doc Mitchell's house is cute and quaint. Fox minds his shoes on the long decorative carpet and calls out, "Hello? Uh, someone told me there was a doctor here?"

"Why, hello!" An older man rounds a corner and notices Fox's bloody bandage. "Absolutely. Follow me. You can take a seat on that doctor's table over there."

Fox follows him into a dimly lit room with medical equipment, then hops onto the doctor's table to his left as the old man is rifling through a drawer. "I'm Doc Mitchell."

"Fox. Nice to meet you."

"So, Fox, what got you this nasty cut?" He's peeled off the soaked bandage and is inspecting the deep slices down his knuckles and forearm. "Oh, I see glass is stuck in there. Here, I'll get that out first before I fix you up." He turns to the metal doctor's tray and picks out a pair of tweezers. "Stay still now. It'll be painful, so try focusing on something in the room to help ease your mind."

Fox takes a deep breath and his eyes wander over the golden rays streaking through the boarded up windows. He feels the cold tweezers enter the skin under his right forearm.

"Try not to tense up, now."

Fox holds his breath as the tweezers grab hold of something, and he flinches as he feels the shard of glass move beneath his skin. The knuckles on his left arm are turning white as he grips the edge of the table. He tries to focus on the bubbling, glowing chemistry set across the room.

He hears the clink! of the shard in the metal tray, then the Doc leans back in to fish for more. "Glass is nasty business, were you out prospecting?"

"No, well, I was travelling the 159 when I ran into dealthclaws an' got this trying to escape."

Doc Mitchell pauses. "...Deathclaws? How the hell did you end up surviving that?"

The tweezes catch hold of another shard. "—Hng! Well, uh, this lady came through with a fuckin' missile launcher."

Doc Mitchell sits back for a moment to laugh. "Oh, haha! I see...Did she have bright green hair?"

"Yeah, you know her?"

"Oh yeah, she lived here in Goodsprings. And you better thank your lucky stars she happened by; she's one of the few folks in the Mojave that actually has the guts and the know-how to take down a deathclaw." He chuckles. "Surprised she didn't blow you to bits, too. A wild one right there."

Fox bites his tongue as another shard slips out. "Was nice enough to lead me here."

"Oh, really? Huh, must've taken a liking to you, then. She's not one to offer help to just anyone."

Clink!

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. She was raised by Legionnaires, you know...Found her wandering in from the South road when she was just a kid, maybe eight years old. We knew immediately where she'd come from cause she had the red cross painted across her torn up clothes." Clink! "Crazy that she got that far. Didn't read or speak much, so we enrolled her in that schoolhouse with a few other local kids." He stifles another laugh. "Broke one of the boy's legs cause he was teasin' her. So, yeah, she ain't to keen on mercy and the like."

Clink!

After fishing the last one out, Doc Mitchell quickly wraps his hand a few times, then gets up to grab something. A poof of red powder rises out of a linen bag as he tosses it next to Fox. "Here's some healing powder, take this before you go to sleep an' you'll feel brand new by the the time you're awake. No need to worry 'bout the caps." He pulls off his gloves and throws them in the tray. "Least for this time around. Any friend of a Goodsprings local is a friend of mine."

Fox hops off the doctor's table. "Wow, well, thank you."

"Don't mention it. It's what I'm here for."

—

The woman is leaning back against the post near the entrance of the Prospector's Saloon, Easy Pete sitting opposite of her, red-faced and gesturing angrily.

"—What the hell'd I tell you 'bout firing missiles in the canyon?!"

"There were deathclaws, Pete."

"Them radscorpions gonna crawl up from their dens and infest the place if you keep settin' off goddamn explosives!"

She snickers, "If that happens, you know it ain't nothin' a little dynamite couldn't take care of."

Easy Pete holds his head. "God dammit. Shoulda never given you those magazines when you were younger...Don't you know demolition requires a level of self control?"

"Pete, you know I practice self-control on the daily."

As she turns to leave, Easy Pete calls after her. "Wait!" He leans over and slips a paper note out of his back pocket. "A man came by this morning and wanted me to hand you this."

She snatches the note. "Huh? Just some guy?"

"Just a stranger." He furrows his brow. "Now, hope it's not more trouble."

She opens the paper and her eyes flicker across the all too familiar handwriting:

Working with NCR? You disgust me.

"Eh, just junkmail." She shuts the note, lets out a huff of air, then gives him a parting wave as she meanders back towards Victor's shack. "Bye-bye Pete...see you when I see you."

He sits back in his chair, watching the sunset and the tumbleweeds meander by. "Yup."

—

Fox takes a deep breath, fixes his shirt and his jeans before he steps up to the rickety door of Victor's shack and knocks a few times with his good arm. "Uh, hey...you there?"

"Oh, so ya decided to join me?"

Fox almost jumps out of his skin. He swivels around to find the woman standing right behind him in the dusty pathway. "Oh—Jesus, hah, thought you were already inside."

"Naw, just got back from the Saloon." She pushes past him into the shack and drops her bag on the floor. "Ahh, home sweet home. Thank God they have the windows boarded up. Keeps all that sun out."

"Yeah." Fox glances over the small room. There's only one bed. Its mattress is covered in dust, and there're no pillows. "Just making sure: it's alright if I stay with you, yeah?"

She shrugs. "Wouldn't mind the company, but up to you."

Fox sits down on the couch across from her and is cradling the healing power with his good hand. "Well, I was also gonna ask if I could travel with you...Frankly, I've got not idea what the fuck I'm doing out here. You do." He tugs his leather holster. "An' I can help with any jobs you got out in the wastes. Don't even have to pay me—it's agonizing watching these things start to rust."

The woman is leaning back against a desk and grins. "Oh, so the city boy wants to take on the Mojave, huh?" She nods at him. "You're alright. You're quick on your feet," she snickers. "Like I said, wouldn't mind the company. You'll sure have to get used to sand and sweat, though."

"Trust me, anything's better than sleeping behind a dumpster."

She unpacks a combat knife and lays it on the bed. "You sleeping on that couch?"

"Yeah, 'spose so."

She starts rummaging through some crates and retrieves some dirty bedsheets and a pillow. "Ah, here's where they went." She starts arranging them on her mattress.

Foxe rubs his neck. "Hah, by the way...I never caught your name. We spent all that time in the desert and I guess I just—"

"It's Vesper."

He can't help the grin on his face as his lips form her name. "Alright...Vesper." He pulls out his water flask and pours in the red healing powder, swishes it, and takes a big gulp. It tastes bitter as hell. He wipes his mouth with his wrist. "So, Vesper. Doc Mitchell told me a bit about you."

She pops open a bottle of whiskey and laughs dryly. "Mhm? And I'm sure he had nothin' but real nice things to say."

"Well, hey, didn't say any mean things. Told me you went to school here." He smiles at her. "Told me a boy was teasin' you and you broke his leg. Think he was warning me."

She rolls her eyes. "Everyone here tells that story. Trust me, he got what was comin' to him." She takes another big swig. "Guessin' he told you all about my big, happy family cross the river too, huh?"

"He told me you escaped The Legion when you were a kid." He reassures her, "That's all he really said about it, though."

"Huh. Good ol' yappin' Doc, yappin' his mouth." She leans back on the bed, eyeing his getup. "My turn...Were you born in Freeside?"

He sits back. "Naw, Klamath, Southern Oregon." He sighs happily, staring at the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. "Was heaven there. My mother brought the family to New Vegas so she could gamble. Was fifteen when we showed up in Freeside...Hah, rest is beside the point. I'm sure you can tell: we didn't get our American Dream. The King took me in when I turned eighteen, found me useful, did his dirty work." He nodded down at his revolver.

"Hm. Never met an Oregon boy. It like the Mojave up there?"

"Naw, it snows in winter." He pulls put a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. "But it can get hot, too." 

"I'm sure." Now she's started to slip her combat suit off onto the floor and Fox has trouble keeping his eyes occupied with the cigarette in his hands.

He sets the lighter aflame. "You're undressing here?"

A cloud of smoke escapes his lips. She looks up at him after pulling the silk pink sleepwear over her head. "What? Are you not used to it? Happens all the time when you bunk up with a wastelander. One minute you're gutting mole rats and the next you're butt-naked with your junk out cleaning your clothes off in a pail of water. Plus, it's nighttime. Loosen up, we're in Goodsprings. No need to sleep all ready and ramblin'."

Fox laughs a little, "Alright, alright."

She lays on her side and watches him settle into the couch. "What, you're gonna sleep in that?"

"Yeah, lady. I'm not a crazy wastelander, you kidding me?"

"Oh, come on. It's over ninety degrees in here."

"You trying to get me to strip for you?"

"Jus' the shirt, come on. You jus' look so uptight. Really, you gotta loosen up. I won't be able to sleep with you sweatin' like a pig all night. You'll smell like B.O. from hell tomorrow morning."

"Fine, fine." He pulls the white shirt over his head and leaves it on the floor next to her combat suit.

Vesper turns a little pink this time.

They both turn over on their sides and close their eyes, wild thoughts circling through and through.

To continue your story, go to Chapter #70

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #54]

You Picked: Bunk up in the Gas Station

Doc Mitchell's house is cute and quaint. Fox minds his shoes on the long decorative carpet and calls out, "Hello? Uh, someone told me there was a doctor here?"

"Why, hello!" An older man rounds a corner and notices Fox's bloody bandage. "Absolutely. Follow me. You can take a seat on that doctor's table over there."

Fox follows him into a dimly lit room with medical equipment, then hops onto the doctor's table to his left as the old man is rifling through a drawer. "The town calls me Doc Mitchell."

"I'm Fox...Nice to meet you."

"So Fox, what got you this nasty cut?" He's peeled off the soaked bandage and is inspecting the deep slices down his knuckles and forearm. "Oh, I see glass is stuck in there. Here, I'll get that out first before I fix you up." He turns to the metal doctor's tray and picks out a pair of tweezers. "Stay still now. It'll be painful, so try focusing on something in the room to help ease your mind."

Fox takes a deep breath and his eyes wander over the golden rays streaking through the boarded up windows. He feels the cold tweezers enter the skin under his right forearm.

"Try not to tense up, now."

Fox holds his breath as the tweezers grab hold of something, and he flinches as he feels the shard of glass move beneath his skin. The knuckles on his left arm are turning white as he grips the edge of the table. He tries to focus on the bubbling, glowing chemistry set across the room.

He hears the clink! of the shard in the metal tray, then the Doc leans back in to fish for more. "Glass is nasty business, were you out prospecting?"

"No, well, I was travelling the 159 when I ran into dealthclaws an' got this trying to escape."

Doc Mitchell pauses. "...Deathclaws? How the hell did you end up surviving that?"

The tweezes catch hold of another shard. "—Hng! Well, uh, this lady came through with a fuckin' missile launcher."

Doc Mitchell sits back for a moment to laugh. "Oh, haha! I see...Did she have bright green hair?"

"Yeah, you know her?"

"Oh yeah, she lived here in Goodsprings. And you better thank your lucky stars she happened by; she's one of the few folks in the Mojave that actually has the guts and the know-how to take down a deathclaw." He chuckles. "Surprised she didn't blow you to bits, too. A wild one right there."

He bites his tongue as another shard slips out. "Was nice enough to lead me here."

"Oh, really? Huh, must've taken a liking to you, then. She's not one to offer help to just anyone."

Clink!

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. She was raised by Legionnaires, you know...Found her wandering in from the South road when she was just a kid, maybe eight years old. We knew immediately where she'd come from cause she had the red cross painted across her torn up clothes." Clink! "Crazy that she got that far. Didn't read or speak much, so we enrolled her in that schoolhouse with a few other local kids." He stifles another laugh. "Broke one of the boy's legs cause he was teasin' her. So, yeah, she ain't to keen on mercy and the like."

Clink!

Doc Mitchell quickly wraps his hand a few times, then gets up to grab something. A poof of red powder rises out of a linen bag as he tosses it next to Fox. "Here's some healing powder, take this before you go to sleep an' you'll feel brand new by the the time you're awake. No need to worry 'bout the caps." He pulls off his gloves and throws them in the tray. "Least for this time 'round. Any friend of a Goodsprings local is a friend of mine."

Fox hops off the doctor's table. "Wow, well, thank you."

"Don't mention it. It's what I'm here for."

—

The woman is leaning back against the post near the entrance of the Prospector's Saloon, Easy Pete sitting opposite of her, red-faced and gesturing angrily.

"—What the hell'd I tell you 'bout firing missiles in the canyon?!"

"There were deathclaws, Pete."

"Them radscorpions gonna crawl up from their dens and infest the place if you keep settin' off explosives willy-nilly!"

She snickers, "If that happens, you know it ain't nothin' a little dynamite couldn't take care of."

Easy Pete holds his head. "God dammit. Shoulda never given you those magazines when you were younger...Don't you know demolition requires a level of self control?"

"Pete, you know I practice self-control on the daily."

As she turns to leave, Easy Pete calls after her. "Wait!" He leans over and slips a paper note out of his back pocket. "A man came by this morning and wanted me to hand you this."

She snatches the note. "Huh? Just some guy?"

"Just a stranger." He furrows his brow. "Now, hope it's not more trouble."

She opens the paper and her eyes flicker across the all too familiar handwriting:

Working with NCR? You disgust me.

"Eh, just junkmail." She shuts the note, lets out a huff of air, then gives him a parting wave as she meanders back towards Victor's shack. "Bye-bye Pete...see you when I see you."

He sits back in his chair, watching the sunset and the tumbleweeds meander by. "Yup."

—

Fox decides to hole up in the Gas Station for today. Hearing that that lady was raised by Legionnaires, along with watching her disintegrate those deathclaws with a missile launcher...He isn't sure if she's a safe person to hang around.

The Gas Station is covered in mud from generations of wastelander boots, and the overhead lights are barely fizzling into life. Fox slumps against the register counter and sighs. He pulls out his water flask and pours in the red healing powder, swishes it, and takes a big gulp. It tastes bitter as hell. There's a couple stale boxes of Cram and InstaMash that he tears into for dinner to wash the taste out of his mouth, then he slumps into a corner and passes out.

To continue your story, go to Chapter #71

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #43]

The blades of an old wind turbine squeak back and forth as the silence of the wastes ensues.

Whittaker Farmstead is approaching now, and as the wind blows harder he swears he could hear the snuffing of a beast. His hands bolt to his .44 revolvers, and his eyes search the dark, towering rocky hills and pale, shivering brush.

There Bighorners out here or somethin'?

He hears the snuff again, this time followed by a slow, guttural growl. Fox feels the blood drain from his face as there's the thump of two heavy footsteps some yards away. Another curious snort sounds from behind the remains of a house half-sunken in the sand.

Deathclaws.

Fox has only heard them mentioned from grim fairytales his parents told to scare him out of trouble. Before, he thought the Deathclaws were just oversized lizards, but this...this is a real-life horror. He never imagined he'd witness one in the flesh. Or have his flesh...eaten by one.

The Dealthclaws wander through the sweeping dust, their colorless eyes searching for their next meal. Fox crouches low and moves slowly towards the Whittaker Farmstead standing behind him, calculating his life in every step.

[SNEAK 28/25]

Fox's eyes are glued on the four beasts as he takes another step back. The wind picks up and sends a flurry of sand through the air. The Deathclaw snorts again, its empty eyes wandering the night air. Slowly, he makes his way past Whittaker Farmstead and watches several tall skeleton-like statues appear over the rocky cliffs, the chains encircling them rocking back and forth in the breeze. Khan territory.

Dawn brings life to the desert as the canyon opens up into a beautiful grassy field with wandering Bighorners, drawing long shadows across the rocky grounds. In the distance, he sees a few buildings glowing in the sunrise. A hopeful smile spreads across his face and his footsteps quicken.

As he enters the town, he sees figures resting under the shadows. There are more than one, perhaps five, all gathered on the porches of the wooden skeleton-like buildings.

Fox, though he has very little knowledge of the wastes, knows what a bunch of bad news looks like. His footsteps falter in the sandy road and he stands still for a moment, his weakness causing him to falter.

A gunshot whizzes past his head.

His instincts kick in immediately. He pulls out his revolvers and fires two rounds. Both hit their targets, but they barely flinch. Damn. Metal armor.

He dives behind remnants of a burnt down house and uses the charred walls as cover.

Bullets chip the edges. He hears footsteps approaching.

A woman with spiky hair and sharp knuckles comes running around the corner. "Filthy scavenger! Die, die! The Viper Gang rules all!"

Fox yells and crawls back as she throws her fists in his face and scrapes gashes across his cheeks. He quickly lifts the revolver and pulls the trigger. The air rains blood. Her head falls back into the dirt.

Fox has trouble getting back on his feet. His eyes are wide, his body covered in splatters of blood, his knees shaky and worn out.

Another shotgun blast throws planks of rotting wood three feet into the air.

Fox hastily reloads and listens to footsteps. One guy's still on the porch, a few others are sneaking round the back of another building just a few yards North of him.

He runs into the middle of the town and lifts his revolvers again. The man on the porch's head bursts over the walls. Fox headshots two others running towards him. Only one man left.

And they have the shotgun.

The blast has Fox's ears ringing and his left gut oozing blood. He falls into the sand and gasps for air, then catches sight of the man raising the shotgun again.

Fox's fingers grip his revolver again. He can see the man's eyes from here. Dark and unmerciful, insane. A void. These were the wastelanders corrupted by the apocalypse.

But then, suddenly, the man's head is replaced with a gory mess, an open esophagus spraying blood. Fox screams and crawls back as the headless body falls limp into the dirt, then looks up as crimson drops speckle his face, and sees the man's head's been skewered into the door frame behind him by a spear.

LEVEL UP

LEVEL 3

Barter: 15, Energy Weapons: 17, Explosives: 17, Guns: 50, Lockpick: 32, Medicine: 15, Melee Weapons: 17, Repair: 20, Science: 15, Sneak: 30, Speech: 35, Survival: 11, Unarmed: 11

"...They're a pesky bunch, aren't they?"

Fox takes a shaky breath and tries sitting up, but he's too weak. Wherever that voice is coming from, he doesn't wanna stick around to find out. A woman rounds a corner and is casually leaning over the blunt side of a meter-long spear. "Naw, ouch, don't try to crawl away with that hole in your side."

He's trying to keep more blood from gushing. "Look, if you're gonna kill me, could you just do me a favor and make it qui— Oh..." He freezes as his blood-drained gaze falls on those rosy-cheeked, big, dangerous eyes shining in the moonlight.

"Was fun to watch you pop those Vipers off for a bit, but looks like you got yourself in to a real spot of trouble now," a smirk grows across her lips, "Fox."

It's the woman he'd seen with Benny back at the casino. And man, that dark green armored suit fit her really goddamn well...

"What...How the hell—"

"You left footprints. An' travellin' alone in the wasteland's a bold n' stupid move, mister."

"...Tell me about it." Fox can barely hold himself up now. "So, what, you jus' here to watch me croak?"

"Hm." She puts her hand on her hip and taps her chin with a finger. "Well, I was gonna jus' say 'good luck!' wink, n' walk away," she chuckles and her eyes meander over his sweaty, heaving chest, "but I dunno, somethin's tellin' me to come check on ya."

Fox weakly laughs, then winces. "Oh, I see...Benny really didn't impress you, huh?"

She leans over to get something out of her pack, and Fox can see down the front of her shirt a little. Damn if this's the last thing I see...I'm alright with that.

"Look, how 'bout we make an exchange—"

"Yes. Whatever it is, yes. Yes."

She pauses and lifts another eyebrow. "...Oookay. Let me finish. I was gonna say..." she nodded at the three bodies with bullet holes in their heads, "...you're a sharp shooter. So, got a job that you could be useful for." She walks up to him and pulls out the long needle of a stimpak. "You help me with this job, I heal you. How's that for a deal."

"Do I gotta get on my knees and beg you, lady? Already said ye—AGH!"

A surge of pain takes root in his neck downwards as the woman sticks him like an olive, straight into his main artery. His hands shakily reach for the end of the syringe as she continues to surge its serum into his veins.

"You could beg, too. I wouldn't mind."

The pain is quickly replaced with a numbing warmth as he feels the oozing blood subside. She yanks the needle out of his skin, and he falls into the dirt, panting and heaving. "...Fuck."

"Gotta learn to watch yourself out here. By the looks of you, you ain't a wastelander."

He pushes himself up off the ground and sits back, wiping the blood and sweat from his brow. "...I'm actually from, uh, Freeside."

She tosses the used stimpak away. "Yeah, you look like you're from The Kings gang. Least, you're wearing their clothes. Got their hair." She'd always fancied their style.

"Yeah, I do."

She's stuffing the throwing spear back into her pack. "So, what the hell're you doin' out here?"

He chuckles, then winces. "Jesus, now that's a story."

"Here, how 'bout you tell it on the road?" She nods out at the 160. "We're headed to Goodsprings." The old radio on her hip starts rocking and bouncing to her music as she dances across the red sand. "So, what's got you caught up in this dump?"

Fox looks up at the winking stars. "Was kicked out of the Kings, can't find work in Freeside anymore. That's why I'm out here. Lookin' for work."

She's picking her teeth with a piece of grass. "Huh. What'd you do?"

"Was framed for murdering one of The King's groupies, some bastard set me up."

"Sure, sure."

"What...you don't believe me?"

She shrugs, "Nah, I do. Freeside's tough. Everyone's tryna get a one-up on each other there." She smiles out at the rocky plateaus. "You'll find a little more freedom out in the Mojave, I think."

The wasteland was quiet and left them lots of room for conversation, though they didn't make much use of it. Most of the time the green-haired woman was watching the shadows behind the boulders and the dusty dry tops of the plateaus in the distance, her gun always drawn. The sun yawns over the desolate rocks and dust, cacti bristle in the whispering young breeze, and calm white clouds drift over. It's finally morning.

Suddenly, she points to something in the distance. "There. D'you see that? We're almost to Goodsprings."

His knees are getting tired as he's reaching the crest of the hill. "Goodsprings?" The word's like honey on his tongue.

The Goodsprings Gas Station and several small townhouses slowly ascend from the dust. A tumbleweed skids across the broken road. Dust encircles their feet and as they pass a Sunset Sarsaparilla vending machine next to the Gas Station. "I remember this machine." The woman runs up to it, gives it one hefty punch, and two bottles come tumbling out. "And I'm sure we can get a room in Victor's Shack, he won't mind. Doesn't sleep in a bed anyways."

"Victor? Who's that?"

She chuckles, and Fox can see her icy survival attitude's starting to melt. "Damn, must be your first time passing through. Victor's a robot. He kinda likes to bash ears but the town's alright with him."

"Well, I passed through once when my dad and I first came to New Vegas."

She nodded, "Place sure does a good job of makin' the rest of the Mojave seem like a dump."

"Yeah."

Dust encircles their feet as they approach the sign for the Prospector's Saloon. "And here we are." She holds his shoulder. "I'm gonna check inside real quick, you should come with me.”

—

The Prospector's Saloon is warm and humid, the floorboards creaky, the lights dim, just as it should be. They pass the table and chairs and enter the bar area, where customers sit in contemplation and Trudy takes their orders. Trudy welcomes them both with a wave, but when her eyes fall on the woman, her eyes widen. "Oh my God! Is that really you?" She puts a dirty cup down. "You've changed so much since I last saw you…” She quickly eyes the blood specked across the woman’s face.

She laughs, ”It’s been a minute, huh?"

"And who's this troublemaker you're runnin' around with?" She gestures to Fox and smiles jokingly. "You two gonna cause any trouble?"

"Him? Nah, trust me, he wouldn't dream it."

Fox fails to hide the nervousness in his laugh. "Hah, nope..."

Trudy leans in on the counter. "So, you two need any water before you shrivel like dry sponges?"

Fox notices his parched lips. Now that he thinks about it, he's thirsty as hell.

The green haired woman sits on the stool across from Trudy. "Sure," and she motions for Fox, "Come sit."

He smiles a little and sits the next stool over.

"I went to school here before the old schoolhouse was overrun by giant mantises. It was a good place to grow up."

He gives both of them a long stare. "So...is Trudy your...mom?"

Both women laugh.

Trudy sets their glasses on the counter and they both gulp it down in one go. "Aw, no honey. It's flattering, but no. We ain't blood-related."

After wiping her mouth, the green-haired woman continues, "I was a big troublemaker back then. Goodsprings took me in when I was 'bout eight, ran away from my family. They're Legion—dad is, at least. 'Scaped cross that big river."

Fox is taken aback. He knew there was something off about her, and this proves it. "Oh...Seriously?" Fox glances at her face. He can see it from the icy gleam in her eyes, that ruthless stare. "That's...wow."

"Taught me how to survive an' take a beating at least before I left. Really comes in handy out in the wastes."

Trudy refilled their glasses with a sparkling pitcher. "So, you two staying in Victor's shack for tonight?"

"Yup. That's the plan."

They spend the next hour and a half reminiscing about the past: her times in school, Cazador skirmishes, the Fire Gecko hunts. It's rich and full of adventure, yet her name was never once mentioned.

Then the woman gets up. "Alright, Trudy. I think we're ready to hit the sack. Been walkin' all night. So see ya. We'll be leavin' in a few hours."

"Alright. You two stay outta trouble." She smiles and cleans their glasses. "Have a good sleep."

—

She leads him into the shack and drops her bag on the floor.

"Thank God they have the windows boarded up. Keeps all that sun out."

"Yeah." Fox glances over the small room. There's only one bed. Its mattress is covered in dust, and there're no pillows.

"Where am I sleeping, exactly?"

She unpacks a combat knife and lays it on the bed. "Sleep on the couch or somethin', cuz I'm sleepin' here no matter what."

"Alright, alight."

She starts rummaging through some crates and retrieves some dirty bed sheets and a pillow. "Ah, here's where they went. You can have 'em. I got my mattress."

Fox catches the bundle in his arms and starts organizing his nest of bed sheets on the couch.

The woman offers him some Sugar Bombs, and they both munch over some conversation. She kicks back in her chair, flipping another page of her Pre-War Book. "We're gonna head out for the job tomorrow morning."

"Sure, it's a plan."

He notices her eyes pass over him again. "You know, you're quite...nice lookin' for a Freesider." The corners of her mouth lift into a sly smile.

CHOICE

Flirt Back (Go to Chapter #58)

New Story Insignia!  #$

Not Interested (Go to Chapter #59)

New Story Insignia!  #}

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #57]

You Picked: Flirt Back

[SPEECH 35/45]

Fox walks over to sit in a wooden chair and feels his nerves coming on, so he lights another cigarette. The smoke twirls out of his mouth. "Yeah, well even when you're stickin' me with needles an' spearin' people's heads to walls...you're not too bad yourself."

"Not too bad myself, huh?" She unstraps her boots, tosses them next to the door, then leans back against the desk and gets to work sharpening the tip of her throwing spear. "Aw, c'mon, you know I got bad in me, too, yeah?" She winks and points the tip of the spear at his nose.

He can't help the grin that's forming beneath the sweat on his brow. "...Anyone ever tell you you're a little intimidating?"

"They would never." She taps his chin with the tip of the spear.

Fox rubs his neck. "Hah, by the way...never caught your name. We spent all that time in the desert and I guess I just—"

"It's Vespera."

His lips form her name. "Vespera, alright, Ves—Can I call you Ves?"

"Vespera." She stabs the spear into the floorboards next to the desk.

"Alright, alright, Vespera, I get it." He tucks a cigarette between his lips. Then, as she starts to unzip her combat outfit, Fox has trouble keeping his eyes occupied with the lighter in his hands. He flicks it aflame. "You're undressing here?"

The room fills with another intoxicating plume of smoke. She looks up at him after pulling the silk pink sleepwear over her head. "Oh? Are you not used to it? Happens all the time when you bunk up with a wastelander. One minute you're gutting mole rats and the next you're butt-naked with your junk out cleaning your clothes off in a pail of water. Plus, it's nighttime. Loosen up, we're in Goodsprings. No need to sleep all ready and ramblin'."

Fox gets up from the chair, laughing a little, "Alright, alright."

She lays on her side and watches him settle into the couch. "Are you gonna sleep in that?"

"Yeah, lady. I'm not a crazy wastelander, you kidding me?"

"Come on, it's over ninety degrees in here."

"You trying to get me to strip for you?"

"Hey, if you wanna smell like B.O. from hell in a few hours, go ahead."

"Fine, fine." He pulls the white shirt over his head and leaves it on the floor next to her combat suit, then lays with his hands behind his head on the couch to settle in.

They both glance over their clothes piled on the floor and Vespera turns a little pink. After passing each other one last look, they turn over on their sides and close their eyes, wild thoughts circling through and through.

To continue your story, go to Chapter #72

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #57]

You Picked: Not Interested

Fox walks over to sit in a wooden chair and feels his nerves coming on, so he lights another cigarette. The smoke twirls out of his mouth. "Uh, well..." He really just wanted to get this job over and done with, hated being in debt. Plus, she seems like the kind that'd possibly murder him in his sleep. "...What's the plan for tomorrow?"

She unstraps her boots, tosses them next to the door, then leans back against the desk and gets to work sharpening the tip of her throwing spear. "We're headed to Quarry Junction. You'll find it real interesting there." She smiles at him. "It'll be real fun. My third trip there. You can borrow my NCR ranger armor. It's got a real cool leather coat that comes with it, and the helmet's got some 'built-in, low-light optics'—at least that's what the guy at the safehouse told me. God, he was a bore."

"Oh, wow. Ranger armor? I mean, we're not doing recon or anything...Why do I need that fancy stuff?"

She waves him away. "Aw, don't worry about it."

Fox raises an eyebrow. "...Kay."

Fox keeps his eyes occupied with the cigarette in his hands as she unzips her combat suit. "...You're undressing here?"

She looks up at him after pulling the silk pink sleepwear over her head. "Oh? Are you not used to it? Happens all the time when you bunk up with a wastelander. One minute you're gutting mole rats and the next you're butt-naked with your junk out cleaning your clothes off in a pail of water. Plus, it's nighttime. Loosen up, we're in Goodsprings. No need to sleep all ready and ramblin'."

Fox gets up from the chair, laughing a little. "Alright, alright."

She lays on her side and watches him settle into the couch.

"Well...goodnight."

"Goodnight."

They both turn on their sides and close their eyes, the silence of the wastes lulling them to sleep.

Once I update the other lines of story this'll be updated.

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #46]

He wakes to a hot, wet snuffle.

"Mmm...whassat..." Once his eyes peel open, he's face-to-face with the red, mutated face of a bighorner calf.

"Whoa!"

He and the beast both jump back, wide-eyed. The calf lifts its head and snuffs again, then haughtily trots back into the field of green brush to join its mother. Fox sits up and wipes the bighorner snot off his face with the back of his hand. The sun is just barely starting to glow on the horizon. The campfire beside him is charcoal now.

He hears a soft chuckle from a distance behind him. "I leave ya alone for one second n' the critters start claimin' you as their own!" When he turns around, the woman's approaching with her arms full of yellow fruits. She leans down and hands him one. "Barrel cactus fruit. Not the most appetizin', but hey, they're somethin'."

"Oh, thank you." Fox holds it in his palm. He turns it this way and that and raises an eyebrow. "So, uhh, do I just take a bite?"

"Yuh-huh." The woman stuffs her pack with the fruits and smiles at him. "You never eaten one before?"

"Well, uh, in Freeside, we'd just have whatever Genaro was selling at his stand..."

"Genaro? Is that that skechy fella with the weird meats at the North gate?"

"Yeah, that's him. Hired me to hunt roaches with a BB gun when I was little...gave me five caps per roach, ten if I got a squirrel..." He takes a bite, and his eyebrows lift in pleasant surprise. "Damn, that's not bad." He wipes the juice from his lips. "Better than roasted radroach."

She throws her pack over her shoulder, and Fox looks up at her. "Hey, before you head out, just wanted to thank you for your help. Really. Don't think I'd be alive right now if you hadn't come along." He takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offers them to her. "This is...pretty much all I've got. Safe travels, miss."

Instead, she offers him a hand. "Call me Ves. D'ya need some help up?"

He looks at the hand, then at her. "You want me to come with you?"

"Well, you got anywhere else to be, mister?"

"You got me there." He accepts her hand and stifles a pained grunt as she hauls him to his feet. "Name's Fox, by the way."

"Ooooh, Fox." She meets his green eyes, and a smirk grows across her lips. "Alright, Fox. Well, sun's still low, so we should be able to make it to Goodsprings by the time it starts to roast us like those radroaches of yours." She helps him limp onto the road, then clicks on her radio.

Mr. New Vegas' voice echoes off the red cliffs as the rays of dawn set them alight.

"Boy, the Mojave Wasteland is just a fascinating place, isn't it? You never know what'll happen next..."

—

The wasteland left them lots of room for conversation, though they didn't make much use of it. Most of the time, the green-haired woman was watching the shadows behind the boulders and the dusty dry tops of the plateaus in the distance, her gun always drawn, the radio filling the silence between them as she helped him up the road. Now the sun beats down: It's noon and they're both soaked in sweat.

Suddenly, she points to something in the distance. "There. D'you see that? We're almost to Goodsprings!"

His knees are shaking as he's reaching the crest of the hill, and he flaps his t-shirt to dry the sweat off his chest. "Hoo, boy. Goodsprings?" The word's like honey on his tongue. It's all the words he can muster; he'd be collapsed on the pavement right now if it wasn't for her arm over his shoulder.

The Goodsprings Gas Station and several small townhouses slowly ascend from the dust. A tumbleweed skids across the broken road. She gestures ahead to a sturdy white building with a flag waving out front. "Doc Mitchell's up ahead. You spent a while out in the desert bleedin' an' starvin'. There you c'n recuperate, get your strength back."

Fox can only manage a nod now. His face is pale and wet. She helps him across the hill to the house, and when they approach the front door, she gives it a couple hefty knocks, then bellows, "Hey! Mitchy! Mitch-o-Matic! Mitchomaticvigorveste-"

Inside a man bellows back, "Ves? What in God's name-" The door swings open, and a bald old man is standing in the doorway with an eyebrow raised. Then his eyes fall on Fox, barely conscious, and he immediately steps outside to help him through the doorway. "What happened?"

"Found him shot up by the Vipers in Bonnie Springs. He was starvin', bleedin'."

They rush him inside.

"Here, take him over to the table. I'll set up the IV."

Ves leads him into a dimly lit room with medical equipment, then helps him onto the doctor's table as the old man rifles through a drawer and pulls out some tubes and needles. He lies on his back and manages a few words, "Thanks, Ves..."

She smiles at him softly, then turns when Doc Mitchell calls to her. A few seconds later — or minutes, Fox couldn't really tell — the IV bag was swinging back and forth over him, and he could make out a few words from the Doc. "Stay still now..."

Fox takes a deep breath, and his eyes wander over the sunny rays streaking through the boarded-up windows. They turn Ves's brown eyes into gold. The bubbling, glowing chemistry set across the room becomes a blur as the needle enters the skin under his right arm, and his eyes slowly close. He passes out with a small smile on his face.

—

When he wakes, this time there's no bighorner to snot on him. He sits up and rubs his face. The IV is still stuck in his arm. He can feel the color returning to his skin and his strength creeping back.

Doc Mitchell is sitting at a desk across the room and turns to him when he yawns. "You're awake, how about that...You sure did get some sleep. Been out cold for over eight hours now." He gets up from his chair and checks the IV bag. "How're you feeling?"

He rubs his legs and chuckles weakly. "Sore. But good. I feel good."

Doc Mitchell walks over to a nearby table and grabs a bottle of absinthe and a clean towel. "Good, good. Ves told me a little bit about you. That you're from Freeside, and your name's Fox. I'm Doc Mitchell, it's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too. Say, is Ves from around here? It sounded like she, uh, is familiar with you."

Doc Mitchell chuckles and wets the cloth with the bottle. "She sure is. She grew up here."

"Really?"

He gently holds Fox's arm, then slowly removes the needle. "She was raised by Legionnaires, you know...Found her wandering in from the South road when she was just a kid, maybe eight years old." He wipes his arm with the cloth. "We knew immediately where she'd come from cause she had the red cross painted across her torn-up clothes. Crazy that she got that far. Didn't read or speak much, so we enrolled her in that schoolhouse with a few other local kids." He tosses the cloth aside and grabs some wrappings. "Didn't take long for her to start wandering the wastes again, though. That girl's always had a hunger for adventure." Doc Mitchell quickly wraps his arm a few times. "Anyways, told Ves you'd be on your feet by tonight. She's been asking about you."

"...Really?" Honestly, he was wondering if she left town by now. Seems like she wanted to stick around.

CHOICE

Ask why she stuck around (Romantic Interest - Go to Chapter #61)

New Story Insignia!  =$

Ask if you're good to go (No Romantic Interest - Go to Chapter#62)

New Story Insignia!  =}

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #60]

You picked: Ask why she stuck around

He thinks back to those golden brown eyes. He'd dreamt of them. And those lips...

Fox rubs his arm. "...Why do you think she's sticking around? Well, just, ah, sounds like she's not the type to linger for too long..."

A smile brightens behind the Doc's thick white moustache as he grabs something from a drawer. "Well, she seems to've taken a liking to you." 

A poof of red powder rises out of a linen bag as he tosses it next to Fox, who is smiling ear-to-ear. "Here's some healing powder, take this before you go to sleep tonight, you'll feel brand new by tomorrow. No need to worry about caps. At least for this time around. Any friend of a Goodsprings local is a friend of mine."

Fox hops off the doctor's table, as if his strength's been fully restored. "Wow, well, thanks Doc."

"Don't mention it. It's what I'm here for." Just before Fox heads into the hallway towards the front door, Doc Mitchell calls out to him. "She's in the General Store, by the way. You should go say hi, sounded like she’s got a job for you."

—

Ves is leaning back against a wooden post in the dusty general store and counting caps in the palm of her hand. "...16, 17, 18, 19, 20...Okay, I got 20 right here. Should be enough for a long fuse."

Chet crosses his arms and glances at his rusty cash register. "Ves, I'm already giving you a discount. It's 35 flat."

"Ughh- What about the short fuse?"

"Same thing, 35."

"Goddammit." Ves rolls her eyes and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. "Well, how 'bout this..." She puts it up to her lips and drains the bottle in a few seconds. "Ahhhh..." Leaning against the scraped up shop counter with the empty bottle in hand, she gives him a smirk and raises an eyebrow, lifting sunglasses onto her face. "...How 'bout 25."

"...Fine. 30."

The door to the shop creaks open as Ves celebrates with her arms in the air, "Yes! Yes, yes, yes!"

Chet looks as if he's been saved by the bell. "Oh- Hello, customer. Welcome in."

Ves tosses a heavy bag of caps at the cash register. "There. 90. Now c'n I get my goddamn dynamite, please?"

Chet leans below the counter to grab something, then drops three big sticks of long fuse dynamite next to the register. "There, now will you let me help my customer?"

Fox points meekly at Ves. "Hah, uh, I'm actually here to talk to her..."

Ves swipes the dynamite and stuffs them into her backpack. "See, Chet? Told you I was doin' somethin' important with 'em."

3 Long Fuse Dynamite(s) Added

Chet sighs and starts dropping the caps into the register one by one. "Whatever, if you're gonna talk business, do it outside. This store is small enough as it is."

"Pfff, like it's that busy." Ves rolls her eyes and nods at Fox to follow her. "C'mon, Fox. Talk outside."

Once again they're standing out in the dusty road, the Sun bringing the high noon heat. Near the entrance of the Prospector's Saloon a few meters away, someone calls out.

"Still need that magazine, Ves?"

A smile grows on her face. "Yes, Easy Pete!" She jogs over and beckons Fox to follow.

Easy Pete is sitting in his chair with his head leaned against his closed fist, reading a magazine. When they approach, he closes it and hands it to her. "Anythin' to put those skills I taught you to use. Here you go. No need to borrow, you can keep it." He winks.

Patriot's Cookbook Added

She snickers, "Oh, you know I will, Pete."

"Just don't go blowin' him up." He nods at Fox, who gives him a crooked smile. "And, almost forgot." He leans over and slips a paper note out of his back pocket. "...Came in the Majove Express for you."

She grabs the note. "Huh? Okay." Her eyes flicker across the all too familiar handwriting:

Working with NCR? You disgust me.

She shuts the note with a sigh, "Alright. Thanks, Pete..." then gives him a parting wave as she meanders back into the road, "...see you when I see you."

He sits back in his chair, watching the tumbleweeds meander by. "Yup."

Fox and Ves start walking down a road leading past the skeletons of old houses, towards a small metal shack.

"Do you like explosions, Fox?"

"…Yeah?”

"You're gonna enjoy what I've got planned for us tonight, then."

He lifts an eyebrow and turns a little red. “What’s that?”

"Well, it's so great that you're here, cuz I've been meaning to do this job I've been putting off for a while, and there's caps in it for us. Big caps." She pauses in the road and holds his shoulders. "A thousand. Each."

Fox's eyes widen. "Whoa, what?"

"Yeah." They continue, and the shack is in clearer view now. It's got a string of Christmas lights hanging above the doorway and an Old-World flag rippling in the soft breeze.

"...What kind of work is this, exactly?" He points at the magazine in her hand with the dynamite sticks on the cover. "Does it involve explosions?"

"Just pest extermination."

"...With explosions?"

She holds up her hands. "Hey, I mean, if you don't want the thousand caps I get it..."

"Nah, I'll do it." He doesn't even flinch. There's something inside him that can't help but want to impress her. Maybe he's just stupid.

"YES!" She hops and skips down the road, then sifts through her pack once they reach the shack. "We're headed to Quarry Junction. You'll find it real interesting there." She starts smiling again. "It'll be real fun. You can borrow my NCR ranger armor. It's got a real cool leather coat that comes with it, and the helmet's got some 'built-in, low-light optics'—at least that's what the guy at the safehouse told me. God, he was a bore."

Fox can't help his toothy smile. "Oh, wow. Ranger armor?" She tosses the folded outfit to him, and he catches it against his chest. "Damn. Thanks."

"I think you'll look good in it." She hauls her pack over her shoulder and swings open the door. "You c'n change in Victor's shack, he's out roving about somewhere. I'll be waiting for ya outside," she winks, giving him a final salute, "Fox."

Once I update the other lines of story this'll be updated.

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #60]

You picked: Ask if you're good to go

Fox lays his hands on his knees. "...Welp, am I good to go?"

A poof of red powder rises out of a linen bag as he tosses it next to Fox. "Just about. Here's some healing powder, take this before you go to sleep tonight, you'll feel brand new by tomorrow. No need to worry about caps. At least for this time around. Any friend of a Goodsprings local is a friend of mine."

Fox hops off the doctor's table, as if his strength's been fully restored. "Wow, well, thanks, Doc."

"Don't mention it. It's what I'm here for." Just before Fox heads into the hallway towards the front door, Doc Mitchell calls out to him. "She's in the General Store, by the way. You should go say hi, sounded like she's got a job for you."

—

Ves is leaning back against a wooden post in the dusty general store and counting caps in the palm of her hand. "...16, 17, 18, 19, 20...Okay, I got 20 right here. Should be enough for a long fuse."

Chet crosses his arms and glances at his rusty cash register. "Ves, I'm already giving you a discount. It's 35 flat."

"Ughh- What about the short fuse?"

"Same thing, 35."

"Goddammit." Ves rolls her eyes and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. "Well, how 'bout this..." She puts it up to her lips and drains the bottle in a few seconds. "Ahhhh..." Leaning against the scraped up shop counter with the empty bottle in hand, she gives him a smirk and raises an eyebrow, lifting sunglasses onto her face. "...How 'bout 25."

"...Fine. 30."

The door to the shop creaks open as Ves celebrates with her arms in the air, "Yes! Yes, yes, yes!"

Chet looks as if he's been saved by the bell. "Oh- Hello, customer. Welcome in."

Ves tosses a heavy bag of caps at the cash register. "There. 90. Now c'n I get my goddamn dynamite, please?"

Chet leans below the counter to grab something, then drops three big sticks of long fuse dynamite next to the register. "There, now will you let me help my customer?"

Fox points meekly at Ves. "Hah, uh, I'm actually here to talk to her..."

Ves swipes the dynamite and stuffs them into her backpack. "See, Chet? Told you I was doin' somethin' important with 'em."

3 Long Fuse Dynamite(s) Added

Chet sighs and starts dropping the caps into the register one by one. "Whatever, if you're gonna talk business, do it outside. This store is small enough as it is."

"Pfff, like it's that busy." Ves rolls her eyes and nods at Fox to follow her. "C'mon, Fox. Talk outside."

Once again they're standing out in the dusty road, the Sun bringing the high noon heat. Near the entrance of the Prospector's Saloon a few meters away, someone calls out.

"Still need that magazine, Ves?"

A smile grows on her face. "Yes, Easy Pete!" She jogs over and beckons Fox to follow.

Easy Pete is sitting in his chair with his head leaned against his closed fist, reading a magazine. When they approach, he closes it and hands it to her. "Anythin' to put those skills I taught you to use. Here you go. No need to borrow, you can keep it." He winks.

Patriot's Cookbook Added

She snickers, "Oh, you know I will, Pete."

"Just don't go blowin' him up." He nods at Fox, who gives him a crooked smile. "And, almost forgot." He leans over and slips a paper note out of his back pocket. "...Came in the Majove Express for you."

She grabs the note. "Huh? Okay." Her eyes flicker across the all too familiar handwriting:

Working with NCR? You disgust me.

She shuts the note with a sigh, "Alright. Thanks, Pete..." then gives him a parting wave as she meanders back into the road, "...see you when I see you."

He sits back in his chair, watching the tumbleweeds meander by. "Yup."

Fox and Ves start walking down a road leading past the skeletons of old houses, towards a small metal shack.

"Do you like explosions, Fox?"

"Hm...sure."

"You're gonna enjoy what I've got planned for us tonight, then."

"What's that?"

"Well, it's so great that you're here, cuz I've been meaning to do this job I've been putting off for a while, and there's caps in it for us. Big caps." She pauses in the road and holds his shoulders. "A thousand. Each."

Fox's eyes widen. "Whoa, what?"

"Yeah." They continue, and the shack is in clearer view now. It's got a string of Christmas lights hanging above the doorway and an Old-World flag rippling in the soft breeze.

"...What kind of work is this, exactly?" He points at the magazine in her hand with the dynamite sticks on the cover. "Does it involve explosions?"

"Just pest extermination."

"...With explosions?"

She holds up her hands. "Hey, I mean, if you don't want the thousand caps I get it..."

"Nah, I'll do it." He doesn't even flinch. He's only got 5 caps, for fucks sake.

"YES!" She hops and skips down the road, then sifts through her pack once they reach the shack. "We're headed to Quarry Junction. You'll find it real interesting there." She starts smiling again. "It'll be real fun. You can borrow my NCR ranger armor. It's got a real cool leather coat that comes with it, and the helmet's got some 'built-in, low-light optics'—at least that's what the guy at the safehouse told me. God, he was a bore."

Fox can't his toothy smile. "Oh, wow. Ranger armor?" She tosses the folded outfit to him, and he catches it against his chest. "Damn. Thanks."

"I think you'll look good in it." She hauls her pack over her shoulder and swings open the door. "You c'n change in Victor's shack, he's out roving about somewhere. I'll be waiting for ya outside," she winks, giving him a final salute, "Fox."

Once I update the other lines of story this'll be updated.

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #47]

Fox steps into the evening sun and adjusts his holster, holding the helmet against his side.

V.V.'s sitting cross-legged in the sand, snacking on some Sugar Bombs. "I could eat a truckload of these things, I swear... WHOA!" She almost spills the whole box as her eyes dart across the belts hanging over his waist, the heavy, billowing duster, the broad armor plate on his chest, the revolvers strapped up against his jeans... "Boy howdy. Look at you."

Fox sheepishly knocks his steel-toe boots against the ground. "Hah, well...ready for anything."

She steps up to him and fiddles with the shoulder of the duster for a moment. "Have you ever, ah, worn this typa armor before?"

"Me? A Freeside deadbeat? Hell no."

"Well, y'wear it like a natural."

He looks down, and their eyes meet for a second. The wind brushes strands of his hair over his eyes, but his gaze doesn't falter.

She dusts off his shoulders and turns away as she fights an uncontrollable grin. She nods down the path and starts heading into the dusty afternoon haze. "C'mon, ya desert greaser." She flicks her radio into life.

"...Welcome back to the Mr. New Vegas Show, the show with, in my opinion—which I respect—the best looking audience around. Somebody prove me wrong..."

—

They'd spend the evening travelling East towards Sloan. The Quarry workers watch them quietly from the fire pit as they step past the barricade of warning signs in the road. They both lift their elbows above their heads to keep the whipping sand at bay.

V.V. clicks her radio off. "Knew it. Dust storm's comin' in. Exactly why it's now or never..." They continue, and Fox slips his helmet on.

It clicks into place and he taps on the night vision to make sense of the darkened flurries of sand. The filtration system on the helmet makes a quiet hiss as he breathes, and the haze is blood red through the visor. He sees her a few feet ahead, and she gestures for him to crouch behind a rocky outcropping. He holds up the edge of his duster to shield her from the sand, and she leans in close. "I'll handle the fireworks." She drops four blocks of C-4 into his palm, then hands over a hunting rifle. "You're my delivery man." She rifles through her pack. "Take this—" he catches two canisters of Jet and a little contraption with colorful wires, "—and this." After seeing him freeze with it limp in his hand, she continues, "...It's a Stealth Boy."

His voice is muffled. "Is it, ah..." He clips it around his wrist and motions on the keypad a few times randomly.

She gestures to his wrist, and he gives her a nod. Her neon hair's a bright orange-red behind the visor as she leans in close, folding her legs underneath her. "Alright, short of it is, you press this button, then that button—“ He notices she’s got delicate fingers, like the ones in those paintings.

He gives her a staticky grunt from behind the visor, "Mhm.” 

"—then THIS button. If this orange light stays on, you're good to go."

"Yuh huh."

She gently holds his hand for a moment to double-check the screen. "You feel that rush of electricity, it's working. Okay?"

Honestly, all Fox’s absorbed is how nice her rosy cheeks looked in the night vision. "Yuh huh."

"...You don't, and you notice your hands ain't invisible no more that ain't a good thing, okay?"

Fox repeats the hand motion across the keypad on his wrist a few times and takes a deep breath. "...Okay. Got it."

She points over the rock. "See that hill?"

"Yup."

"You're gonna sneak, slowly, carefully, up. That yellow loader?

"Yup."

"Drop two packs of C4. Continue on past 'til you get to the excavator. Two more packs of C4, butter'er up, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Then, you'll see a metal ramp with a cart lookin' thing? Climb to the very top. The very top, just outta reach."

"Got it."

"And y'see that giant pile of rocks in the distance at the Southwest corner of the Quarry, near that giant cross?"

"Yuh huh."

"I'll be there, you'll see me. You deliver the packages at both those excavators, hide, I detonate, your path to the ramp is cleared, and a couple missiles and rifle pops later, we're golden. No more deathclaws!"

Fox nearly chokes on his spit. "Deathclaws?"

She looks up at him and tucks her hair behind her ear. "Well...yeah. I understand if it's too risky…”

He stands still for a second, then looks down at his C-4 and dynamite, then up the hill. "...I'll do it."

I am such a fucking idiot.

Her arms burst into the air, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" In a fit of glee, she squeezes him into a hug that lasts a second or two longer than both of them expect. The small of her back slips beneath his hands as they step back. She clears her throat and glances over her shoulder. "I'll flash a signal at you when I see you." She jogs back towards the town of Sloan and parts with a salute. "Good luck!"

His rabbit's foot necklace dangles over his chest plate, and he touches it briefly with his gloved fingertips and salutes back, resting the rifle over his shoulder. "Yes, ma'am."

Once I update the other lines of story this'll be updated.

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #48]

Fox steps into the evening sun and adjusts his holster, holding the helmet against his side.

V.V.'s sitting cross-legged in the sand, snacking on some Sugar Bombs. "I could eat a truckload of these things, I swear... WHOA!" She almost spills the whole box as his shadow passes over her, and her eyes dart upwards. "GodDAMN, boy lookitya!" She gets on her feet and crosses her arms. "Lookin' better than I do in it, now that's a crime."

"Pfff," Fox adjusts the holster strapped up against his thigh, then rolls his shoulders, "what can I say, it feels good." The duster flaps in the breeze.

She nods down the path and starts heading into the dusty afternoon haze. "Well, c'mon, ya desert greaser!" She flicks her radio into life. "We got some shit to blow up."

"...Welcome back to the Mr. New Vegas Show, the show with, in my opinion - which I respect - the best looking audience around. Somebody prove me wrong..."

—

They'd spend the evening travelling East towards Sloan. The Quarry workers watch them quietly from the fire pit as they step past the barricade of warning signs in the road. They both lift their elbows above their heads to keep the whipping sand at bay.

V.V. clicks her radio off. "Knew it. Dust storm's comin' in. Exactly why it's now or never..." They continue, and Fox slips his helmet on. It clicks into place, and he taps on the night vision to make sense of the darkened flurries of sand. The filtration system on the helmet makes a quiet hiss as he breathes, and the haze is blood red through the visor. He sees her a few feet ahead, and she gestures for him to crouch behind a rocky outcropping. He holds up the edge of his duster to shield her from the sand, and she leans in close. "I'll handle the fireworks." She drops four blocks of C-4 into his palm, then hands over a hunting rifle. "You're my delivery man." She rifles through her pack hurriedly. "Take this—" he catches two canisters of Jet and a little contraption with colorful wires, "—and this." After seeing him freeze with it limp in his hand, she continues, "...It's a Stealth Boy."

His voice is muffled. "Is it, ah..." He clips it around his wrist and randomly motions on the keypad a few times.

She gestures to his wrist, and he gives her a nod. Her neon hair's a bright orange-red behind the visor as she leans in close, folding her legs underneath her. "Alright, short of it is, you press this button, then that button—"

He gives her a staticky grunt from behind the visor, "Mhm."

"—then THIS button. If this orange light stays on, you're good to go." She double-checks the screen. "When you feel that rush of electricity, it's working. Okay?"

Fox takes a deep breath and swallows the nerves down.

"...You don't, and you notice your hands ain't invisible no more that ain't a good thing, okay?"

Fox repeats the hand motion across the keypad on his wrist a few times and takes a deep breath. "...Okay. Got it."

She points over the rock. "See that hill?"

"Yup."

"You're gonna sneak, slowly, carefully, up. That yellow loader?

"Yup."

"Drop two packs of C4. Continue on past 'til you get to the excavator. Two more packs of C4, butter'er up, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Then, you'll see a metal ramp with a cart lookin' thing? Climb to the very top. The very top, just outta reach."

"Sure."

"And y'see that giant pile of rocks in the distance at the Southwest corner of the Quarry, near that giant cross?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be there, you'll see me. You deliver the packages at both those excavators, hide, I detonate, your path to the ramp is cleared, and a couple missiles and rifle pops later, we're golden. No more deathclaws!"

Fox's nerves buzz into numbness. "...Deathclaws?"

She looks up at him and pauses for a second. "Well...yeah..."

All Fox can do is sit there for a second or two. Behind the visor his face's contorting into all sorts of expressions. After a couple shaky hisses from the air filtration system, he manages a staticky, "Aaaand why didn't you mention this earlier?"

"You had every chance to ask!" V gives him a big smile, leaning back against the cliff face. "I'll letcha keep that armor."

He pauses again, then looks down at the armor plate on his chest, the C-4 and dynamite, then up the hill. "...Okay, fine."

I am such a fucking idiot.

Her arms burst into the air, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" In a fit of glee, she squeezes him into a hug that traps his arms at his sides. All he can see in his visor is a mess of neon orange-red hair. She clears her throat when she pulls away. "I'll flash a signal when I see you." She jogs back towards the town of Sloan and parts with a salute. "Good luck!"

His rabbit's foot necklace dangles over his chest plate, and he touches it briefly with his gloved fingertips and salutes back, resting the rifle over his shoulder. "Yes, ma'am."

Once I update the other lines of story this'll be updated.

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #49]

Fox steps into the evening sun and adjusts his holster, holding the helmet against his side.

Ves's sitting cross-legged in the sand, snacking on some Sugar Bombs. "I could eat a truckload of these things, I swear... WHOA!" She almost spills the whole box as her eyes dart across the belts hanging over his waist, the heavy, billowing duster, the broad armor plate on his chest, the revolvers strapped up against his jeans... "Boy howdy. Look at you."

Fox sheepishly knocks his steel-toe boots against the ground. "Hah, well...ready for anything."

As she gets up and struts past him, she looks him square in the eye and tugs on the collar of the duster for a moment. Her eyes were cinnamon in the Sun. "...Anything?"

The wind brushes strands of his hair over his eyes, but his gaze doesn't falter. "Anything."

She continues down the dusty path, into the afternoon haze. "C'mon, ya desert greaser." The radio flickers into life as she fights back an uncontrollable grin.

"...Welcome back to the Mr. New Vegas Show, the show with, in my opinion—which I respect—the best looking audience around. Somebody prove me wrong..."

—

They'd spend the evening travelling East towards Sloan. The Quarry workers watch them quietly from the fire pit as they step past the barricade of warning signs in the road. They both lift their elbows above their heads to keep the whipping sand at bay.

Ves clicks her radio off. "Knew it. Dust storm's comin' in. Exactly why it's now or never..." They continue, and Fox slips his helmet on.

It clicks into place, and he taps on the night vision to make sense of the darkened flurries of sand. The filtration system on the helmet makes a quiet hiss as he breathes, and the haze is blood red through the visor. He sees her a few feet ahead, and she gestures for him to crouch behind a rocky outcropping. He holds up the edge of his duster to shield her from the sand, and she leans in close. "I'll handle the fireworks." She drops four blocks of C-4 into his palm, then hands over a hunting rifle. "You're my delivery man." She rifles through her pack. "Take this—" he catches two canisters of Jet and a little contraption with colorful wires, "—and this." After seeing him freeze with it limp in his hand, she continues, "...It's a Stealth Boy."

His voice is muffled. "Is it, ah..." He clips it around his wrist and randomly motions on the keypad a few times.

She gestures to his wrist, and he gives her a nod. Her hair's orange-red behind the visor as she leans in close, folding her legs underneath her. "Alright, short of it is, you press this button, then that button—“ He notices she’s got delicate fingers, like the ones in those paintings.

He gives her a staticky grunt from behind the visor, "Mhm.” 

"—then THIS button. If this orange light stays on, you're good to go."

"Yuh huh."

She gently holds his hand for a moment to double-check the screen. "You feel that rush of electricity, it's working. Okay?"

Honestly, all Fox’s absorbed is how nice her rosy cheeks looked in the night vision. "Yuh huh."

"...You don't, and you notice your hands ain't invisible no more that ain't a good thing, okay?"

Fox repeats the hand motion across the keypad on his wrist a few times and takes a deep breath. "...Okay. Got it."

She points over the rock. "See that hill?"

"Yup."

"You're gonna sneak, slowly, carefully, up. That yellow loader?

"Yup."

"Drop two packs of C4. Continue on past 'til you get to the excavator. Two more packs of C4, butter'er up, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Then, you'll see a metal ramp with a cart lookin' thing? Climb to the very top. The very top, just outta reach."

"Got it."

"And y'see that giant pile of rocks in the distance at the Southwest corner of the Quarry, near that giant cross?"

"Yuh huh."

"I'll be there, you'll see me. You deliver the packages near both those excavators, hide, I detonate, your path to the ramp is cleared, and a couple missiles and rifle pops later, we're golden. Any questions?"

"Nuh uh."

Her eyes flicker down his chestplate. The red vision in his helmet sets the haze around them alight, as if the very air they breathe's enamored. "I'll flash a signal at you when I see you.” He watches her glowing figure part with a salute as she jogs back towards the town of Sloan. “Good luck, Fox!"

His rabbit's foot necklace dangles over his chest plate, and he touches it briefly with his gloved fingertips and salutes back, resting the rifle over his shoulder. "Yes, ma'am."

Once I update the other lines of story this'll be updated.

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #50]

Fox steps into the evening sun and adjusts his holster, holding the helmet against his side.

Ves is sitting cross-legged in the sand, snacking on some Sugar Bombs. "I could eat a truckload of these things, I swear... WHOA!" She almost spills the whole box as his shadow passes over her. "GodDAMN, boy lookitya!" She gets on her feet and crosses her arms. "Lookin' better than I do in it, now that's a crime."

"Pfff," Fox adjusts the holster strapped up against his thigh, then rolls his shoulders, "what can I say, it feels good." The duster flaps in the breeze.

She nods down the path and starts heading into the dusty afternoon haze. "Well, c'mon, ya desert greaser!" She flicks her radio into life. "We got some shit to blow up."

"...Welcome back to the Mr. New Vegas Show, the show with, in my opinion - which I respect - the best looking audience around. Somebody prove me wrong..."

—

They'd spend the evening travelling East towards Sloan. The Quarry workers watch them quietly from the fire pit as they step past the barricade of warning signs in the road. They both lift their elbows above their heads to keep the whipping sand at bay.

Ves clicks her radio off. "Knew it. Dust storm's comin' in. Exactly why it's now or never..." They continue, and Fox slips his helmet on. It clicks into place, and he taps on the night vision to make sense of the darkened flurries of sand. The filtration system on the helmet makes a quiet hiss as he breathes, and the haze is blood red through the visor. He sees her a few feet ahead, and she gestures for him to crouch behind a rocky outcropping. He holds up the edge of his duster to shield her from the sand, and she leans in close. "I'll handle the fireworks." She drops four blocks of C-4 into his palm, then hands over a hunting rifle. "You're my delivery man." She rifles through her pack hurriedly. "Take this—" he catches two canisters of Jet and a little contraption with colorful wires, "—and this." After seeing him freeze with it limp in his hand, she continues, "...It's a Stealth Boy."

His voice is muffled. "Is it, ah..." He clips it around his wrist and randomly motions on the keypad a few times.

She gestures to his wrist, and he gives her a nod. Her neon hair's a bright orange-red behind the visor as she leans in, folding her legs underneath her. "Alright, short of it is, you press this button, then that button—"

He gives her a staticky grunt from behind the visor, "Mhm."

"—then THIS button. If this orange light stays on, you're good to go." She double-checks the screen. "When you feel that rush of electricity, it's working. Okay?"

Fox takes a deep breath and swallows the nerves down.

"...You don't, and you notice your hands ain't invisible no more that ain't a good thing, okay?"

Fox repeats the hand motion across the keypad on his wrist a few times and takes a deep breath. "...Okay. Got it."

She points over the rock. "See that hill?"

"Yup."

"You're gonna sneak, slowly, carefully, up. That yellow loader?

"Yup."

"Drop two packs of C4. Continue on past 'til you get to the excavator. Two more packs of C4, butter'er up, yeah?”

"Yeah."

"Then, you'll see a metal ramp with a cart lookin' thing? Climb to the very top. The very top, just outta reach."

"Sure."

"And y'see that giant pile of rocks in the distance at the Southwest corner of the Quarry, near that giant cross?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be there, you'll see me. You deliver the packages near both those excavators, hide, I detonate, your path to the ramp is cleared, and a couple missiles and rifle pops later, we're golden. Any questions?"

"Nope."

"I'll flash a signal at you when I see you." The flying dust around his visor is tinted red as he watches her glowing figure part with a salute as she jogs back towards the town of Sloan. "Good luck, Fox!"

His rabbit's foot necklace dangles over his chest plate, and he touches it briefly with his gloved fingertips and salutes back, resting the rifle over his shoulder. "Yes, ma'am."

Once I update the other lines of story this'll be updated.

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #52]

He wakes to a hot, wet snuffle.

"Mmm...whassat..." Once his eyes peel open, he's face-to-face with the red, mutated face of a bighorner calf.

"Whoa!"

He and the beast both jump back, wide-eyed. The calf lifts its head and snuffs again, then haughtily trots back into the field of green brush to join its mother. Fox sits up and wipes the bighorner snot off his face with the back of his hand. The sun is just barely starting to glow on the horizon. The campfire beside him is charcoal now.

He watches the calf bump snouts with its mother, then spots the unmistakable neon green hair amid the field with the bighorners, facing the waking Sun. The breeze brushes her hair back, and she bows her head.

"Hey, ah, mornin'!" he calls out.

She turns her head suddenly, then gives him a small wave.

Fox's joints ache as he lifts himself onto his feet, and he stifles a pained groan. He shuffles stiffly through the brush into the field. "Hope I'm not disturbing, you ah, prayin' or somethin'?"

"Just thinkin'." She has her hands folded in her lap.

Fox squints at the Sun. "Bout what?"

She hands him a yellow fruit. "Here's somethin' to eat."

"...Oh, thank you." Fox holds it in his palm. He turns it this way and that and raises an eyebrow. "So, uhh, do I just take a bite?"

She cracks a soft smile and stuffs her pack with three or four more. "Yeah, it's a barrel cactus fruit. You never eaten one before?"

4 barrel cactus fruit(s) added!

"Well, uh, in Freeside, we'd just have whatever Genaro was selling at his stand..."

"Genaro? Is that that skechy fella with the weird meats at the North gate?"

"Yeah, that's him." Fox eyes the mother bighorner that's chewing on some grass a few feet away. "Hired me to hunt roaches with a BB gun when I was little...gave me five caps per roach, ten if I got a squirrel..." He takes a bite, and his eyebrows lift in pleasant surprise. "Damn, that's not bad." He wipes the juice from his lips. "Better than roasted radroach."

She throws her pack over her shoulder and hauls herself to her feet. "Can use 'em for homebrewed Nuka-Cola."

Fox reaches for something in his pocket. "Hey, before you head out, just wanted to thank you for your help. Really. Don't think I'd be alive right now if you hadn't come along." He takes out a pack of cigarettes and offers them to her. "This is...pretty much all I've got. Safe travels."

She takes the pack and rummages in her pocket for a lighter, then pops a cig between her lips. "Sayin' that like it's goodbye." Her lighter's flame's the same color as the sunrise. She hands the pack back to him while a ribbon of smoke escapes her lips. "If you want..." she passes him the cigarette, "you could come with. 'Less you got places to be."

Fox chokes out a laugh after he takes a puff, handing it back to her. "Me? Places to be?" He shakes his head.

Again, she cracks a smile. She nods out at the road past the buildings. "How bout this, then? Sun's still low, so we should be able to make it to Goodsprings by the time it starts to roast us like those radroaches of yours." She passes the cig back and eyes the slight limp on his left side. "They got a doctor. You sure do need to see one, real bad."

"Probably should..." He hands the cigarette back, its trails of smoke rising between them.

She holds it between them like an artifact. "So, we burn this thing out, then we hit the road?"

"It's a plan."

They both stand there a moment, listening to the snorts and huffs of the bighorners and the whisperings of the breeze, smoke rising between like a campfire.

"...Name's Fox, by the way."

She takes the last drag and flicks the glowing end into the dirt, stepping on it with her boot.

"V."

"Vee, like V-e-e?

"Just V, or V.V. Either works just fine." She meets his green eyes, and there's a tenderness in her gaze, golden brown like the plateaus. "Alright, Fox..." She clicks her radio on, then offers him an arm to help walk. "Time to hit the road."

Mr. New Vegas' voice echoes off the red cliffs as the rays of dawn set them alight.

"Boy, the Mojave Wasteland is just a fascinating place, isn't it? You never know what'll happen next..."

—

The wasteland left them lots of room for conversation, though they didn't make much use of it. Most of the time, the green-haired woman was watching the shadows behind the boulders and the dusty dry tops of the plateaus in the distance, her gun always drawn, the radio filling the silence between them as she helped him up the road. Now the sun beats down: It's noon and they're both soaked in sweat.

Suddenly, she points to something in the distance. "There. D'you see that? We're almost to Goodsprings!"

His knees are shaking as he's reaching the crest of the hill, and he flaps his t-shirt to dry the sweat off his chest. "Hoo, boy. Goodsprings?" The word's like honey on his tongue. It's all the words he can muster; he'd be collapsed on the pavement right now if it wasn't for her arm over his shoulder.

The Goodsprings Gas Station and several small townhouses slowly ascend from the dust. A tumbleweed skids across the broken road. She gestures ahead to a sturdy white building with a flag waving out front. "Doc Mitchell's up ahead. You spent a while out in the desert bleedin' an' starvin'. There you should recuperate, get your strength back."

Fox can only manage a nod now. His face is pale and wet. She helps him across the hill to the house, and when they approach the front door, she gives it a couple hefty knocks. "Mitch! Doc!"

Inside a man calls back, "Coming, V!" The door swings open, and a bald old man is standing in the doorway. His eyes fall on Fox, barely conscious, and he hurries outside to help him through the doorway. "What happened?"

"Found him shot up by the Vipers in Bonnie Springs. He was starvin', bleedin'."

They rush him inside as his steps falter.

"Here, take him over to the table. I'll set up the IV."

V leads him into a dimly lit room with medical equipment, then helps him onto the doctor's table as the old man rifles through a drawer and pulls out some tubes and needles. He lies on his back and manages a few words, "Thanks, V..."

She smiles at him softly, then turns when Doc Mitchell calls to her. A few seconds later — or minutes, Fox couldn't really tell — the IV bag was swinging back and forth over him, and he could make out a few words from the Doc. "Stay still now..."

Fox takes a deep breath, and his eyes wander over the sunny rays streaking through the boarded-up windows. They turn Ves's brown eyes into gold. The bubbling, glowing chemistry set across the room becomes a blur as the needle enters the skin under his right arm, and his eyes slowly close.

—

When he wakes, this time there's no bighorner to snot on him. He sits up and rubs his face. The IV is still stuck in his arm. He can feel the color returning to his skin and his strength creeping back.

Doc Mitchell is sitting at a desk across the room and turns to him when he yawns. "You're awake, how about that...You sure did get some sleep. Been out cold for over eight hours now." He gets up from his chair and checks the IV bag. "How're you feeling?"

He rubs his legs and chuckles weakly. "Sore. But good. I feel good."

Doc Mitchell walks over to a nearby table and grabs a bottle of absinthe and a clean towel. "Good, good. V told me a little bit about you. That you're from Freeside, and your name's Fox. I'm Doc Mitchell, it's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you. Say, is she from around here?"

Doc Mitchell chuckles and wets the cloth with the bottle. "She sure is. She grew up here."

"Really?"

He gently holds Fox's arm, then slowly removes the needle. "She was raised by Legionnaires, you know...Found her wandering in from the South road when she was just a kid, maybe eight years old." He wipes his arm with the cloth. "We knew immediately where she'd come from cause she had the red cross painted across her torn-up clothes. Crazy that she got that far. Didn't read or speak much, so we enrolled her in that schoolhouse with a few other local kids." He tosses the cloth aside and grabs some wrappings. "Didn't take long for her to start wandering the wastes again, though. That girl's always had a hunger for adventure." Doc Mitchell quickly wraps his arm a few times. "Anyways, told V you'd be on your feet by tonight. She's been asking about you."

"...Really?" Honestly, he was wondering if she left town by now. Seems like she wanted to stick around.

CHOICE

Ask why she stuck around (Romantic Interest - Go to Chapter #68)

New Story Insignia! %$

Ask if you're good to go (No Romantic Interest - Go to Chapter #69)

New Story Insignia! %}

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #67]

You picked: Ask why she stuck around

He thinks back to those golden brown eyes. He'd dreamt of them. And that bright, soft hair...

Fox rubs his arm. "...Why do you think she's sticking around? Well, just, ah, sounds like she's not the type to linger for too long..."

A smile brightens behind the Doc's thick white moustache as he grabs something from a drawer. "Well, she seems to've taken a liking to you."

A poof of red powder rises out of a linen bag as he tosses it next to Fox, who is smiling ear-to-ear. "Here's some healing powder, take this before you go to sleep, you'll feel brand new by tomorrow. No need to worry about caps. At least for this time around. Any friend of a Goodsprings local is a friend of mine."

Fox hops off the doctor's table, as if his strength's been fully restored. "Wow, well, thanks Doc."

"Don't mention it. It's what I'm here for." Just before Fox heads into the hallway towards the front door, Doc Mitchell calls out to him. "She's out by the Saloon, by the way. You should go say hi, sounded like she wants to talk to you."

—

V's leaning back against the post near the entrance of the Prospector's Saloon, Easy Pete sitting opposite of her, waving a folded piece of paper pinched between her fingers. "So...this came in the Mojave Express?"

"Yup." He's got a magazine in his lap and turns the page.

She takes a swig from her whiskey bottle. "Any peculiar folks pass through here last evenin', this morn?"

"Other'n you...Nope."

"You tell anyone I been comin' through here?"

"Nope." He closes the magazine. "But I don't control what Trudy says at the bar." He watches her take another swig. "Any trouble I should know about?"

She screws the cap back on and starts pacing back and forth. "Nah, it's fine." 

"By the way." He rolls up the magazine and offers it to her. "Since you got that launcher Annabelle now, thought this'd come in handy."

Patriot's Cookbook Added

She pauses with the magazine in her hand, tucks it next to the note, then continues her pacing. "Thanks, Pete."

"Hey, anythin' to put those skills I taught you to use."

As she turns to pace the other way, she catches sight of Fox meandering past the general store, untangling a tumbleweed from his pants leg.

"Hey Pete, that nice-lookin' city boy I told you about's up finally."

Easy Pete eyes the man desperately fighting a losing battle with a tumbleweed. "Yup."

"...Fox!" She jogs up to him. "How're you feelin'?"

Fox's head snaps up as the tumbleweed flies over him. "Heya! Hah, honestly...not too bad." He rubs the back of his head. "Thank you again, V. I really owe you my life."

V cracks a small smile and looks down at the sand. "Hard to survive out in the Mojave by your lonesome." She nods for him to follow her down a dusty path leading past the skeletons of old houses, towards a small metal shack. "Speaking of which, I'm planning on making a trip out to Nelson soon. It would be a hike, but not planning on leaving right away..." They meander down the path, and the shack is in clearer view now. It's got a string of Christmas lights hanging above the doorway and an Old-World flag rippling in the soft breeze.

"I'll come with you."

She looks up at him, and a big smile blossoms on her face. "Really?" They stop out in front of the shack.

He looks into her eyes for a second or two longer than expected, then stifles a cough. "Well, frankly, I've got no idea what the fuck I'm doing out here. You do." He tugs his leather holster. "An' I can help with any jobs you got out in the wastes. Don't even have to pay me—it's agonizing watching these things start to rust."

She lifts an eyebrow. "Jobs, huh? Well, let me tell ya, I got a few of those—but we c'n talk business tomorrow. You needa get some more rest first." She grabs the handle to the door of the shack. "This's Victor's shack, he's the local robot...cowboy...thing. You'll see him 'round." She swings the door open.

Fox chuckles, then steps inside. "Huh, cowboy robot?"

She drops her bag on the floor. "He kinda likes to bash ears, but the town's alright with him. Real nice guy, er, robot."

Fox glances over the small room. There's only one bed. Its mattress is covered in dust, and there're no pillows.

"Where am I sleeping, exactly?"

She starts rummaging through some crates and retrieves some dirty bed sheets and a pillow. "Ah, here's where they went. You can have 'em. I got my mattress."

Fox catches the bundle in his arms and starts organizing his nest of bed sheets on the couch.

"There's a bathtub over there, you c'n wash yourself and your clothes and use the oven to dry 'em...just make sure you don't burn the place down." She tosses him a bar of soap she had in her pack. "I'm gonna go take a walk while you freshen up." And she leaves through the swinging door before he can say goodbye.

While he's got the shack to himself, he washes his sweat-soaked clothes in a bucket and heats up a couple pots of water on the stove for a warm bath. As he's bathing and scrubbing under his arms, he can't fight back the thoughts of her racing in his head. Her glowing figure out in Bonnie Springs, oh, and she sure knew how to handle a piece...

He splashes water on his face. Fuck. Keep your head on straight.

—

Dust rises like smoke from her slow steps on the path to the Goodsprings source. The sun is low now, and the moon is peeking through the fading sky. She stands on the edge of a bluff overlooking the pump, looking East into the growing darkness. The note is in her hands.

—

Fox exits the bathroom with a towel wrapped below his waist, enveloping the shack in a warm haze. He lets the towel slip to the floor as he retrieves his clothes from the oven, which he'd put on low heat to help them dry.

He hasn't quite gotten his pants zipper up when the door swings open and V walks in with another pail of water. Her eyes wander down his figure as she makes her way to her pack across the room. "Oh, hello." She smiles.

"Oh, hello, hah, if you had walked in any earlier..."

She's a little pink in the cheeks. "Wouldn't be the worst thing I've seen..." She kicks back in her chair, flipping another page of her magazine. The note flies out, and she snatches it between her fingers, gingerly tucking it back in.

Fox chuckles a little and rubs the back of his neck. "Oh, I'm sure." He dips his water flask into the pail of water and pours in the red healing powder, swishes it, and takes a big gulp. It tastes bitter as hell. He wipes his mouth with his wrist. "So, V...Doc Mitchell told me a bit about you."

Her eyes trail across the walls, and she shifts in her seat. "Oh? What'd he say?"

"He told me you escaped The Legion when you were a kid." He reassures her, "That's all he really said about it, though."

She leans back and sighs, "Well...Least it saves me the explanation." She eyes his getup. "My turn...Were you born in Freeside?"

He sits back. "Naw, Klamath, Southern Oregon." He sighs happily, staring at the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. "Was heaven there. My mother brought the family to New Vegas so she could gamble. Was fifteen when we showed up in Freeside...Hah, rest is beside the point. I'm sure you can tell: we didn't get our American Dream. The King took me in when I turned eighteen, found me useful, did his dirty work." He nodded down at his revolver.

"Hm. Never met an Oregon boy. It like the Mojave up there?"

"Naw, it snows in winter." He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. "But it can get hot, too."

"I'm sure." Now she's started to slip her combat suit off onto the floor and Fox has trouble keeping his eyes occupied with the cigarette in his hands.

He sets the lighter aflame and sucks on the tip of the cigarette. "You're undressing here?"

A cloud of smoke escapes his lips. She looks up at him after pulling the silk pink sleepwear over her head. "Oh? Sorry. Are you not used to it? Happens all the time when you bunk up with a wastelander. One minute you're gutting mole rats and the next you're butt-naked with your junk out cleaning your clothes off in a pail of water. Plus, it's nighttime. Loosen up, we're in Goodsprings. No need to sleep all ready and ramblin'."

Fox flicks his cigarette into an ashtray and gets up from the chair, laughing a little, "Alright, alright."

She lays on her side and watches him settle into the soft covers on the couch. "What, you're gonna sleep in that?" she asks.

"Yeah, lady. I'm not a crazy wastelander, you kidding me?"

"Oh, come on. It's over ninety degrees in here."

"You trying to get me to strip for you?"

"Jus' the shirt, come on. You jus' look so uptight. Really, you gotta loosen up. I won't be able to sleep with you sweatin' like a pig all night. You'll smell like B.O. from hell tomorrow morning."

"Fine, fine." He pulls the white shirt over his head and leaves it on the floor next to her combat suit.

V turns a little pink this time.

They share a smile for a second, then both turn over on their sides and close their eyes, wild thoughts circling through and through.

Once I update the other lines of story this'll be updated.

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #67]

You picked: Ask if you're good to go

Fox lays his hands on his knees. "...Welp, am I good to go?"

A poof of red powder rises out of a linen bag as he tosses it next to Fox. "Just about. Here's some healing powder, take this before you go to sleep tonight, you'll feel brand new by tomorrow. No need to worry about caps. At least for this time around. Any friend of a Goodsprings local is a friend of mine."

Fox hops off the doctor's table, as if his strength's been fully restored. "Wow, well, thanks, Doc."

"Don't mention it. It's what I'm here for." Just before Fox heads into the hallway towards the front door, Doc Mitchell calls out to him. "She's out by the Saloon, by the way. You should go say hi, sounded like she wanted to talk to you."

—

V's leaning back against the post near the entrance of the Prospector's Saloon, Easy Pete sitting opposite of her, waving a folded piece of paper pinched between her fingers. "So...this came in the Mojave Express?"

"Yup." He's got a magazine in his lap and turns the page.

She takes a swig from her whiskey bottle. "Any peculiar folks pass through here last evenin', this morn?"

"Other'n you...Nope."

"You tell anyone I been comin' through here?"

"Nope." He closes the magazine. "But I don't control what Trudy says at the bar." He watches her take another swig. "Any trouble I should know about?"

She screws the cap back on and starts pacing back and forth. "Nah, it's fine." 

"By the way." He rolls up the magazine and offers it to her. "Since you got that launcher Annabelle now, thought this'd come in handy."

Patriot's Cookbook Added

She pauses with the magazine in her hand, tucks it next to the note, then continues her pacing. "Thanks, Pete."

"Hey, anythin' to put those skills I taught you to use."

As she turns to pace the other way, she catches sight of Fox meandering past the general store, untangling a tumbleweed from his pants leg.

"Hey Pete, that nice-lookin' city boy I told you about's up finally."

Easy Pete eyes the man desperately fighting a losing battle with a tumbleweed. "Yup."

"...Fox!" She jogs up to him. "How're you feelin'?"

Fox's head snaps up as the tumbleweed flies over him. "Hey, hah, honestly...not too bad." He rubs the back of his head. "Thank you again, V. I really owe you my life."

V cracks a small smile and looks down at the sand. "Hard to survive out in the Mojave by your lonesome." She nods for him to follow her down a dusty path leading past the skeletons of old houses, towards a small metal shack. "Speaking of which, I'm planning on making a trip out to Nelson soon. It would be a hike, but not planning on leaving right away..." They meander down the path, and the shack is in clearer view now. It's got a string of Christmas lights hanging above the doorway and an Old-World flag rippling in the soft breeze. "If you came with me, I've got ranger armor I'd be happy to pass off to ya for the trouble." They stop out in front of the shack.

"Whoa, ranger armor?" He lifts an eyebrow.

"Yeah, with the duster, nightvision an' everythin', whaddya say?"

"Hell yeah to that." He looks down at his sweaty white T-shirt and torn up jeans. "About time, I'm due for a fashion upgrade. When's the trip?"

Sh"Well, we c'n talk business tomorrow. You needa get some more rest first." She grabs the handle to the door of the shack. "This's Victor's shack, he's the local robot...cowboy...thing. You'll see him 'round." She swings the door open.

Fox chuckles, then steps inside. "Huh, cowboy robot?"

She drops her bag on the floor. "He kinda likes to bash ears, but the town's alright with him. Real nice guy, er, robot."

Fox glances over the small room. There's only one bed. Its mattress is covered in dust, and there're no pillows.

"Where am I sleeping, exactly?"

She starts rummaging through some crates and retrieves some dirty bed sheets and a pillow. "Ah, here's where they went. You can have 'em. I got my mattress."

Fox catches the bundle in his arms and starts organizing his nest of bed sheets on the couch.

"There's a bathtub over there, you c'n wash yourself and your clothes and use the oven to dry 'em...just make sure you don't burn the place down." She tosses him a bar of soap she had in her pack. "I'm gonna go take a walk while you freshen up." And she leaves through the swinging door before he can say goodbye.

While he's got the shack to himself, he washes his sweat-soaked clothes in a bucket and heats up a couple pots of water on the stove for a warm bath.

—

Dust rises like smoke from her slow steps on the path to the Goodsprings source. The sun is low now, and the moon is peeking through the fading sky. She stands on the edge of a bluff overlooking the pump, looking East into the growing darkness. The note is in her hands.

—

Fox exits the bathroom with a towel wrapped below his waist, enveloping the shack in a warm haze. He lets the towel slip to the floor as he retrieves his clothes from the oven, which he'd put on low heat to help them dry.

Once he's buttoned his pants and pulled his shirt over his head, the door swings open and the woman walks in carrying a magazine and a pail of water. She makes her way to her pack across the room. "Yello." She smiles.

"Yello."

She kicks back in her chair, flipping another page of her magazine. The note flies out, and she snatches it between her fingers, gingerly tucking it back in.

Fox dips his water flask into the pail of water and pours in the red healing powder, swishes it, and takes a big gulp. It tastes bitter as hell. He wipes his mouth with his wrist. "So, V...Doc Mitchell told me a bit about you."

Her eyes trail across the walls, and she shifts in her seat. "Oh? What'd he say?"

"He told me you escaped The Legion when you were a kid." He reassures her, "That's all he really said about it, though."

She leans back and sighs, "Well...Least it saves me the explanation." She eyes his getup. "My turn...Were you born in Freeside?"

He sits back. "Naw, Klamath, Southern Oregon." He sighs happily, staring at the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. "Was heaven there. My mother brought the family to New Vegas so she could gamble. Was fifteen when we showed up in Freeside...Hah, rest is beside the point. I'm sure you can tell: we didn't get our American Dream. The King took me in when I turned eighteen, found me useful, did his dirty work." He nodded down at his revolver.

"Hm. Never met an Oregon boy. It like the Mojave up there?"

"Naw, it snows in winter." He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. "But it can get hot, too."

"I'm sure." Now she's started to slip her combat suit off onto the floor.

Fox keeps his eyes occupied with the cigarette in his hands. "You're undressing here?"

A cloud of smoke escapes his lips. She looks up at him after pulling the silk pink sleepwear over her head. "Oh? Sorry. Are you not used to it? Happens all the time when you bunk up with a wastelander. One minute you're gutting mole rats and the next you're butt-naked with your junk out cleaning your clothes off in a pail of water. Plus, it's nighttime. Loosen up, we're in Goodsprings. No need to sleep all ready and ramblin'."

Fox flicks his cigarette into an ashtray and gets up from the chair, laughing a little, "Alright, alright."

She lays on her side and watches him settle into the soft covers on the couch.

"Well...goodnight."

"Goodnight."

They both turn on their sides and close their eyes, the silence of the wastes lulling them to sleep.

Once I update the other lines of story this'll be updated.

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #55]

Fox's eyes peel open, and his joints ache when he hauls himself onto his elbows. Man, it sure was a tough sleep on that dusty old couch. Honestly, a spot next to Vesper wouldn't've been so bad.

There's the cracking of an old radio behind him, and he turns to look over his shoulder at the bed where she'd slept, maybe catch another glimpse of her in that pink silk...

There's that rusty radio of hers sitting atop a wooden shelf at the other end of the room, playing a slow melody, and then the bathroom door opens. A warm vapor rises to the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. Vesper walks out wrapped in a towel, droplets snaking down her collarbone, her neon hair slicked down her neck. Her dark eyes flit over his disheveled hair and the beads of sweat trickling down his chest. She nods to the bathroom. "Your turn."

Fox is still rubbing the sleepies from his eyes. "Huh? Wha?"

"You're filthy." The towel is barely clinging to her body as she leans down to grab something from her pack.

"...A, a bath?"

She's still preoccupied with her pack. "Well, keep stutterin' an' you'll have an ice bath."

Fox slowly sets his feet on the floorboards, which were oh so sore. He hauls himself to his feet and stifles a grunt as he steadies himself, then meanders towards the bathroom. As the door's about to close behind him, he sees Vesper drop the towel to her feet, then kick it at him, holding her hair up with both hands, and those wicked brown eyes're staring straight into his.

He grabs the towel off the floor, and the door clicks shut. Fox unbuttons his jeans, shaking off his fluttering feelings and the heat that's rising in his skin. The water in the bathtub is a little soapy, but warm. He eyes a little pink bar of soap balancing at the edge next to the rusty faucet, then steps in. As he's bathing and scrubbing under his arms, he can't fight back the thoughts of her racing in his head. That pink sleepwear, goddamn. Oh, and she sure knew how to handle a fuckin' missile, that's for sure...

He splashes water on his face. Fuck. Keep your head on straight.

—

When Fox exits the bathroom, tousling his hair, he hasn't quite gotten his pants zipper up when a heavy leather outfit smacks him in the face.

Vesper is standing at the other end of the room in her combat suit, leaning next to the door. "Jesus, you're done, finally. The hell were you doin' in there?"

Fox's holding the leather outfit against his chest, his mouth frozen open.

She lowers the volume on the radio that's now clipped to her belt and points. "Put that on. Time to get to work, boy." She tosses a helmet, and he scrambles to catch it before she makes another bullseye.

"H-hey now," he chuckles a little and gives her a big grin.

She crosses her arms. "When you're situated, meet me outside. Get it, got it? Good."

He watches her turn heel and leave through the door, and it slams shut. He looks down at the helmet, then at the long leather duster trailing the floor. His fingers feel a button on the side of the helmet, and a high-pitched beep responds, then the visor glows red.

—

Fox steps into the evening sun and adjusts his holster, holding the helmet against his side.

Vesper's leaning against a utility pole opposite the shack, snacking on a box of Sugar Bombs. She pops one into her mouth and crunches it between her teeth, eyeing the belts hanging over his waist, the heavy, billowing duster, the broad armor plate on his chest, the revolvers strapped up against his jeans... "Boy howdy. Would ya look at that."

Fox sheepishly knocks his steel-toe boots against the ground. "Hah, well...ready for anything. Speaking of which...this job...?"

She walks up to him, looks him square in the eye, and tugs on the collar of the duster for a moment. Her eyes're cinnamon in the Sun. She tilts her chin up, her cherry lips on display. “It’s a surprise.”

The wind brushes strands of his hair over his eyes, but his gaze doesn't falter. "...Can’t wait."

"Me neither, desert greaser." She continues down the dusty path, into the afternoon haze. The radio flickers into life as a smirk grows across her lips.

"...Welcome back to the Mr. New Vegas Show, the show with, in my opinion—which I respect—the best looking audience around. Somebody prove me wrong..."

Once I update the other lines of story, this'll be updated.

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #56]

Fox's eyes peel open, and his joints ache when he hauls himself onto his elbows. Rusty, bent tins cans clang over the tile floor, and he looks around. He gets a whiff of his underarm and gags, hauling himself to his feet. The lights above are buzzing. He peeks into a fabric sack nearby and pulls out a can of Cram, popping open the tab and reaching in with his fingers. It was wet and cold, and resurfaced memories of pawing through Freeside's dumpsters. When he's done, he crumples the can under his foot and adds it to the graveyard at his feet. As he meanders his way over to the door, he eyes a Boxing Times magazine and swipes it off the counter, licking his finger and flipping a few pages, then closes it and swings the door open. The high noon sun floods over him. A tumbleweed flies through the air on the broken road ahead of him.

Boxing Times Added

—

He strains to turn the red rusty valve hooked up to the Goodsprings Source, then sighs with relief when cold, fresh water finally spurts out, rushing to cup his hands under the stream. He splashes his face and hair and moves a nearby bucket under the faucet, rubbing the dirt and sweat out from under his eyes and ears. He'd barely remembered this place from when his family first came to New Vegas. He and his dad had stopped here briefly, and they drank straight from the faucet and washed their dusty faces. He was fifteen then.

The bucket is overflowing now, so he strips down to his boxers, throws his clothes at a nearby rock, then pours the bucket over his head, the cool water snaking down to his toes. He crouches down to fill it again.

"There's bathtubs in town, y'know."

He jumps and nearly spills the bucket. "Holy—" He looks frantically around for a second, then relaxes as he looks up. "Oh, hi." The woman from earlier is dangling her legs off the edge of a nearby bluff.

He pours the rest of the bucket over his arms, moving to grab his clothes. "What, here to enjoy the show?"

She picks at her teeth with a piece of grass. "I'm here to cash in." She tosses a heavy leather outfit at him, and he catches it against his chest. "You owe me. So, how 'bout you leave those dirty, sweaty ass clothes for now. Instead, you borrow my ranger armor, and we head out."

He rushes like it's a fly ball to catch the helmet that's catapulting his way, then rotates it in his hands. His fingers feel a button on the side, and a high-pitched beep responds, then the visor glows red.

"There’s your night vision helmet."

He clicks the visor off. "...What kind of work is this, exactly?"

She sits back and folds her arms. "You want me to drag you, or carry you?" She picks some dirt from under her fingernails. "Would be a shame if I had't break your kneecaps, cuz you're quick on your feet. That's why I need you for this job."

He examines the glint in her eye, then looks back down at the leather outfit in his arms. "Okay, okay, jeez...I know what you're about." He walks forward and looks up at her, the shadows of her dangling legs passing over his brow. "Who am I doing this job for, then? I like to know who I'm working with."

She jumps off the bluff and lands squarely on her feet, her knives and magazines jingling along her belt. She steps up to him and offers a hand. "Vesper."

Their hands grasp together and give a single hefty shake. 

"Vesper, well, nice to meet you...formally this time."

She points at the leather outfit. "Put that on, then meet me outside by the Goodsprings sign. We're headed to Sloan." He watches her turn heel and leave up the hill, a red, hellish haze flying from her footsteps. When she's gone, he clicks the night vision on again and stares into the visor, glowing blood red.

—

Fox steps into the evening sun and adjusts his holster, holding the helmet against his side.

Vesper's leaning against the Goodsprings sign with the radio hanging from her belt, snacking on a box of Sugar Bombs. She pops one into her mouth and crunches it between her teeth, eyeing the belts hanging over his waist, the heavy, billowing duster, the broad armor plate on his chest, and the revolvers strapped up against his jeans. "Boy howdy. Would ya look at that."

Fox sheepishly knocks his steel-toe boots against the ground. "Well...ready for anything."

"Well, ya better be, desert greaser." She continues down the dusty path, into the afternoon haze. The radio flickers into life as a sharp smirk grows across her lips.

"...Welcome back to the Mr. New Vegas Show, the show with, in my opinion—which I respect—the best looking audience around. Somebody prove me wrong..."

Once I update the other lines of story, this'll be updated.

Chapter Text

[Only read if you came from Chapter #58]

Fox's eyes peel open, and his joints ache when he hauls himself onto his elbows. Man, it sure was a tough sleep on that dusty old couch. Honestly, a spot next to Vespera wouldn't've been so bad.

There's the cracking of an old radio behind him, and he turns to look over his shoulder at the bed where she'd slept, maybe catch another glimpse of her in that pink silk...

There's that rusty radio of hers sitting atop a wooden shelf at the other end of the room, playing a slow melody, and then the bathroom door opens. A warm vapor rises to the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. Vespera walks out wrapped in a towel, droplets snaking down her collarbone, her neon hair slicked down her neck. Her dark eyes flit over his disheveled hair and the beads of sweat trickling down his chest. She nods to the bathroom. "Your turn."

Fox is still rubbing the sleepies from his eyes. "Huh? Wha?"

"You're filthy." The towel is barely clinging to her body as she leans down to grab something from her pack.

"...A, a bath?"

She's still preoccupied with her pack. "Well, keep stutterin' an' you'll have an ice bath."

Fox slowly sets his feet on the floorboards, which were oh so sore. He hauls himself to his feet and stifles a grunt as he steadies himself, then meanders towards the bathroom. As the door's about to close behind him, he sees Vesper drop the towel to her feet, then kick it at him, holding her hair up with both hands, and those wicked brown eyes're staring straight into his.

He grabs the towel off the floor, and the door clicks shut. Fox unbuttons his jeans, shaking off his fluttering feelings and the heat that's rising in his skin. The water in the bathtub is a little soapy, but warm. He eyes a little pink bar of soap balancing at the edge next to the rusty faucet, then steps in. As he's bathing and scrubbing under his arms, he can't fight back the thoughts of her racing in his head. That pink sleepwear, goddamn. Oh, and she sure knew how to handle a spear, that's for sure...

He splashes water on his face. Fuck. Keep your head on straight.

—

When Fox exits the bathroom, tousling his hair, he hasn't quite gotten his pants zipper up when a heavy leather outfit smacks him in the face.

Vespera is standing at the other end of the room in her combat suit, leaning next to the door. "Jesus, you're done, finally. The hell were you doin' in there?"

Fox's holding the leather outfit against his chest, his mouth frozen open.

She lowers the volume on the radio that's now clipped to her belt and points. "Put that on. Time to get to work, boy." She tosses a helmet, and he scrambles to catch it before she makes another bullseye.

"H-hey now," he chuckles a little and gives her a big grin.

She crosses her arms. "When you're situated, meet me outside. Get it, got it? Good."

He watches her turn heel and leave through the door, and it slams shut. He looks down at the helmet, then at the long leather duster trailing the floor. His fingers feel a button on the side of the helmet, and a high-pitched beep responds, then the visor glows red.

—

Fox steps into the evening sun and adjusts his holster, holding the helmet against his side.

Vespera's leaning against a utility pole opposite the shack, snacking on a box of Sugar Bombs. She pops one into her mouth and crunches it between her teeth, eyeing the belts hanging over his waist, the heavy, billowing duster, the broad armor plate on his chest, the revolvers strapped up against his jeans... "Boy howdy. Would ya look at that."

Fox sheepishly knocks his steel-toe boots against the ground. "Hah, well...ready for anything. Speaking of which...this job...?"

She walks up to him, looks him square in the eye, and tugs on the collar of the duster for a moment. Her eyes're cinnamon in the Sun. She tilts her chin up, her cherry lips on display. “It’s a surprise.”

The wind brushes strands of his hair over his eyes, but his gaze doesn't falter. "...Can’t wait."

"Me neither, desert greaser." She continues down the dusty path, into the afternoon haze. The radio flickers into life as a smirk grows across her lips.

"...Welcome back to the Mr. New Vegas Show, the show with, in my opinion—which I respect—the best looking audience around. Somebody prove me wrong..."

Once I update the other lines of story this'll be updated.

Chapter Text

Hey :)

Believe it or not, I haven't abandoned this story!

If you've gotten to this chapter, please let me know if you're waiting for a specific storyline to progress, I would love to keep working on it. Just don't want any readers to think this story has been completely forgotten about. I created this in 2016, then neglected it for a long time, but it's been a long-term goal of mine to finish it (and make it readable lol). You can use this chapter to leave me any comments, feedback, or just to let me know which storyline you’re following! As of recently I’m trying to make a habit of updating every Tuesday :)

Happy trails pardner,

Icicles n' Marbles