Know When to Fold 'Em (Closed for Obuzeti)

[Obuzeti]

Moray shrugs. "Occasionally. Not much in the way of clientele. Mostly do work with the Kings. Most other people in the area don't have the caps to hire me."

Pretty Sarah is no one he's heard of, but shopping for whores has never been a hobby of his. He just lets his partner talk out her thoughts while he gears back up for the road, sliding guns and ammunition back into place, reclaiming the climbing piton in the floor, and checking on the bruise developing on his shoulder. It's nothing serious, not even really worth salve or a bandage. He ignores it.

"Maybe not mention Violet, then," Moray says, the line of his mouth pressing together. "She needed the help, too, but I don't imagine this Sarah will see it quite the same way."

Or maybe not. Maybe she'd understand being a woman in the power of some horrific asshole. Trauma didn't lend itself to empathy, though, and it's best not to knock on that door and find out.

"I know Mean," Jonah says, instead, as he finishes collecting his gear. It'd been a good night, but this was no longer what he'd consider a safehouse, and not anyplace he'd leave his gear. "Decent sort. He'd be able to handle any angry johns that decide to start swinging. We also don't have to worry about him jumping the girls on his own"

Being a Super Mutant means that most fistfights are pretty trivial to the guy, after all, and as far as Moray knew they didn't have sex drives.

"Ready to roll?" Jonah says, and heads towards the door.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“Ahhh Freeside. I love Freeside too, but that has more to do with cards than anything. The King is pretty great too-I tried my hardest to ruffle him you know, at the beginning. I’m not real sure it’s possible. Hell, we’re almost friends-he has a way to make anybody feel that way, and I toldja I helped fix Rex up, get to borrow him on occasion. He offered to send a few boys up with me when I went with you, remember?" Snrk.

She should probably actually let him know she was still alive and kicking, actually. That she hadn’t disappeared in Tenderheart courtesy of either Devon OR Moray. He’d offered to send an escort with her and that’d been nice of him-but accepted her refusal and the risk she was opting to take. That or just trusted Moray keeping to his word.

She imagines he’d be pleasantly content with this outcome, come to think of it.

"Maybe not mention Violet, then,"

Kara pauses, almost half a start- staring a little too wide at her half filled backpack a moment.

"She needed the help, too, but I don't imagine this Sarah will see it quite the same way."

Her heart rate had picked up a little, but a smile curves her lips despite it, that familiar cockiness in full force as she slides the repackaged Med X into her bag too, under a coil of rope.

“I got a lotta plates spinning, Moray.” Kara says with a sly sideways glance before she snaps her bag closed. She swings it onto her back and turns to face him fully, the smirk returning as she finds her balance. “It’s better if the left hand doesn’t know what the right is doing, you get me?”

And Violet-he had the wrong idea. She was just trying to prevent a mess-no. She was pulling her weight on the job, that was it. She didn’t do assassinations. People weren’t entirely aware just how familiar with violence she actually was, and that’s how she preferred it. Both because it left her with the element of surprise, someone did decide to roll her-and because, well-it distanced her from what she’d come from, and what she didn’t much care to be.

So she’d helped with the job by dealing with Violet her way, and that was that. Anything else with it was either funny or convenient...except it’d cost her money, in the long run. Well-well.

Well.

Whatever, nevermind that. She DOES have a lot of plates spinning. The Khans weren’t fond of the NCR, who in turn weren’t fond of the Kings, who in turn didn’t fancy squatters-it could get complicated in a hurry. It WAS complicated. Kara worked through as many factions and members of those factions as she felt like, everybody’s enemy was her ‘friend’-‘cept Caesar. She really didn’t much care for Caesar.

"I know Mean,"

Kara perks back up on the way out and to the elevator, visibly brightening. She thought the Super Mutant was both hilarious and cool. “Oh yeah, no-Super Mutants don’t uh-they’re not packing anymore, no real gender. The women turned out the same way, you know. But back to Mean-did you know he was in the Master’s Army? Like, an original guy in the Master’s Army?”

Kara hit the button for the first floor and bounced a little from the balls of her feet to her heels, hands on her backpack straps and her eyes bright and curious.

“That’s all I’ve ever heard anyone call him, ‘The Master’. Some hot shot vault dweller killed him like, a hundred years ago-a HUNDRED years! Plus tax, Mean is old. Anyway, see, he was making an army, right? Dipping people in vats, that’s where that started, with the Master. That’d morph them into mutants, and I guess vault dwellers made the best mutants. I don’t know if Mean remembers anything before being dipped, though. Some people do. I think most don’t, because most don’t keep their smarts worth a damn-least, not any I ever saw back East, but I never tried to talk to any, either.”

Compared to the subterfuge mere minutes ago, Kara’s avid, honest interest in such a thing, and the excitement in her retelling of what she’d learned was almost childlike. Jonah hadn’t been wrong when he suspected Kara would have normally pestered all she could out of him when he’d revealed biblical knowledge. For so impulsive and flighty a creature, she devoured stories and what bits of history she could find. Facts and details and putting things together in a mostly accurate, jumbled mess of puzzle pieces gleaned from firsthand and secondhand accounts, terminals, and holotapes.

She wasn’t always set to talk the ears off of people-occasionally, she’d listen too.

“Anyway. He’s not the only ancient ass mutie around. There’s a whole town of ‘em off in Jacobstown. Mayor’s another Master’s Army survivor. He’s more serious than Mean. Also, is still miffed about some Brahmin I decorated once, so-not as fun as Mean, is what I’m saying.”

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray shrugs as they amble right out of Gomorrah. The streets have cleared - the sound of mass gunfire encourages foot traffic to get moving quick. "It works most of the time, so long as they don't share airspace. Then all you get are smashed fingers."

He gets what she's saying, but it feels like to him that Kara's shenanigans only work so well because so few people travel consistently. Wanderers in the Mojave are comparatively rare; the caravans, mercenaries like themselves, and patrols that don't so much wander as trudge a defined route over and over. People are inherently predictable inside of a limited environment.

He's rambling in his head, again. God, he really is picking up Kara's habits. At least it's only in his head.

"The vast majority of Super Mutants are malicious idiots hell-bent on cannibalism and producing more Mutants by dumping people into FEV vats," Moray says, dry. He'd spent a lot of time back East killing the likes of them. "Johann once chopped the limbs off one and listened to it for twenty minutes before killing it. They're about as smart as a small child, if all it did was kill anything it can catch."

He's not fond of them. Mean is an exception, but it was a fairly easy one to catch when the first glimpse he'd caught of the guy had been him watching a cat knead him with its claws.

The bit about the Master he hadn't known, on account of it being ancient history and thus irrelevant to his usual business. He considers the information for a moment, and then offers, "It sounds like this Master fellow deserved to get shot."

Case closed.

The edge of the Strip approaches quickly, and Moray approaches the Securitrons at the official checkpoint and signs back out with his passport. They don't even really register the blood spots now fading back into his fatigues, and simply pass him on without comment. He looks bored with the procedure, unbothered by the massive chain guns the Securitrons sport.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Kara’s fake passport passes inspection yet again-and it occurs to her that Pretty Sarah was probably going to need one, too. Well, Ralph owed her a favor, and The King had long past granted her the right to get them forged with the shop owner, so…

But Mean? No way would that fly, not easy. Shit. Kara holds onto the thought as they exit through safe, a glancing sweep to what lay ahead of them-and she sees the former raider bulldog mix.

Bruce is sitting a ways away from the entrance, smack at the corner of a ruined, rubble pile of a building. Panting with that goofy expression on his face and not really paying attention to any particular thing, his mouth closes as his ears perk on spotting the two-catching Kara’s voice as she deals with the robots. He straightens up to waddle forward a step or two, then glances back on the side they couldn’t see, as if waiting for something.

“There he is!” Kara pipes as she rounds the corner, genuinely delighted and sweeping the stocky squat dog up with the usual off balanced stagger that comes with it. “And there-” She catches mid greeting for her other favoritest fur baby, because scattered about were four other Legion mongrels in addition to Hrolf, the largest of them all. “-they are?”

Kara puts Bruce down and stomps a boot.

“Gosh darn it you deserting escapees-you were s’posed to stay in the junkyard, not follow us!” No WONDER the usual beggers and trouble makers weren’t loitering around-the little pack was plenty enough dissuasion.

Kara can’t be mad, though. She loves all of them too much to even pretend to be disappointed. “Oh well. Guess we just got our own posse.” She says, a scritch to several dog ears as she considers them all.

“You boys stay here, you’ll scare off all the fun.” She points to the various flattened bits of brick work they’d all been lounging around on, bunch of hyenas.

“I didn’t think about it, but we’re probably going to have to smuggle Mean in a different way, rather than the front gate. King’s got a way for that…” Kara’s voice dropped an octave as she continued to pet Hrolf. “But we’d have to get permission to use it on the way back in, you know?”

She’s decently sure that wouldn’t be too difficult.

"Also-probably be good to roll in so he knows I didn't disappear in Tenderheart, eh?"

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray doesn't really know what he expected. Hrolf has always clearly been a hell of a tracker, but figuring out where they were going to come out of the Strip tops most everything. It occurs to him, again, he's never exactly known how smart the mongrel is, and it's clearly more than he's given the wolf hybrid for.

Hrolf himself sniffs Kara as she pets him, catches a whiff of something he doesn't like. His nose wrinkles and the hair on the back of his neck raises. He turns and glances at Moray.

"They're dead," the big man says, placid.

Hrolf turns back to Kara and noses at her thigh, sneezes, and then trots over to the indicated brickwork to await further instructions. Most of the pack moves with him, but Bruce, tongue wagging, simply falls in behind them, ambling about to nose at things and not looking at them whatsoever.

Moray glances around. Not one of the dogs had so much as sniffed him.

"I think they like you better," he comments, and starts off towards the School, the old theatre that they'd co-opted into a base. "King will let us use it. He'll probably want something out of it, but he's pretty mild about requests. Get a slight discount on goods going from the Omertas to the Kings, kill some Scorpions, something. Last time I swung through he asked me to do maintenance and some customization on his gang's pieces. Took maybe half a day."

That hadn't been half bad.

"Good person to be friends with," he says with a nod. "His word means something."

The Kings don't have a lot of punch in the grand order of things, but knowing when to throw it counts for almost as much. None of the Tribes saw much point in feuding with them, and they kept Freeside pretty clean, which meant they got a premium cut from the caravans heading up into the Strip, often. The escort work the Kings did was not just a joke. He'd seen them fight to the death over a job.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“Animals like me, and I like them-I grew up mostly feral, maybe they know it?” She honestly has no idea. “Or maybe it’s just my luck-but they like you! Course they do-try to settle in and pet a few sometime. Dogs like pets.”

Kara likes dogs. It’s the one thing she doesn’t bother to hide from people, because that would require snubbing potential fluffy, slobbery friends. Dogs were good, loyal, friendly creatures-you never had to worry about one turning on you, not really. She was always crawling into places she shouldn’t and getting into dangerous scrapes she wouldn’t want to take a poor innocent puppy into, otherwise she’d have fifty. Shit, she might accidentally already have fifty, but at least there’s someone to babysit and they can take care of themselves, right?

Kara tries not to worry for any of them. Her genuine and easy love for dogs has tripped her up into having yet more to lose, and she doesn’t know quite what to do about it. Her eyes slid to Jonah as he talks, tuning back in to him-and it’s less what he’s saying and just how he says it, how he looks when he’s bothering to use more than a few flat words out and about.

He’s something she has to lose.

He’s still got dusty blood on his fatigues, they’d gone and made that big mess, and here she is having ‘forgotten’ all about it, from the kitchen to Clanden to the gunfight.

Gomorrah. Needed to focus on that, so it wasn’t for nothing, because she didn’t make messes for fun. It needed to count.

"Good person to be friends with,"

“He’s the most benign gang leader I’ve ever met. He always gives a fair deal, and I’m just as fair with him, if you can believe it.” She did a lot of work for the Kings. They liked her, weren’t as vexed in Freeside-except for Gloria. It occurs to her that in keeping her fairly occupied, between jobs for them and cards in Atomic Wrangler, she hadn’t gotten up to too much trouble really. Smart people, them Freesiders.

“Fetching things or delivering something to somebody he’s promised a favor to, helping grease the wheels on various deals-he’s slick. Normally I’d think him a fool for trusting me with half the things he has, taking ME at my word-” Because Kara’s word didn’t mean jack shit, ninety percent of the time. “But I weirdly-and don’t you tell anybody- wouldn’t want to disappoint him.” Kara shrugs, a smirk. “Maybe I just find their whole...culture being based around some dead guy amusing enough on its own? Maybe it’s just nice to see somebody else smiling all the time?”

Or maybe she just likes that despite their pretense, they believed folks should have the freedom to be their own man? Maybe. She’s a self made woman, after all.

Nevermind the trust someone like that had for her might mean something. Surely not.

~*~

Pacer and a few other Kings were loitering in the lobby of the School of Impersonation per usual, and like most of Freeside-were welcoming to the redhead.

Kara already had her handful of caps ready, but Pacer, for once, waved it away with a “On the house-” Yeah, he’d probably been asked not to charge his ‘audience’ fees anymore, at least not request one from her. “Think he’s lookin’ for you again, anyway.”

“Naturally.” Kara returned breezily, repocketing the caps.

Pacer considered them both as they passed him for The King’s door.

“Glad you’re still kicking, Kara.” He tossed, curious but not given the chance to ask questions-she was through the door with an amused “I’m sure you are.” and a wink.

The King was in his usual place, a pretty girl in a silk negligee reading a magazine on the plush loveseat against the far wall, only a speculative glance up at the pair before she looked to their host-who gave her an easy smile. The blonde stood up and glided through the opposite door and into the presumed bedroom.

“Mr. Moray, Kara.” Rex stood up and padded to the redhead, accepting pets to the back of his neck while sniffing the various new scents the courier brought with her. “Good to see you made it back.” He was always genial and easy going, always. Unsurprised.

Kara plopped down in the seat opposite him at the little table. “Yep! My limbs all intact and everythin’. Was a good trip there and back, all told.”

He nodded, stroking the cyberdog as the mutt rounded the table and back to his side again. “Glad Devon was kind enough to behave himself.”

“Er, about that-” Kara decides not to get into it. “But hey! You got a job for me? Pacer seemed to maybe think so...and we’re free today, aren’t we Moray?”

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray gives the Kings the highest compliment: he stops swiveling when he walks into the School of Impressions. There are very few places in the Mojave where he doesn't worry about an ambush, and they amount to this place, the Gun Runners compound, and Kara's Vault, the last of which now has more happy memories than the rest of the Mojave combined. Everywhere else their lives balance on the line of his diligence, but here, the King's law holds sway.

Pacer's a little fuckboy, though, so Moray ignores him completely as Kara breezes by, which earns the bigger man a scowl. He's a little man playing gatekeeper on one of the few sources of decency in the Mojave, and one of the few humans Jonah's ever met that he wants to punch more than outright murder.

Pointless asides. Moray gives his head a little shake and follows Kara into the King's Waiting Room, as he's heard it called. He gives the man himself a nod and settles himself down on one knee beside Kara - not seating himself like she does, but making his position clear all the same. "King."

King's eyebrows raise a little, his smile quirking. "Glad to see you two get along."

Jonah, in a rare moment of acknowledgement, brought one hand up and clasped Kara's shoulder, then releases it to lean on the side of the couch.

King gives a little nod, and then turns to another subject - discrete, which instantly makes Jonah like him a little more. "Yeah, actually. Been a lot of brawls between the locals and all these new NCR cats been rollin' into town. Squatters always been a thing, but now my boys tell me that they're coming around in packs, chasing people outta their haunts, starting fights. That don't square with the history. So I want you - you two, however it works - to go find out what's cooking in the kitchen."

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

"Glad to see you two get along."

Kara opened her mouth to say something flippant or maybe just amusing, maybe just a ‘and then some’-when Jonah settles a hand on her shoulder, an affirming clasp before he settles against the couch.

Some women wanted candy, or the weeds that counted for flowers these days. But courier apparently just appreciated quiet, unembarrassed acknowledgement. Like the one armed embrace on their way out of the NCR camp, it fills her heart full and warms her to the quick in a way sass or flippancy can’t touch-and for once, Kara doesn’t have much to say-or a need to say it.

Her face is a shade rosier than a moment before, and her close lipped smile is fond before she ducks her head and rubs the back of her neck, finding something to fiddle with in one of her pockets-a coin with a hole punched through it, a piece of ribbon wrapped around and around half of the remaining metal.

She zeroes back in as he begins to talk, the favor she and Jonah will provide in return for, hopefully-one in return.

And oh shit, sounds like the NCR was working hard to overstay their welcome. Just like The King to want to know more before making any rash decisions...they’ve come at a good time. The Kings did a good job keeping Freeside, well, Free-but they weren’t shit for subtly.

And that’s where she came in.

“He takes the shooting jobs and I take the talkin’ ones. This sounds like a talking one.” She turns her head to look at the mercenary. “But you’ll keep me company, right?”

They’re after a favor, not caps, so Kara doesn’t push for further-or any-compensation. Here, and only here, that’d just be crass.

“Some of my friends were roughed up by these ornery folks. Think the Followers are seeing to ‘em now. Might be a good place to start.”

“Alright, good as any!” Kara swells back up out of her calm and was on her feet. “Rex need a walk?”

~*~

The cyberdog was A, the best, and B-a clear and obvious signal she was on business for The King, for anyone that knew him well enough.

“Guess tensions are maybe coming to a head.” Kara muses idly, not really caring one way or another if NCR squatters hung around-but if there was an actual concerted effort to take Freeside, that’d only mean the NCR was done playing nice with House, and intended to attempt a take over.

She would have heard about that by now though, which meant The King would have, too. No, she’s thinking he’s more worried about rumours and people getting antsy in his town. And the NCR maybe getting uppity. Like she said-pushing their welcome.

Ornery refugees tangling up with resentful locals, something. Shouldn’t be too hard to get someone important to want to make nice with The King or at least Julie, and for said somebody to keep a better eye on their people. Or! Maybe it’s a smear campaign? She’s seen men dress up as other factions and gangs in an effort to sour relations between groups of people. That’s just a classic political pran-“Kara! The heck is this?!”

A tall, fairly beefy dark haired man with a full goatee had spotted the pair from where he was waiting-no doubt for gullible marks-against a building, doing fuck all in the meanwhile. He wore mostly leather in what Kara’s sure was meant to look intimidating or at least like a believable tough, along with the spiked pauldrons and weird tubing she’s never seen the point of.

She’s pretty sure he’s running a con on the squatters, and while she could admire the moxie-she doesn’t much appreciate his constant taking her for a sucker. Kara stops as he comes up to stand before them, turning the ribbon wrapped coin in her deft little fingers over and over, that cocky smirk on her lips.

"You really still hoping I’m dumb enough to pay you for the privilege of staring at my ass?”

The man almost didn't seem to hear her, showboating. “Always going on and on about how you don’t need protection, and yet here you are running with this guy ‘stead of the best bodyguard in Freeside? I’d take care of you, you know I would.”

“Moray here is good company, not protection-and I’m not your typical mark, Orris. Don't make me sell YOU some 'protection'." Snrk.

 

[Obuzeti]

"NCR's been pushing," Moray agrees. "The President over there, Kimball, staked his reputation on winning this war. That was years ago, and he's gotten fuck-all for it but a pissing match with the Legion. The election's coming up. He needs a victory."

The Gun Runners and the Crimson Caravans move tons of material for the NCR military, and he does so much work for them that he knows chapter and verse of the Republic politics. The only reason he hadn't signed on full-time is that, for right now, the competing factions and dearth of free talent means there's much more work right now as a loose agent. Not many more caps, but he stays a lot busier, and no one can tell him to fall in line, which is almost worth it on its own.

Some guy yells at Kara. Moray glances over at him, then at his gun while Kara chews him up a bit. It's a big old hunting revolver on his hip, with the scope canted at a angle that means the mount has deformed. There's rust visible on the revolving chamber, which makes his lips press together.

Moray steps forward, pulls the other man's revolver right out of his holster, and physically tears the cylinder out of the gun's frame. The rusted metal gives way with a crusty creak. Moray hands the disemboweled firearm back to the other man. The cylinder he drops on the street.

"No," he says, and then keeps walking.

"Best check with the Followers. They hear most everything, and if anyone's been in a rumble, they'll be there," Jonah says to Kara.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Orris is so shocked he hardly knows what the hell had just happened, eyes wide and staring down at the weapon Moray had disemboweled, not quite comprehending it-and honestly, Kara was just as surprised, if a little quicker to realize what was happening.

"No."

That's too much for Kara-she bursts into silvery peals of laughter and gleefully slaps a hand to her pant leg covered thigh, Rex tipping his head. People stare, but only the squatters seem confused-most Freesiders know full well to ignore Kara's antics.

"Good company and GREAT gun dissembly, yessir! That there was a thirty cap job on credit-but you can pay us next time-fifty caps and we'll fix it!"

She trots off after her looming companion before Orris' dumbfounded, open mouthed expression sent her into hysterics. The courier peels in at his side, Rex loping along behind. Those vividly colored blue eyes are -sparkling-.

And he just keeps TALKING! Like that totally didn't just happen! She's going to have a stroke-

"Right. Snrk-course." Jeez-"Followers."

Just, Orris had been sniffing around for -ages-, was totally about to hassle or whine about Moray-and that'd just been-aw, man. So, so great.

Kara heads towards the Fort with a shake of her head and a bit of extra bounce to her step, shifting her backpack. "And ya know, since we're here and all, might as well go and offload this Med-X while we're at it. Pack space is some prime real estate-I never know what I might wanna steal, so I like to keep it light."

There had never been "some junkie" for her to sell the shit to, anyway.

 

[Obuzeti]

"It's always good to keep the Followers happy," Moray says with a nod. "No way to piss off the entire Mojave faster than to fuck with them."

The Old Mormon Fort looms ahead of them, and Jonah nods to the guards behind their sandbag walls as he passes through unhindered - Kara as well, though he can almost hear the rattling sighs being heaved by the resident gunmen. The courtyard looks packed in a way he doesn't remember anytime recently, squatters and gamblers overflowing the tents, forming little scattered groups between them among the barrels and campfires. Moray glances through the throng - bandages aren't an uncommon sight - and then beelines through the mess for the only labcoat visible. Julie Farkas is kneeling just inside a tent, tying off a tourniquet on a King's arm who looks dazed as hell, dried blood plastered down the side of his head from within cropped black hair.

He makes a beeline for her, and the crowd splits before his psuedo-military look and prowling demeanor - or maybe just the trio of heavy firearms festooning his bulk, their metallic gleam a promise of swift death. "Farkas," he calls from a fair distance, and she glances up to see the pair of them incoming. Her mouth tightens and her shoulders hunch, but she wipes her hands on a dirty towel before standing up to face them both, groaning young man still at her feet.

"Well, neither of you is bleeding," the Follower says, and pulls a cigarette from one pocket and lights it, taking a long draw. Then she gestures with her head towards the business tent, the only one properly marked with the Follower insignia, and heads there with a sharp gait, boots clacking against the pavement of the courtyard. She steps inside - there's a stolen desk there, a wardrobe, and filing cabinets - and picks up a canteen off the shelf and washes the blood off her hands as best she can. It's settled in a rusty patina all the way up to her forearms, and it takes a moment to get most of it off into the metal trough set to the side.

When Julie turns back, Moray notes the bags under her eyes, and the faint trembling in her hands that denotes heavy caffeine use. She looks like she hasn't slept in far too long. "What is it now?" she says.

"Combat?" Moray says, the single word both inquiry and sympathy. No one else in the Mojave does monosyllable like Moray.

Farkas laughs, and sits back in the wooden chair behind the desk. It groans alarmingly, which is saying something given the woman's probably one-twenty soaking wet. "I don't know. Don't think so. Haven't gotten a full story out of anyone yet, but there's a lot of bullets and knives going around right now."

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

It’s crowded in the fort, a lot more than usual. Infighting. She’d been staying in and off the streets at night for the most part, the week she’d been here last-and then there’d been their trip to Madre, the ‘honey moon’ vacation in her vault. Things had started going to shit, apparently.

Jonah beelines for Julie Farkas, but Kara’s not in a rush. She surveys the fort, the few pop ups and shelters set up, the full cots and then the almost fuller patches of dirt-it’s a busy place, that’s for sure.

An older man nudges a younger one next to him, both half propped against the cot of a sleeping third-they point at Rex and lean in to talk to each other, and Kara figures that’s as good a start as any.

“You guys know Rex?” Course, most people do, but since he’d gotten sick the cyberdog had been kept inside, even after getting fixed up.

“That’s The King’s dog.”

“Yep! He lent him to me, wanted me to go check on some friends of his that got roughed up recently-”

“Us?”

“Must be-how are you feeling? What happened?”

The pair exchange glances, but her being close enough to borrow the man’s dog apparently bought her a lot of trust.

“Some guys rolled us. We just cashed in a bunch of scrap and were heading to the Wrangler to lose it."

“Naturally.”

“I got hit in the head and went down.” The old man said. She thinks his name might be Roy…? She’s pretty sure it is. Scavenger, explorer. He wasn’t always around, and was usually drunk when he was-no stories for her. “Wayne saw more.”

Kara’s attention turned to the dark skinned younger man, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I tried to fight...don’t remember much of it. They got me pretty good...I know there were others there, fighting the same guys we were fighting. One of them yelled out to his friend, Lou. They didn’t even take any of our shit-must not have known we had it.”

“Lou?” Kara doesn’t know any Lou’s, so probably not a local-

“Yeah, Tenant, I think. Never heard of a Tenant.” Kara’s mild disapproval tempered down her amusement at Wayne’s misunderstanding.

Well shit, maybe Moray had a good point-Kimball’s up for election and looking for wins, and maybe somebody down the pipe figured Freeside was a good start.

“Hey, Mister Roy? Did they jump you guys specifically or…”

“...if I think real hard about it, I think there was a scuffle of some kind before we came up on it.”

Huh.

“Thanks for the info boys-hope you heal up quick.” She pauses, another look to Roy before she hands him the ribbon wrapped coin. “Good luck charm-and when you do make it to the Wrangler, tell Garret the first pull’s on me.”

Hm, hm, hm. And a man named Lou Tenant, eh? Yeah okay-who’s the lieutenant scuffling around here, and with who? This sounded like dumb luck for the scavengers, rather than a targeted attack if they weren’t even robbed.

Kara let it go and started towards the tent she knew Julie’d be in, given the doctor and her partner had disappeared-and starts up on a joke on the way.

“Julie believe me~” Kara starts up as she approaches the tent, not quite singing but that overly cheerful voice again, trouble. “And beeee my very own-”

The fiery haired courier popped her head into the tent and looked around brightly, that cocky smirk on her lips and an amused quirk to her brow. Julie took another drag on her cigarette and Kara took that as invitation enough (not that she would have waited for a proper one), strolling in with her usual lazy saunter, Rex following a pace or two behind. “Julie, if you love me truly-”

“I’m a busy woman, Miss Walker.” Julie interrupts as she crushes out the cigarette, not irritated exactly-just worn down. The redhead doesn’t look injured which meant she was here to soak up some of her precious limited time, whether she was bringing supplies or not-but that’s Rex she’s got in tow-maybe this was a business visit and not a lark. Who was she kidding-Kara’s always out on a lark. “And as I’ve regrettably told you before-this camp doesn’t specialize in psychiatry.”

The crack earns her an appreciative grin. “What about lobotomies? I’ve always wanted to try a good lobotomy.” Kara reveals cheerfully, swinging her backpack down and onto a pile of papers at one edge of the desk. “Looks like beds and flat dirt patches are at a premium out there, though. Guess I better hold off on an appointment.”

The thirty something Med-X syringe bag is pulled out of her pack and she drops it unceremoniously on the desk, several rolling out of it. “I found this!”

“Oh, I’m sure you did.” Julie notes dryly, but she can’t help but feel a little appreciative. She’s not sure if Kara just thought it funny to steal for the ‘upright’ Followers or what-it couldn’t be profit. The courier would make a lot more elsewhere, but it’s here she brought the stuff anyway. “We’re not hurting as bad with that deal you cheated the Garretts into-but it’s still stuff we can use, especially with Cassidy Caravans being so late this month.”

Kara tips her head slightly, thoughtful-but leaves it. “Usual rate’s good then, if I can’t get a premium.” She says carelessly, thumping her backpack and peering inside of it. “‘Less you want to trade me some whiskey.”

Julie snorts. “No, I got most of it.” She pulled open a drawer, then remembered something else that had come in a few weeks ago, had been set aside just for such an occasion. “Or...” She starts, pretending not to see Kara perk up, the curious, then expectant look.

“Or?”

Julie withdrew two comic books, only slightly dog eared-and tossed them onto the desk. Kara snapped them up nearly before they hit, energized. “Dibs!” Just how Kara intended to give Joana ninety percent portion of a comic book would be a mystery only the courier could solve-but she’s not thinking about that, she’s flipping into the middle of one to see Grognak ride a tiger into battle. “Ha, that club’s as big as HE is.” She murmurs, absorbed.

Despite her weariness, the corner of Julie’s mouth twitches into a bemused smile, raised eyebrows at Jonah-not that she quite realized they had come together, just yet. She assumed he had business all his own.

“Was that all you had for me Kara?”

“Hm?” Now Grognak was charging into a gang of ugly mooks, knocking them aside like pins before a deranged, shirtless bowling ball.

“Kara.”

“Oh, right-” She snapped the magazine closed and slid both into her bag, hopping back off of the desk. “Some boys out there were saying they got in the middle of a scuffle. Maybe between the NCR and some other guys?”

Julie’s amusement faded, fingers rubbing a spot on her shaved head just to the left of the mohawk. “Tensions have been...worsening.” She reluctantly admits.

“King seems to think troops are attacking locals...and NCR seems to think the gang’s not much better than raiders, maybe even Fiends.”

Julie drops her head into her hands, a sharp exhale. “Be careful where you go spouting off stuff like that Kara-might be more to the situation than we realize, and I have enough work without a full blown mini war erupting here in Freeside. Followers are neutral-we’re trying to spread education and help rebuild what we can. I don’t want anyone bleeding more than they would have been.”

“Well, who’s the problem here?” Kara asks, almost lazy-she’s found a blow pop in one of her pockets, unwraps it to read the joke on the wrapper-then pops it into her mouth, talks around it. “NCR refugees aren’t troops, King understands that-but this is making ‘em all look bad.

“The NCR’s continued operational incompetence gets their soldiers killed, and they hold a monopoly on water in the mojave, you’re right. The Kings used to do a lot of good for the community, but the squatters got them up in arms-they took that still Ronte built, you know about that. Maybe before the NCR did, but still-and they charge for it, charge the squatters double.”

“They afford it though, seems like. Nobody’s dying of thirst.” Kara shrugs. Profits to be made, that’s how the world worked.

“For now, but it’s not like The King to let his crew bully folks around like that, and I’m not sure why the sudden outbreak of violence. I’ve had my hands too full to look into it, and can’t spare anybody to, either.”

“Well, who can I bother on the other side? King’s already paying me, piggy back on him just this once-cause the NCR’s here to stay for now, and that may not be bad, Caesar across the Dam.”

Julie looked up from her hands. It occurs to her that Kara sure was talking a lot of straight business in front of someone el-oh. The doctor straightens in her seat. Kara was good for...some things, sure. But she was unfocused and unpredictable, certifiably insane and victim to her own changing whims. You never quite knew what you were going to get, or if someone might buy you out. Some days, she was almost sure Kara cared. Others, she figured there were just pieces to some joke or another Kara was using her or the Followers for.

But if she’s traveling around with Moray, that’s suddenly a new, legitimate bit of stability.

“...I have a friend in the NCR, Major Elizabeth Kieran. She’s been trying to give out supplies to the poor, southern part of town. I don’t know why, but it ended up going just to the NCR citizens. She might know something, have a bit of pull-I haven’t had a chance to talk to her. Mention my name, she should open up to you about it.”

-*-

"Elections, huh?". Now they're hoofing it to the OTHER side of town, and Kara's no more dissuaded or put out about it than she would have been free booze. She likes to walk almost as much as likes to talk, and it's Jonah she's set to talk to. He'd talked about Kimball, who was as far away to Kara as God in that Bible story was.

"Never figured them for much. Not hard to convince people one way or another if you can talk good enough-doesnt make you the right guy for the job, just the best talker."

 

[Obuzeti]

"Not a fan either," Jonah says, though this is bored disagreement with the principle, rather than the sulfurous rancor he's capable of. "I've never been there, but I understand the process involves a great deal of yelling on stage, then bribing the vote counters and hoping no one notices until your term's up. That's what Blake says, anyways."

He's not sure there's a kind of government that he's fond of in the first place. Politics in general - people management - is frustrating. Individual humans have the capacity to be reasonable, but in the plural they grow panicky and reactionary, quick to groupthink instead of contemplation. They surrender guilt to the herd and morality to the unified voice. He's shot more groups of people than he has loners, and that's because once the numbers hit about five or six, that creeping sensation of invulnerability starts oozing in.

Thinking about that makes his mouth go numb. Moray rolls his shoulders, changes the topic.

The Major has a little depot on the South side of town, and it's very clearly NCR territories - the missionaries are out and about, spreading the gospel of bear and bullet. They're probably intending to blend in with the locals, but squatters don't wear good leather or dogtags, which gives it away. Moray ambles over to one. "Where's Kieran?" he says, point-blank.

The other man turns around and does a double-take. Kara at least half-manages the drifter look, with her mismatched clothes and lithe body, but Moray looks like two hundred pounds of corn-fed mean and is geared out at least as well as any Ranger. "Uh, you don't look like you need help," the other man manages, half question and half denial. "I mean - I'm here to help citizens out, you know? People that don't have anything. And no offense, but you look like you do alright."

Jonah mulls this over. The just wants to do his job, and he's willing to at least delay Moray in the process of this. It's acceptable.

"I don't want anything you've got," he says instead, which is true, even if it's rude. "There's been hostilities in the area. I want Kieran's side before I do anything about it. She knows the most about your people in the area."

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Kara's not sure who Blake is-she wants to ask, but he's moved on from it already, and it leaves her to speculate for now. He was a lot more professional, legitimate than she had ever been-or cared to be. She figures it's someone in the NCR, maybe one of the larger caravan outfits. The Gun Runners hadn't really been anybody she'd dealt with before-that side foray arming up had been the first she'd dealt with them.

Kara's all about taking risks, but she wasn't stupid about them. Well, always-she was when it was funny to be.


Before he does anything about it? That sounded like a threat, and Kara’s not even sure he’s meaning it to be one-which is the funnier of the two assumptions, so she of course goes with that one.

“Don’t let him threaten you like that-I AM a citizen, and I’m tryin’ to help out too. Moray here is with me, and we're suppose’ to talk to the major. She’s spooning out soup or something, ain’t she?”

To his credit, the young missionary doesn’t immediately buy it, even if Kara was convincingly selling her sudden, news to anybody else, NCR citizenship. He’s not about to abandon his duties just because some pretty girl comes asking.

"You're a citizen?"

"Don't I look like one? Came out on a caravan years ago."

He gives a glance to the various pins and medals on the one side of her jacket-no NCR emblems to be found, but there didn’t appear to be ANY modern day, wasteland symbols there either. All prewar. He wavers a little.

"What animal is on our flag?" He asks after a moment, hesitant.

"Two headed bear." Kara answers cheerfully, rolling with the quiz immediately, as if she had expected it.

That’d been too easy a question, and the kid seemed to realize it, trying for a harder one. "Capital, before it was New Californian Republic?”

"Shady Sands! Had the pleasure to go twice before, saw old signs."

"... who was our most popular president of all time?"

Kara's expression shifts to quiet, near offense, those Caribbean blue eyes wide and almost surprised, reverent. "Why...I don't know about you, but I voted for Kimball.” Kara’s expression firms as she starts in about her apparent FAVORITE president, starry eyed and fiercely loyal. “He's the most popular president in MY book-he's gonna get us this dam and annex the Mojave, he said so!"

He buys it. He super buys it.

“Alright, alright, sorry-I can tell you’re a patriot. Major’s a street over, that old train depot. Password’s “Hope”.”

Kara nods, seemingly mollified-and then turns on her heel to head in that direction. They’re not even quite around the corner before her eyes slide to Jonah-and she grins from ear to ear.

~*~

The guards let them through on the password alone, and Kara’s quick to find the Major-she’s the only woman there in any kind of passable uniform, most everyone else looked like civilians cept another guard or two.

Because it amused her to do so, Kara waited in line behind two others, then waved off Kieran’s attempt to fill a bowl. No one had come in behind them, so there wasn’t anybody to hold up.

“Miss Elizabeth Kieran! You’re a hard woman to visit, given it’s NCR citizens only, ‘round here. Which uh, what’s up with that?” Kara casts a glance at the tables, not catching the woman’s frown, her uncomfortable lean away.

“That’s...not a pleasant topic for conversation.” She doesn’t meet her gaze when she looks back, and Kara figures there’s something else there.

“No, but it’s one Julie Farkas says you might have with us.”

~*~

They were squeezed into what passed as Kieran’s office, Kara resting a hip against a two drawer filing cabinet in the corner, half behind the major’s organized but full desk where the woman herself was sitting in the sole other chair.

"I wanted to help anyone who needed it here in Freeside. There’s a good foundation here, I’m sure of it-people just need a leg up. So I put in a few requisition orders, and stressed the needs of the community here in Freeside. Talks got going, and I sent an envoy to The King, hoping to coordinate something with him- and my man came back so viciously beaten he couldn’t spell his own name. So...I was told to scrap the project. I didn’t want to abandon it completely, but I just don’t have the supplies to help much more than a handful of NCR citizens every week, day in and day out. I’m getting nowhere."

Kara doesn't say anything, but that sounded hella suspicious. She openly scrutinizes the tired out woman before her, but she’s not lying-Kara’s pretty good at spotting liars, given how good of one SHE is. Elizabeth had clearly sent somebody to The King, and that somebody really had come back beaten to shit for the effort. There in ended negotiations.

Or maybe stopped them from happening entirely.

"Anybody tried talking to him since?"

"After that? No."

"Did your man SAY who beat him up?”

“No, but I sent him into King territory to talk, and-”

“We've got a direct line to The King. You wouldn’t have to send a messenger, cause we can probably arrange a safe meeting. Maybe things could still get talked out?"

“...maybe, but I’d have to see. We’ve been at it a long time with no ground gained here. Eventually, someone’s going to have to make a move.”

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray frowns. "If you sent a man alone through Westside, there's no guarantee he even made it to the Kings. The Scorpions like to prowl around on the south end."

It's more likely, to him, than the Kings turning on their boss. King commands his men's loyalty with an almost fanatic power, and Pacer's the only one that really bucks the trend, and even that is less a lack of loyalty than sycophantic arrogance. It's worth investigating, either way. If it's the Scorpions, that's a problem that can be solved much easier than running down a rat in the King's ranks.

He rolls his neck and glances at Kara. "Split up? You go touch base with the Kings, and I'll handle the Scorpions. Even if they didn't, it's about time someone stepped on them firmly - I've trimmed their numbers before but never put the whole bunch in the ground. It may be time for that."

Kieran's forehead wrinkles. "I doubt it was them," she says carefully. "He did go alone, but -"

She takes a breath and leans down over the desk, rubbing at the stress lines beside her eyes. "It's not a good look either way," she says, heavy. "Either King can't control his own, or he can't control his territory. Getting a deal struck was contingent on King being the name in control of Freeside. If that's not so, then I don't know if Command will go in for it."

Moray nods, unruffled. "Then I suppose by sundown they will be."

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“The Scorpions like to prowl around on the south end."

Yeah, but going after an NCR boy, and leaving him alive to potentially tell the tale?

Kara does agree with one thing though-guy shouldn’t have been sent on his lonesome. She doesn’t voice an opinion on the Raiders one way or another-leaving her options open, as always. Kara declares no open allegiances- except to whoever she’s talking to at the time. She’s just a good NCR citizen, today, supposedly.

Besides-never know when you might need a good scapegoat.

Vibrant eyes flick to Moray as he makes his suggestion. “You are the gardener.” She says with that cocky, slanted smirk.

Everything else that gets said she doesn’t care to comment on. Sounded an awful lot like the NCR totally planned to take Freeside if they couldn’t get anyone to play nice with them, and if not-it might go that way anyway, with tensions brewing and violence breaking out at higher frequencies. Kara likes Freeside just how it is-it’s The King’s town, not the NCR’s. Kimball and his cronies can’t have it, because they’d only fuck it up.

“We’ll be back.” She promises, and out the door she goes.

~*~

“Time’s short and I still don’t trust Cachino, so splitting up’s probably a good idea. You do you, and I’ll do me. And there’s only one of me.” There’s a sheen of arrogance that’s somewhat nostalgic to her words, and Kara’s smirk is carrying just a hint of mania to it, only the barest degrees a curve short from becoming that mask of a smile. “But uh, just remindin’-no one’s asking you to go wipe out the Scorpions, and we’re working for kinda a small favor, all told. I get the suspicion here and maybe there’s a reward for findin’ out, but I know Yvette-she’s small time. The whole little gang in that motel’s small time. They mostly get killed by Mean and Fiends, and with a leader too stupid for schemes and too tempermental for as little she’s got in numbers-they’ll never be anything more than small time, ya get me?”

She guesses she doesn’t really care. She didn’t know Yvette in the way she knew Violet-a woman who just wanted to be left alone with her dogs, innocent in a way a Raider really shouldn’t be. No, Yvette was definitely the sort she’d left behind back East. Kara mostly just fucked with the shitty leader every once in a while for a laugh, and Yvette would probably very much like to blast her face to hamburger with that shotgun she slept with-but still. A whole crew in the ground, crunched under Moray’s boot on suspicion-and kicks, even, maybe.

Kara shrugs in an empty handed, flippant gesture, her smirk now officially curving into the amused, slightly manic smile as she draws a little closer.

“Your current flavor of the month-” She’s hardly that and she knows it, but it was funny to say- “-used to be one of those rats you’re fixing to clear out, ya know?” She taps the bird pin on his lapel and the flirty, smiley mask softens to something more genuine as she looks back up at him. “Be careful, and don’t go running out of luck.”

Given what she’s personally seen him do, she really doesn’t need to worry-but she wants him back safe all the same, so she says it anyway.

 

[Obuzeti]

Jonah looks at Kara for a long moment, unblinking. He hadn't particularly been looking to kill them all; the dust-up at Gomorrah wasn't even a day past. Rather, he had thought to deal with them in his usual abrupt manner, which may contain fatalities but wasn't explicitly intended to. People just got the point much faster after he shot the first idiot.

"I will offer mercy," he says, blank. "It is on their heads to accept it. We'll rendezvous at the King's place and compare notes."

He honestly doesn't know which way they'll fall, and he's not going to worry about it. Instead, he just folds the smaller woman into his arms for a moment, a brief embrace, and then turns and goes. With her smiling face turned up like that, he'd wanted to kiss her instead - but here, with so many faces staring, he doesn't care to share anything. Let that stand in privacy.

~*~

The Scorpions, as he expected, don't immediately understand the paradigm change they're about to experience. Moray just walks up, broad daylight, no backup, to the Monte Carlo Suites. There's a Fiend in ripped leather out front, giving him the eyeball, and Moray squares his feet and waits in full sight for someone to come out for him.

What happens, instead, is someone inside decides to pop off a 10mm at his head from the second floor of the hotel. It whines by his ear far closer than he'd like, and Moray responds by pulling a grenade from his belt, popping the pin, and throwing it through the window it'd come from. A woman screams in alarm and there's muffled rushing from up there. The Fiend in front of Moray jumps, the half-formed smile on his face from the missed shot curdling, and he goes for his piece but gets outdrawn. Jonah puts two through his chest, and then reholsters his sidearm as the grenade goes off with an ear-shattering explosion. Part of the building collapses as drywall and concrete fold under the structural damage.

Moray waits, face mild.

After a handful of seconds, he calls out, "I'm supposed to negotiate. Shots fired will be returned with interest."

The same woman as before responds, voice hoarse and panting. "Fuck you, motherfucker! A grenade, then you want to talk? You piece of shit!"

"You shot at me," Moray replies, neither his expression or tone changing a whit. "Don't do it again."

A woman in a mohawk rounds the corner of a flight of stairs, way at the back of the lobby before Moray. A shotgun cants down his his direction, and her lips move, froth-speckled, as she forms something else to say.

Moray shoots her too, his pistol clearing leather faster than she can lower the long gun. One round goes straight through her head; her body jerks back, then collapses, blood painting the wall behind her cranium.

Moray holsters again, and waits.

Silence.

"What d'ya want?" another voice calls out, somewhere on the borderline between sheer terror and coked-up aggression. This one is young, male. It cracks as he shouts, pubescence creaking under the stress as the pitch hops up and down.

"Leave," Moray says. "King and the NCR have decided that this bunch is a problem. They don't care if the lot of you are dead or just gone. Find someplace else to be than picking at the edges of Freeside and Westside. I'll give you all half an hour and then I'm coming back and killing anyone still in this building."

"Fucking seriously, you asshole?" the voice calls, a whine dropping into the pitch. It's deeply annoying, but now that he's given his word Moray can manage to ignore it. He turns around and walks off, ignoring the presumable young man as he calls out more threats and tries to cajole Moray into some other decision. None of it matters.

He gave them the choice.

When Moray comes back at the announced time, the Monte Carlo is empty. The two raiders he'd dropped have been stripped of gear. He wonders if the woman is Yvette, and remembers the shotgun she'd tried to unload on him with. It seems likely, but he's not moved by the possibility. She'd been an idiot, both tactically and in decision-making.

Moray starts the trek back to the School of Impressions, satisfied by the result of a quick forty minutes of work.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Kara approves, and is happy. That was a hell of a lot more than they’d get from Fiends or any other raider gang, after all.

“It’s a date.” A warm, brief bit of contact-and then he turns to go and Kara spins on her heel also, puffed up and starting forward with no small amount of swagger. Time to shake some folks down, so to speak. Or rather...well, a folk, with King’s permission.

~*~

Kara pushed open the doors to the school and sauntered in like she owned the place-the only real way she entered anywhere, but still. There’d been a man or two who had ducked in several yards ahead of her, and one of them was standing all conspiratal like with-

“Kara baby, just the woman I was looking for-” He closed the distance in three long strides and fell into line with her, tone lowered. “I heard you went and talked to that NCR soldier lady...”

“Yeah? I talk at a lot of people, ‘specially when the King asks me to.” Kara pauses and roots around in her pocket as if she’s going to pay his ‘audience fee’, clueless as to his interest- but really, she’s watching him. Everybody in the Kings worshipped THE King-except one, the only guy in the place who felt the leader needed looking after, his self appointed fielder.

“Lemmie guess-she told you some wild story about them sending a messenger to us to work out some deal?”

Kara paused, pretending brief surprise-and then her eyes narrowed, now pretending to craft up something on new information. “Now that you mention it...yeah. Yeah, that -is- the story she told me.”

“Well it’s bullshit, and nothing to bother The King with. More like they sent someone to SPY on us, and he wasn’t tough enough to last in Freeside. So do everyone a favor and keep your pretty mouth shut for once, okay?”

“Well...that’s kind of a tall order for me, isn’t it? What’s it worth to you, Pacer ole pal?”

He wasn’t quite taken aback, just surprised-and then approving. “Kara, Kara, babe after my own heart. You didn’t think I’d just ask for free favors, did you? Here.” He withdrew a roll of prewar bills and counted off a few, pressed them into her hand.

“That’s a good start, but ya know, coming up with a good story and all…”

He rolled his eyes, peeled off two more and handed them over, also.

“Ha, sucker-we figured the Scorpions had come a little too far into Freeside. Moray went to deal with them-you sold yourself out, and I already HAD a story!” She grins gleefully, pocketing the bribe as Pacer shook his head, good natured enough to at least appear chagrined-but mostly, relieved.

“Yeah well, you just keep quiet. I’ll catch you later, Kara.”

“Bye!”

Kara cheerfully watched him go, bouncing on her feet a moment-and then she sauntered right over to The King’s door, still looking for all the world like she was about to deliver on that purchased silence.

Which, of course, she wasn’t.

“So I got good news and bad news!” Kara blares dramatically as she entered the room, retrieving the crumpled, half rolled bills from where she’d tucked them into her sleeve.

“Alright, good news first.”

“Looks like the NCR ISN’T looking to take The Kings, or Freeside-Major Kieran wants to take care of everybody down on their luck, not just squatters. She’s angling for peace in exchange for additional resources. Everybody helps everybody else, and no one gets beat up.”

“I suppose they want me to help see that happen? That...seems pretty reasonable, actually.” The man leans back a little as he considers. “I didn’t realize the major’s interest was in the common man. I can respect that, and sounds like they’re willing to respect us plenty-might have to make an example out of a few of the more hotheaded guys, but otherwise, seems fair. Don’t know why they didn’t try to arrange something.”

“Well, that’s the bad news...she says she sent someone to talk to you.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute. They said what? I never got a messenger.”

“Probably cause he never made it TO you-he came back beat to shit. Couldn’t spell his own name, she said. Moray was thinking maybe Scorpions, but uh, King-” Kara nodded towards the bills in her hand. “Pacer bribed me not to tell you any of that.”

His eyes dropped to the money and, for the first time ever-Kara saw him frown.

And then he shook his head with a quiet, almost amused curse.

“Huh, that would explain why they're all riled at us. Seems like we have a big misunderstanding, here. Pacer never did get along with-what the hell?”

The door flew open and a young man in a sweat soaked shirt stood there, winded. “There’s some shootin’ going on down at the depot-Pacer’s led some guys to try n’ take half the NCR’s supplies!”

“What’s that fool doing?”

Kara could think of more than a few stronger things to call Pacer-but she supposed fool was accurate enough. Because God damn. “You got any magic for me, Kara? I don’t know what it was you came here for, but you know I’m good for it.”

“Well, for an offer like that, bet I can find some-” She started for the door and the greaser stepped aside to stare at her, then his boss. “Kara-”

She paused at the door and glanced back-he was looking at Rex, then back to her, another odd little hesitation.

“...you just be careful, now.” He finally says with a nod.

“Pft, no fun in that.”

She heard him give the kid some other instruction-but she was already in the lobby, and once she hit the exterior door-she was running.

~*~

They must have had spotters, seen him and his men coming-they’d downed two at the start and it had half scattered ‘em, only him and a handful of other toughs had actually gone in. All he knows is he’s tired of these NCR spies and squatters, and it’s time to finally do something about it if the King won’t-or at least, do something before he DID, and what he did went bad.

But right now, he’s pinned down behind some double stacked crates, patting his pockets desperately for bullets, and wondering where the hell his other guys were, and if back up was coming-which it was, just not in the form he expected-

“Hi Pacer!”

“JESUS-!” He nearly whacked her with his empty pistol, but the invisible red head was quicker than that-the warbled mirage darted back before she materialized proper just out of kicking range, out of breath and grinning like a maniac, withdrawing her hand out of her jacket and presumably off her stealth boy.

“So I was thinking-” She slipped back against the right side of the crate and started rummaging around in her jacket, apparently unaware of the gunfight she’d wandered into. “That I didn’t really haggle enough about the story. I mean, I tell really good stories.” She withdrew a piece of extending metal, played with it a minute.

“Kara, what the hell are you doing here-” There’s a lull in gunfire and he can hear men moving up over the ringing in his ears-where had she slipped in at? Musta been the right-could he slip back that way without getting shot? He can’t leave, though-

“I came to help, of course!”

“Yeah well-”

“I mean, you look like you might need it.”

He’s sweating and she’s more insane than he thought she was, sitting there having a grand old time. Alright, she’s unrattled, that might count for something-

“You got ammo, or a pistol? I’m out.”

“You bet I do!” The little deranged mercenary dropped the purple piece of silk she’d found in another pocket and rummaged some more-he dared a glance around his edge of the crate-and nearly lost an eye as a bullet whizzed past, splintering wood over his head.

He jerked back just as Kara dropped a Y shaped piece of steel in his lap, some kind of rubber hosing attached at the top-it’s a slingshot. She then dropped a little messy sheath of papers on top of that.

“The hell is this?!”

“You chew up the paper and then you lob it at ‘em!” She provided helpfully, tying the scrap of purple cloth to the antenna. “What’re you, dense?” Kara turned to clamber up over the first crate-and the ganger grabbed a hold of the back of her belt and yanked her back down, catching her against his side and keeping her there.

“Are YOU dense?! I’m having a hard enough time here, and you getting shot fulla holes’ll land me in deeper shit than I want to be in.”

“Well, what the hell was YOUR plan here?” Kara struggled, but for all her noise, she’s little. “Someone’s gotta salvage this fuckin’ mess you made, and I’m a hell of a lot cuter than you are.” She gives him a shove and her grin is downright deranged, but he holds fast.

“Now you listen- King’s not in his right mind if he’s thinking of making a deal with this scum-Kara, you outta anybody ought to understand-”

“And what are you going to do Pacer, take over?” She jabs at his chest with an accusatory finger, her grin having vanished, the red to her face recognizable for what it actually was-anger. Holy shit, Kara’s angry-he’s never seen her look anything but arrogant and amused, this sort of seriousness was probably a sign of another apocalypse. “You think you can fight him AND the NCR?”

“I...no. The Kings would never survive splintering up, and-we go back. We go way back. We need to stick together…” His grip loosened and Kara tore out of it, snatching her flag back up, turning to start climbing the crates again.

“More like he’s your meal ticket, cause you’re a shit friend AND second. This lady wants to help Freeside, not rule it. It’s still King territory. Shit, the deal is DEPENDENT that it’s King territory.”

He frowned.

“Now stay there, I wanna get paid, and I probably won’t if you die, because I’m almost sure King doesn’t want you full of holes, either. For some reason.”

~*~

A little purple flag popped up over the second crate and someone trigger happy shot at it-but then things quieted for a second time as a smiling red head poked her head over, waved-and then ducked back down when another spray of gunfire went off.

“Hold it! Hold-she’s one of ours-”

“Yeah, I’m one of yous!” The woman piped from cover. “Don’t shoot me, I ain’t even armed! I just came back from ferrying that message to The King, jeez!”

“You gave us away!” Major Kieran shouted back. “These greasers showed up right after you left!”

“I did not! This was just a misunderstanding, is all! C’mon, can’t we talk about this?”

Everyone exchanged looks, but Kara didn’t wait for permission-she just poked her flag back up, waited-and then peeked again, clambering over the top of the second crate and dropping down to the next one, sitting right smack on the edge and swinging her feet a little, surveying the half dozen dead Kings bleeding out between her and the line of soldiers and missionaries.

“That’s fuckin’ Kara Walker, Danny. She’s not one of us.” Someone chastised, and Kara’s grin widened.

“Well I’m one of something, anyway.”

“Well? What happened?”

“We think some Raiders happened, cause when I went to talk to The King, he confirmed he never received any messenger. Moray went to take care of them, but in the meanwhile these guys got the wrong idea, is all. They thought they were being blamed for unfair business practices-ain’t that right, Pacer?”

Pacer didn’t say anything. It was probably a step too far, Kara figured.

“So they jumped the gun while King and I were talking your business, and it was business he thought was pretty nice. That’s what the Kings stand for, you know-every man having the right to try and better himself and his situation. He’s coming to talk terms right now, pinkie swear.”

Elizabeth lowered her rifle, blinking over the top of it. “Really?”

“Really! I toldja I had a line, didn’t I? So uh...please don’t shoot his best friend. That might jeopardize things.”

~*~

Kara exited with a somewhat humbled and very petulant Pacer-only to find, sure enough, The King himself out there with every man he could probably have gathered up in a hurry. And while it was an impressive amount far as gangs went and they could have handled this little outpost just fine-they didn’t have shit on NCR rangers, and that’s surely what would have followed in the next day or so.

He didn’t even say anything-just gave his friend a squeeze of the shoulder, her a nod while holding up two fingers-two favors-and then went on in with a few of his own guys plus Pacer, the rest dispersing to hang around outside the depot and some trailing back into the town itself.

Kara opted to do that too, making a beeline for the School of Impersonation. The King did say TWO favors, after all…

~*~

And so it was that the courier was hanging around outside the King base, lying on her stomach on a concrete bench. She had spread her trusty, trademarked jacket over the rough surface of the seat and was lying on top of it, strangely sporting a leather ‘Kings’ jacket too big for her and her red hair in a bit of a loose pompadour-loose because she had vehemently refused to let the barber put the ungodly amounts of hair gel he’d insisted was ‘required’. Nope, Kara had made him do without and he’d made something work out of bobby pins, grumbling all the while about ‘some dame’ being allowed their ‘special’ hairstyle.

Kara was happily defacing a pack of cards while she waited for Jonah, ankles crossed and a slight bob of her heels as she scrawled on the playing cards. The kings received scratched out dresses and fancy lady hats while the queens were given mustaches and little dogs on leashes. The jacks and jokers now bore a myriad of odd expressions, and Kara was attempting to recreate a particularly funny one on one of the queen cards.

No one bothered her-the red head wasn’t exactly an uncommon sight around here, and that she was quietly entertaining herself rather than hustling cards or stirring up trouble was a welcome, rare respite.

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray ambles up to where Kara's lying.

(There's a difference even in how he walks near her. Moray looks terminally impatient most of the time. He slices through intervening space like the travel of it spends his patience, the limitations of space and time a transgression against his forbearance - steps sharp and quick, always forward, pivoting on the balls of his feet. It's only around Kara that the motion slows. Like his time isn't wasted anymore.)

He watches her paint cards for a moment, considering what to say. Kara feels so - invulnerable - at times, immune to anything that'd throw her off her stride, disturb her wheeling and dealing. He knows it's not always true, the Sierra Madre had been one huge crack in her facade, but it's times like these where she's satisfied and spinning wheels that leave him uncertain. If Jonah had never been here, she'd still be doing the same thing. He's just along for the ride.

It's a fine line to edge about upon, whether he's pleased that her patterns have inertia or insecure because the fingerprints of his passage seem so light. He has her word, but for Kara, that's always been the most easily spent of all currencies.

And he knows another truth, that he never touches on but lightly. Kara loves him - this he doesn't doubt - but her definition of it remains yet light and fleeting. It's a stronger dedication than she's ever known, but by all known accounts that just means more than two weeks and counting. She understands Moray's inclination to violence and brutality, but doesn't perceive the depth of it, because of the glitter of having someone's love for her own.

Jonah Moray knows better. He knows the pitiless, black depths of his own nature, the teetering madness that ran through his father like hot wires. He wonders if this is how he went mad - he loved a woman that could not understand, and when she moved on he could not; and her parting pulled his heart out of his chest like a fishhook had been buried in it. He wonders if all Johann had left was the ache of her parting, and the shape of habits he didn't understand why he held anymore - and those black depths from which there are no words, just crushing, ambivalent and impartial loathing; a ceaseless desire for ruination.

To know his own heart, the shape of it once passed, Johann had made of the world a mirror, and stared into the face of abhorrence.

Madness, Jonah knows. Gears, whirring inside of his blood. Kara forgets, Kara creates, she moves on. He remembers.

He exhales, shakes away the thoughts. They cling like tar to the back of his mind, and the big man seats himself by the bench where Kara lazes about, and lies his head against her shoulder, and closes his eyes. As it ever does, her touch - skin soft and warm - brushes away the film and leaves him clean.

Jonah feels whole when he touches Kara.

"I take from the haircut you met some measure of success," Jonah murmurs, and turns his head to push against her shoulder, almost nuzzling into it, before her turns and leans over the edge of the bench instead, peering at the cards. He doesn't care about them, but they're a convenient excuse to turn away from his own desperation. Moderation is his credo, even when it feels like he's drowning.

"The jacket, I can believe you stole."

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

For as flippant as she is and as well as she hid it-Kara had a keen awareness for who was moving where in her vicinity. It’s not quite paranoia or even wariness- more bone deep animal instinct dovetailing with her idle, good natured expectation of entertainment.

That said, she about knows the cadence of his footsteps, and her awareness of Jonah was a lot different than any other looming hulks that might be roaming around. She finishes the silly face and visibly perks up a little, a confirming glance up at him-then starts flicking cards this way and that, looking for a specific one to show him, visibly brightening up.

“I made a new card for my boot!” She informs as he settles in next to the bench-and the image they had to make, two randos lollygagging around outside the King hideout-well, it’s probably a funny one, and one Kara likes.

“Mmhm-” She confirms, flicking through cards one after another-either she worked fast with her art, or she’d been working on this deck awhile-there were pictures on almost every single card, from the childishly dirty to rare flights of fancy, trees and cars and old prewar machinery. “I’m a proper King now, Mister Moray! First lady one ever. NCR refugees will find an easier time around here thanks to The King’s influence, and with Kieran’s help, more supplies will be spread around the town’s needy. So win win, I guess!”

She tactfully fails to mention Pacer being on board had required the extremes it’d had. It’s whatever-if the King loved him so damned much, suppose he could stay his problem.

“Scored us the original favor we wanted, plus this one, and then saved my ill gotten bribe money for you, since I took a favor. Fair’s fair.”

Crystalline irises flick over to him as she finds her card and the prewar bills-and then she pauses a moment, taking one of his green eyes in, then the other.

She blinks.

And then her opposite arm pops straight for her to press a sudden and impulsive kiss smack to his mouth, pulling back into a proper seated position immediately after without comment, holding up the mentioned ace with one hand while the other loosens the laces to her boot. This one had a graffiti tree scrawled on it too, red heart positioned in the middle with their initials scratched into it, cliche and silly and her new favorite thing.

“Assumin’, of course, you’re not here to tell me you fell for Yvette’s marvellous charms?” She slips the old ace out and pockets it, then slides the new one in juuust right, tilts her head at it approvingly-and tightens the laces back up.

“Trekking back over to Westside and sweet talkin’ Sarah and Mean, smuggling them into the strip-that might hafta’ wait until tomorrow-cause I’m tired, are you tired?” It’d been a full day, after all. Very full. Kara’s hands are working, but there’s a careful way she’s waiting, here-kind of quiet.

“Was thinkin’ we’d maybe stay in the Wrangler.”

 

[Obuzeti]

The kiss makes Jonah blink. Kara bounces away like they're magnets, but the tingling touch of her lips still remains in phantom sensation, and it takes him a moment to remember to listen to the words coming out of her mouth. It's not often she manages to leave him behind like that - but his train of thought had been somewhere else entirely, indeed. He wonders how she knew.

"Yvette took a potshot at me, so she's dead," Moray answers, still a little slow on the draw. He takes a breath and rolls his neck, the faint widening of his eyes fading, but the absence of tension never fades. Perhaps it's not how she intended it, but there's nothing that speaks to Moray more than touch, physical affection. God, he's tired of words, sometimes. They won't get out of his brain. "Some other chump too. Rest are alive though. Gave them time to clear out then swept the Monte Carlo. It's clean. Dunno where they went."

Probably not as clean a job as Kara'd pulled off, but nonviolent persuasion is a new trick in his bag.

"The Wrangler's fine, so long as you don't mind running into the Graffs," Moray says with a hum. "They won't do anything, but they can be unpleasant."

The Graffs and he didn't have the best of relationships. He did so much work for the Caravans and the Gun Runners, specifically, that they'd sent men his way a couple times. Mostly he'd treated it as a matter of business and not thought about it after selling their gear off, but apparently someone Greta had been fond of had been in one of those squads, and she'd never forgotten it. Their peons had been low-key staring knives into his back ever since.

Mostly, he's just curious. There's a careful, casual inflection from Kara that he's rarely heard before - almost plaintive, pleading, and it pulls at something inside him to even hear it.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

"Yeah, Yvette wasn't exactly sharp.". Kara notes with an understanding nod. She took a shot, so he shot back. The equal trade again.

"S'pose her life's ambition of blowing my face off went unfulfilled after all. The Scorpions are better off though, honestly-without her, and out of the Monte Carlo. Fiends woulda raided them for their drugs eventually, now that their suppliers are off to better things."

But that's all done now. Good they hadn't been killed just 'cause Pacer was an asshole, but all done.

Boot properly laced and Moray in agreement to call it a night, Kara gives another nod-and then a little smirk steals across her face, decisively wicked as he brings up the Van Gruffs.

"What, them?" Her eyes glitter, and it's the same kind of cocky, triumphant mirth she used to have in sniping at him. It's not malicious, not even ill willed-it's more akin to a thrill seeking lion tamer.

Kara, as everyone knew, was insane.

"Gloria and I, we're the bestest of gal pals, didn't I ever tell you that?" Their mention makes all sorts of hilarious pranks and schemes pop into her head! But...she doesn't feel a strong impulse for any of them-at least, none to overshadow the one she currently has, the one to take Jonah away. Antics are fun and all, but he matters more. Jonah occupies the headspace previously in so dire a need of constant stimulation.

No, she'd definitely rather steal him, soothe him.

The michevious glitter fades into a bit of that genuine, slightly secret soft, and the newly initiated 'King' slides off the bench to wrap her arms around one of his larger ones, as if so little a woman could really help a man of his size up.

"The Garrett twins are my friends, and I fixed Rex for The King. You're right, they aren't going to do jack all, not in Freeside." She tells him confidently, not that he probably had to worry anyway. "Won't be going into Silver Rush anytime soon though-all bets are off in there." With that psychopathic, hulking brother of hers? Kara's crazy, not dumb.

...maybe even Jonah would have to worry, then. Nope, no Silver Rush visits for him either.

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray huffs a breath as he stands up. Kara pulling on him didn't really do anything, but his fingers curl around her arm anyways as they start towards the Wrangler. "Then or the NCR would have made a good-will mission out of shooting them all. One or the other."

Upon approaching the Wrangler, Jonah blinks and turns to Kara. "It's worth noting that the Garrets are not going to be pleased I'm here. Their former debt collector hit me with stray fire awhile ago. He died and that made them nervous. They won't say anything, but don't expect to get served or offered anything either."

He forgot the name, but remembered a really stupid cowboy hat and a moustache. He'd been threatening some dipshit with a fake accent when he fired his shotgun up to intimidate the other man, and a pellet had bounced bad and winged Jonah, drawing blood. Hadn't even known it was someone associated with the Wrangler until he'd walked into the Casino a week later and saw James hit the floor behind the bar. He hadn't come back up after a minute or so, so Jonah had opted to leave instead.

To be fair, of the possible responses to Moray showing up, it isn't the worst one.

As for the Silver Rush - well. "I don't use sizzle guns," Jonah says, and there's some kind of petty dislike in his voice there.

He doesn't expand, however, and just goes through the doors of the Wrangler, glancing around. The place looks dead, but to be fair there's been two pretty solid gunfights in the last hour around town, and everyone's evacuated to more solid cover. The twins are behind the bar, and Beatrix is stashed in a corner with a bottle. She looks up as Moray comes in, and cracks into a horror-show of a smile. "Moray."

"Beatrix," he says, and slides into the seat beside her.

Somewhere on the other side of the bar, there's a thump as somebody hits the floor.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Expect to get served-?!

"You're with me!" Kara asserts, as if that'd get the red carpet rolled out anywhere-instead of, sometimes, shot-and then in they go. And there was Beatrix!

Kara likes Bea. She'd pestered all the prewar and post war adventure stories she could out of the ghoul and suspected there were yet more-and for the most part Bea told 'em for free or for whiskey, which was downright generous in Kara's book.

Moray slides into a stool next to the ghoul cowgirl, damned high praise all its own-and Kara remembers he'd mentioned her more than once, and had shared a drink besides 'on the job'.

Beatrix is his friend. Well, nice to see he had good taste. One mighta wondered, given who he was partnered up with. Snrk.

Kara's a little slower to follow (after giving the woman an enthused wave and grin, of course), looking around and noting the emptiness of the casino, drug den, and flophouse. There's even a whole abandoned table of poker-she tips up a facedown hand, sees how bad it is, and understands why someone would be willing to leave a game of poker over something so mild as a gunfight or two.

(THUMP!)

Kara half sees him go down-the fuck? The redhaired greaser snaps over to the bar and slaps both hands down on the counter to flop half into it-peering down to see James Garrett passed the fuck out on the other side.

Kara's knee comes up over the counter and she's got a marker in her hand-but Francine catches at her shoulder with a disapproving look. "Last guy you scrawled on wore those eyebrows for a month."

"Tsk. Fine. He owes you one though."

Kara remained on the bar counter, loose boot bobbing a bit as she scanned the shelves, the capped marker twirling in her fingers. She's pretending not to notice Francine's pointed look of question, mostly because it was funny.

"Well, can I get that shiny new bottle of gin opened up then, maybe some glasses for me and my friends?"

The Garrett sister was a cooler customer than her brother-but also more focused, shrewd. Her hand stayed tight on the courier's shoulder, wary.

"You and him?"

"Well Jim there ain't awake to be drinkin', so I guess so! Also-s'my usual room empty?"

Francine thinks about that a second, decides if there really HAD been business Moray would have brought it by now. "Get on off of the counter Kara." She finally relents, handing over a bottle of beer.

If Kara was apparently hauling him around, it could hardly be to shoot up places she liked, and by all accounts she liked the Wrangler. Caleb had been a whiny asshole anyway. She let the redhead go, then steps over her brother to snag the originally indicated bottle.

"You're good for the usual bunk at the usual rate."

Kara hopped off the counter with a satisfied "Yep!" and finally headed on over to Jonah and Bea, sliding into her own seat. She plunked the bottle of whiskey down, then got busy with the beer.

"Hi Bea! Toldja I'd be back, you save any stories?" Kara slipped the knife of her pearl handled switchblade under the cap, then popped it with her other hand.

The cap lands with a tink and rolls away someplace, Kara happily taking a pull.

 

[Obuzeti]

Beatrix takes a long sip of her whiskey, eyeballing Jonah. "Last time I was through Tenderheart, heard some interesting stuff."

He shrugs. Killing Devon is something he fails to regret. "Devon attempted to recruit me into unprofessional conduct. Wanted a slave run. I found him objectionable."

Beatrix hums into her drink. From her throat, it sounds like someone pouring glass down a garbage disposal. "His body turned up quartered."

Moray doesn't answer, but he inclines his head. His eyes flick over to meet Beatrix's, and she lets out a raspy, low chuckle and tips her hat to the bigger man. "Well, I can't object to someone that plays too hard with their food."

Kara returns right about then, and returns with their own whiskey. Jonah takes a pull of it without hesitation, figuring that this is as good as company gets for someone like him. Beatrix has always strangely mellowed him out - she's much closer to her own predatory side than almost anyone else he's met. She gets what it means, he thinks, but they've never sat down and discussed their tendencies. It's all guesswork from that strange - sympathy - he feels for and from the ghoul.

It's not likely to come up, at any rate.

Beatrix shrugs and inclines her head towards the upstairs room. "Got a boy stashed upstairs. He likes playing with fire and wax, thinks he's a real tough boy. He's sleeping it off right now. Made some pretty fair caps, even if it made Francine's hair curl."

Her charred lips curl in a smile that would curdle milk.

Moray throws up an eyebrow. The whiskey's good, settling in a smooth burn at the back of his throat, none of the rotgut shit he sees out in the shantytowns across the Mojave. "Think he'll come back for seconds?" he says, lips twitching.

"He'll dream about it, at least," Beatrix says with a raunchy laugh, and glances at Kara. "What about you, darling? Any legendary conquests out on the trail?"