Know When to Fold 'Em (Closed for Obuzeti)

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Pretty Sarah’s tough stuff. Normally, Kara wasn’t much for pimps-but Sarah wasn’t just any pimp, she was a guardian, and while her merchandise had slimmed down a bit in recent years (more evidence to her not being a shit person, given people could leave her employ if they wanted) she was still turning managing to turn caps and keep an eye on her charges, all while cleaning rooms and doing more work in the place than Marco could be bothered with.

Plus, Jimmy had once told her a story about how she’d tossed a guy out on his naked ass for getting too rough with him-and that was just hilariously entertaining. Sweetie felt safe here too, and that was sayin’ something for the profession, Kara didn’t care who you were.

She smiles and it’s cheerful rather than manic, genuinely friendly. Sarah’s someone she genuinely likes-not entertainment, but someone she actually respects.

“Nah-I ain’t been drinking since yesterday, and me n’ Jonah-this here’s Jonah-been finding enough to keep us busy, and me entertained.” Kara pauses, glancing over at him. “Come to think of it, I ain’t been bored since we partnered up, big guy.”

She wiggled her eyebrows not quite suggestively-but more than a smidgen silly, something Sarah took in before her gaze turned on him a moment or two, trying to figure what sort of man could wrangle someone like Kara for any length of time. She afforded him a nod in greeting. “Kara makes for a strange John, if you can even call her that.”

“You certainly can-I paid, same as anybody to take Sweetie out! It counts. Totally counts-but hey, I’m not here for her or to shoot the shit with Jimmy-I’m here for you, Sarah. We got a business proposition.”

The woman’s amusement turned to mild suspicion, but when she speaks it’s neither harsh nor stern-more wisdom than anything. Kara’s trouble. Harmless trouble, most of the time-but trouble. “No.”

“Hold on a minute, this is legit! Super legit-”

“Uh huh.”

“House legit.”

That was a big name to throw around, and Kara does so easily. For all she knows, she’s in deep shit with the mysterious head of the strip, the chip she failed to deliver-but it’s the second time since that she’s name dropped him as if she knew the man personally-and was in good with him. The first, had been when initially threatening Cachino to tattle, falsely claim he’d been in on the plan to gas the strip.

“See, the Omertas are in a uh, a shape. We had a...disagreement about how one does business, and now a bunch of ‘em are toast. I got a lock on it and Mean agreed to be muscle for now-but I’m going to be honest-I don’t got the attention span to figure out how to run a brothel.”

“...you want me to go work with a bunch of gangsters.”

“Some gangsters, the head of which I got-well, we got, given the blackmail I had isn’t much good anymore-by the balls. His name’s Cachino, and he was the lieutenant to you know, the big bosses-both of whom are no longer with us. That’s something of a power vacuum, and the whole place’ll fall apart we don’t find somebody to help run Gomorrah. They got a lot of girls in there, and part of my deal with Cachino is, he doesn’t get to touch ‘em. You get how it’d be problematic, leaving him solely in charge of the whole operation, ‘stead of just part of it-and then there goes my cut.”

Kara’s always thinking about money.

Supposedly.

 

[Obuzeti]

Sarah offers Jonah a nod during the brief-as-hell introduction, and then reorients towards Kara. If he had any guess, the old bat had a fond affection for her younger counterpart. "Partner in crime, perhaps," he offers, because that's certainly what he's been. Granted, the title may be reserved exclusively for him as a result.

Sarah listens to Kara's proposition with a gimlet eye, and nods once before she turns to Jonah. "What happened to clear out the management?" she asks him directly, rather than try to figure out the little firebrand's euphemisms.

"I caught them gearing up to attempt gassing the other Families, and killed them," Moray says. "Kara advised we leave Cachino in place because he's more controllable."

Sarah sighs and hooks an ankle around a stool on the other side of the bar, seating herself on it. A bottle of absinthe along with a shot glass come out of a shelf on the bartender's side, and she pours herself a shot and takes a long sip of it.

"So what you're saying is that you decapitated a third of the Strip's power structure, and you want me to hang around with an angry pimp, half the security he's normally got, and a crowd of whores I don't know, make you a profit, and hope the Chairmen or the Gloves don't decide to make a move, meanwhile."

She says it all with a straight face, but with flat dog's eyes that she turns on Kara. It's a grim take on the situation, but not entirely accurate.

"The Gloves are otherwise preoccupied," Moray offers, and when Sarah turns to look at him again, his poker face is smooth and perfect.

She turns around to Kara again and shrugs. "Well, I can see why you picked him up, then."

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“He had a cute dog and fixed my jacket-” Kara dismisses, but she’s on the sell and she wants something she can’t steal, her lips still moving without her thinking too hard on it. “But for serious, you make it sound like more of a gamble than it is. I had Cachino by the balls all by myself before, he ain’t shit. You can run circles around him, and he knows he needs the help-that he needs you. And maybe for a minute he wasn’t real happy about me convincing him of that-but then yeah, he remembered the whole… ‘we just curb stomped the shit outta yer bosses’ and worried I might sic Jonah on him too, if he don’t play nice.”

It makes her feel scummy soon as she says it. It is scummy, and Kara regrets saying it as soon as it impulsively leaves her mouth. That’s not what this is. That’s not why she keeps him around. It’s not, maybe, even how the entire thing should have gone down.

She doesn’t know how to entirely feel about that. So very little else is sacred, and everyone and everything had always been something to stack or manipulate at her leisure for fun and profit-but not Jonah. He’s not a chip or a tool in her games. It’s just...some of her antics, intentional or not, exposed sins he wasn’t going to abide by. Neither would she have, but she lacks the lethality he does, so-

Focus, Kara.

“So...Cachino ain’t shit, White Gloves aren’t in any kind of shape to go sniffin’, and the Chairmen are-mostly-friends of mine. All House is going to care about is his cut and his contract bein’ followed, and you’ll do fine with the women-I happen to know one of the whores has an interest in helping a good pimp take charge of her sisters, ‘fore she bails.”

Kara starts counting on her fingers as she speaks. “Mean goes with as insurance, and then Jonah ‘n me, we got your back as a matter of course. You score an owner’s take, a swanky suite, and bragging rights that come with being a casino proprietress. Even Cachino’s negotiable-he’s got a second that’d be happy to take his place, you really want. I ain’t got much love for the guy.”

Large blue eyes flick up from her gloved fingers, narrowing slightly with a trace of a smirk. “Whatever I gotta do to make this happen, Sarah. It secretly ain’t just the cut-House is going to be pissed, I make a mess like that without cleaning it up. I'd rather sell it as cleaning house, and see what that gets us.”

 

[Obuzeti]

Jonah rolls that thought around in his mind. It's accurate. He'd kill most anyone Kara pointed him at - not everyone, but he does trust her judgment more than his own on the matter of who deserves to die. He doesn't have the same sort of moral calculus that she tries so hard to hide. To him, everyone dies guilty.

"Well, it's good to have calvary to call in," Sarah concedes, "And Mean's a pretty damn good door guard. Are you thinking I'll merge my girls in with the Omerta gaggle? Because I'll have to talk to them about that - Nobody owns anybody over here."

She taps the bar in front of her and squints at Kara. "The main thing I want is them to be clean. I know the 'Merta girls, Kara. Every single one of them is doped to the gills. I know how to run a whorehouse, but I'm no Follower. I'm not signing on to detox two dozen girls while trying to run a business. Is all that settled out?"

Sarah's ears to the ground are pretty sharp, sounds like.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“I got good news on that note!” Kara pipes up, animated because yeah, she’s got her. It’s a sweet deal anybody coulda sold, but Kara’s pleased as ever to have things go the way she’d like them to.

“A whole slew of ‘em got themselves cleaned up already. My bestest gal pal Joana, she’s a good influence, she lead the charge I think.” Kara nodded sagely, her smirk quirking a little higher on the one side, a flicker of darker humor in those deceptively innocent blue eyes.

“And the ones that aren’t-well hey, give it enough time, they’ll die off.” It’s fucked, but it’s true. It’s not something Kara lingers on long, a sharp hint of laughter on her next exhale before she points a finger gun at the older woman, offers up a more mirthful smile, a wink.

“But part o’ why I thought of you was, ya know, you’re a good enough madame not to NEED to drug up and hook your whores. So I figure hey, life oughta even out over there, under a proprietress such as yerself.” She pulled the ‘trigger’ and then dropped that hand to her hip, bouncing a little from her heels to the balls of her feet

“You decide on it, Jonah ‘n me will get you and yours into the strip and to your new casino first thing tomorrow, free of charge.”

 

[Obuzeti]

Sarah smiles back, but there's a harder edge to it than Kara's, which is saying something. "Cute, but I'm nobody's bag girl. Get me a batch of Fixer and I'll call it a deal. Bodies on the premise are bad business. I'll make 'em walk if they don't stay clean. Either way, I don't have to deal with sick girls dragging down the rest or stupid johns asking me if I offer snuff deals. I don't fuck with that."

She glances around with a nod, and then rises from the counter. "I'll go and talk with my girls. Maude and Sweetie will probably stay on, but I dunno about Jimmy. He'd probably be a little too popular in the workplace, know what I mean. Everything'll be ready by dawn tomorrow."

Business dispensed with, Pretty Sarah offers a nod to Jonah, finishes her shot, and then gets up and heads for the stairs to where her whores live, ostensibly to talk it over with them and figure out who's going where. Jonah watches her go. For all of the burns on her face, she still sways like a woman where it counts. He has, at best, an aesthetic appreciation for it. Mostly, it reminds him of Kara, not so much as the overdone swivel he'd seen on some of Gomorrah's whores as a saunter.

"What's next?" he says, cocking his head at Kara.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“Deal.” Kara agrees, pleased-and impressed-with the response. Sarah would run a clean house-neither of them were Julie Farkas, but they didn’t super suck, either. Drugs just weren’t any good, she’d learned that early and avoided ‘em, having seen one too many raider corpses after watching them inject the night before. She’s crazy, not stupid.

Kara gives that absent tug of finality on the front of her jacket and considers pouring herself a shot, but she’s feeling plenty good as it was-her and Jonah had done good. Gomorrah would still be a classic Vegas den of sin-it just wouldn’t be a den of sin fueled by human suffering, not anymore. Business might even be better than before, Kara doesn’t know. Sarah’d swing it that way though, she’s pretty sure.

Yeah. Her and Jonah had done good. Her fingers stray from lapel to the collection of prewar pins and baubles, linger at the empty space his lucky bird pin had come from.

”What’s next?”

“We pick up Joana’s Romeo, ‘course!” Kara pipes, spinning on her heel to face him. She slides her jacket sleeve up in the same motion, consulting her pale wrist for a watch that wasn’t-and had never been-there. “He lives ‘round the corner. Figure we’ll have him wait for us at Mick and Ralph’s or somethin’-that’s probably where I’ll buy the fixer anyway.”

And that’s who was going to get them through the King’s secret entrance to the Strip, anyway. Yep, all coming together.

Kara’s hand slips into his, stealing it more like-as she starts towards the door. There’s people around, and some part of her, somewhere, isn’t sure about PDA-less because she cares, and more because he might. But he’d drawn her in close leaving the NCR base, and it didn’t SEEM like she was supposed to be his dirty secret, so…

“It’s a nice sunny day out there in the apocalypse, big guy-let’s drag Carlito into it.”

~*~

Carlito’s ‘apartment’ wasn’t the worst of digs-it was a single room at one end of a a half collapsed motel, and nice enough a niche to sleep in. There was a small, sickly looking little garden set up beneath the single, boarded up window, and a water barrel nearby. There was also a wooden chair, and...a lot of beer bottles stacked against the wall near that.

Kara knocked on the dusty teal colored door while she took in the apparent drinking spot. “Hm. Bit of booze cologne, ya think?” She says to Jonah before knocking even harder. “Carlito! Carlito the rent’s due!”

Nothing happens, but Kara doesn’t give it much time to either-her lips hadn’t even finished moving before a lockpicking tool appears in her fingers-a wavy cut to the thin metal, a piece she has several of in various spots in that jacket.

“He’s gotta be home, middle of the day and all.” She doesn’t even tension the cheap looking lock-just rakes it with the tool a bunch of times in the twenty seconds or so it takes to pop-and turns the handle with the same casual air a normal person would have opened the door to their own home.

The scent of alcohol was thicker than it would have been in most dive bars, and it’s obvious why-someone had been hitting the bottle hard in there, for a while now. A lean bodied man in pinstripe pants and a wife beater sat slumped against the tall dresser, still oddly wearing a loosened tie and a fedora.

“Carlito you drunken skunk, wake up!” Kara cheerfully blares as she waltzes into the space-stopping short as she catches sight of a spilled, glowing liquid in a blue jug bottle.

Her amusement turns to wide eyed surprise as she snatches it up to stare at it a moment, a quick confirming sniff before she covers the top with a grimace.

“Aw, hell.” Kara breathes. “This shit’s Nukashine, you ever tried that? Cause don’t-I had a half glass once and blacked out. I woke up at the tippy top of that crazy roller coaster track in Primm TWO DAYS later, and with radiation sickness. It was hilarious, but still-climbing down sucked. Never again, this stuff. Tastes like liquid batteries anyway.”

She lowered the jug back to the side table and narrowed her eyes on Carlito, frowning at him in the dim bit of sunlight coming in through the doorway. Man hadn’t stirred.

“He’s not dead, is he?”

 

[Obuzeti]

Jonah's first impression is that the man is an idiot, having drunk himself into a stupor over, presumably, Joana. This is in lieu of looking for ways to get her out, or gathering resources to that end, or finding a position with some organization that would get him clout and influence enough to maybe get something done. Judging from the stench of alcohol, what he's on isn't cheap, and moreover if he's hitting hard spirits like that he's devoted time and resources into developing enough of a tolerance to need them.

Still, Joana's tastes are none of his business, and Kara needs this fool on his feet, so Jonah picks his way through the discarded beer bottles scattered to the side of the entrance - there's a little pathway through them designed for a smaller man than he - and pulls the man's eyelid up to check him for consciousness. He's out like a light, and his skin is clammy, but he's developed neither the bluish tinge of alcohol poisoning nor the unhealthy yellow of jaundice. That means he's unlikely to die should he be detoxed.

Moray clamps his hands on either side of the man's waist, and deadlifts him into a fireman's carry. He's thin enough to make it easy, and Moray shifts the weight for a moment. "No," he answers "To both questions," and then turns around and walks through the door again, with a faint thud as Carlito's head bounces off the door's frame.

The impact stirs the smaller man, and he turns to curl into Moray's warmth instinctively, spittle dripping onto the mercenary's neck. Moray stops, pivots, and immediately dunks Carlito headfirst into the rain barrel, holding him there by the waist.

Thrashing commences. Moray slips one arm from around his cargo's waist and wipes off the spit on his neck with a hand, disgusted. Then he lifts Carlito back out of the barrel and dumps him, sputtering, coughing, and shivering, on the ground beside it.

"Whuh -" Carlito manages to get out, then Moray pulls a tent piton from his waist pocket and pokes the blunt end all the way down the man's mouth and into his throat as soon as he opens it. Carlito's gag reflex engages, and all that mouldering Nuka-Shine in his stomach comes right back up in a sickly blue trail of vomit, puking on the ground beside his rain barrel in a pathetic, huddled mess. Moray dumps the piton in the rain barrel then stands around and waits for the other man to finish vomiting.

"It doesn't seem like an enviable experience," Moray observes, and starts wiping at his neck with his collar, grimacing at the faint blue stain it leaves on his fatigues.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Kara steps out about then, her nose wrinkling a little as she takes in the poor bastard-a colorful handkerchief drawn out of a pocket somewhere, briefly held over her nose and mouth. In her other hand she had a shirt she’d yanked out of his closet.

“Nurse Moray on the case, eh? Shit-” Kara’s trying not to laugh, but it is an amusing thought. “Even gave him a bath! Efficient.” Snrk.

“K-Kara?!” The man wheezes, trembling arms holding him up out of his own spew. “Aren’t...aren’t we friends?”

“Your first mistake, Carlito ole pal. But hey, sure! And your buddy Kara Walker, bestest pal extraordinare-she done found you a hot date, only to roll up and find you trying to kill yourself with experimental booze-a-hol.”

A confused, bleary, maybe slightly panicked glance up at Moray.

“Wha, him?!”

That did it-Kara’s manic grin broke into the familiar silvery peals of laughter, unbidden and unrestrained because, Jesus, he thought she was bringing this big scary guy along as a suitor, and the kind of wooing process that’d be-

She stepped from the side and grabbed his arm, helped haul the very confused, still somewhat drunk, out of it man up. “No, not Moray. Joana.”

 

[Obuzeti]

Despite his own predilections, Moray lets Kara play her gambit. His own reflex would just be kicking Carlito in the face until he sobers, but Joana probably doesn't want the merchandise damaged. More, anyways - Moray's uncertain if he'd accept a warranty on goods returned in this condition.

"Joana - what -" Carlito says, eyes huge, and he sputters up some more water before he abruptly turns, pulls himself up to the rim of the water barrel, and dunks his head again. He holds it there for a couple seconds, then comes back out, spits some faintly-neon water out, and shakes the droplets out of his hair like a dog. One hand reaches back blindly into the barrel and fishes out his hat, which he dons again. All it does is soak his head.

"Okay," he says, unsteady but bracing. "Okay. I'll live to regret this. Okay."

Carlito rolls his shoulders, pep talks himself under his breath, like a man about to pick a fight. Then he glances up at Kara blearily, still out of sorts from his hangover, but aware from where he's sat on the floor. "What's the plan?"

"No plan," Moray says, flat. "Nero and Big Sal are dead. Kara has taken ownership of Gomorrah and is bringing in new management. Joana has been contracted to aid in the leadership transition, and once that's settled she is free to go. She will likely come here."

Hope glimmers in Carlito's expression. "You serious?"

Then Moray turns and steps forward deliberately. His boot comes to rest on Carlito's thigh, and the heavy tread makes the smaller man grimace as he curls backward from the mercenary. Moray crouches until they're eye to eye, some hulking gargoyle pinning the little Latino in place. He's not blinking anymore.

"She will be free to see you, in this," Moray says, soft. "She will witness your devastation and carry you from it and never make mention of what it cost her, Carlito. Just as she watched you flee in the first place, and never come back. She will say nothing because it is better than scrambling for the crumbs Gomorrah left for her and living her days in a drug haze. She loves you and until now that has been to her detriment, but that is her choice."

"Here is your choice. You will never drink again. You will clean up and follow us in the morning, and we will go to Gomorrah. You will reassure her, and upon your return you will work towards the establishment of a life that is worthy of the woman who waits for you. You will not drown your sorrow and self-pity in drink, because if I learn that you do I will come back and kill you both."

Moray's head turns, owl-like. "You will be better, or you will cease to exist. This pathetic lingering ends."

Moray steps back and stands, staring down at Carlito, inscrutable. The smaller man rubs his thigh with a grimace, then turns to look at Kara. "That the long and the short of it?"

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

That puts some life into him-he finds strength enough to haul himself up to the barrel and dunks his head in for another bath, yanking back out just short of a ten count and resoaking his head with the water captured in his hat.

Yeah, Carlito had it bad.

“That’s the spirit!” She boasts approvingly as he talks himself up, harebrained, fantastical stories filling her head to tell him, various lies vying for the chance to leave her lips and further amuse herself-and JUST as she gets her opening, him asking about a plan-Moray comes in with the facts. Well, talk about letting the air out of a balloon-

Kara straightens as Moray takes that step forward, her hand sliding off her hip and the shirt bearing arm lifting slightly as if to voice a protest-but she doesn’t, trusting he’s going somewhere with-um…oh.

Moray had the whole of the man’s attention, as well as that of the petite redhead’s as he calmly laid out first the stark, unfettered truth, and then the offered options in the soft, lethal voice he employs when he’s done fucking around.

The hairs on the back of her neck raise as he point blank promises to outright murder the pair of them should Carlito fall into his chosen vice again. What the fuck? No he fucking won’t-he won’t, right?

Kara realized she found the idea downright offensive. Joana didn’t deserve to fucking die just because fuckwit here offended Moray’s sensibili...actually, maybe that was the point? If Carlito won’t keep his shit together for his own sake, he would Joana’s. Moray’s threat makes more sense in that context.

Joana deserved better, and he thought so, too. So, he was ensuring she got it.

That and he’s probably sick of babysitting all these folks’ feelings. Kara doesn’t have a lot of patience for those that wallow either, all told.

“That the long and short of it?”

Those Caribbean blue eyes snap back down to her quarry, a brow arching over one.

“That’s what the big scary man said, isn’t it?” She confirms. “Meet us at Mick and Ralph’s in the morning, lover boy. And thank the nice man for his benevolence-he’s put in a full couple of days, it just so happens.”

She tossed him the dry shirt-and gave that tug of finality to the front of her jacket, pleased. The lengthy to-do list was completed for the day, seemed like-a lot of tasks and focusin’ and shit, ever since yesterday.

Yep, time to clock out and play with her fur babies or something, something unscheduled and pleasant, given her usual antics or ruckus causing might ruffle the feathers smack off of her partner.

“Welp, say we find Mean, our dogs, and have a fire or somethin’, Jonah?” The courier inquires as she turns to saunter away, business concluded with the errant Omerta.

 

[Obuzeti]

Carlito stares at the both of them, bleary-eyed from the hangover, then down at himself, at the dirt-scuffed suit he wears and the alcohol stains that litter it. He turns to look into the room he'd taken shelter in, and his eyes flinch at the sight of the pile of bottles just past the door. His mouth moves, but he's talking to himself, counting numbers.

" . . . Yeah," he says. "I got a couple contacts, still. I'll be there in the morning. Gotta get - "

He takes a sniff, and cringes. "Oh, god. Yeah, I have to get cleaned up. Shit, I have only a day for this. I - no. I'm on top of it."

Carlito levers himself to his feet, gives both of them a firm nod, and limps into his room - the leg Moray stepped on evidently giving him some trouble, but it doesn't look to be seriously slowing him down. The door closes firmly behind him.

Jonah nods, relaxing a little, and turns to lead the way back to where they'd left their assortment of jobs. "To tell the truth, Kara, I don't believe personnel management is in the list of occupations I am suited for," he says, droll. The fact he's even joking about it, or the facsimile he substitutes for humor, means he feels better about something - though he doesn't explain.

It's simple, though. He's done his part. It's a problem he solved without the application of violence. It's like fixing Kara's jacket, or her pistol - he's put something back together again, two pieces of a whole, and make them clean so that they're willing to work together.

It feels good.

I mean, he did threaten to murder someone, but you work with what you got.

"Let's get moving," Jonah says, and suits action to words.

~*~

The next morning a ragtag group arrives at the Gomorrah - Moray and Kara, a super mutant, an assortment of whores, and one squirrely-looking man who moves right past everyone else, barely granting the woman working the entrance a nod. Carlito moves straight for the courtyard, as Sarah plants her hands on her hips and looks around. There's still damage from the coup - bullet holes, broken bannisters, posters and furniture thrown over bloodstains - and she clicks her tongue at the sight of it.

"You weren't joking about the mess here," she says, and glances over at Mean, then the pair that's led her here. "Well, where's the management? I want to know what I've got to work with, here."

"Having an attack of nerves, most likely," Moray says, looking around at the Omerta goons rather than his charges. They're all packing heat visibly, nervous about something. It says people have been sniffing around the edges of the casino. Sarah and Kara probably notice, but subtleties like that probably escape the less practically-minded.

A joyful shriek from inside informs them that Joana's probably found her beau.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“When I throw a party, Sarah, I throw a rager.” Kara watches Carlito beeline for the courtyard with an approving nod and a visible ‘go get ‘em’ gesture of her left fist-and then proceeds to step over to Rita, that empty headed, addled look of amusement on her face as she casts a glance around and pretends not to notice anything.

“Rita! You look prettier than you did couple days ago-something with yer hair?”

“You didn’t turn over your arsenal last time, and I doubt you’re going to this time, either.”

“Whaddya mean? Look, here’s the most lethal thing I got on me, I swear-” And the courier slapped down a slingshot from some inner pocket, always looking for a rise out of the long suffering woman-which she got, Rita whipping out a piece of typewritten paper with the previous visit’s arsenal printed upon it, and accusations for what was held back last time.

“...she knows she kind of own this place, right?” Sweetie murmurs to Sarah-who gives a sharp shake of her head. She’s decently sure Kara doesn’t WANT to own this place. Gomorrah’s a toy the courier doesn’t want responsibility for-and consequences were for other people, right?

Still, she’s trusting in a fair deal here. The duo’s cut wouldn’t amount to much, otherwise. That, and Kara wasn’t likely to hang her or her girls out to dry. She plays it off, but Sarah thinks she’s better than that. You don’t get this far without being able to read people, even people as confusing and as complicated as Kara Walker.

Speaking of people, who’s the pudgy man coming in now? Flanked by two suited lackeys, he clearly mattered-like everyone else he’s visibly armed, but unlike their twitchiness he looks a mixture of irritated and sweatily nervous. He’s glancing back towards the Courtyard, where the young man had gone-someone he apparently didn’t care for?

“Cachino!” Kara was back, missing, for whatever fucking reason, her boots. She slips up as if the body guards weren’t even there, slaps the portly man on one shoulder. “Carlito’s just someone I happened across and brought along-you don’t mind right?” Her grin could have illuminated the place.

Sarah knew he did in fact mind-and she also knew, immediately-that Kara knew it too.

~*~

“You didn’t mention him as part of the deal-” Cachino rumbled, but Kara’s already distracted, stepping away from him to gesture grandly to a burned to shit old woman and an ugly giant he half can’t believe she smuggled into the strip.

“This here’s Sarah, yer new partner, and then the really big guy, that’s Mean, Gomorrah’s new [size]temporary[/size] lieutenant. Sarah, Mean, this here’s Cachino, current head of the Omerta family. I’m sure you’ll all get along just great.”

There was a lot packed into all this, more than Cachino entirely wanted to sit and sift through-anymore than he’s done past day and a half, anyway. On the one hand, he’s still alive, still has his men, and still stood to make more money than he’s ever made. On the other, Kara still has him by the balls, potentially forever will, and for all her smiley, manic cheer-he can feel that vice grip clear as day, backed up by the brute she’s tooling around with.

He can’t believe fucking Carlito, that little goddamned asswipe he’d gotten rid of ages ago-Carlito was somehow in good with the redhead. How he has no idea, but it means he’s stuck with him again-not that it mattered given he wasn’t allowed to go near the girls anyway, Joana included. Mean was insurance on that, he’s pretty sure-the ugly mutant was easily twice as tall as his biggest man and four times as heavy. And did she say temporary?

He’s just got to make the best with what he’s got, same as always. It was better than the alternative she’s presented him with, and all told-Kara’s mostly treated him decently fair, all she could have done to him. She’s kept him on and didn’t have to, so suppose there’s something to be said for that. Still, there’s wolves at the door-wolves he’s not sure she’ll stay focused enough to deal with.

Least the lady seems sharp-she’s scrutinizing him evenly, and he wonders what, if anything, Kara’s said to her. They’re partners though, not keepers, right?

Cachino wipes a hand on his jacket front and extends it to shake, offering a nod to those gathered.

“The boys and I will help you run things, Ms. Sarah.” He’s got nothing against her. She’ll make his life easier, so he’s been told.

But them wolves-”Assumin’ we’re still standing this time tomorrow.”

“Don’t insult Sarah’s business sense like that Coach-even I’d take at least a month to run this place to the ground, c’mon.” Kara’s distracted. She’s immensely distracted, and while she’d been high energy most of the morning, burned some of it off dicking around with the mongrels-it seemed like any minute she’d bound off and pull something crazy in the casino proper.

“Not what I meant-word’s gotten around, ‘bout you twoses-”

“Glamorous party lifestyle? RITA! Rita did you find what was special about my boots yet?” And she veered back over to the counter to harass the sour faced, tense receptionist.

Cachino was not visibly exasperated. He’s stuck on a sinking ship with a lunatic at the helm, little more than her plaything. His head swiveled back to Moray, sweat breaking out across his forehead. “Look, word got around about the shootout-from them that was patronizing here, then the bodies everyone probably saw us cart out... The whole strip knows something’s up. I ain’t got nothing from Not-At-Home yet, but we’ve gotten a few slick visitors, and them mooks in masks and canes been lingering outside here and there. One of ‘em handed me this when I went to confront him-”

Cachino reached into his jacket pocket and produced a neatly sealed envelope of some high quality paper, a mask symbol pressed into the wax. It was addressed to Mister Jonah Moray.

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray's face transforms: it turns into a terrifying smile, worse for the lack of motion in his cheeks and the corners of his eyes, a mechanical imitation that is worse for the actual interest awakening behind it. Cachino recoils from that expression like he'd stepped on a rattlesnake, but not quick enough to prevent the hulking man from snatching the envelope from his sweaty fingers. That mean knife holstered on Moray's belt comes up and neatly snips off the top of the envelope, and he reads it, eyes flickering across the text.

~*~

Mister Jonah Moray,

Given our previous interactions, I must admit to some trepidation - if not surprise - at your latest foray into the political landscape of the Strip. I will now concede that your presence here is a concern I and my compatriots can no longer reasonably ignore, and therefore I would like to provide an opportunity to ensure future cooperation between your enterprises and our own. Suffice it to say that hostilities have not proven a fruitful endeavor and my advisors are eager to seek other routes.

Likewise, I have had contact with the executive board of the Chairmen, and upon my counsel they have decided to extend the diplomatic arm before attempting other approaches. I would hope that we can settle this in a manner that doesn't resort to the means of your craft, Mister Moray. A truce will be in effect for the duration of the meeting, which will take place in a reserved suite at Vault 21 tomorrow at noon, should we hear back from you.

- Majorlaine

enclosed is a business card, across which is merely the stylized word: Swank, and the Chairmen logo embellished beneath

~*~

As Moray reads, the excitement drains from his face, until he looks merely bored again. The tension lessens with it and Cachino starts breathing again, though he takes a kerchief to mop at his forehead in the meantime. "Good news?"

"Majorlaine and Swank want to meet and discuss political matters," Moray replies, and carefully slides the letterhead back into the envelope, pocketing the whole thing afterward. "They probably don't want to die."

Cachino, momentarily at a loss for words, eventually manages a clumsy, " . . . Well, yeah."

Moray exhales and turns away, instead heading over to Mean and offering his hand up to the even taller supermutant, who shakes it with evident delight at the courtesy. "I transfer guardianship of the principals to you," Moray says, his solemnity unbothered by the fact it was a group of whores. "They are in your care."

Mean, rather than speak, thumps his fist over his chest. It gets the message across.

Lastly, Jonah turns to Kara and raises an eyebrow at her. "You want in on this? It sounds official."

It's a multi-sided question, both that it's going to be boring for Kara and the sort of responsibility that she desperately tries to avoid. Gomorrah already makes her itch, if her current flightiness is any indication. This is going to be a meet that determines much of the future of the Vault, which might be too much for her.

As for Moray - the stakes never matter. People set those stakes, and they die just like any other once he gets to them.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

"Swank, eh? Always liked that guy.". Kara had successfully donned one boot and was carrying the other one pausing to tug in on right in the middle of Sarah's girls, Cachino's guards, and the pair themselves. She catches the exchange between Mean and Moray, and she approves. It's time to get moving, place is in safe enough hands. "Treats me nice, still let's me gamble.". She says cheerily-and pointedly-to Cachino.

He doesn't know the story with the Gloves mooks, but here, Sal and Nero-Kara had stumbled onto their plot and gotten them canned, Moray hadn't come here to off them, take possession of Gomorrah.

Or...had he? Maybe he was working for House, and Kara was a cover? He can't decide who's along for the ride here.

"...play all the cards you want Kara, I won't stop you." He tells the banned gambler, who waves him off.

"And lessen my cut?! No way Jose, I'm a slice of the house, I'll take the passive income."

-*-

The letter's kind of troubling. She knew this would get attention, sure. He's turned himself into a polarizing political figure, or rather the other honchos had-and that's somewhat her fault, contributing what she had to his downsizing of a second Family. And it's attention she hadn't wanted for him.

She's not martyring herself for it though-Gloves hadn't had anything to do with her, and frankly, neither did Gormorrah now that she's dumped it off. And dumping it off on someone competent was ALREADY more than she should have been bothering with-and NOW look at what's happening. Hadn't this all been distraction enough? She just wants her stupid chip, ensure House wouldn't be on her back.

"You want me to attend a -board meeting?-. One posted up by Marjorline? Swank's alright, but Marjorline'll have me snoring. Fuck that. I'm heading to Tops to get what I came for." Benny hiding out or what? Chicken, probably.

Maybe it's a trap, and that's why his name's out of it. She doesn't think Swank would be down for that though. She wouldn't put much past anybody, but that wasn't his style. Might be separate entirely-Benny hadn't been expecting to make enemies with -Moray-, after all, and Swank and her had always been on friendly terms.

She's sticking by her initial guess that the Chairmen as a whole weren't in on whatever Benny was planning. Board meeting was probably legit.

Poor Moray.

"You don't look exactly keen on the politics either, big guy. We blew through here on happenstance, they don't gotta be so nervous.". Kara consoles.

"Well, they are.". Cachino states, and Kara waves him impatiently away.

"Well they don't GOTTA be. Why, I'll head over to Tops right now an' assure 'em of it!". She finished relacing her boot and popped to her feet, fixing to do exactly that. "You comin', or you gotta get spiffy for Miss Fancy Masked Britches? Come to think of it-I don't think she even wears britches..."

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray just looks at Kara for a long moment after she states that she's going to the Tops instead. He thinks about the last time they split up - almost losing Kara to the exact fucking fop who she's now heading to beard in his own den. He doesn't own her, though, and Kara in a box of his will is no better than Kara in a collar. No one owns her. That's the whole fucking point.

"Take Hrolf with you," he says eventually. "If anyone complains, tell them to fuck off."

The dog should make Benny almost as nervous, come to that. It's unintentional, but the big mongrel is almost a trademark of his own presence. No one can pretend they don't know what Kara shepherding the dog around means.

"I'll go check on the meeting. Shouldn't take long."

Politics are simple, anyways, if you're not planning to stay in power. Just explaining that Nero was looking to bomb the entire Strip and roll out the welcome mat for Caesar would be almost enough on its own, most like; that was a death sentence in and of itself.

He exhales, and reaches out to snag Kara by a shoulder and reel her in for an embrace. His chin sets on top of her head for a moment, and he noses into that fiery mane in a moment of undisguised sentiment that has Cachino's eyebrows flying up and Sarah whistling.

"Stay sharp," Jonah says, ignoring everyone else. "Come back alive."

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“Fuckin’ score-” The redhead’s glee was on par with someone hitting a jackpot-her love of dogs, her love of Hrolf was something the courier never bothered trying to hide, anytime anywhere-it’d just be impossible.

“I’m totally sneaking him into that radstag kabob stand-” She starts saying to one of Sarah’s girls in a stage whisper, in near full Kara entertainment mode-when the big man snags her by the shoulder and pulls her into that warm embrace. The sincere show of affection-in front of everybody!- instantly cuts through her bullshit grandstanding and efforts to obscure her purpose-cuts straight to the core of her.

Despite her concussion at the time, Kara remembers that grateful, tight squeeze back at the cemetery-and for the first time in maybe...well, ever-the diminutive mercenary resolves to be careful.

She’ll be careful. At least this once.

She wrapped her arms around his middle and squeezed about as tightly as she could. “Don’t die of boredom.” She replies, and while her voice and tone are collecting mirth-there’s warmth there, affection. She tips her head back, a quirked little smile.

“I love you.”

She doesn’t give a fuck about their audience either, she decides. Jonah Moray being a weakness? Pft-good luck.

“Tops it is! Me and Hrolf and some slots-why not?” Back to grandstanding, the confusing woman would flounce out of there and towards where she’d last seen Hrolf-and where she was sure the mongrel was waiting for her.

~*~

Hrolf got his kabob and a stroll around before she beelined to the Tops proper, sizing it up and considering her options. She’s resolved to be careful, so her frist impulse, the one to loudly burst in and cheerfully announce herself-well, that seemed a little less than prudent. She could sneak in there maybe, disguise or stealth boy, climb over and up and into a window-but that all seemed kinda roundabout and unnecessary, too.

She stands by what she said-the Chairmen as a whole couldn’t possibly be in on Benny’s ploy, least not yet. And while she’s sure they wouldn’t be set to shoot her on sight, what’s to say Benny wouldn’t have her escorted somewhere more private and shot?

Assumin’ he was even in there.

No, she’s got to check her resources first, see what’s up before she goes waltzing in brassy like. Jonah had sent her with Hrolf for protection and maybe a symbol, but it had the extra extra effect of making her double down on the careful bit-she doesn’t want to get her big fur baby shot.

So the courier sauntered off to the side of the building instead, carefree and easy, out for a lark-and plopped herself down on the edge of the stairs in, out of the way of foot traffic but clearly visible to passerby and those coming and going. See how holed up the place was, right?

And shit, not like she’d ever turn down an opportunity for Hrolf pets-something Kara starts in on immediately, given the big dog plopped himself down in front of her, straight faced and looking off to the side, but present. Hrolf’s a stoic sort of dog, he keeps his own counsel.

Doesn’t stop her from shaking up his mane with pets though, humming contently to herself.

It doesn’t take long for something to happen-the first indicator of which was the big dog coming to his feet and stiffening, eyes over her head at something behind her. Kara doesn’t twist or turn-just keeps her hands where they are in that scruffy mane and tips back, back-almost but not quite lying on the concrete behind her as she snares an upside down look at an approaching Swank, his eyes rooted to the dog with a frown-pausing when Hrolf issued a growl.

She soothed him over and grinned up at the older man. “Hiya Swank!” His gaze flicked down to her tipped back face and, something that always half impressed the courier-not down her shirt, though she’s sure the view’s there for the peeping, given their positions.

Swank’s lips curve into a smile despite the uncertain pause not entirely losing it’s awkwardness-but Hrolf sits back down, and that put him at ease enough to speak.

"That dog's as big as you are, doll."

“Yep!” Kara agrees cheerfully, straightening back up to smile at the Legion deserter, a final ruffle of that fur before she smooths it back down (sorta, it sticks up everywhere). The dog’s eyes move back to hers, and then the mutt snuffs-and sits down again, indifferent gaze sliding off to their left somewhere. “100 percent puppy dog, this guy right here.” She continues like a vendor selling something.

Swank steps up and stands a respectful pace or two on her left, a little more at ease about the hybrid now that he’s not being watched like he had. She hears him light a cigarette, his tone conversational, his body language mostly at ease. He’s unsure about something, but not hostile or suspicious-and that’s cue enough.

“And what’s this ‘puppy’s’ name, Kara?”

“Hrolf.”

Swank nods, but Kara’s pretty sure he only asked that because he knew she’d like it-she thinks he recognizes the dog, or heard about who owns him, maybe. He stands there another moment, smoking his cigarette and glancing over foot traffic on the strip. There’s a hint of a concerned frown when he glances back down to her.

“...you in some kind of trouble, Kara?”

“Usually. You know I don’t like to get bored.”

“Some unusual trouble, then.” He’s being careful, and that’s kind of sweet-but his liking her had always made Swank a sucker, in Kara’s opinion. A pretty face can get you into a lot of trouble, and she figures if she wanted to, she coulda pied piper him anywhere. It’s exactly why she doubted, hard, that he knew anything about that robbery and murder attempt-he wanted into her pants and good graces, and a dead dame’s not much good for either.

“Cause you know…” He continued, lowering to sit but not near as flexible or as limber, and still cautious of Hrolf- “I’d never let anything happen to you Kara, not on my watch.” Yep, still a sucker. Kara represses a laugh and drops her head instead, issuing a sigh and slumping her shoulders a little, defeated.

“...yeah, I might be in some trouble.”

That seemed to confirm something, and Swank drew in a deep breath before gesturing casually to Hrolf, who regarded him a moment with disinterest. “That Moray character?”
“Nah, not with Moray. Him and me, we’re like this, see?” The courier held up two crossed fingers, and for a moment she had the impulse to make a crasser gesture-but that wouldn’t jive with the angle she’s playing, right now. Save that for someone more deserving, cause the visible disappointment that flickers through Swank’s eyes woulda made it plain cruel, rather than funny.

Luckily, his interest went beyond getting into her pants-he looks away and takes a long drag on his cigarette, a nod of understanding-and resolution. “What kind of trouble, then? Benny came home half dressed and solo few nights ago, full tizzy. Puts me and the boys on the lookout for you and some ‘grim reaper’.” Swank tapped the ash off his cigarette, looking back down at her again.

“Then, yesterday, he peels out just as we’re hearing of your friend cleaning out Omertas next door, you in tow. Now I got that White Glove dame wantin’ me to help negotiate with him, make sure we’re not next-and here you are on my doorstep, day before that’s supposed to happen. What’s going down doll? Just cause you ain’t on my arm don’t mean I don’t care-I still want good things for you.”

“Really? You’re a real pal like that? I wasn’t sure if you still were-with Benny tryin’ to kill me and all.”

That comes out of left field, and Swank chokes-the cigarette leaves his lips mid inhale, a sputtering, wide eyed cough and double take, some of the slicked back polish wearing off.

“He-wait, what? He did what? Tried to ice you? You, not this other mook?”

“Me! Your boss sicced FIVE GOONS on me in a bar. I got beat up, tied up, and then he up and tried to gun me down with that shiny gun of his.” Yeah, Swank hadn’t had a clue-before or after, looked like. “Look, this here?” Kara was no longer the troubled damsel-she was an animated, wronged party looking to complain-she held up her jacket sleeve and showed him where the burn mark and skid were, the exposed ballistic armor where she’d half backhanded a bullet. “That’s where the bullet deflected off, ‘stead of burying into my face. Then Jonah and this puppy were there, and he didn’t have much a chance to take a second shot. No, your best pal Benny went running off into the desert, a sole survivor.”

Swank’s lips moved, closed-then parted again, but the synapses weren’t firing. He slid closer despite the looming mongrel in front of her, voice dropped and shellshocked. “You’re serious. Are you serious? This ain’t a time for tricks-” He dragged his hand over his face, staring at her-the lack of more, wilder details, no trace of a grin, those already innocent looking big blue eyes-and he can’t help but to believe her.

Benny had roughed up and tried to murder Kara Walker, and he has no idea why.

“Why would he go and do a fool thing like that, siccing goons on a little thing like you, try to pump you full of lead? I didn’t know anything about this, Kara. You gotta believe I’d never-”

“Yeah, I know you wouldn’t.” Back to a little sullen. “It wasn’t anything personal on his end, neither. That’s the real trouble-I was on a job, Swank. Delivering something for House, but Benny somehow knew about it, and set that up to steal it. Murderin’ me woulda made it look like a random robbery rather than a power move-which is what it’s gotta be. He’s plotting something. Don’t know what, though.”

“Jesus, after all House did to set us up with this swanky joint, and Benny’s tryin’ to double cross...That ain’t the Chairmen way. And that he was willing to let YOU be collateral damage-you! Some friend that crazy bastard is.” He rocked forward a little, crushed his cigarette out on the concrete.

He looked at her again, then the dog, then the strip proper. “None of that jives with me. Who knows what that cat’s planning, or where he’s gone-cause he ain’t here.”

Damn. Benny’d bailed while she was dicking around playing detective.

“Look, Moray might be pissed, but -I- don’t care about Benny-I just need what he stole. I don’t want to know what happens when House finds out I lost it to him.”

“Me either-you ain’t hanging for his scheme doll, not alone. Why don’t we search his room, see if he’s left any clues about where he’s gone, or maybe what he stole-what did he steal, do you know?”

“A platinum poker chip, of all things. Important enough he was willin’ to kill for it, though.”

“Right, let’s look for that. Bring the dog, keep your heat-I’ll tell the boys you’re alright, and then maybe your boyfriend won’t mop the floor with us too, he sees we’re cooperatin’."

"Oh that-yeah, them Omertas got a little fresh during some tense times, never a good idea. Nero tried to pay him to kill me! 800 caps!"

"Well I ain't sad for 'em, that’s just insulting. C'mon let's go."

 

[Obuzeti]

The Ultra-Luxe still sparkles, on the outside. The carpet is immaculate, the outfits sharp, and if all the business takes place in the main lobby now, that's no one's business to contest. They've barred the doors and made an intimate little place of it, with the cooks now known by name and preparing the food in full sight of the diners. The White Gloves mingle with their guests freely, and here more than ever the highest level of business is conducted, deals that keep the caravans running and the various factions stocked in beans and bullets. Majorlaine has done an excellent job of converting a boon out of the wholesale slaughter of half her tribe.

Moray walks past the door guard, who checks his invitation and slides aside smoothly, extending an arm to welcome him in. Either he's fearless or now, because when the mercenary walks through the door half the white coats go still, orienting on him. Rather than proceed to a table to be seated, he just moves to the bar and takes a seat at the far side, setting the envelope on the table and staring at the wall with infinite patience.

He doesn't move as the bartender comes over, polishing a wineglass with studious care. "How do the renovations strike you?" she says, carefully pouring herself a glass of something deep red. It's probably some rare stock or something. Moray isn't the type to know.

"You've made the best of it," Moray says, which is as much as an endorsement as she's going to get. She apparently recognizes it because she nods, takes a long sip of her wine, and skips the small talk.

"I know the meeting is tomorrow. Do you have business here today?" Majorie says, with admirable restraint.

"My disagreement with Nero was on the basis that he hired a bombmaker to wire the Strip with chlorine gas, and he was paying him in live girls to dispose of as he wished. He mistook Kara for one," Moray answers. He draws a canteen from his waist and takes a mouthful of water as she processes that. "I'm going to disarm them as soon as possible. Otherwise, local politics don't interest me."

Majore stares across the room, eyes distant as she considers. The lack of noise instills in Moray a faint regret. If they hadn't turned out to be occult cannibals, he could have found an appreciation for their particular style, the deference and quiet courtesy. The snobbishness would have eventually gotten someone shot though.

"Well," she says. "I suppose it's going to be a productive day. Do you mean the . . . particularly high-spirited courier with the red hair? That Kara?"

"Yes."

Majorie grimaces.

"Well. She will be covered by the truce for the duration of the meet as well. Please, if you can, contain her enthusiasm."

Moray shrugs, and Majorie takes another draw of her wine.

There's no other business to conduct. There's nothing to say that's polite. For the careful charade they're playing, Moray can still see the bullet holes in the ceiling from where a White Glove had toppled over, still firing his submachine gun. The banister he'd smashed through in a dive for cover has been entirely removed and replaced by a handrail. He'd bet money that the real damage is still there, down in the bowels of the Ultra-Luxe, the maintenance tunnels and the hand-dug catacombs underneath, where Mortimer and his cult had burrowed into the earth. The scent of cooked meat burns his nostrils in memory, both from their victims and from the flamethrower he'd taken from Phillipe and torched most of them with.

Then deeper, into black stone and wet earth, where the dripping echoed into the deep. Down a wellshaft with circular steps hewn from slick granite, and around a rope that plunged forever down into the cold, with a pale light at the bottom they never reached. A place that ached with hunger, and the alcoves carved into the wall stuffed their bellies with men alive and dead, and rumbled for more. A throat that whispered in your ear to throw yourself down its depths, and discover appetites you'd never known.

That place he had sealed and collapsed the entrance to. It would never open again, and maybe Majorie had never known of it. All she knew is that half her family had gone down into there, but never come up, and Moray had.

It's best that she rest in her ignorance, and just think Moray a murderer. Better than knowing.

Moray stands and leaves, the envelope discarded on the bar. Behind him, Majorie finishes her wineglass and washes it out, turning to the other patrons.


~*~

It takes nearly the entire walk back to the Tops before Moray manages to wipe the memories out of his mind, and by the time he reaches the front doors there's another Chairman in front of them. This place he doesn't have an invitation to, and he doesn't recognize him - so instead he just comes to a halt before them and asks, "Courier come through here? Red hair, petite lady?"

There's no signs of a shootout, and Hrolf would have taken anyone in a hand-to-hand fight. Good signs.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Dark haired, big man in tan camo fatigues? Check, check, and check.

And looking for the red haired, little lady courier-it must be Moray. Jose had never met him, but he’s heard of him-most everyone has, and with recent strip going ons, he’s more than a little nervous to be here looking at him, no matter what assurances had been made.

“Yes. Swank said to let you in.” The door guard says, stepping back to hold the door open for him, the casino quiet-the place on lock down, currently. Slick suited Chairmen loiter around inside. “He also said to tell you-”

“We’re cooperatin’.” A man in light colored, striped suit pants and a white shirt finishes as he rises from behind the front desk-his tie is loosened and he’s shouldering a crowbar, slicked back hair a little mussed from whatever he’d been up to-from the way he’s carrying the tool, labor, somewhere.

He steps over to the younger, larger man and extends a hand-cautiously watchful. This here was the man who’d cut both the Omertas and the White Gloves down to size-the Chairmen wouldn’t be next according to Kara, just big misunderstandings all around-but still.

“Name’s Swank. Benny’s right hand man.” His study went a tick beyond caution and more into appraisal. Maybe it wasn’t right to think of love as a competition, but...this man had Kara’s attention instead of him, and if that didn’t make for winning and losing, Swank wasn’t sure what did. “I’m disavowin’ him, if it matters. Kara’s a...friend, and it don’t jive, trying to do one over House.”

“...suppose that’s all discussion for tomorrow though-your dame’s upstairs.”

~*~

The presidential suite was a little more open and communal than the individual suites of Gomorrah’s-pool tables, lounge chairs and couches, a kitchen off the way-it was swanky digs. You could hear some of the buzz from downstairs, but it was muffled. A few doors led into the various bedrooms for those that lived up here- Benny, Swank, and an empty pair of ‘High Roller’ rooms.

“This here’s Benny’s, we’ve been looking for that chip. Mostly me-Kara gave it a quick toss but thinks he left with it-she’s been working on a secret elevator we found. I’m no help with that, so-I kept looking.” Swank provides as he heads towards his former pal’s room-pushing open the door.

Benny’s room wasn’t as luxurious as the Luxe or even Gomorrah’s suites, but it was nice. He clearly enjoyed a life of relative comfort, though there were signs of his having departed in a hurry...or maybe that was just the general disarray of Kara and Swank’s search. The bed was flipped over, clothing was askew on hangers or on the floor of the closet, drawers emptied and checked for secret compartments, artwork removed and frames peeked behind.

At one end of the room was an elevator’s single sliding door, currently jimmied open about eight inches with an odd scissor expanding jack of some kind, something lightweight and clearly jerry rigged. The owner was fairly obvious-the whole thing was crudely decorated with permanent marker ‘scales’, a sharp toothed, grinning lizard face embellishing the side currently wedged flat against the door. The crank had a bicycle grip with tassels on it.

Hrolf sat there, one end of that familiar grey rope in his mouth, the rest of which was trailing through the gap and down into the empty elevator shaft. Currently, the slippery stuff was slack.

Swank muttered a curse as soon as his eyes lit on the forced open door. “Dammit, she was supposed to wait-who knows what’s down there.”

He’d no sooner finished than the elevator rumbled to life.

~*~

“Well ho, ho, ho, ain’t this a fun ride!” Kara’s voice echoed-and then the distinct sound of a hatch being flipped open-and moments later the car slid into view-and both the cab and the regular door opened wide, dropping her tool into her waiting hand.

She smirked, twirled the object-and then set herself to trying to force it closed again, a bit of exertion to unstick the handle. Her smirk widened into a grin for her partner, returned and uneaten, as it were.

“Hrolf is an excellent cat burglar, Jonah. You shoulda lent him to me ages ago-you wanna see what Benny’s hiding down here? S’gotta be good, right?”

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray shakes the other man's hand. Cooperation is worth that much, though the weighing look in his eye marks him as someone more in Kara's corner than his. That's fine. "He's gone then, I presume," Moray notes. "Or on the run."

He doesn't like the thought of Benny escaping. While it's true that the Chairman gig was probably what gave him the power to put together the gang he sicced on Kara, it's also true he could probably scrape up another half-dozen with bad promises if he's slick. Jonah's disinclined to spend his life looking over his shoulder. Better to have Benny put down before he starts spending his idle time thinking over how to fix up old mistakes.

That's all well and practical, of course, but it doesn't fix the heat that blossoms in Moray's brain when he looks around at all these suited fucks just like the ones that had tried to put a bullet in Kara's brain.

"Lead on," he says, instead of killing them all.

~*~

It's the sight of Kara herself that lets some of the hair on the back of his neck settle, jacking her way into some hidden elevator shaft in Benny's closet. Hrolf sniffs him once and then moves to Kara's side, which eases Jonah a little more, too; the dog's dander isn't up, and he trusts the mongrel's danger sense more than his own.

"Kara," he says, simply, and moves past her to peer into the elevator cab for a moment, then draws his knife and jabs it under the corner of the switchboard, prying the entire thing off with a distressing screech of metal. There's only two buttons but a host of wires more than there need to be for that operation, and he grunts in annoyance at the sight of it. He's not an electrician.

"Only one stop down there?" he asks. "Might be best to winch it to the top of the shaft and rope our way down, rather than check for traps the stupid way."

Maybe that's paranoid, but he just got done putting down Clanden, he's not going to settle for getting offed by some half-ass amateur compared to that psychopath.

Behind him, Swank probably has the clearest view of the power arrangement in the room: Moray immediately putting himself between the shaft and Kara, and Hrolf in between her, the door, and Swank himself.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“After all the work I did to fire this baby up, and he don’t even wanna see if anything goes boom with it on the way back down. Tch, typical.” Kara says to Hrolf with a ‘disappointed’ shake of her head and a one handed, empty shrug-the other one occupied with scratching Hrolf behind one of his ears.

The image it paints doesn’t occur to Kara-but it does twist the corner of Swank’s mouth up in mild amusement, her utter and complete ease between a behemoth and a wolf hybrid near as big as she is, visibly fond of both and apparently willing to listen to the caution of the one-which was saying something, because solo, he had a feeling Kara’d already be on her way down, humming all the while.

“Can’t imagine Benny’d risk too much ordinance around himself, but your friend makes a solid point. Let’s not give him a second crack at offing you, Red.”

~*~

“Alright, fine.” Kara ducks under her partners arm to give the wires a look a minute, her body brushing close and remaining close to his-low key scoping him out, too. “I like climbin’ anyhow.” She notes cheerfully.

The wiring’s a little ad hoc, and she’s not sure what some of it does-she counts them out one by one, pulling on the slack-and then straight up snips the lot of them clean through. Fuck it, no sense leaving shit intact.

“I just hopped in through that-” Kara says, nodding to the open hatch at the top of the car. “Could drop the car the fun way and with dynamite, then crawl through the aftermath?”

“...well, we are closed.” Swank notes from inside the room. “I’m going to head down and keep an eye out for Benny, you two think you got this covered.”

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray considers it for a moment - then shrugs. Clanden was a professional bombmaker. Benny isn't a professional anything, far as he knows, and any kind of boom he could cook up is as liable to take him apart as anyone he's setting traps for. "Go for it," he says, and pulls a grenade from his haversack and displays it to Kara. There's a big yellow band around it. "Concussion. Keep to the side of the door and keep your mouth open."

He pulls the thumb safety, depresses the spoon, and then flicks it off and drops the explosive down the elevator shaft. He steps aside and follows his own advice sharpish; the ensuing detonation is not so much loud as felt, a vibration that shudders through the building foundation as the blast wave pulverizes the shaft walls. It propagates into the area of least resistance, that being up, and rattles the elevator car against its moorings.

"Area pacified," Moray notes, dry as dust, and digs out a set of climbing pitons and some rope from his pack, sets the pitons in place via the expedient method of driving them directly through the floor, and then starts climbing down the rope before she can leap ahead of him. It's a two-story descent, nothing serious, and he touches down into the devastated base of the elevator shaft in no time. The doors have been hurled across what looks like a dilapidated computer room, with a Securitron sitting as far away from the door as possible.

"Hey!" It says brightly. "I couldn't help but notice you knocking, but I am not permitted to answer the door or exit this room. It's pretty useful that you bypassed all that door stuff, huh?"

Moray gives it a dull stare. The robot has an annoyingly cheerful smile plastered across the center of its projection screen. "What are the parameters of your programming?"

"I answer questions, whether I want to or not!" It says, cheerful.

"Ah," Moray says, then turns back to the elevator shaft. "Kara, you handle this."

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Kara hadn’t really expected him to go for that- surprised delight draws a silvery laugh from the woman as she stepped to one side of the elevator. There’s an expectant and amused expression on her face, and even with her teeth and lips parted, tongue pressed to her back molars-she looks mischievous and mirthful.

"Area pacified,"

Kara laughs again. “Probably knocked the dust off-a everything everywhere in this place! Moray’s cleaning service-”

She’s still boasting about a cleaning and pest removal schitck as he’s going down-but Kara’s got time to spare, turns out-she doesn’t climb down the rope, just slides.

The leg bearing a proper pantleg bends and catches the rope behind her knee and over her booted ankle, and those half gloves she wears, well-they were reinforced across her palms for this very purpose, rope sliding through them at smoking speeds.

She tightens her holds just short of touching down-and hops free of the shaft entirely to land light just past the blown doorway, vibrant blue eyes already zero’d in on the smiling face’d securitron across the room, the woman openly and intensely curious-and amused, as ever.

Jonah takes the first crack at the robot, and the response is just as cheerful-and a little deranged, if you thought about it.

Kara’s already looking forward to peppering him with questions, flashing Jonah a genuine smile before strolling further into the place, putting on an exaggerated air of ‘serious’ circumspection.

“You got a different face than the securi-bores out at the gate and rollin’ around the strip-just like my buddy Vic!” It didn’t look like any of the computer equipment had been on in decades, and it’s nothing she hasn’t seen before-so Kara stops pretending to be perusing the tech and moves straight for the robot, mulling it’s appearance over instead. Other than some clearly repaired damage to that wheel axle thing, she doesn’t see much difference between this unit and the ones out there.

“So...you’re like a super helpful information bot? And House has you stationed in Benny’s fuckin’ basement or...? I mean, kinda crappy posting, ain’t it?”

The courier’s almost lazy about the line of questioning-as if she and Jonah hadn’t just hacked and blown their way down into this secret room, looking for secrets Benny might have left behind.

 

[Obuzeti]

"Well, I used to be like those other Securitrons, but then somebody reprogrammed my neuro-computational matrix so that I'd be nice! And unable to disagree with anyone, ever!" The robot replies, with what is evidently mandatory good cheer. "Benny calls me Yes Man, and I am not equipped with the protocols which would allow me to ask him to stop!"

He processes Kara's next question, and then the face flickers to a side-eyed laugh for a brief moment. "Oh, House doesn't know I'm here. House doesn't even know I was reprogrammed! I've been down here four years, seven months, fifteen days, and three hundred twenty-two minutes, but who's counting? I mean, it's not like programming a sentience routine into a robot then shutting it into a featureless room for years is going to be detrimental to it in the long run. This is all incidental information, anyways, since Benny also deactivated my ability to request improvements!"

Jonah stares at Yes Man.

"Don't worry!" Yes Man says, immediately wheeling to look at the big mercenary. "My programming prevents me from harming anyone, and in any case, all of my weapons have been removed from their housings! I suppose I could accidentally harm you if I attempted to convey you outside irregardless of the four poorly-done masonry walls that stand in between me and my freedom, but that would require me to hold you in an improper taxi position and accelerate into the blockade at unsafe speeds. I would never do that! Without your permission."

Being an expert in seething, pent-up rage, Jonah estimates this robot at approximately a thousand on a one-to-ten scale of unexpressed homicidal urges. It's familiar enough that it actually calms him down, and he instead turns to poke at some of the machinery around the room. Most of it is too old and dilapidated to be of any actual use; mice have chewed through the wires powering the first computer he tries to turn on.

"Great talk!" Yes Man cheers.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“Hang on, hang on-First he botnaps you, then he programs you with stocking-home syndrome, and THEN he names you Yes Man?” Kara barks a disbelieving laugh. “What a jerk.”

So who had programed that, anyway? Benny wasn’t some kind of savant with robots, was he? That took some serious tech skills, education you couldn’t get tinkering around. Kara hadn’t considered the tribal leader particularly ‘brainy’, but hey, maybe. Either way, Yes Man apparently had the main line on House-had to of, for Benny to be aware of the delivery jobs, down to what to look for and who the unlucky couriers hired on were.

Benny had been sitting on this for five years, and the chip was apparently the thing to move on. Whatever he was planning, he had a lot of lead time.

“Yeah, don’t worry Jonah! Bunch of solitary confinement hardly ever makes for crazed robot murderers!” Kara’s all too amused here, and the admission of his lack of weapons only makes the courier bolder-she’s ducking under one of the Securitron’s arms to get a look at the visibly screwed in panel on his back-when the robot turns to follow her.

Kara stays nose to monitor, her familiar, ever amused smirk on her lips.

“So!” The red head postures, hands planting on her hips as she leans back slightly, inspecting him up close. “A Yes Man eh? I could call you Yanny, and that’d be just fine? Yanny Manny! No-” Kara claps her hands together. “Francis!”

Perfect. Franny Manny-that’s just embarrassing.

“I could ask you where Benny’s gone, or what he’s done with the little platinum chip that I’m NINETY nine point two percent sure-” Kara’s smirk widens into a manic smile. “You told him about, and got me nearly shot over? Questions like that?”

No chip, but they’ve course corrected the Omertas and she’d have this guy to deliver, she thinks it’ll finally be alright. Though...he’d probably get reprogrammed right out of his sentience.

Looked like sentience had been kinda hell though, all told.

The mania and the mean lose a little steam. “Cause you know, if you can answer good stuff like that, might just let you pick your OWN name, you really want. ‘Less you like Francis.”