Know When to Fold 'Em (Closed for Obuzeti)

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“Snrk-you thought I was just going to volunteer Clanden’s new uh, ‘situation’?” Kara had pocketed the little switchblade and started in on stacking papers. There’s a lot of them, but Kara kept gathering them up for whatever purpose-whether to take them or to clean up the table for some inexplicable reason, who could say?

“I don’t tell nobody nothing ‘less they’re paying me, or it’ll get me somewheres.” Out of trouble, for instance. No, she doesn’t trust Nero not to flip out from the get go-she’s not discounting Jonah’s capability to just-go on a spree here, she just doesn’t want to commit to it before she has to. She doesn’t want Nero to start the fight before they do.

Options, she wants to have options.

“-You- don’t ask for jobs, you’re right.” Kara nods. He doesn’t have to, he just rolls through on his schedule and jobs find him. “But like, sixty five, seventy whole percent of mine I get by being nosy.” She pauses to look at a sketched design, then shuffles around until she finds a matching one, just from a different angle. Kara looks it over, turning it this way and that with her tongue between her teeth. “Or y’know, I do one in exchange for something else I want. No favor’s free, and some trades require legwork.”

She slaps the papers back down and tears both drawings out with bordering, small rips until they’re free of the scribblings, then slips them beneath the journal before adding the scribbled writing portions to the pile.

And if they need killing, Jonah says, just cross her arms in their spy signal. That’s an option she’s not used to having. Maybe part of why she’s not running? But he’s not fucking bullet proof. She can’t get lazy. Talking first, and maybe they won’t need killing. If she can get them to loop them in, they just might be able to steal the stuff before it can be used on the intended target. But...Nero had sacrificed Joana’s girls to a sadist. He had a nasty weapon he was willing to use on a widespread scale, and knowledge of that weapon.

Kara keeps coming back and chewing on that, no matter what other things compete for her attention in that overpacked, distracted brain of hers. She scoops up the eight inch high stack of papers, takes a step towards the greater area of the suite-then stops dead, realizing she hadn’t offered any sort of excuse for why she wanted to stop this.

Kara turned back to him a moment, just-looking. Then she shifted the papers hugged to her chest over to one arm and strode back, reaching up to wipe what she could of the faint drops of blood splatter away. And then she drew him down to kiss him, assuming he’d let her.

Her thoughts slowed down a little, her forehead to his forehead, co-conspirators Jonah and Kara.

“They don’t know why we’re following each other around.” She points out. “Contract on your part, business partnership, lovers-they don’t know what kind of partners we are.” Both kinds, of course. All the kinds. “But I’ll be in there proclaiming we’re a package deal. I clearly know too much, and can’t be taken care of unless they want to try tackling you too. Whether they think you’re long suffering or not I don’t know-but I think they’ll go for it, and tell me what I want to know.”

“And then-well, and then…nobody’s gotta die like that.”

There. There, she said it. Her heart skitters, pumping faster than it had when Clanden dumbfuck over there had rushed her. She knew she trusted Jonah, she just…

It’s a little dizzying, admitting that outloud. And maybe a little too much.

She popped back, heading for the firepit. “Aaaand if we do kill them, we can loot not just their pockets-but Nero’s whole office!” There she went again, bright and cheery and addled with insanity. “I mean, we can hardly try to charge Joana for work she didn’t ask for, right? Bound to be something good in there maybe another souvenir!”

She tossed the papers through the hole in the grating, found one of the sparkler matches she’d tucked into the side pocket of her jumpsuit earlier-and cheerfully struck it with flair before tossing it into the firepit and onto the pile of papers.

She waited just long enough for a large corner of the stack to catch flame and flare into life, the colors changing to green, then blue, then red as different chemicals sparked on the thing. “Aw, shoot. I hadn’t meant to waste one of the rainbow ones.”

~*~

Kara had changed her clothes. Given the very real possibility a fight was coming up, she made sure to don her lucky, trademarked jacket-it didn’t quite match the rest of her outfit (did she ever?) but it did lend it a rather wild look just for contrast-because Kara was dressed like a poor man’s Omerta gangster.

An eggshell white button up shirt was tucked into a pair of pinstripe pants that were only slightly faded in spots, black, familiar looking suspenders she actually usually traveled with, and an honest to God tie and fedora. She looked faintly ridiculous and attractive at the same time, which was fairly typical of her usual fashion sense. The red tie might have been a dangerous liability for sake of fashion-but a glance at the back of her neck revealed it had been cut and looped through two sides of a breakaway buckle. Yanking on it would just take it off rather than strangle her.

She’d pinned her hair up in a surprisingly classy style under her hat, and cheekily doffed it at Cachino when they exited the stairs to find him waiting on them nervously.

“He went upstairs.”

“This might surprise you old pal, but we noticed.”

Cachino glanced between them, waiting for more-but Kara didn’t volunteer anything, busy fixing the knot on her tie. “Was it him?”

“Yep.”

“Bad?”

“Sicker fuck than you are. Killed at least two.”

Cachino’s expression darkened, a shake of his head. “What a waste.”

“Gets worse-he thought Nero had sent me up there for the same sort of treatment.”

“So, he did know.” Cachino looked visibly disgusted.

“Oh, he super knew.” Kara tapped her temple before starting in again. “What’s worse, something’s going on, just like you said. We think Nero’s making a move against House.”

She has no idea if that’s it or not, but that’s what she uses, because that’s what jumps Cachino’s eyebrows super high, nearly touching his nonexistent hairline. “Against House?!”

“Yep. So listen, coach-we wanna see the bossmen, see what’s going on with that.”

“Jesus Christ, Kara-not even you can blackmail Nero.”

“Pfft, says you.” Kara rolled her eyes. “Maybe it takes, maybe it doesn’t, and if it doesn’t-probably gonna get messy. Help us out, and it’d probably go good for you.”

His brows furrow, then something seems to dawn on him about what she’s saying. If they kill Nero and Big Sal, that’d leave HIM in charge.

“So...what’s the plan?”

“Get us in there. Tell ‘em I’m claiming to know something about their special project, that I got ideas. Tell ‘em Moray’s with me.”

“And Clanden?”

“You saw the three of us talking in a corner before he went upstairs, alone. Then alluva sudden I came to you wanting to talk to Nero.”

Cachino nods, still a little dazzled by the shift in things. “I can post my men at the doors. Limit things to Zoara’s.” A glance between the two of them. “If it goes that way, I mean.” He was clearly hoping it’d go that way.

 

[Obuzeti]

For effect, Moray had chosen not to wash all of Clanden's blood off - there were still drops of it sinking into the fabric across his chest and down one leg. His expression had arranged itself into that peculiarly still peacefulness he achieves directly before murder happens.

"Cachino," he says, soft. "I have no interest either way. But I am not fond of being shot at. I will report Clanden's death and ask in which areas I should invest my interest for the immediate future. If they take exception, I assure you the disturbance will be shortly resolved."

It's the psuedo-politeness, the closed waters of Moray's face, that makes it terrifying. It looks like the surface of the ocean, flat and still and forever, but what surges from its depths knows no mercy or fear.

He turns then and makes his way to Zoara directly - but his forearm brushes against Kara's on the way, as much signal as he ever gives.

He steps through the double doors without so much as glancing either way and immediately steps to the side, making way for Kara. Big Sal turns back from the balcony and raises an eyebrow. "Who - Moray. What's your business?"

Moray doesn't even blink as Kara comes through. "Stick."

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“I assure you the disturbance will be shortly resolved."

He’s being absolute, 100% serious, and Kara believes him-but it’s still funny.

Still, that soft voice and simple, dangerous politeness keeps the impulse in check. She knows it’s not for her, but-well, still didn’t seem real prudent to giggle. So she stifles a grin and ducks her head as she messes with her waistband-and then he brushes by and it’s time to go.

She turns to follow along, slower with that pepped but lazy saunter of hers-and Cachino at her elbow, shifty eyed and sweaty.

"He really just gonna lay Clanden's death out like that?"

"He's a very honest guy, that Moray." Kara replied cheerily, that cocky smirk on her lips again.

"And take 'em out if they get nasty? I've heard the stories…” He trailed off, distracted-and then cut her a glance. “But you know I'd throw in with you anyway, gunfire did erupt."

Kara sincerely doubted that, but she just gave him a smack on the shoulder instead. “I’d hope so, bestest pal. Never know, change might be good, ‘round here.” Without Moray he’d probably really prefer it if she was offed, but with him-well, Nero and Big Sal dying leaves him in charge, no wonder he’s taking the possibility in such easy stride.

Cachino, heading up Gomorrah, the Omerta family.

...huh.

Kara finally shook him off as she hit the door after her partner-and onto the balcony outside the offices, no appointment needed.

Stick-snrk.

Her amusement dimmed as Big Sal narrowed his eyes on her, and her mirth was kinda replaced with a sense of foreboding. They’re readying up for some big plot, and she knows she’s the last thing they’d want to be looking at right now. As if reading her thoughts, Big Sal confirmed them.

"We didn't send for you, red. Dame like you ought to know better by now."

"I know I know-but I just never learn Sal, you know that.” Kara wasn’t being aggressively friendly like she had been with Devon or Cachino, or displaying the empty headed, amused disregard shown to people like Dhatri, and definitely not the more genuine, harmless teasing vibe used with people she seemed to like. Instead the courier’s at ease but a little rueful, as if she was doing something she shouldn’t, and was mildly apologetic about it.

It’s as close to showing her belly as Kara ever got, pretend or no.

Kara removed her hat, turned it little by little in her hands. “Is Nero around? There was a, well, a bit of an accident.”

 

[Obuzeti]

"Kara poked around Clanden's room, found lots of blood," Moray says, flat. His eyes don't move from where they're affixed about a foot to the left of Big Sal's gaze, not quite making eye contact. He has all the interest of a man discussing shades of carpet. "Recent killing, probably. Clanden showed up and tried for her too. I objected. His body is still in his suite, if you care for it."

There's a pause. Moray leans his head to the right. It pops, loud and ugly. His head returns to position. Blinks, slow. Turns, to make eye contact with Sal. There's a laziness to the way he moves, like he's just woken up, a rattlesnake still sunning on a morning rock. The spots of blood in his fatigues still glimmer faintly when the light hits them right. "You gave Clanden a room," he says. It's not a question. "For an extended contract. Is there an area of operations that I should be aware of in the immediate future?"

It's a double-bladed question - not quite a request for information, or a demand for Clanden's job, more a business courtesy that's unique to the way Moray operates. If Sal doesn't care to hire Moray himself, he can simply direct the man away from where he's making his play; otherwise, he runs the risk of the other side hiring him.

Sal blows out a breath, but looks marginally less displeased to be dealing with Moray, who is if nothing else, predictable in his methods. "Might want to swing south sometime in the next two weeks," he says reluctantly. "You ever work with Clanden?"

"Occasionally," Moray replies.

Sal nods, runs a hand over his face. His mouth twists up to the side and puckers at some unpleasant thought, the sort of exaggerated grimace he's suckered people with at the casino for years. "Ever rig any explosives?"

"Lake Mead, every spring to clear out the Lakelurks," Moray answers, still placid.

"Huh," Sal murmurs, and turns to look out over the balcony. Then he pulls a radio from one pocket of his big, sweat-stained business suit. "Nero, got someone you probably want ears on. It matters," Sal says into it.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

"Hey, aren't you gonna ask me?" Kara appeared to take the lack of outburst as permission for antics, if slightly more subdued antics. "-I'm- an expert in blowing stuff up you know. Invented a new bomb not all that long ago, even! Fusion core and everything."

Sal was ignoring her for something being radioed back at a faint crackle. So instead Kara leaned closer to an uncaring Moray and stage whispered.

"The secret ingredient was duck tape.". She's got that cocky smirk on her lips, and it's once again being shown to him-he's on the 'outside' of her act. As if she was again out to annoy him as much as she was Sal.

"Just a minute." Sal tells him, ignoring Kara completely-and turning to head towards Nero's office, slipping inside.

"Ten caps-." Kara murmurs, still with that empty headed look on her face, big blue eyes amused and resting on the office door. "-says they try to get you to off me. 'Nother five if it's less than Devon ponied up."

It's part of why Kara hadn't ever bothered with 'muscle' before. Or friends. Everybody had a price. Everyone.

Luckily, Jonah's price was -her-.

Still, she idly wonders what they'll offer-because she's sure they would.

The door opens and Big Sal gestures them in, and there Nero stood behind a heavy oak desk, armed with a snub nosed pistol and a mean look, a Thompson sitting at one edge of his desk.

"Jacket at the door, Red.". He wasn't falling for that a second time-the last time he thought they'd be taking care of Kara, she'd set the pin to a grenade on his fucking desk-and smiled at him.

They had worked something out.

Kara rolled her eyes but went ahead and shrugged the garment off-sure enough, her 'final gambit' was visible at the back of it, a single grenade hanging from a metal ring in the lining. Sal didn't comment as he unhooked the grenade, but Kara did.

"C'mon, like I'd pull that trick a SECOND time. Not with my bestest buddy Moray in the same room."

Sal tossed the jacket into the corner and narrowed his eyes on Kara's holster-it was the usual one that typically kept her weapon nestled in the curve of her waist, concealed by her jacket-but it wasn't, yet again, Lil' Devil holstered in it.

"The fuck is this?" Big Sal yanked what appeared to be a pop gun out of it, a colorful, obvious children's toy. A long faded sticker on the grip labeled it as a 'confetti pop'. He grimaced in disgust and didn't protest when Kara snatched it back from him, indignant.

"A party in a barrel, OBVIOUSLY." She grumbled to herself as she shoved the toy back into its holster, shaking her head at Nero and opting to push her luck even further on her way to one of the leather chairs in front of his desk.

"Jeez, can you believe this guy?". She jerked her thumb in Big Sal's direction as he pushed her down into one of the chairs. He wasn't rough about it, but it was clearly meant to be her cue to shut up.

Both men looked down at her a moment, and then over to Moray.

Nero in particular studies the blood on the mercenary's fatigues, silent for a long moment before he shifts his gaze back to Kara. The troublemaker was largely inconsequential-other than costing them their bomb expert, she didn't factor in for much. Moray, on the other hand...he knows about Moray. Maybe this was salvageable.

Sal was hovering, and Nero gave a slight jerk of his head away from her and the big man stepped back to where the Thompson rested.

"I hear you stuck your nose where it didn't belong, Kara, and now it's cost me something that matters." He doesn't look angry, exactly-his voice is surprisingly level, and his body language fairly neutral. A man considering what to do about vermin in the garage.

Kara was small time. She rolled through occasionally and used the winners suite she'd somehow won-and stayed out of trouble here in Gomorrah, these days. He hadn't killed her before because she'd managed to convince them she could make it up if they let her-and indeed, she'd done a few jobs and locked them into a sweet deal with a smuggler named Troike-a smuggler that, ironically, had actually helped them with the same operation she had just unknowingly sabotaged. The crates and crates of guns in the basement were technically the fruits of that original deal.

She was mostly harmless, if annoying-but she had panache, and big blue eyes-and he had thought she'd learned a valuable lesson about keeping her nose clean in Omerta affairs, and decided to be generous.

In hindsight, too generous.

"I let you walk out of here before, and this is how you've repaid the Family."

"Look, Nero-it was a misunderstanding! I couldn't have known this Clanden guy was a crazed murderer-just like HE didn't know Moray was staring at a wall just around the corner, thinking of how many shades of beige there are."

Nero just continued to just watch her, still thinking something over while she talked.

"Sal DID tell you what we found in there, right? Gallons and gallons of blood, all over the kitchen. I mean, if that doesn't raise alarming questions okay, but the cleaning fee alone's gonna be-"

Nero suddenly turned his attention back to Moray, interrupting whatever insane spiel Kara was about to embark on with a flat, blunt offer. "I will give you four hundred caps and Clanden's previous contract if you kill Kara."

"Whoa now, I'm worth at least five hundred. Moray himself says so." Kara smirks, leaning back into her seat with her hands behind her head. Nero doesn't even look at her, and Sal tries not to. The 'men' are talking business.

"Eight hundred, and her winner's suite."

"Don't keep low-balling him, that's rude." Kara pretended offense, then covered one side of her face and leaned over the arm of the chair, another stage whisper back at Moray. "Ask for twelve AND a second suite for Hrolf."

Her arrogance was blinding, and Big Sal was starting to look a little purple. Kara on the other hand, legitimately thought it was funny.

If Nero was offering Moray the deed instead of gunning for it himself, then he clearly wasn't sure if violence against her would have consequences or not...and he was absolutely thinking Moray was the fix to this little 'snag' she's created for him.

Shit, it's too bad it's NOT just a simple, fun heist-this would have been the perfect damned set up.

What a waste, damned bleeding heart feelings.

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray ignores Nero's posturing until he makes his offer.

"Kara is my partner," he says. The offer, even the increased one, doesn't so much as merit a raised eyebrow or a glance aside at the woman still idly sprawled over her chair. "No."

He says it like one would agree on the color a thing is, or that up remains in the direction away from the ground. Big Sal opens his mouth to say something, then glances between the two of them - Kara's complete ease, and Moray's inflexible placidity - then thinks better of it, smoothly pivoting to pull a tumbler and a bottle of scotch from a drawer. He pours two fingers and drains it with hardly a grimace. "Well then," he says, into the sudden silence. Nero looks murderous but hardly inclined to do anything about it, even if his hand is splayed wide and ready to go for the gun in his coat pocket.

Moray just looks at him, eyes lidded.

Sal stares into the bottle of scotch, through the amber liquid, and says, "Bring him in, boss. Better than them spreading it."

"Pay them for killing my catspaw?" Nero says, like they were discussing setting out breadcrumbs for the rats.

"I didn't care about your relationship with Clanden," Moray replies with a slow blink. "I still don't. If you wanted him to live longer, advising him to not run around attempting to kill women would have been well-advised."

Nero's mouth twists, but he leans back into his seat, some of that nasty tension seeping back out of his shoulders. "He was running demolitions for me. Setting up some bomb sites for me, in case of a bust. I'm out a bombmaker now but with bombs still live. Leaves me in an awkward position, Moray.'

"I'm listening," the big mercenary says, folding his hands in front of him.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Kara also remains quiet, for once-letting the two think it over. If she and Moray DID put a bookmark in making a mess here today, she had better watch her back-she was definitely on their shitlist again, and there’d be no talking her way out of it any time soon. The illusion they had before of having power over her? Totally shattered beyond repair now. Having back up they didn’t dare try to take themselves, and fucking up whatever job they had brewing?

Yeeeeah. No plausible deniability either-this was totally her fault in their mind. They’re mostly right, too.

"Bring him in, boss. Better than them spreading it."

“Clanden did kinda brag a bit before he got nasty.” Kara notes, eyes still on the ceiling, the noire dressed courier seemingly distracted by the patterns in the rusty colored water stains. “But you know, it’s whatever-we don’t got masters, do we Moray? We’re with whoever’s got caps when we don’t have a preexisting contract.”

“Way you go through ‘em, no wonder.” Sal said, pouring another drink. “C’mon, you don’t need to be here for this.”

“Fat chance Sal-I’m staying where Moray can see me. S’good insurance as any-and where’s my drink?”

Big Sal snorted before throwing back his second glass without comment, a disbelieving shake of his head. He had no idea what the hell she had on Moray-clearly not blackmail. Either they were fucking or he’d found her useful for something or other-but turning down eight hundred caps just for a good-or chance of good, he’s heard Kara’s a tease- lay? Boggled the mind.

Nero was ignoring them both in favor of focusing on Moray, having taken the bait of Moray’s open ear and Kara’s mention of details having already been out of the bag.

“It’s called Racket, and what we have should be enough to get the job done-it’s just going to take some rearranging.” He unlocked a drawer in his desk and pulled a file folder, sliding it across the desk towards the big mercenary. “I’ve got too much in this to back off now, and the signal could come any time, now. So we’ve got to prioritize and get rearranging before Not-At-Home suspects anything.”

Kara can't see what's in the folder, but she recognized who 'Not-At-Home' was-so it was a plot against House. Was there a coup in the works, Benny, Nero and maybe what was left of the Luxe? The hell was the chip for, and what did they intend to do, gas him out of his casino?

The file contained (among other things) a map with six marked locations, two of which were checked off-one beneath the NCR Embassy and the other beneath the Lucky 38. “The other four are either empty or half full-we consolidate what we can to the number three location and let our guns do the rest. I could use you on that too, as it happens-you’re actually capable in something like that. Clanden wasn’t.”

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray starts reading without hesitation. Mission info is the lifeblood of a contract mercenary, and even past that this kind of intel was usually worth hundreds of caps. Given freely, it was worth almost as much as the payment itself - there's a lot of money to be made discreetly moving consumables out of the city, then moving back in to sell it in the aftermath. The money Cassidy Caravans had made doing that was legendary, though it'd fallen on hard times recently, so rumor had it.

"Dump it to the Embassy. The 38 won't have anything worth gassing, House runs everything through his robots anyways," Moray says, eyes flicking across the pages. "I can help out there but you're going to need heavy demolitions on hand or a hell of a lot of help. The Securitrons are no joke and I can't break them all with just bullets."

He gestures Kara over to peer over his shoulder, and says, "Think you could get maybe a shopping cart or suitcase of materiel past the NCR guards? With that much inside the building we can drive them into the street, while the underground dispensers keep them from going to ground."

Moray glances up at Sal. "Kara is unparalleled at working targets, getting info, and moving contraband. Give us a day for her to set up some ammo and det stashes around the 38. I'll give you the locations soon as she's done. That'll give your men some punch so they aren't just eating bullets and buying time."

Sal looks begrudgingly impressed, as Moray transforms from a silent thug into a professional in his element, helping to coordinate the operation within minutes. "If you say so. I take that to mean you're in?"

Nero leans back into his couch and lights a cigar, some of the tension draining out of his shoulders as Moray looks to commit to the job. He'd had ants on his shoulders, for a moment, and the itch of risk is a lot more immediate when he knows that he hasn't got the fastest draw in the room. Moray's 'disarmed', sure, but clearly that didn't slow him down any.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

"Dump it to the Embassy. The 38 won't have anything worth gassing-”

Kara’s eyes snap to a cazadore shaped water stain and stay there a moment, a pulse of adrenaline and a cool wash over her skin, little hairs raising beneath the sleeves of her white button up.

It’s not just an attack on House-they plan to attack the strip itself.

Her hands move from behind her head and to the arm of the chair as she pushes herself into a proper sitting position, hat slightly askew as she looks to Moray with an expression of idle curiosity masking her building fury. He gestures her over and Kara doesn’t really stand up-she flows over the arm of the chair in a flexible movement-leg swung over, remaining one drawn up, a shift of weight to the first-and drew closer to him in a smooth, silent movement, lacking any of the flair she usually displayed.

He’s talking her up to contest their dismissal, but she barely hears any of it as she commits the map to memory-but why bother? She and Moray are going to just take it.

They’re going to take everything.

She does note that all three of the other casinos have circles around them, planned or partially implemented marks. Nero says he’s waiting on a signal from somebody, and they clearly weren’t pairing up with the Chairmen or The White Gloves. She’d know if for some inexplicable reason the Kings or the Khans or even the Fiends were involved-which left only outsiders.

But for Caesar, for the Fiends, for themselves-it honestly doesn’t matter who they’re working with to take the town, they wanted to gas New Vegas. Did these morons have any idea what that chlorine shit did? Did they want to rule over a barren graveyard of a town?

Kara’s ‘curious study’ of the map ends as she glances up at the pair of gangsters and adjusts her fedora, smirking her cocky smirk as if she’s still flippantly amused. Kara takes the file folder from Moray and returns to her chair, debating how much longer she really wants to talk to either of these guys. She scoots it back a few inches before plopping back into it, the smirk widening into that slightly crazed, manic grin, a bit of laughter to her tone.

“You guys really lucked out with Clanden dying-I not only could sneak shit in, I could get those soldier boys to CARRY it for me.” She laughs. It’s typical bragging Kara, talking shit as usual. “Meanwhile Moray here’s worth like, twenty Clanden’s. So sure, we’re in-but we don’t want Clanden’s contract. We want a new, shiny contract, considerin' we've brought you such good fortune, and all.” Kara the con, working to see what she can get and where, ridiculous as always.

“S’only fair!” The petite gangster charged as she crossed one arm under her chest-and tossed the file folder on the desk before finishing the signal mid returned flop to the back of her seat.

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray nods, the motion absentminded, pushes back his chair, and then picks up the Thompson and promptly jabs Nero in the throat with it. There's a pop of collapsing cartilage, as Nero's eyes widen and his pistol flies up, but Moray just uses the beefy gun to prod the other man's wrist wide as he flicks the safety off. The sidearm fires wide, the bullet burying into the wall, and Moray pulls the submachine gun's trigger once, blowing Nero's wrist off entirely.

The hand Jonah'd used to flick the safety off drops, picks up Nero's tumbler, and he turns away from Nero as he crumples around his mutilated limb to fling it directly into Sal's face as he draws his own pistol. The glass cracks off his dome, staggering him for the brief second it takes Moray to turn and unleash a tightly controlled burst into Sal's torso. The heavy .45 rounds knock the pudgy man from his feet and he gasps for air, inaudible after the thunderous roar of the tommygun.

Moray turns back to Nero, and fires twice into the man's head. The exit wounds tear apart his cranium, and the body drops to the floor heavily, blood spurting from the devastating wounds where the head and hand had been. Sal is conscious but completely out of it, feebly trying to turn enough on the ground to raise his piece in Moray's direction.

Jonah glances up at Kara and raises an eyebrow, sidestepping to stay out of the wounded man's aim. "Last comments or words?"

Nero, who straight up attempted to buy out Jonah's loyalty, does not receive this courtesy on account of being decapitated. It's a fair response, in his reckoning.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Kara rolled over the arm farthest away from Jonah’s previous position and drew her confetti pop-but by then Sal had taken a chest full of lead and was dropping, making the weapon a waste. Instead she snatched the stolen grenade back off the side table and backtracked to her discarded jacket, uncharacteristically serious as she donned the familiar-but-updated garment.

She reholstered the toy and drew Lil Devil from the secret place in the lining of her coat-and glanced over at Moray’s comment to see Big Sal on the floor, bleeding badly but still alive, weakly attempting to muster counter attack. Her ears are ringing, but she can imagine the wet gasps of a punctured lung and imagined it’d be a pretty unpleasant way to go.

But there’s no real saving him now-mercy wouldn’t keep him from trying to kill them later, one way or another, and he would have betrayed the strip. He could have tipped off House, the NCR, anybody, but instead he thought he’d reap the benefits right alongside Nero, and been party to some nasty stuff, aware of Clanden’s ‘tastes’.

Kara lifted her pistol and shot him once through the head, eyes flicking away without seeing too much of the aftermath.

“Better than that ‘acid shower’ he threatened me with, before.” She says with a shrug. Big Sal had been a mean bastard, a gangster through and through-no telling what he had done and to who both before and while working in Gomorrah. “And he didn’t get me a drink! Poor host all around.”

Kara notes the still open, previously locked drawer in Nero’s desk and heads for it, snagging the bottle Sal had poured his drinks out of and throwing back a mouthful. Slamming it back down on the desk and still holding her pistol, Kara flips through papers in a flurry before finding some sort of contract written on roughened paper. It’s about the strip and what the Omertas would get for launching a distracting attack on it and House, full of flowery, Caesar praising language and with witnessing signatures by Sal and some guy named Alerio.

“They were workin’ with fucking Caesar.” Kara confirms her suspicions with a curse, popping to her feet and messily folding the contract up to slide it into the same pocket she keeps her hand drawn map, doing the same with the papers in the folder. This would be evidence enough for House’s agent, something to turn in alongside the chip. Peace offering, and to keep from getting punished for killing the head of one of his families. “The things you never know if you’re not looking.” She mutters, eyes on the door and her ears on the sound of heavy footfalls on the stairs.

“Let’s leave alive who we can-Cachino’s got his thugs on our side, so I think it’s just Big Sal’s guys in Zoara’s that’ll be gunning for us.” The unarmed customers would hopefully flee into the Courtyard and not into the casino proper, where Cachino would be either bursting through or blocked from doing so.

“This’ll get out.” She warns-and then realizes the stupidity in the warning. Jonah doesn’t have to worry about a lethal reputation-everyone fucking knows what he’s capable of, it’d only further the notion.

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray raises his eyebrows. "No time for interrogation, I guess," he murmurs, and hefts the tommygun. He does a quick check; the drum magazine still has forty-four rounds left. He grimaces. Vastly more than he'll need, and indicative of a heinous amount of toxic machismo. No one needs that much ammunition for an indoors firefight. "Keep your head down. I'll handle the fodder."

The hit to his reputation, the warning about casualties, it's all a little foggy. Moray feels himself start to smile as the adrenaline sets in and his pupils shrink, the muffled shouts and drum of running feet pounding along in his bloodstream. This is what he knows, and while he lives for Kara, now - this is nostalgia. This is simple. Men want to kill him, and they will not. He hunches over slightly, feet rising until he balances on the balls of his feet. His breath is deep and regulated, in through the nose and out through the mouth

He lowers the Thompson and blows the handle off the door right as it starts to twist and pull outward, and the knob obliterates under the heavy round, spraying splinters all over the suited goon on the other side. Moray twitches his aim up and lands a double-tap right through that man's chest on the left side, center mass. He starts to tumble back and to the side, revealing a pair of his friends just past - one already with a sawed-off out, and the other with a similar submachine gun in a smaller caliber. Moray sways out of sight with a last tap of the trigger that launches a bullet that skims up through the side of shotgun-man's face, shattering his jaw. He crumples as his buddy's sub roars out its own fire, blanketing the back of the office in full-automatic fury.

Moray himself just crouches behind the desk and counts seconds. There's the first long burst, and then the goon steps a little further out of cover and covers the thick oak desk in more fire. On the third second, the thirtieth shot rings out and the receiver of this gun clicks dry, and Moray rolls back out of cover and hammers the thug with a double-tap to the sternum.

All that fire in an enclosed space has quickly rendered them almost deaf, particularly the deafening bellow of the Thompson, and rather than try to shout over it Moray lifts a hand and makes a fist, then points at Kara. He taps the general area of the pocket where she keeps a Stealth Boy, then to the overhanging balcony that Zoara commands. Lastly, he puts the toe of his boot under Sal's pistol - a reliable 10mm, nothing fancy - and slides it across the floor to her.

Then he comes to his feet and slides up to the perforated wall of the office, peeking out past it, only for his hand to rocket off the Thompson and snag a grenade as someone tries to pitch one past him and into the room. With an ugly sneer, Moray underhands it right back across the balcony, bouncing it off the ceiling overhead the men and into the stairwell they were hiding in. One makes a dive for it. He doesn't make it. There's a pair of metallic tings and horrified shouts, and then an ear-shattering blast as the wall opposite them blasts apart and crumbles. At least two bodies were in the stairwell, but so much viscera and red is spread in the devastated space it's hard to be sure.

Moray's mouth moves as he says a single word.

Morons.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Kara's not sure if Jonah's murmured comment was meant to be a chastisement or not but...no. She's fleeced, grifted, and conned more than her fair share of people-for fun, for business, for amusement, and of course for profit-but she's not going to have a man trade information just for a quicker death.

She didn't know she had any feelings about that until this exact second and she's not going to admit to them, but still-no. She didn't likes messes, people to suffer more than they had to. Sure, she HAD shot Big Sal, but it wasn't personal any more than any other killing had been personal. Just survival. Him or...

Her? Kara frowned internally, rehooking her single grenade to it's silver ring at the back of her jacket, suddenly not so sure it had anything at all to do with plain survival at all.

Was this personal, but a broader sense of personal, a matter of, she doesn't know-right? They'd been fixing to gas the strip, and that'd been more offensive to her than the sure fire hit they'd probably have put out on her.

Fuck, she actually isn't sure now-normally neither man would have even died, she just woulda snuck out after killing or ducking Clanden. Maybe it was personal, personal just because she liked the strip, liked the Mojave, liked everything just how it was-and okay also chlorine gassing people was just fucked up.

She shouldn't be thinking about this so hard-who gave a shit? She doesn't give a shit-dead was dead, didn't matter what her motives were or why the method now.

Kara takes a longer pull on the bottle. It'd help her focus.

She glances at Jonah-he's coming alive again, but not in the way she's been privileged enough to see these past several weeks. He looks how he did that first time she'd seen anything but blank, repressed homicide-back when he'd rolled them both out of that Powder Ganger flop house, dirt scuffed on his forehead-only to turn around and death whirlwind his way back inside and through them.

The alcohol burns down her throat and in her stomach, mixing with the not quite fully metabolized shots earlier and buoying her spirits. It occurs to her she hasn't eaten yet today. Hadn't really thought about it, whoops.

Well hey, it DOES help her focus-Kara's mouth widens into that manic grin and her mask of crazy slides into place as she shakes off all the -thinking-. It's go time, and there's amusement to be found anywhere-she's handy in a ruckus.

The woman slips back to stand beside a sturdy bookcase so she's out of the line of fire, Lil Devil still dangling almost absently in her left hand-swinging to and fro from the dainty index finger curled around the trigger guard.

"Heeeeere comes the noise."

And boy does it.

Kara twirls her pistol to a proper hold and stays in place, back against the bookshelf and an absent touch to the wood behind her. She considers the small gap between shelf and wall on that side of her thigh, then the ceiling with it's water stained, lightweight asbestos tiles. Hm!

Moray catches her attention with a signal to proceed, either reading her mind or just knowing better by now-one of the two. Her manic grin flickers to a flirty little smile as her free hand slipped into her jacket with a wink-and her and that smile vanished, the mirage catching and disappearing the extra pistol before somehow clambering up the side of the bookcase. A ceiling panel is suddenly askew, and then the cloaked troublemaker was gone.

~*~

Kara hung upside down in what was admittedly a rather cramped space-her head was maybe one, perhaps two inches from touching the ceiling panels beneath both her and the steel beam she was shimmying along, fingers tight to the bottom lip, the toes of her boots turned inward to press into either side of the I beam.

She decides she's gone far enough, chaos sounding through her already ringing ears-and briefly hangs from just her boots and the one hand, core muscles tight and straining a little, her right arm seconds away from 'the shakes'.

She shoved aside a tile, peered down-and then dropped to the balcony nine or ten feet below, close to the wall.

The short, doubled up length of rope kept strung across her shoulders and through her sleeves came next, and over the banister and to the floor Kara goes, leaving a mysteriously dangling grey rope all but invisible against the dark wallpaper and dim lighting.

Time to sow some chaos.

~*~

The doors to the casino flew open as Cachino and his crew of Omerta thugs burst into the club a breath before the ones across the way and to the courtyard did so-the former firing on the backs of a few of Nero's.

The second group drew up short in their charge for the balcony, and a man roared "Cachino's turned traitor!" some members of that group hesitated-but others immediately swung their guns around and open fired on the thugs on the lieutenant's side.

It's a blood bath, and a confusing one-most of Cachino's men were focused on the courtyard hostiles, while a few of the courtyard thugs had abandoned that fight altogether in favor of trying to get to the second level somehow, the remains of Nero's office. A few more in that group even turned on their immediate neighbor, apparently more loyal to Cachino than the family itself.

And men are going down randomly, hamstrings cut. In the bullet hell it'd be difficult to pick out-but more than a few shoulder and leg wounds were the work Sal's 10mm.

"DYNAMITE!" Shouts someone else, a small crowd jumping back-only for nothing to happen, a seeming dud-no, a fake. A painted piece of wood with a sparkler shoved into it. A second one rolled somewhere else, was cautiously lifted up and discovered for what it was. They wised up to it, ignored and charged over the third-which was real.

Men flew, and the courtyard hostiles were staggered. Kara was, indeed, good at causing a ruckus. It's only the fourth large firefight she's ever directly participated in aside from escaping in a hurry-and while she still seemed to be playing some kind of game with herself and with them, it couldn't be denied that the confusing, random attacks were breaking the ranks up rather effectively.

~*~

This was a slaughter. Cachino hadn't seen this much in action in a full decade, back when he was still collecting on Omerta debts. That'd been nasty work, but this was a chaotic hellhole-he's not sure who's who and is pretty sure his guys might be accidentally killing each other-just as the others seemed to be doing, he's catching men going down where his hadn't been firing.

He fires another burst and a man ducks in from his right, knocking the barrel of his smg aside and driving the butt of his own into his gut-or trying to, Cachino lowered one broad shoulder and checked him with it, releasing his own weapon for the much simpler task of grabbing hold and punching the other man. Once, twice-beefy, ham fisted iron knuckled fist utterly wrecking Mac's face-that's who this was, it was Mac, slimy little weasel thought he could take HIM out!? And throwing him bodily into the crowd before he caught movement to his left, a glint of shiny steel-he tries to get his hands on his weapon and bring it to bear in time, but-

There's an explosive, concussive force back on his immediate right and suddenly Kara both pops into view-and flies backwards a good foot, flaming confetti and what had to have been a goddamned cannon ball having ripped past and into the unlucky fuck who'd been gunning for him. He had a two inch diameter hole in his head, Cachino half thought he'd seen light through it.

"Jesus Christ Kara, what the hell was that?" He turns to where the dizzied red head had stumbled or been knocked back into some chairs, a table-sitting sprawled in the pile, one arm slung over the table-and giggling to herself.

"Party in a barrel-". She says with a dizzied snort, moving to stand-he wrapped a beefy hand around her left forearm and pulled her to her feet-or tried to, because Kara yanked him down instead, and while she was too small to force him-he ducked behind the table anyway, shoving it a bit so it better blocked the two of them. He watched her light another stick of dynamite and toss it into the crowd.

“Those are MY guys!” Cachino protested, flabbergasted with the flippancy of the toss. “Ain’t real.” Kara said with a shrug and that manic grin of hers, reaching into her jacket.

“Where’s your friend?” Cachino wanted to know, peering around the edge of the table. They’re at the back of the fighting now, for the most part.

"He's up there somewhere, having a good time." Kara said-producing a blow horn from some pocket or other in that jacket. “Listen, it might for real get ya shot, but you’re not going to have a heck of a lot of Family left, this keeps going the way it is.” She pressed it into his hands before rolling out from behind the table-ducking along the wall and then behind the bar somewhere.

 

[Obuzeti]

Kara slips by the scattered Omerta goons, fading into invisibility, and Moray turns his attention to the remainder of those that oppose him. With Kara gone, everything's simple - he worries about her all the time, lines of fire, and cover, and whether he'd be able to keep her alive if it all went to shit. She's good - but death dances with only one partner when Jonah Moray is in the room.

He lets it all go, lets the dark waters rise over his head, and breathes of the deep.

When he moves out of cover it's in a slick blur like an oil spill on the face of the world - peeking out once and juking to the side hard in a wide, sliding step as he scuttles to the side. A split second later fire craters the balcony where he had peeped, shotgun shells and submachine gun fire cracking the ancient marble and sending pieces of the banister flying. Moray is already gone, though, and he reemerges fifteen feet to the right, comes over the balcony in a smooth mantle, and draws an arc with the Thompson across the chests of two suited thugs crouched behind the dancer's stand. Neither is killed, but the heavy impacts of the bullets throw them on their asses, and give Moray enough time to land and pivot on the four remaining.

One, in plain sight behind an overturned table facing the balcony, has no cover and a straight shot at Moray. He dies first to four rounds tearing through his neck and collarbone, throwing him aside as the mercenary slides low beneath the profile of the dancing stage and into the side of the closest man, who'd pivoted to take aim with his shotgun. Moray seizes hold of the weapon, jerks up hard on it - and then lets go as the other man hauls back, sending himself stumbling in expectation of resistance.

One-handed, Jonah aims the Thompson and plugs another man in the face with a perfectly-aimed shot. Then he lunges forward and plants a boot in the forearm of his off-balance adversary, shattering his wrist. The shotgun droops, useless one-handed.

Still one more. Moray pivots and whirls low, catching two 9mm rounds on the back of his shoulder. The fatigues absorb the impact and spread out the force, inflicting what are likely to be faint bruises tomorrow. He lets the force help throw him to the floor, and lands gun-arm up, bracing his elbow with his other arm. The rest of the bullet spray from the submachine gun arcs up, recoil fouling the aim of the Omerta thug behind the bar. Blank incomprehension crosses his face as he fights to bring the barrel back down in the split-second before Moray looses a three-round burst just below his neck, which detonates into blood and shreds his throat.

Three enemies left. Two wounded, behind stage. One near, but disabled, with unusuable weapon. Pass.

Moray rolls and then dashes shoulder-first into the stage as another subbie opens up, spraying the ground with bullets where he had been, a goon clutching his shoulder with one hand and spraying the MAC-10 with the other. Moray launches himself from a crouch into a lateral dive, coming up just far enough to crown the edge of the stage. It's too extreme a movement to aim properly during, but the shots do make it past his cover, and the sound of them cratering the walls forces the other man to whip around, spraying more shots into the lip of the stage.

Moray takes a breath, then through the wood of the stage feels a shudder. He pops up right as the other man leaps onto the stage, and then drops four shots into his chest, knocking him ass over teakettle back off.

The other thug he'd been with staggers as the body strikes his shoulder, throwing off the aim of the Magnum he'd been aiming. The heavy round shoots past and hits the bar, taking out a huge chunk of it.

Moray shoots him too, a quick double-tap to the chest and one to the head as he falls. Then he turns and puts another round in the head of the shotgun-man he'd bypassed to take on more active hostiles, who'd managed to scoop his gun up in his weak hand and sort of aim it with his feet, but not fast enough.

Six hostiles, deceased.

Moray smiles a flat, lizard-like grimace, and rises from the floor. He checks the drum magazine - seventeen shots left, but the magazine's cracked. He'd landed on it bad, and the last several rounds had fouled and gone askew.

He drops the weapon aside and heads for the door, scooping up the Magnum and checking it instead. Only three shots, but the revolver is robust and impossible to jam, which is a fair advantage in and of itself. All he has to do is not miss.

Moray takes a deep breath at the doors out from Zoara into the courtyard, readies the Magnum, and then shoulders the doors aside and raises the gun in a smooth motion. The courtyard is chaos, and there's a bare handful of guys on his side shooting across at more Omerta goons on the other side, but he recognizes Cachino and Kara among them, and that's enough for him.

The Magnum roars three times in two seconds, blasting gaping holes through the heads of men crouching behind pillars, and Moray tosses the emptied gun aside and takes a long stride up to the last one where he's hidden behind a concrete planter. Deafened by gunfire, he doesn't realize where the new threat's come from in time - he presses back against the planter and turns back to glance, but the gun doesn't follow his eyes and that dooms him. Moray's boot connects at the base of his neck, just over where he's leaned against the planter, and between boot and rock, his neck snaps like a braced twig. The body goes limp, and Moray casually shoves it out of the way with his foot and usurps the cover, lifting his new submachine gun to survey the battlefield.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Kara slipped behind the counter of the little L shaped tiki bar and flopped back against the inside of it, the tinkling of glass bottles pushing into each other more imagined than heard with all the gunfire going on. Her and the tiki bar were positioned close to a corner of the courtyard, just slightly but not quite entirely under the second floor overhang. She figured it was unlikely bullets would be sprayed over this way, but was mostly counting on her luck to prevent becoming swiss cheese Kara, per usual.

The almost aggressively cheerful courier hummed to herself as she cradled her left arm in her drawn up lap, right hand rummaging around in her pockets for a stimpak rather than one of the two "quick draw" ones hanging from yet more loops in the lining. Her wrist was on fire and her fingers kind of numb-it hurts to rotate her hand but she doesn't think it's broken. Her 'party in a barrel' had packed a bit too much whollop, and knocking her on her ass like that? Hilarious!

Shit though, she'd felt that recoil from wrist to shoulder, damned lucky it HADN'T fractured anything.

Even more hilariously tragic, she'd fired it off to save -Cachino- of all people! Hopefully no one had seen that, or the getting knocked down bit-though the latter might make it funnier if anyone had.

She hears a burst of gunfire not too far behind her and pauses with her head cocked-her heart's beating so fast it's making her dizzy, or maybe that was the good ole liquid courage at work. Kara tensed at another burst, suspected someone was about to join her in her cover-and abandoned her stimpack search to draw her weapon and twist, prepared to fire through the bar-when a burst of gunfire went off from somewhere over her head-a familiar(ish) face and the barrel of yet another Tommygun visible over the banister almost directly over her head.

He looked down at her a moment, then disappeared. Kara went back to finding that stimpak, injecting just as the guy reappeared at the base of the stairs and, crouching low-joined her in her cover.

"Was this -your- doing?". He charges irately, peering over the counter before dropping back down and looking at her disapprovingly. "You ever go somewhere and consider NOT starting trouble?"

"Me? Fuck no! But today I'm just along for the ride-Nero tried to pay Moray to kill me, and Moray took exception."

"They're really dead?" the familiar stranger shook his head. "I thought I saw you with him-he's going through guys like paper, Jesus. I took aim at him but shit, I didn't want his focus on -me- and he looks impossible to hit."

"Oooh, good call. Besides, I like him."

An air horn sounded and Kara worked her wrist a little more, nodding approvingly. "Time ta see what the plan is."

~*~

"ALRIGHT! ALRIGHT YOU GODDAMNED MOOKS-". The shooting had been slowing down, men unsure who was with who and with both Moray and Kara being out of sight-and a lot of the decisively offended men dead or dying or bleeding on the floor somewhere.

"Jeeeesus Christ-lets hold off a minute!". Cachino was standing on the balcony opposite the tiki bar, ready to duck behind a pillar if someone took a shot at him-he's sweating, but he's also not about to lose anymore Omertas to this senseless gunfight.

"Nero and Big Sal are dead-they was plotting against House and letting customers kill girls, and we got help with that! Things got ugly when the was confronted, and that's just a fact of life. No sense dying for traitors and dead men."

A murmur went through, but he had everyone's attention. The expectant and unsure expressions intimidated him a little-he'd always solved his problems with his fists, not his words.

"There's a change in leadership but-"

"You still got your trusty ole' lieutenant!". The manically cheerful voice rang out, men turning immediately, some with their weapons up. Just to see Kara Walker sitting on the bar counter of that little tiki stand, one boot dangling free and the other drawn up with her on the counter, amusedly surveying the men. She picks up and shakes a metal mixer noisily, a smirk.

Not a foot to her left stood Matthieu, his second, gun trained on the brothers bearing guns on the redhead. Cachino realized he could order the men to fire-she was right there, it'd be that easy.

She slid off the counter and sauntered into the confused crowd, utterly unconcerned as she poured the mixed drink into a glass before tossing the mixer into the pool. She sipped the bubbly, lemon lime drink as she stepped up onto the flat granite wall that bordered the pool, looking around with casual, flippant interest.

"Him and I will find you some new bosses for the business side of things, you know-in apology for having to off Nero and Sal. Self defense, you know how it goes.". She shrugged. "Just couldn't be helped."

Cachino knew Kara was crazy. He just didn't realize she was -insane-. She thought she owned the place now? Was she nuts? He could order the men to fire, someone might choose to fire on their own-and she just point blank admitted to their killing the bosses.

She looked up at him and raised her glass in a toasting manner, arching a brow. "Unless you're unwilling to talk business, Cachino."

He can't decide if he's irritated or impressed. She'd saved his life. Probably as a joke, but she had, and she seemed to be offering terms now, but where did she get off? He was the boss now.

Except...her bigger friend. The Omertas might end up like the White Gloves if he refused to play ball with the red head, and God help them all if they actually killed her.

Everyone was looking at him.

"I ain't got a head for numbers, boys. We'll bring on someone who is.". He assures after a moment, stepping back from the balcony. The tension drained out of the room and guns lowered everywhere.

"Now let's clean this shit up and fix up whoever's still alive.". He said gruffly.

Kara smirked, handed the closest, baffled man her drink-and hopped off the wall to go find Moray.

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray shoulders the sub he'd stolen and picks his way across the handful of bodies and the courtyard. The fighting's over - Cachino'd called down all the Omertas, and to be honest there'd been maybe four or five left still to shoot anyways. Moray concedes that much to the man for not attempting to kill Kara in the confusion - but that doesn't quite feel right, either. The scales aren't quite balanced. He'll talk to them both and see how it goes from here. That newfound sense that tells him how the puzzle pieces fit is jangling.

Kara comes past the battle lines, and he checks her over with a glance, nods at the lack of bullet wounds, then spots how she's folded slightly around her left arm, keeping it from brushing against anything. Rather than words, he meets her halfway with the jab of a stimpak into the base of her shoulder, away from anywhere on the arm that could be hurt, and depresses the needle. "Injuries?" he says, brisk.

He's got some friction burns from throwing himself all over the place, and a fair bruise from where his fatigues had caught a pair of bullets, but otherwise he's fine on account of the Omerta's overall lack of training and competence. Gangsters they were, but without practice and drill, they mostly just pointed and bullet hosed rather than being active and mobile threats like the NCR or the Legion posed. Even the White Gloves had been tougher.

Come to think of it, this is the second of the Three Tribes he's thrashed.

"Clean on the inside. Let's wrap up," he says, and rolls around Kara in a smooth motion that puts his bulk in front of her as he moves towards Cachino, who spots him incoming and calls out, "Accounts settled inside?"

"They're dead," Moray replies, loud and even, and it drives a wince through the portly man to hear it. More lost manpower. Still, it's all his now.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

"Jeez!". He always manages to surprise her with those damned needles-Kara pretends to pout, but her eyes are still following various pairs and groups of thugs, flick to the series of cracking doors as women and patrons peer out of the rooms they had fled into. She does it without looking like she’s doing it-just ADD Kara, forever distracted by everything.

"I’m fine-did learn, however-” She held up what was left of the earlier children’s toy-it was mostly a rectangle with a blown, burnt black hole where the fat barrel had been earlier. “That my my pop gun needs less pop and more party."

She carelessly tossed the shelled out husk aside with a sigh.

"Most of the confetti burnt up soon as I fired it.". Kara is visibly disappointed-for a moment. But there’s that spark of mischief, some secret joke she was still playing. Since Jonah's body was blocking her from view, Kara DOES surreptitiously work her stiff, sore wrist, the second stimpak doing it’s job, bolstered by the first. The courier was a bit like a cat in that regard-unless it helped trick somebody, she didn't like to show when she was hurting. Grin and bear it, as with so many other things.

"You look alright though-are you alright?". He'd shaken off fucking stab wounds and hadn't noticed the infection of one, so she's learned to be suspicious. His fatigues look undamaged, least at a glance. But still.

Seemingly ignorant of the gore around them, the sideways looks they were receiving here and there, Kara perks up even further. “No zombie Dog Hats this time, at least!” What?

There's a faint flush to her face, and while she -is- in a legitimately good, if flippant mood-her mind's turning things over, weighing her next move even as she confirms their mutual good health.

Jonah’s not in the most talkative mood, and the way he swings around to be in front of her seemed to suggest he wasn’t sure she did have this on lockdown ‘her way’. He might be right, honestly-she’s only ninety percent sure she does. The same ninety percent certainty she wouldn’t get shot, sauntering into all them guns like that.

Guns that are still out, actually. That’s probably a new thing for her partner-people still being armed and alive after a conflict.

She glances up at the whores beginning to slink out onto the balcony, how they grouped up near the pillars. Customers were mixed throughout, making fast striding breaks for the exit. Kara had half forgotten about all the NCR tourists and other visitors.

This'd be a story. A big one.

But what to do in the here and now? She still hasn’t quite worked it out...waiting on divine inspiration, for the most part.

"Accounts settled inside?"

"They're dead,"

Kara leans to one side to peek around Moray’s bulk, a slanted grin. “I lost my hat, have you seen it?”

Cachino eyed her as she stepped around her looming companion, and the proximity of it...shit, he thinks they’re together. Together together. It’s a goddamned good thing he hadn’t shot her.

Still, the blackmail that had him twisted around her dexterous little fingers was worthless now that Sal and Nero were dead. That joke was over. But she’s still smirking, still cocky-maybe drunk?-and it grates on him, somewhere.

He looked back up to Moray. Well, she still had this on him-guess she could be cocky, the mercenary had just torn through Nero’s viciously best men, not to mention the pair themselves. So what does Kara want? What did Moray?

"...I can promise you twos a cut." He's not grudging about it when he says it, more probing-but of course it couldn’t be that easy.

Kara laughed, less manic and more the silvery, prettier sound-but there's still something a little mocking about it. She steps forward to again clap one of her condescending slaps to the lieutenant's arm-who doesn't so much as budge.

"And why would we settle for what we're already going to get, Cachino ole buddy?"

Kara's that smiley dangerous, now-and Cachino’s jaw sets before she even finishes saying it.

“Your blackmail ain’t good for nothing no more, Kara. And you wouldn’t have saved my ass back there just to have your friend kill me either.” So what does she thi-

"Pfffft. Kill you. SOMEBODY’S gotta lead the Omertas, don’t they? You’re the most qualified, ain’t cha? Course you are.”

Kara props her hands on her hips and looks around. “But I mean, your numbers took a hit, didn’t they? You really want to be the only obstacle to some other bozo-inside or outside the family-’s power grab for this place?”

Cachino grunted. He doesn’t think anybody would dare, not with House-

“Or say I decide I want the whole thing for me or somebody-I guess I’d just hafta go and tell House you were in on that little plot we done discovered against him. You did say you were the third most powerful man in this place, didn’t you?” Cachino doesn’t like that threat at all-he squares up to her, left eye twitching. He’d like nothing more to belt her and wipe that smirk right off her goddamned face.

“What do you and your friend want.”

“We’ll get to him, right now it’s what -I- want.” Kara charges, puffing up to her full height. “And -I- want you to keep to our terms for that other game. That joke is still funny, and it doesn’t stop being funny until one of us is dead.”

Cachino watches her, jaw still set, expression still suspicious. “Hilarious. What else?”

“You let me bring in some help running this place, a babysitter or two.”

Cachino’s complexion mottled, and Kara’s arrogance dropped out of existence as if it’d never been there. Not a slap but a squeeze of his upper arm this time, as if she was asking a friend for a favor.

"Listen Coach-its the whores. The whores, the numbers, the relations with House-all of that. You're an Omerta, and a good lieutenant, and now you’ll be a good head of the family-but you can't run a whole casino by yourself, turn profits like Nero could! And hey, neither can I! So, we go in business together-Moray and me find you some partners-you know they'll be good 'cause we got a vested interest-and things get back to where they were, but better! You’ll be making way more money, for instance-more than we will, cause we’re going to be doing less work.”

His fists unclenched slowly, and Kara pressed.

“Less work, but should someone fuck with you or the babysitters-they’re fucking with me an’ Moray. And I mean, you see what happens when you fuck with Moray.” He had seen-and heard about-what happened when people did that, yes.

He’s actually considering this. The men wiped out today, the very real loss in Nero and Sal’s leadership, the risk of Kara going to House with her bullshit story-when the hell did she get an ear with House!?-and the fact he can’t do jack shit about the death machine she’d toted into his casino and seemingly set loose on her enemies. There’s not a lot of choice being offered up here, but it could be worse. She’s suggesting partners, not bosses. He’d still be in control of the Family. He’d still have a say. A bigger say, in fact.

And cut, depending what Kara intended to take out of it.

“...and what do you get?”

“Eight percent cut.” Kara said without blinking. “Each.”

“Five.”

“Deal!” She thrust her hand out to shake, then suddenly retracted it, half turning, tipping her head back to peer up at her partner. “Well, assuming Moray’s satisfied.
What do you think Jonah? Should Hrolf get a cut too?"

Cachino's brow furrows, less angry and more exasperated now. "The fuck is Hrolf?"

 

[Obuzeti]

"I believe the ultimate arbiter of your weapon's effectiveness is whoever you pointed it at," Moray says, pedantic. "Does he still exist?"

That looked like an awful lot of gunpowder had been stored in that casing. He's honestly surprised it didn't take Kara's arm off, as it was pretty much a grenade in a wooden casing. He's going to have to go through all her toys at some point, and the only way she'll allow it is if he offers to make them practical, as opposed to suicidal. That's a lot of work.

He thinks back to the work he'd done on her jacket, the quiet satisfaction of production.

Maybe not bad though.

Kara and Cachino set to haggling out terms, and Moray instead unwinds a roll of bandages from inside of his fatigues and starts patching up whatever Omertas are left. They're not worth stimpaks, but throwing some fabric and dousing open wounds in alcohol costs him basically nothing, and it sweetens Kara's deal more than anything he could say. He doesn't know enough about the operation to call shots.

The thugs, by and large, aren't brave enough to ask questions or argue when he sits them down and starts wrapping them, but he gets a lot of odd looks, especially when he drafts a pair of prostitutes in to do it for him.

Then Kara says his name, and Jonah turns, glancing back at the arguing pair. He hasn't gone far, preferring to yank goons over to where they'd been standing - in the process of dousing another man's gunshot wound and ignoring his pained hisses.

"I don't know enough about your gross profits to estimate a percentage that's fair and does not needlessly cut into operational overhead," he says, flat. "I trust Kara to either negotiate a fair one or at least know how to fix it once it fucks up. Also, Hrolf has what he wants."

"Who's Hrolf?" Cachino says again, impatient.

"Dog," Moray answers, going back to his bandaging.

Cachino takes this with a frown, but his mood is soothed a little by watching his men get patched up. It occurs to him, faintly, that while Kara does all the talking, Moray gets to act in the background, and he's the nastier of the two. He's always been doing shit while she runs her mouth, and the pendulum starts to swing from them just being a pair that fucks to something - entirely more dangerous. Then he realizes something with a cold chill: they'd never even bothered to get their shit from the receptionist. They'd orchestrated and carried out a coup on one of the Three Tribes without even using their own guns. That much confidence, skill?

He decides to cut his losses.

"Fair," he says, grudgingly. "You gotta go feel out the other Tribes, though. We lost a lotta manpower. Need to know what they're feeling, if I need to dig in or not. I'm not about to gas anybody, but I'm not here to get my shit kicked in either."

Moray looks at him.

"Well, maybe not the Gloves," Cachino says with a grimace.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Kara snatches up and enthusiastically shakes the other man's beefy hand with both of hers, triumphant and amused.

"You got it! And I'm -personal- pals with the Chairmen. Real close, and as it so happens, we were heading there for a visit anyways!"

She had just scored them -ten percent- of a casino's profits. TEN -percent-! Kara's head spins. She'd never have to work again if she didn't fuckin' want to. Could plumb retire.

Of course, she's blown through a couple fortunes in her lifetime as it was, and she couldn't exactly take up knitting or something so...eh. She's just psyched at the trophy of such a deal. How many people had carved a cut like that outta one of the Families? Fucking nobody but House, that's who!

Damn, her talkin' stretched a lot farther in this partnership than out of it-hell, she's barely done ANY talking. That's a lot of profit for not much work. 'Course, she never would have been in the position to make said deal, solo. She shouldn't let it go to her head, it's big enough as it is, snrk.

"Now I'm gonna go check on the assets, 'case I gotta go find some more of them too." Kara gave a tug to the front of her jacket before turning on her heel and heading off, retrieving a box of candy from somewhere inside her jacket.

"Then we'll pack up, make a short trip, and come back with some help. You'll have this cleaned up by then, right?". Least the slots and tables were clean-he wouldn't have to shut completely down in the meantime.

She shakes out a few pieces and pops them in her mouth, strolling away humming to herself. She's gonna need to sober up some before she gets going-Pretty Sarah wasn't going to be as easy a mark as this place had turned out to be. But it's Pretty Sarah she's going to try for, the divine inspiration she'd been waiting on.

Because Kara doesn't -want- five percent of what Gomorrah used to be. Nope, if girls wanted to leave, they were going to get to fuckin' leave. That's just a flat given, and no one's going to argue with her about it, because she wasn't going to give them a chance. Get Pretty Sarah the madame on board, and BAM! Shit'll take care of itself, and she'll have maximum plausible deniability.

But! What else would it take to get things worked out, here? Oh snap, she knows! Some -muscle-. Since her dumbass had gone and left Cachino alive, she'd better make sure Pretty Sarah had a way to keep him in line and away from the girls. Make sure that they'd really be partners. Coach might just turn out to be reasonable, but Kara still didn't trust him. If she gets herself a case of dead, she doesn't want the deal to fall apart. She doesn't want him having power to lord over Sarah.

And muscle would convince Sarah to go, too. That it was a solid investment to move to the strip, and not a temporary arrangement. With the Omertas still in residence and House still getting a cut, who the hell else was gonna care? Benny's about to be dead. Swank would like Pretty Sarah and wasn't imaginative enough to want to expand anyway.

Kara's heart thrummed. This kind of scheming always felt the most dangerous-get caught and your ass is grass, eventually. But this was a real and sudden opportunity to make something -better- for a lot of people, give them a hell of a lot more power, autonomy that they otherwise wouldn't have. And doing it through intentional effort, not just impulse...

Well, it's blowing her mind a little. These pieces arranged and rotated and put into place- not even as a joke.

It's not a joke.

Shit, she better draw a mustache on some of these unconscious or dead guys before she gets to be too serious. Or better yet-

"Joaaaanaaaa.". Kara ducks her head to peer into several cabana's but they're almost all empty-not a dead girl to be found.

Good. Kara doesn't like it when women get all caught up in shit. Maybe that's sexist, but meh. Mostly-there's enough mess. She'd thrown the one piece of real dynamite and blown a hole in that one guy's head, as well as finished Sal off. Caused a lot of injuries for sure.

She sees the woman in question out of the corner of her eye but pretends not to, lifting up a downed pole of what had been the curvaceous woman's tent.

"Boy, I hope she doesn't take this outta our pay.". Kara comments cheerfully.

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray nods to Cachino, no longer part of the relevant universe, and departs after Kara without a word.

Joana is hidden behind the bar with a handful of other girls, though they've started to peel out. She looks at the pair of mercenaries approaching her with disbelief. "What even happened?" she asks. "Where do you get shootin' Nero out of looking for the missing girls?"

"Nero was paying Clanden with room and girls in exchange for bombs all across the Strip," Moray answers. He looks Joana over with a judicious eye - she's uninjured, and it's really easy to tell, given her outfit - and continues, "He was killing them. He tried for Kara too, so I murdered him and then I had a discussion with Nero about inappropriate workplace practices."

Joana chuffs an incredulous laugh, despite herself, and turns to Kara; oddly, of the two she trusts the other woman more. "Look, really, whatever's going on, are the girls going to be fine?" she asks. "And - I kind of already know. But are any of them coming back?"

Moray's mouth thins and he steps around Joana to check on the other prostitutes that had hidden with her. The gunfire had been loud enough to knock them all out of whatever drug-fueled hazes they'd been in before, and blind terror paints most of their faces. He's not a particular talent at calming them down, given that a half-dozen of the girls scatter as soon as he peeks over the bar.

Moray glances down and realizes it's probably because he now has both Clanden and Nero sprayed liberally all over the front of his fatigues.

"This needs a wash," he comments.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“Was that what that was about? Because see, you suggested I rifle through the pockets of anyone you might kill to make up the cost of my services-and I figured that hey, Nero has some pretty big pockets…” She’s so full of shit, but more believable was the idea that Kara had no idea what the entire mess had been about, and had just been rolling around from one bad idea to the next, per her usual. Like Moray was touting around a liability more than a partner.

Which was what Kara would honestly prefer people to believe, but his sticking up for her was oddly adorable at the same time.

"Look, really, whatever's going on, are the girls going to be fine?"

Joana’s girls, like she’d said. Before Kara can answer Joana hits her with another question-and the courier’s carribean blue eyes flick to her, two blue, suddenly focused spotlights and a split second of pause.

She remembers the bloody scene in the kitchen, the smashed in cabinet and wild grab for a weapon, any weapon, the smears-someone had fought hard and desperately to stay alive, probably with all the muster they could manage. The small, desperate handprints on the door jamb pulse across her brain. She’s seen plenty of shit. She doesn’t like to think about any of it, but that...that would be in her head somewhere, forever.

It all just reinforces a truth Kara’s always been acutely aware of, even in her earliest memories-that this wasted world was full of monsters...and most of them wore human faces.

That’s part of the joke. It wasn’t always very funny.

But Kara’s grin slashes across her face in the face of it anyway, ignoring the question, as she hops up onto the metal foot rest at the base of the bar, fingers catching at the edge of the wood to hold herself close as she peers over the counter and at the few women still cowering behind it, others having fled.

“No worries ladies! We’re your knights in shining armor, me and Moray-and we’d never leave a job half finished!” Kara pops back off the bar and damned near into Joana, back to the first question. The dead can’t play the game of life, only the living-so that’s what she focuses on, because that’s what matters.

“So give me a day or two-but things aren’t going to be the same old shit for you and yours, Joana. I got me a bonafide, fool-proof plan for sisterly independence! Ain’t nobody going to be stuck here, not anymore-and ain’t it time the working women get a say? I think it’s time.”

“With Cachino in charge?”

“He’s head of what’s left of the Omertas, not the owner of Gomorrah. There’s a difference, now.” Kara waves dismissively. “He’s agreed to give us a cut, to keep to that other, original bargain-” Kara’s eyes flick to Joana’s for the briefest bit of seriousness-an understanding between the two. “-and to some partners, which I’m going to go collect bids on. ‘Cause I want my cut to be profitable, ya know? Retire on a glowing beach somewheres? And who wouldn’t want to help run a casino on the strip?”

“So you’re coming back with them? Soon?” Joana stays measured, but she seems...hopeful. “Before he can change his mind?”

“That’d be unprofessional of him, wouldn’t it Moray? We shook hands on it and everything.”

Kara twists to consider her partner a moment, fond. She then squares back up to Joana, her hands on her hips. “I’d call it a job well done, myself. Downright bargain. So. I’d like to be paid, please. Got a lot to get into yet, before the day’s finished.”

 

[Obuzeti]

"I killed both of Cachino's bosses with their own guns, and then their entire crew," Moray says. It's the factual way he says it that makes it gapeworthy - like this isn't even the highlight of his day. It was like taking the cap off a Nuka-Cola or something. "Cachino will not turn because if he does I will come back and do the same thing to him, and he understands that there is no force he can muster that will prevent this. He is afraid of death."

Well, yes. Who isn't?

Joana stares at Moray - and sees, for the first time, the first hint of a corner peeling back, past the dry business and the disinterest, and past that peeling wallpaper and concrete will there is nothing but night. Moray stares over her head, past her and her body she's always taken such care of, past the casino walls and all the money Kara says they've just hijacked - and he doesn't care about any of it. That hint of women's intuition Joana has, that's kept her alive and in good health so far, it sees the shadow behind, but it doesn't see her.

The hair on the back of her neck stands up and she turns to Kara instead. "It isn't much compared to what you just made, but I made that deal," Joana says, and turns it over - all the Med-X she'd scrounged from the other girls, the stashes of the girls that'd gone missing, and all the caps she had on her. Collected together, it's about fifty-sixty caps and the same amount in Med-X ampoules collected together in a doctor's bag, and it makes her cringe to look at it a little: how little the whores actually have, and how tight the chains are. Everything's easier through the opium haze.

"That's everything I got," Joana says, reluctant to reveal that, and not because she's stingy, but because for all her pride and jokes traded with Kara, she's got nothing compared to the other woman, and she knows it. Particularly now. Her eyes flick to where she can still see a camo-clad shoulder, and then away. "I mean, anything else you want, I'll give, I just figure - y'know. Not on the menu."

Kara didn't even really know what she had. Joana's mind flickers to Carlito, sweetheart that he was, and remembered that he'd run. She got it, understood the necessity - but he'd run. He hadn't fought it, and now he's out there somewhere in the Wasteland, free, and she's not. She tries not to think about it when the nights are slow.

And here's Kara, smirking, on top of the world, and probably two dozen Omerta men gunned down on her say-so.

Joana tries not to hate her smug shit. She really does. Maybe it'll get better, but it's not up to her, is it?

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

"This is more'n you promised.". Kara notes with a slight cock of her head, tipping the box one way, then the other. Sure, normally she'd take it and go, people usually pay extra for a job well done, a 'tip'-but she hadn't expected that here, not from Joana. She knows they don't have much.

But the med-x was better out of here than in-Joana was clean now. That couldn't have been easy to manage, or to keep at. Kara shifts the balls of her feet, then back, not bothering with the empty headed act-Joana knew better-but legitimately mulling this over, her fun little buzz bubbly in her head.

She sets the box aside and plucks the coin pouch out of it, bulldozing over any thinking for the sudden impulsive idea that sparks in the bubbly buzz.

"S'good thing Moray's keeping me so 'professional' these days. Ain't you got any business sense? Sides, you should never work for free.”

“Wasn’t this enough trouble for today?”

“What all this? This is just stuff I do before breakfast, whaddya mean!” Kara was patting down her pockets, then counting out a handful of caps into the bag, rummaging around on the inside of her jacket now. “But no, now I want to hire you. That’s called networkin’, Joana.” It came across as teasing rather than condesension, but still doesn’t make sense.

Joana doesn’t look at Moray again, but she’s already decisively determined he wasn’t interested, and Kara was straight as a board-usually women at least looked at her generous curves, if only out of envy-but Kara never even did that. Kara’s playing some other game now, and childishly trying to bait her into asking. She doesn’t know where she gets the energy from, but it must be good shit. “You want me to fuck someone else?”

Kara chokes on a laugh, eyes widening in surprise before she catches herself. "I mean, you’re a big girl, I wouldn’t stop you-but no. I’m bringing on Cachino’s partner, right? Somebody to help on the business side, and somebody to oversee the girls, cause he ain’t allowed to, I already said. You know the girls and the usual clientele, and that's stuff the new boss is gonna need, right?"

"You want me to play assistant to some pimp or madame you're going to bring in." What.

“Yeah! Stay at least long enough to give that goodish handoff, and I'll pay you hundred caps. Half now, half when I get back. AND-I'll offload this extra med-x for ya, half my usual fee. That's a ten percent discount-bargain for yer wallet, since we're gal pals and all."

Kara found a little fold of prewar bills, counted several out-and tucked them into the pouch before thrusting it back at her, puffed up like she gets when she’s pulling a deal. Dramatic flair, as always. "Course, s'pose that means you'll just have to trust whatever I tell ya I got for 'em, but hey-you handed 'em over. Moray’ll keep me honest.”

Kara’s eyes narrowed, that smirk. “Mostly."

Joana took the bag back, waiting for some other weird condition, something off the wall no one but Kara would have thought of, something she’d call ‘hilarious’. Nothing more comes, and Kara was patting herself down again, finding and unwrapping a piece of bubble gum and popping it past her lips.

A hundred caps, and ninety percent of the Med-X earnings. What...the hell was her game? What was she getting out of this, exactly? Was it really Moray keeping her strangely on the level?

She’d taken the job before, but she just got off on having people under her thumb, didn’t she? Twisting Cachino up like that, watching people sweat.

The redhead never did make any sense that she could figure.

"...and once they're good, I can leave?"

"Well why not? You could leave BEFORE then if you really don't want the job, but I'd at least wait for 'em to get here, you know? I don't want Cachino getting stupid on you." Kara puffed up. "If I wasn't so greedy, I'd commit to the joke in full and turn the whole place over to the whores, cause that'd be hilarious-but I am greedy, so partner trifecta it is."

Kara’s puff deflates a fraction as she blows a bubble, eyes roaming over the pockets of girls, the cabanas. She bites down on it, chews thoughtfully a moment-and then murmurs, almost entirely to herself-"Ain't nobody going to be stuck here anymore.”

And then snaps to herself with a ruffle to the brilliantly red, slightly mushed updo-and grins at her. “S’bad for business. See you soon!”

And she was gone in the same damned whirlwind she’d rolled in with, pep to her step and hips rolling slightly in that lazy, carefree saunter she always walked with.

 

[Obuzeti]

Kara ambles off, but Moray remains for a moment. He tries to remember the sudden, impressive swell of (sympathy?) he'd had for Joana, after realizing that she lived in a bear-trap of a life Kara had only escaped by cruel graces. He looks at the other woman again, and she avoids his gaze, curled in against his sight. It's a change from uncomfortably flirty, but to be honest he's not really engaged enough to care why she's flipped her choice of approach. "We'll be back," Moray says. It's uncomfortable to care. "This bothers her."

Does it bother him, though? Is he interested enough to care, when it's not just the application of violence that will solve the problem? The answer that unsettles him is - no. His interest has waned. And for how sure he was, beforehand, that implies some level of . . . inherent duplicity, within him. A capacity he had not possessed before Kara.

She lies to herself, and now he's learned how to do that from her. Not everything he's picking up is worthwhile, then. Moray's lips thin into a line and his gaze hardens, as he comes to his own decision, independent of his partner. "I will see it through, regardless."

It's still a decision that has nothing to do with Joana. He looks at her, arms wrapped around herself defensively, in her clinging, slinky clothing and the fear in her stance, and still feels not much of anything. It's just that he's chosen to stick to his decisions, even if they were made on false premises. She hasn't responded, looking away from him across the rubble of the courtyard, and it occurs to him that she won't unless he demands one. For Joana, association with Moray causes as much danger as it solves.

Jonah shakes his head and moves to catch up to Kara. They'll have to talk, later, but for now they've likely got a long day ahead of them.

"What have you got in mind?" he says, in lieu of casual conversation, as they make their way into their suite and start packing up what shit they plan to take - not everything, because this is apparently one of Kara's stashes. Here amid the bullet-strewn carnage is not a place for personal discussion. The fact Kara's resorted to jokes as much as she has is indicative of her own defenses coming up. "You wouldn't have proposed that without a person in mind."

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“Sure I would’ve! I get my best ideas under pressure.” Kara’s smile is easy as she snags a carton of purified water out of the mini bar and takes a sip, working on diluting that alcohol. “But nah, you’re right, I do. Ever been to Westside?”

Some of Kara’s favorite people lived in Westside. Klamath Bob, Judah-lot of good stories to be had there, for sure. She’d never settle down anywhere, no sir, and definitely not to farm-but if she was going to kick it somewhere, it’d probably be there. Anybody could get along alright, and without the NCR or House to shadow ya.

“Cause I know a guy.” The curve to Kara’s mouth has a bit of mischief to it-Jonah’s heard it before. So far the results had been awfully varied, too.

“This lady I know, Pretty Sarah-she’s running a brothel outta some apartments there. She’s tough enough and smart enough to make a go of it here, I think, and will take better care of the girls who wanna stay. We go convince her to come somehow, maybe some muscle to back her up-and then we’ll be golden.”

Kara’s packing her backpack, Clanden’s journal and what little she’d saved of his notes wrapped in wax paper and stuffed down into the bottom of it. Kara never leaves anything anywhere if she thinks she might need it, not unless it was in her vault. She’s always prepared to find herself unwelcome somewheres, or for someone to go through and steal her shit. Old habits.

“She uh...she’s burned up pretty bad.” Kara relays, frowning as she rolls up an extra set of clothes around a pouch of caps and shoves them into her bag too. “I heard Cook Cook got a hold of her, once. So while I wouldn’t tell her about it tell her about it, might be good to somehow work that into conversation, his being dead and all. Might help sway her into coming, us having killed his ass.”

Kara considers that quietly a moment, changing out of her pinstripe pants and button up blouse (can't dress like a gangster without a gangster hat) and into her usual attire, her stockings revealed to be mismatched even when they weren't visible-one blue and one black fishnet, today.

“And it’ll DEFINITELY sway Mean Sonofabitch that we chased Fiends out of the ruins-he might be our muscle, it’ll depend. You ever meet him? He’s great.” Cheerful again. "Mostly, I just don't trust Cachino as far as I can throw him, and maybe even less than that. It's good not all the Omertas had to die, that'll help with House- but things aren't running the way they were before, not with this golden opportunity to muck them up in our laps."

Who knew it'd even arise! Not her, she'd strolled in just to crash for a day or two before moving on Benny. Spontaneity! Kara buttoned up a black vest over a bandeau top and was good to go, trusty jacket drawn on and that tug of finality on the lapels, rusty metal pauldron tinking off of a pin or two below it.