Know When to Fold 'Em (Closed for Obuzeti)

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Kara hadn’t planned on coming in here and drinking (what a weird thought, sauntering into a bar and not being thirsty)-she had come here to steal Jonah away and cuddle him back to-well she’s not sure back to. Settle him, something. Hold him a while.

But he’d come over and sat with Beatrix, and was settling just fine-fine enough to drink, and look more like himself himself, not-too much thinking. If Jonah wanted to wind down this way, she wasn’t going to argue-if anything, it’d just cap off her night, settle HER-cause she was a little grumpy about The King keeping Pacer around, she can’t really lie about it. He’d nearly spoiled everything, snuck around behind his leader’s back-and there The King had been, worrying about him and willing to walk him into negotiations like...like-like some kind of favorite son or some shit!

Kara set the beer down and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, shucking off the leather jacket and tossing it over her usual one. Freeside might not stay Free very long, fool enough leader like that- but what did she know? Or want, exactly? Pacer to get his head blown off?

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

Kara’s eyes widened on the second sentence, because holy shit-and then she grins, forgetting all about her grumpiness for the manic amusement of some ‘tough big boy’ wandering into Beatrix’s lair. Jonah’s voice rumbles, never loud but always attention drawing-and he’s amused. Kara swipes the bottle and takes a draw on that instead, abandoning the beer. She’s eighty percent certain Francine had handed it over in an attempt to keep her from filling up on liquor.

Gambit failed, Fran.

It burns the back of her tongue and heat slides down her throat, warm in her stomach. Yep, that’s some good stuff. Way better than whatever the hell Gomorrah had served earlier in the day.

"What about you, darling? Any legendary conquests out on the trail?"

“Plenty! It’s been weeks-don’t you know what kind of trouble I can get into, with that much time to find it?” Kara makes a show out of pretending to think over one of her many ‘conquests’, eyes on the ceiling as she takes a second pull of the whiskey. Before back to Jonah the bottle goes-she doesn’t want to hog it, and it doesn’t exactly take much for her anyway.

“Why! Not even all that long ago I stole an entire pack of wolves from Caesar’s Legion.” Kara nods her head, tapping the permanent marker against the table top. “Snuck by maybe thirty, thirty-five red skirts to do it. Then it was just a matter of sweet talking all, what was it-twenty two?-wolves into moving on their masters. I led the charge myself, you know. Was riding a yaoguai and everything.”

“Uh huh. And then what?”

“Released ‘em into the desert after fashioning the yaoguai a crown, ‘course. What would YOU do with a pack of ravenous, traitorous wolves?”

“Maybe that’s what chased the Khans out of Red Rock.”

“Maybe that IS what chased the Khans out of Red Rock!” Kara agrees, not even bothering pretending shock or surprise about their vacating of the canyon being known as far as Freeside. “‘Course, that coulda been any number of things, all told. Ghosts, maybe.”

She returns to the beer, what the hell. Beer always tastes better after drinking a bit of whiskey.

“Other than a myriad of even more excitin’, high paying adventures-not sure I got much news." She's trying really hard to decide if she can make Jonah laugh with a crass declaration of their being bunk buddies or not, but it oddly feels...cheap. Or was it that it might make HIM feel cheap? Could men feel cheap? Could Jonah? Was there a reason this beer tasted like oranges?

Vast and incomprehensible mysteries, all of them.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

(Son of a-Accidental post, yikes!)

 

[Obuzeti]

Jonah takes a long drink of the whiskey himself, passes the bottle back to Kara. That beer looks like used dishwater; he's inclined to pick it up and chuck it back at Francine's head, but it's a fuzzy and momentary impulse rather than any real kind of homicidal desire, and much easier to handle. "Hit a Legion patrol in what was left of Nipton. The place is torched, most of the citizens are dead."

Beatrix, up to this point slumped in her chair comfortably, sits up. The humor slides right off her face. "No shit?"

"No shit," Moray confirms. "Someone named Vulpes Inculta. I buried him and his crew, but they were tough customers."

Beatrix leans back in her seat. Something withered and ugly peeks from inside of her mouth, and it takes a moment to click that it's her tongue, reflexively licking her lips. "Well, I heard stories. He's supposed to be Caesar's left hand, y'know his raider and skirmisher. Word is he's got something to do with Camp Searchlight going ghoul too, but that's rumor."

Jonah takes this in. His brows beetle briefly, but then he shrugs and the worry slides off. "I'd have killed him regardless."

Beatrix toasts him with her whiskey, then peers at Kara. Instead of asking about her story or the veracity of it, she just pours the other woman a bit of her own bottle. "I dunno what you two are doing," she says, "but thanks for that. On behalf of all us the Legion'd cut to pieces without a second blink."

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Jonah side steps her bullshitting to deliver some unembellished facts, and Kara's amusement internally dimmed as she tried not to remember the smell of burned flesh or the intimate way Dog Hat had talked in the midst of his massacred town.

The back of her neck prickles just thinking about it, and Kara shakes it off to think about the real hilarity of flipping all those Legion Mongrels, some of which had apparently followed them from Lady Gibson's. Yeah, that'd been great! She pops the cap to her marker and considers what sort of picture to graffiti on the table top-wait, Camp Searchlight ghoulified?

Kara's eyes flick up to Beatrix, briefly serious before she almost stubbornly draws a childishly dirty picture on the tabletop. But, the fuck did Dog Hat do? Was the Legion packing fucking nukes now? If they are, where are they keeping them?

The insanity of that last question throws even Kara off a minute-she finishes her phallic scribble and lifts the orangey beer back to her lips-then realizes it's empty. Well shit. She sets it aside and pops her marker into it, chewing that all over as she watches James crawl up the stairs.

Searchlight had been where Lieutenant Larson had been heading, hadn't it? Something about Legion making a move on it, an attack the NCR had successfully fended off.

Dog Hat had had sour grapes about the place, apparently. If Caesar couldn't have it, no one could. He really was a bastard.

"Hell Beatrix- besides his hairline, even I can't find much to laugh at when it comes to Caesar." She accepts the poured glass and finds her grin, raises the booze in a returned toast. "Cut us down cause we're too mouthy to be scarecrows."

Beatrix doesn't know what they're doing, and honestly-neither does Kara, entirely.

So far, they'd denied Caesar the New Khans and the Omertas, cut the legs completely out from under a planned assault on the Strip, AND buried-per Jonah- his 'left hand'. Some of that was bound to catch up to them eventually. Dude had spies everywhere.

Well, she'll sit down and mull it over some other time-she's done plenty of thinking today.

Kara threw the shot back and everything tipped a little-whoa, and she hasn't even stood up yet, damn! "Whoa Bea-I think my ancestors done felt that one.". Kara laughs.

 

[Obuzeti]

"The hats he makes his soldiers wear," Moray opines. "They're fucking stupid. Saw a legionnaire trip a grenade bouquet with his mohawk headpiece thing once. The whole top of his body blew apart, just a pair of legs and some sandals left."

Well, that's a Moray joke for you. Gruesome. Beatrix likes it though, she cackles and slaps the other man's shoulder. It's probably the highest sign of respect that Moray can give that he doesn't even shoot her a dirty look. "You take 'em home as trophies, huh?"

"I wear boots," Moray deadpans. Beatrix laughs again, then pokes at Kara as the smaller woman wobbles. The cowgirl Ghoul is noticeably touchy once she starts drinking, always slapping and poking or touching, particularly with these two; everywhere else in the Mojave, people probably recoil from it, but Moray doesn't give a shit and Kara doesn't either.

"Drink some water, hon," Beatrix advises. "You're a tiny thing, you can't down that much hard liquor that fast. Moray, you're on carrying duty if she passes out."

"Affirmative," Jonah replies. He's dead fucking serious.

"Lemme tell you something, hon," Beatrix says, gesturing at Francine for a glass of water, which she rolls her eyes and starts to pour. "Bad shit's always gonna happen. Always gonna be a bad man out there somewhere. You take hold of what you want, you grip it tight, and you fight for it, wheedle for it, whatever. Hang on, and don't be ashamed. Life's too short to fuck around playing monk."

The ghoul shrugs and cracks an ugly smile. "'Less you take a radiation bath. Don't think it'd agree with your complexion though, hon."

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

”-just a pair of legs and some sandals left."

The image, particularly how it supposedly came about in or out of the joke-is hilarious, and Kara laughs too, always appreciative of a good joke-

"I wear boots,"

And that just makes her laugh more, cheeks coloring a bit brighter over the light flush of intoxication. She catches at Bea’s poking hand with both of hers, tries to string the words together over a bout of giggling. “D’you know what he told somebody, when they asked him how he managed to kill Dog Ha-I mean Vulpes in the middle of all his men?” Kara straightens up a little, trying (and mostly failing) for a straight face and a lowered voice, brows furrowing in ‘seriousness’.

“I shot them.” And another peal of giggles, half that and half because of Dhatri’s expectant expression after, his slow realization more wasn’t coming.

"Drink some water, hon,"

Kara attempted to stifle her giggles as she nodded along at whatever else Bea says-there were some rules to hard drinking, she just never bothered learning them other than to maybe not die drinking-when Jonah deadpans accepts his role of drunken stupor Kara transporter-and she nearly breaks into another fit, a hand to her forehead as she shakes her head at that and her own giggling, fingers threading through and half undoing the bobby pinned pompadour, curls of red slipping off to the side.

"Lemme tell you something, hon,"

“What are ya going to tell me, Bea?” To anyone else, that would have been sarcastically amused. For Beatrix, Kara’s actually offering up her full attention, curious, expectant. Jonah doesn’t drink with just anybody. He mostly shoots them.

Beatrix talks, and the first part, well, she’s familiar with the first part. There were all kinds of bad mooks out there, and bad shit was just mostly how the world worked, wasn’t it? That’s what the joke was. That’s what made things funny.

The rest...not so much. Taking what you want, maybe-Kara’s pretty good at that. If you couldn’t keep her from it, that’s just on you. But having what you wanted being something to hold onto rather than something you fleetingly enjoyed and then tossed aside... to dig in and fight for it…

Permanence.

And boy, if permanence wasn’t kind of scary.

“Life is short, Bea.” Kara agrees with a slow nod- “Unless you DO take a radiation bath-maybe I should look into that! There’s a couple of nooks and crannies that set off the old geiger counter, and I always did want to see what was inside of ‘em…” She’s full of shit, mostly-Francine slides the water over and Kara picks it up to sip some of it, a flimsy joke of it being weak stuff flitting through her foggy brain.

“There’s gotta be a balance somewheres, between joining a nunnery and...cynical hedonism? There’s no freedom in the one, a hilarious overabundance in the other, and...nothing to lose in either, maybe.” Nothing to fight for. Kara’s not sure that made any kind of sense, but that was okay-she talked to herself as much as other people, sometimes.

Kara swirled the water a minute, then poured a bit of whiskey into it. “Used to honestly view that as a good thing. But! No vice without a price, eh?” Kara queried, waggling her eyebrows suggestively at them both-before she drained the glass of whiskey spiked water, then carefully stacked it on top of her other glass-or tried, because it toppled off and rolled across the table.

“I jus’ like being alive, tha’s where all the fun n freedom is! We’ll steal as much of both as we can, right Jonah?” She looks over at him a moment, then scoots closer. He’s the thing that she wants. “Anything else, I’ll think about.”

 

[Obuzeti]

"Either is a kind of surrender," Moray notes. He pushes back the whiskey for a moment, and slides his arm into Kara's, linking them at the elbow. It's uncharacteristically touchy of him, but then between Beatrix and the alcohol this is probably as relaxed as he gets in a public space. "A nun gives up everything now. Hedonists give up the future. It's just what they choose to have faith in."

Beatrix laughs, short and sharp. "Faith's in mighty short supply about the Mojave, Jonah."

"Thus the hedonism," he replies, and Beatrix surrenders the point with a tip of her hat. He leans back into his chair and studies the ceiling for a long moment, then says, "I go where you go, Kara."

He's said it before, but he doesn't mean it any less now. Freedom is cute, but there are a thousand things to do out there in the Wastes that don't have any meaning, and only one that quickens his pulse and makes him glad to be alive. 'Fun' isn't the right word for it. It's closer to a component of color - like his world would fundamentally change without Kara in his life. It would be survivable, but that is all the virtues he can commend to it.

Then he stands up, the whiskey making his head warm and fuzzy - he's got a good buzz going on. Jonah shoots a glance at Beatrix, who's leaning back in her chair with her hat pulled down over her eyes, then offers a hand down to Kara. "'Bout time to be heading up, I suppose."

Francine, whatever comments she has about the uncharacteristic scene, stays quiet behind her bar, polishing glasses.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“Either is kind of a surrender,”

Plato notes, sliding his arm through hers. Kara doesn’t bother, doesn’t think about prudence-does she ever? The courier just tips her heavy head into that arm, her free hand slipping around his forearm as she just leans into him, middle of the bar.

Not that anyone was around to be entirely aware of it, but it’s a first. Kara was not a cuddly drunk, she was a crazy one-cajoling people to dance on tables and starting fights between other drunks, cheating at cards and defacing people’s property, playing pranks only she could have come up with.

“A nun gives up everything now. Hedonists give up the future. It’s just what they choose to have faith in.” The words kind of swirl around in her brain. Give up? Was the joke giving up? Wasn’t that half what made it funny, and mostly-made it powerful? Knowing the pointlessness of it all, making moves no death fearing person would-living as full as possible because fuck it, gotta get what you can while you can, right?

No permanence. Nothing to lose. The joke maybe gives up on both. Gives up on tomorrow-it’ll either be there or it won’t, so assume it won’t, and you can’t be disappointed. You can’t be threatened with the lack of it.

Jonah’s arm is warm in both of hers.

“I go where you go, Kara.”

“But that makes dancing through minefields so much less appealing, Jonah.” She huffs a laugh. “Less funny.”

But she loves him. She loves him so damned much, and for all the warmth, all the tomorrows it suddenly tempted her with-it’d made her feel so cold looking at the business end of Benny’s shiny gun. So very, very cold.

She hadn’t really known fear like that in a long time...not since she’d gotten in on the joke, all that time ago, in a filthy cage, half starved and sleep deprived. She squeezes his arm and sits up straight again, stretches her arms over her head with a little arch of her back, relaxes with a satisfied tug on the front of her black vest as he stands up, pulling both her lucky jacket and the leather King one onto her lap, into her opposite arm.

“S’ppse if you didn’t, I’d just follow you around cracking one liners anyways. Red heads are notoriously hard to shake, you know!” Least, this one was, snrk.

She accepts the hand and actually pulls on it a bit when SHE stands, because damn did all that whiskey hit her hard. Like a truck!

“Pfffft, you’re just ‘fraid I’ll drink you under the table.” She bullshits, back to her dramatics and over emphasis-but there’s no audience, not in the empty bar. Kara’s entertained, though. “Yer jus’ lucky I all pregamed it with shoot outs and cap theft.”

 

[Obuzeti]

"I suppose we'll have to find other ways to entertain ourselves," Jonah murmurs. "Beatrix. Excuse us. It's time to retire for the night."

The cowgirl lazily salutes them both with the whiskey bottle she'd been cradling. "That's fine. I'll luxuriate in the buzz for a bit, do the same myself. Fuck 'er hard, Jonah."

Jonah coughs in surprise, but doesn't flush - rather his shoulders square up and he just walks away steadily, listening as Beatrix cackles behind him somewhere, dead certain she'd just scored a hit and sunk a battleship. To be fair, she's not wrong - Kara's his first soft spot ever, he think, and there's a considerable difference between Cachino's careful prodding and Beatrix's, who even if she's more crude has never left his hackles up in the same way.

"Kara," he says, quietly amused, "I'll surrender the drinking if you let me handle the shootouts. Seems more fair, that way." She's not a bad shot, but she doesn't have a cool head. She wants to dive in, draw blood; the Raider in her, rising from beneath the skin.

The unsteady pair make it up the stairs, and then Jonah glances around, abruptly aware of his lack of direction. "Ah. Which one is ours?"

The downstairs is empty, so it's not like anyone's going to argue, but it will be awful awkward if Beatrix wanders in and passes on on the bed with them.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Kara’s already got color with all the whiskey she’d thrown back, the orangey beer-but she also doesn’t really blush-she’s never been ashamed of anything in her life. Hell, when Devon had accused her of it, she’d fired off a smooth insult back rather than deny what wasn’t even happening. Yet.

No, no embarrassment-Kara just bursts out laughing, briefly again putting Jonah on the outside of the joke, an extra delighted silvery peal at his straightening shoulders as he just stoically walks away, her hand still in his as she follows-not at all as steady-after him. “Is THAT what you think we’re up to?” She calls back, infinitely entertained but once again with him-mostly-on the inside of her teasing. “I hired Moray so he could stand behind people at cards, signal what their hands are.” That’s pretty good. “Or wait, was it so he could see over crowds for me? No! It was for the free piggyback rides!”

She’s still making up ludacris, obvious lies all the way to the stairs, losing focus on it as they make it, needing that railing and a little bit of concentration to manage them. She half smirks, half smiles to his quietly amused response to her bluffing.

“You got me there-tha’s honestly one in a very short list of shoot outs I’ve ever mostly been in, Gomorrah. Usually getting the hell out before or once the shootin’ starts. Or else using my mouth to properly settle accounts, in my favor o’ course.” A smirk. “That’s what I did today with The Kings ‘n NCR. Lil’ Devil continues to be neglected.” One stair, two stairs, three-she’s leaning forward some, not about to topple backwards. It’s not her first drunken climb of these very steps, after all.

“But I DID trip some people up though, gotta admit! Like, a hundred! A hun’red and three!” There hadn’t been that many Omertas in the place, ever-and the number has that dramatic bullshit flair to it, the little mirthful grin. “Lotta stimpaks probably had to get used up.” She had blown a guy or two away, she remembers. Hadn’t she thrown a REAL stick of dynamite? Mostly by accident-she’d kinda been a little drunk then too. Not THIS drunk though. She was reckless, but not stupid.

And her party pop! Damn, that’d done some damage.

He pauses and Kara swings her arm absently, their clasped hands meaning his got swung too, least a little. She looks expectant, as if the second floor might contain a whole new level of entertainment. It’s quiet, of course, but Kara fails to be disappointed as Jonah asks the obvious-and Kara perks up, half bouncing forward and tugging him along with her.

“What, you don’t WANNA give Jim a heart attack in his pajamas? S’kind of you.” Kara was in a good mood, and having a good time-which was the usual, but for her contentment and amusement to be so much quieter than the usual antics it normally took-Francine was probably grateful for it.

Kara pops up on the the round handle to room number 4 and the door opens without a key, swinging wide and dropping fucking confetti in a light fluttering rain over their heads.

NOW Kara’s disappointed. “Aw damn, guess it hadn’t gotten rented out since I was here last. Knew I shoulda set that up in another one…”

Of course she’d ‘booby trap’ the place before leaving. Wait-that meant she set this up BEFORE heading out to Tenderheart with him. The hell was up with Kara’s priorities? Heading off to potentially get murdered? Better set up a joke first!

 

[Obuzeti]

"I'm satisfied by that outcome," Jonah comments, quietly. It's true Kara's way keeps her out of the line of fire most of the time, and it's vastly preferable to her catching a stray bullet. But they've gone down this line of thought already tonight, and he's tired of worrying when he's got Kara warm in his arms and a bed waiting for them. "So long as you can catch 'em by surprise, Kara, I don't doubt you'll ride to victory somehow."

The confetti settles in Jonah's hair and eyes, tall as he is, and he stares at it, bemused. Rather than shake it off, he just blows some of the colorful flakes into Kara's face, then ambles over to take a seat on the bed and start pulling his boots off. "Well, I'm glad you got your last revenge set up on whatever unsuspecting nobody that would happen to stumble through here."

The boots he sets aside in a corner, and he gestures Kara to sit so he can start working on hers too, and in the meantime pulls out a fucking vice clamp from one pocket and attaches it to the doorknob, sneaking his extendable crowbar in between the two, and then wedging that bar in place with a chair that lodges against the wall. The whole thing will hold in place against anything short of removing the knob in total.

Satisfied, he turns back to Kara and kneels to help her boots off as well, a habit that's started to bear the weight of tradition by now, taking each other's armor off once they have privacy guaranteed. "Glad to see Beatrix again," he comments. "We came to the Mojave on the same caravan. Stuck around because House had his shit together. She looks satisfied."

They hadn't known each other long beforehand - Moray hadn't been inclined to talking, ever - but she had been quietly fascinated by his own proclivities, that violence seething under his skin, and Beatrix was one of the few living things that could look under his skin and not flinch at what she saw. He owed her a lot, honestly.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Kara laughs, shaking the colorful bits of paper mostly out of that bright red hair, disappointment turning to delight in his reframing of the trap. Yes...the final revenge!

The courier unsteadily wanders away from the door to toss both jackets into a waiting chair on her way to the bed-and then just flops back onto the mattress next to him, the buttons on the black vest fussed with a minute, managing the bottom two before she loses focus, more curious about what he’s doing. She sits up and watches the end of his security measures, looking a little silly with her ruffled red hair and half undone vest, midriff and the bottom of that bandeau top exposed.

“Tha’s clever.” She says as he pulls the jacket chair over to further secure it. “Much better than the ‘Come on in!’ sign I was gonna put up.” Kara grins, a little dizzy but infinitely amused.

She wonders how many tricks he has, exactly. It half seems like overkill, and it’s half something she decides she appreciates. Nobody wants to get jumped in their sleep, not really.

He kneels to start in on her boots-on her own, she honestly might’ve just slept in them. Maybe under the bed, or the closet-old habits of curling up somewhere out of the way tended to resurface when she’d been drinking.

Kara runs her fingers down the stocking’d thigh on display in her half pants, then catches at the lapel of his fatigues, the bird pin-before starting on the snaps one at a time. He talks about Beatrix and Kara listens, content.

“I didn’t know that...always liked Beatrix-if you guys are friends, then you both have good taste.”

"I was on and off of Caravans, my own grand trip West." Adventure! That'd been at least...she doesn't know. Two, maybe three years heading this way? Starts and stops. She'd seen all sorts of shit, but had still, for the most part, stayed on the fringes of anything too populated. "Got arrested in Junction City by the Brotherhood at one point, I ever tell you that? But I got away, then I ended up passing through Caesar's lands just long enough to get the fuck outta Caesar's lands-" Yikes! "Swung North solo, then South again into New Vegas cause of rumors. Found it to my likin', obviously."

Bea, Bea, Bea-Beatrix knows what’s up! The ghoul’s in control of her destiny, she decides what happens. She gets it. She knows. The Mojave was made for people like them. Anywhere else they’d be on the edges, but here they could make their own way, find a path they liked.

"Hmm." Kara smooths her fingers over his shoulders. "To think I almost stayed in Tin Can lands, too."

 

[Obuzeti]

"It wouldn't have stayed up," Moray says with perfect equanimity. "On this we will have to agree to disagree."

He thinks for a minute. "I think we may be, now," Jonah says, slow. "Not before. Not really. We had an understanding. I think - Beatrix has more kindness than she lets on, sometimes."

The kindness of women has changed him. Beatrix, and Kara, though she'd rather die than admit it; her touch, the warmth of her sliding under his arm in the steel redoubts they'd hidden themselves within, bunker and Vault and elevator and soul. He feels, for a moment, deeply and unaccountably thankful that they'd seen something in him reaching out to, and turns his head to press his lips against Kara's knuckles. Then he stands up and works off the fatigues.

"To be fair, there's probably plenty to steal around the Brotherhood, and they're too stoic and slow to catch you," Jonah murmurs, as he seats himself on the bed and slides back to the wall, settling himself comfortably in the corner. His sidearm he reaches over and sets in his boot, handle up, so he can snatch it in an emergency, an old habit he's had come in handy a few times, then he extends his hand to Kara once more. "But for now, let's get some sleep."

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“She’s told me stories a’fore. Mostly for free.” The idea of friendship is honestly a bit of a weird one. Everyone has their price, after all...everybody does. But in the meanwhile, until that price is offered up-it’s okay, friendship. Sometimes as a joke. Sometimes an aggressive joke, dismissive and uncaring in the face of somebody else’s ire. Other times it’s just kind of amusing, the confusion it inspired in others, the wariness of just what she might be up to, after. Sometimes it’s both, and here and there, in pockets-it just was.

At the end of the day, she really just didn’t have a whole lot against anybody, not really-but a lack of enemies didn’t really make for an abundance of friends, did it?

Kara’s sitting there a little dazedly, zoned out- but she smiles when he kisses the back of her hand, vibrant blue eyes refocusing. “And we’re friends. Partners.” She murmurs, sleepily pleased with the fact. He says something about the Brotherhood, but the Brotherhood was boring-they didn’t share, and they locked things up tight and were smart enough to post guards. She had been good in her teens...very good. But not as good as she was now.

Maybe she’d sweep back through someday, learn some of the things they knew, steal away some of their hoarded technology so she could play with it. Maybe.

Kara kicks out of her pants at least, the pearl handled switchblade normally kept in the waistband sliding across the floorboard-but she doesn’t bother with anything else, not the mismatched stockings or the half unbuttoned vest. The redhead just crawls across the bed after him, accepting the hand and nodding to what he says. “Mmhm.” She curls into him as always, a little bit of extra cuddle for good measure. “See you tomorrow, Mister Jonah of the Whale.”

 

[Obuzeti]

In the morning, Jonah disassembles his defensive fortifications and proceeds out the door. Beatrix is already gone, which is to be expected - her job at the Followers is probably pretty tense right now, with all the recent shooting that they've started - and the twin that keeps fainting is pleasantly absent. The morning is crisp, and the lack of a hangover means that he can focus on the job without being particularly irritated at whatever distractions and hangups should occur in his way.

"We going to Mean or your boss madam lady first?" Jonah asks, already looking for any signs of the peaceable Super Mutant. Dogs and other critters are usually a good sign - he doesn't quite have Kara's trick for taming the local wildlife, but whatever area he camps out in at the moment usually has at least a handful of birds following him around for the scraps he tosses out. Unfortunately, they all seem to be in hiding from last night's ruckus. "Latter might be easier to find, given a fixed position and all."

Her idea has merit, it's just that he has little to contribute to it. This is another area where his connections are sparse on the ground.

Jonah looks - not happier, but more balanced, like he had back in Goodsprings before Benny's trap sprung. They're in allied territory, Kara's around, last night was something even he'd admit was a good time, and any factions that would take a shot at them are on the back foot. He's still watching for any Chairmen or another Fiend gang from Benny, but that's been constant ever since the ambush. This is about as close to a milk run as they get, calling in favors from the citizenry.

Additionally, Hrolf picked up their scent at some point and now trots behind them, casually sniffing things again. Jonah admits it'd been strange not having the dog around constantly.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Kara did not have her usual ‘new day’ enthusiasm-no, she mumble grumbled and had her eyes mostly closed as she pulled on her half pants and laced her boots up over a newly mismatched pair of stockings (the exposed one was black to match her vest, and the pantleg covered one a sheer pink). She hung the King leather jacket up in the empty closet, abandoning it to the next renter-and yanked on her trusty jacket to tromp down the stairs muttering about alcoholic redheads.

It didn’t honestly last that long though-she ordered and drank a ridiculously large glass of some kind of sugary, orange colored juice that most certainly didn't contain a drop of actual fruit-and injected a stimpak at the same time. Francine seemed unsurprised, even bored as she retrieved a little grey thermos from somewhere below the bar, and, without asking- filled it with a zapped tato soup before handing it over. The words "For Sober Kara" were scrawled on it in a familiar chicken scratch.

“Yer the best Fran, I don’t care what anybody says.” And then out the door Kara went, hair mussed and yawning.

~*~

Kara was feeling much better by the time they were in the ruins that separated Freeside from the Strip's westward neighbor. Hrolf trailed just a step behind and sometimes brushed close enough for ear scritches, Bruce toddling along a bit further back-half because of his short legs, and half because he was as ADD as Kara was-the bulldog mix wandered to the most random of things to sniff or mark them.

And further, much further behind both-Hrolf’s four dog gang of Legion deserters were spread out in a wide net, not even in view-but she’d seen them.

“Ya got a point, but if we don’t have muscle-muscle Pretty Sarah knows ‘n trusts-we ain’t got Sarah. She’s not about to risk her freedom or the freedom of her current ‘merchandise’, not for all the promised caps in the world. And you know what? I wouldn’t try to talk her into doing so, neither.”

She’s decently sure Cachino’s plenty pacified-but she’d rather have some serious insurance just in case the gangster either found himself some balls or lost his goddamned mind. Sarah can’t be collateral damage. The girls can’t. They were making it better, not worse.

Kara smiles at him, enjoying the trek just because he was on it with her. “I’m stacking our deck, and it’s Mean we gotta draw first.” Kara glances down a side alley just as she steps in front of it, absently, casually watchful.

“It’s weird.” She comments, climbing unnecessarily over a piece of jagged concrete rather than go around the five foot wide barricade. “Half the time I’m cloaked, running through here? But with Cook Cook and Nelphi dead, and both their lackeys and Yvette’s crew chased off-not much to cloak from. That and you know, Hrolf’s bestest pals back there.” She’s travelling with a fuck ton of mean, is what she’s saying. Moray, dogs, a gun that worked-yep. It’s frankly an unheard of level of relative safety.

They’re entering Westside proper now though, and Kara starts looking for the same signs Jonah is-Mean likes strays just as much as she does. There’s this striped cat named Peaches always following him around even-that’s just the most regular visitor. She’s never far from wherever Mean is patrolling.

 

[Obuzeti]

"Integrity," Jonah says, and there's a note of approval in his voice. "A reasonable quality, and one worth the detour."

'Reasonable' sounds an awful lot like the highest compliment Moray will pay anyone he doesn't know. It might just be his good mood, but Kara had talked up the woman from the start. There's the possibility she's trying to butter him into not arguing against it, but to honest he doesn't really care about Gomorrah, even now that he gets part of the take from it.

That still swings him around a bit if he thinks on it. It hadn't really struck him in the moment, but it's the first time Moray's been so tied to a power structure, or a building . . . ever. He's used to mobility and independence, and the thought that he might need to come defend his investment, or Cachino, induces dissatisfaction him. He doesn't have Kara's pathological need for impenetrability, but independence is something so fundamental to his character he'd never done anything to threaten it.

Whatever. If it becomes a problem, he'll just hand it off.

"I've snuffed a lot of threats lately. Not much left wandering around Freeside that's belligerent," Moray agrees. Oddly enough, despite Kara's calming influence, he's killed more people since getting to know her. Normally he might pick off a Fiend or a Raider or a mark maybe once a week, but since joining up with her there's been a bloodbath just about every other day he's been on her trail. Intentional or not, she's made good use of his talents, and he feels satisfied and balanced in a way he's never allowed himself to be before.

That niggles at him too.

The cooing of pigeons attracts his attentions, however, and a little crowd of white bodies atop a courtyard wall tips him off about where the big super mutant might be loitering at the moment. He snaps his fingers to get Kara's attention and points at the kit, and moves around until he spots the giant, green form squatting in the ruins of an old room, peering at a burned-out computer which a kitten is hiding within.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

"Integrity. A reasonable quality, and one worth the detour."

Kara’s eyes slide to him, an appreciative quirk to her smile. At the same time, she’s again struck with the unlikelihood of having landed him. Well. No take backs.

“She’s one of the good ones, can hold onto what’s hers just fine.” You could be good and not be worth a damn, not long for the world. Kara knows that. She also knows you could be long for the world and yet nothing good for it. The apocalypse had plenty of that lying around. She appreciates the kind of strong someone like Sarah is-not only able to defend her own independence, but the independence of a few others, and all without being a nasty cutthroat.

She’d take care of the girls in Gomorrah, was smart enough to stand shoulder to shoulder with Cachino-and someone like Mean could be the stick. Cause sometimes no matter how you stacked it, might just plumb made right.

"I've snuffed a lot of threats lately.”

“Cleaned up bigger messes with smaller ones.” Kara agrees. They’ve got those bombs too. And Benny-her plates abnormally full. Usually it’s just the spontaneous, day after day after day, inspersed with a job or two. She’s not chafing under the ‘structure’ yet, but she’ll be glad once it’s over with. Probably follow along on Moray’s schedule…?

Course, Legion was entrenched further in than she’d figured, so...Mojave might not be the place to be for much longer. Caesar had been biding his time a while now, after all. And once he dispensed with the waiting, she doubts the NCR will be able to keep him back. It’s not quite the stand off she’d thought previously.

Hm.

Vibrant blue eyes flick to the pigeons and Kara thinks Jonah’s found their mark-she follows along, then clambers over a pile of rubble and slides down the other side in a balanced skid before hopping off to draw curiously closer.

Kara, for once, is quiet-there’s no blared cheerful greeting, yet-she’s picked up on something being in the computer case. Mean likewise doesn’t glance up as he continues to patiently wait-and now Kara can see a grey blue scraggly bit of fur in there.

Cats were no dogs, but they were still pretty cute. She casts a smirk at Moray as Mean eventually coaxes the kitten to venture out into his palm after another feather gentle stroke with an index finger near as big as it is, the computer case tipped slightly towards him. Thus equipped with the creature, the super mutant draws that kitten bearing hand up to his chest before setting the case aside. His eyes finally flicker over to the duo, and he smiles as best as one can smile with their upper lip pulled back, hooked with leather straps.

“‘Ara!” A heavy hand comes down on one shoulder and he nearly knocks the red head over, but Mean’s quick on the take-he’s got a hold of the furred collar of her jacket before she can hit the rubble strewn floor.

“Hiya Mean! You find a new friend?” Kara greets, amused and genuinely cheerful as he sets her back on her feet and effortlessly rises to his own.

Bruce has made it around the wall-but stops dead on viewing the super mutant. The former Fiend recognizes the scent of Westside’s protector-and stays stiff and uncertain, but not aggressive as he sniffs cautiously at the air.

His adopted mistress is happy though, so…he toddles a little closer.

Kara's being handed the kitten in the meanwhile, and she's gentle with it, doesn't talk too loud. While she's got the soft, delicate little thing against her chest.

"'as ah 'een ogh."

"Bruce? He quit them, been following Hrolf instead."

Mean was amicable to this, an open palmed gesture of acceptance.

 

[Obuzeti]

The animals aren't interesting to Moray. Johann had blooded him by making him strangle anything he caught hunting with his bare hands. Said it would slough off the weakness in him. The definition, in hindsight, had been rather flexible, but to this day he'd rather just leave them alone. Hrolf's instincts had led him well.

"Mean," Moray says shortly. "Got a job offer. Kara and I took over Gomorrah after a contract dispute. She wants to bring in new management, and muscle to make sure the girls there aren't bothered or abused. Your name topped the list. Contract is indefinite length."

Mean's brow furrows. On his big, hairless head, it looks like a tectonic movement, plates of green skin and muscle shifting. He claps a hand on his chest and points down, then gestures around, to the birds and the animals, and shrugs.

Moray makes an acknowledging hum. "Temporary is acceptable. Kara wants Pretty Sarah to take over, says she'll see that everyone's treated well."

Mean considers this, then nods, and makes to catch something before his chest before casting it out, then mimes a low-set stance carrying something on his hip and flinches away. He points to the West, then nods firmly, and lifts two fingers and rubs them together.

Moray turns to Kara. "He'll do it to see Pretty Sarah settled in, but not permanently. He's got to take care of Freeside. What's the contract rate, lump or per-diem?"

Mean's particular mimed pidgin is a pain to learn, but between that and his limited vocalizations Jonah's learned enough to get by. He's pulled enough jobs with the big Super Mutant as his preferred backup: he's big, quiet, and intelligent. Just having an extra pair of hands and back that strong lets him set up much nastier traps, so Mean's been a regular feature on exterminating the wildlife near Freeside for awhile.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

"Temporary is acceptable.”

Aw, hell. Kara doesn’t let it register anywhere on her face, and honestly-she should have anticipated that. Mean wouldn’t want to leave Westside to permanently fend for itself, even with the Fiends pushed back to their nasty vault. Suppose that was good...Klemath Bob and Judah were both getting kind of up there…

The kitten had one paw up, claws retracted-and was tracking Kara’s metal tipped index finger. The little thing was small, kind of scrawny. It’s cute, but if she thinks about it for too long, she starts to feel a little sick somewhere in some secret part of her-anxiety that pulls her mouth into a grin and forces her attention away with a final bop to the baby animal’s nose. Mean is playing charades again, and it always takes her a minute to decipher-sometimes she guessed outlandish things just to make him laugh.

Moray’s on the case though, which was-well, surprising, actually. Kara takes it in stride, amused.

“Gentleman’s choice, I’d imagine-whatever Cachino was making before, I’m sure that’s what they’re gonna be paying muscle. Cushy cut of the profits while you’re there, is what I’m sayin’.” Kara doesn’t offer a lump sum bonus out the gate. It’s not her money she’s spending, but she’s still damned good at haggling.

Unless Moray up and offers one, she supposes. He kind of dispenses with the bullshit. The kitten was purring against her chest. She steps forward to offer the little thing back up to the gentle giant. “If all you do is make sure Sarah’s settled in until I can get someone permanent, that’s plenty. We’re on the take now, so I’m just protectin’ my investments.”

She ruffles Hrolf’s scruff and pretends he was jealous-instead of his usual stoic indifference. “Now to convince Pretty Sarah! Wish me luck Mean, that might be a tall order-shorter now that you’re in though!” She scoops a still uncertain Bruce up, the usual half stumble in taking on so much unbalanced weight in a swoop-and starts in that direction.

He had been jealous too, of course! Actually-his tongue's not lolling out of his mouth, the normally goofy dog smile absent. She thinks he'd been anxious, though she hadn't seen him yawn or anything. She hugged him as she tromped along, poor puppy.

You're not a raider anymore Bruce. Stick with me, I'll show you the ropes of 'civilized' society.

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray shrugs one shoulder at Mean. "If that bothers you, call it a standard protection contract as I've done, minus ten percent for friendly territory. Forty-five caps a day, plus expenses in the defense of the client: Pretty Sarah."

He glances up as Kara starts to clomp off, something about the sudden manic energy looking defensive to him. He still doesn't have a good grasp on her reactions, but definitely the more squirrelly she acts, the deeper something's gotten under her skin. Immediately flitting off like that was a decent sign, though of what, he didn't know.

Mean taps him on the shoulder, and Jonah glances up at the other man. There's an inquisitive look on his face.

"I don't know either," he says, lips thinning.

~*~

He catches up to Kara a street later, mostly on account of Bruce slowing her down enough more than any difference in the length of their strides. Rather than address her sudden and nameless burst of erratic energy, he just slips in beside her and offers an arm to help carry Bruce.

"Don't think I've met Pretty Sarah," he comments. "I gather she's in the same line of business, though? Joana looked like she got competitive with you, I don't imagine she'll welcome another rival any better."

That's half true - he never has met Sarah - but he has a pretty good fix on why Joana couldn't stand either one of them, and it has a lot more to do with power than being pretty. It's a hard thing to be intelligent enough to understand your own powerlessness; be given enough agency to regret your lack of reach. Joana probably looked at the two of them and wondered if she could have been so free before she put on the lingerie.

The answer is no. She would have died, in either case - by raiders or Johann, their beginnings have been unkind.

Jonah drifts a little closer to Kara, his side brushing hers.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Kara entrusts the trusty ex-raider to the big man and fixes her backpack strap, amused he'd carry the dog.

“Yeah, she’s a pimp. Don’t know what her cut is, but her whores are happy. I’m friends with one of ‘em, Jimmy? He says she looks out for ‘em. Strong enough to throw dudes out on their ass, they do something one of hers don’t like.”

She considers Joana a moment, and it's a surprisingly long moment.

“Well. If I were her, I probably wouldn’t like me either.” That doesn’t bother Kara, people not liking her. She doesn’t care. She’s the best thing since canned bread and believed it, and she didn’t much want to be anything else.

Least, she’s pretty sure. She’s been doing a lot of goddamned thinkin’, lately.

“And that job back there? That was the second time she had to swallow her pride, hire me for somethin’ she couldn’t do herself, a situation she plain just didn’t know what to do about.”

Those were the kinds of jobs Kara mostly seemed to get-somebody has a problem, and wouldn’t you know it, she just happened to have a solution-or claimed to. She made the deal, got the job-and then figured it out during. Kiiiind of a lot. That’s what made it fun.

Hadn’t been much fun in either of Joana’s two jobs though, honestly. Fun or profit.

“Anyway, yeah-them girls are Joana’s girls, and they’re bound to butt heads, we leave them there together. I done already thought that most of the way through, and I got a secret weapon! We’ll hit him up real fast on the side, won’t take more ‘n a minute.”

That manic smile again, but she kind of waffles on the inside somewhere, debating whether or not she was going to leave it at that, per usual-or if she was going to be a little more honest. With herself, with him, she doesn’t know.

Khans, Omertas, Nipton, Searchlight, Chlorine bombs…did it count, sackcloth and ashes, if you were just afraid of being smited otherwise? Was there a power that even could cow the ‘great and glorious’ Caesar?

Jonah drifts closer and brushes against her, and her smile softens into something more genuine and secret, warmly fond. Her gaze flicks to him and his carrying Bruce under the one arm-a situation the dog seemed all too happy with, that goofy tongue lolling smile finally back on his face. And then those carribean blue irises slide up to his face.

Meanwhile Jonah here wants, strives to be better. And her? She just tries not to think too much.

Ya know, like right now.

“Maybe more than a secret weapon-I don’t think Joana wants to be there, you know? Not really, and now that’s clean she ain’t even got drugs to make her forget the fact.” She talks, but instead of the incessant chatter there’s content, and it comes easier than she might have otherwise thought, just the two of them trekking towards Casa Madrid Apartments. “Gomorrah’s always given its whores a bum deal, but at least it was safer than the street, and folks-supposedly-couldn’t get too rough with you if you didn’t want ‘em too. And you know what? Cachino thought he was above that. And he was for a while, I guess-’til Joana hired me to do something about it, and I fuckin’ did.” A stroke of stubborn, which was a sight different than Kara’s normally flippant, amused feelings about a job well done. No, this had meant something to her to do, whether she realized it or not.

“It’s easy to throw your weight around, lord over people who can’t do shit to stop you-but good luck fighting crazy when you’re not all that clever to start with. So I find dirt, I got him by the balls, and then I threw MY weight on HIM-and I told him he wasn’t allowed to touch those girls any fucking more, or I’d get him dead with either Sal or Nero, one of the two.”

“BUT. Before all that, and something I couldn’t fix-was this guy, our secret weapon-he was an Omerta thug that went and fell in love with Joana. Worse, Joana up and fell in love back. Cachino didn’t like that. Joana was one of the girls he was abusin’, and I guess he thought he owned her, I don’t know. Carlito swears up and down he was loyal, but Cachino convinced Big Sal he was on the take or something, and Carlito was lucky to get out of there in one piece. And he’s still got it bad, and you saw Joana’s face when I mentioned him. Least, I did.”

And it all comes full circle then, clicks into place just completely, rather than some off the wall, hare brained idea she’d lit on randomly.

“We tell him the coast is clear, he’ll go there. Her girls are gonna be fine under Sarah-she’ll see that, and then there ain’t shit holding Joana back from going with him.” Kara snaps her fingers. “Boom, all our cards fall where we wanted ‘em.”

For some reason, she feels better telling him all of that, admitted to the completed, the for real completed, not a showy pile of pieces, puzzle.

Gomorrah was a broken toy the courier was fixing, and able to fix thanks to the death of the two big obstacles in doing so. And once it was done, she’d be off to other things, other adventures-and that’d be that, because Kara didn’t do permanence. She didn’t care. Save for Jonah, it was all about soothing her impulses. Entertainment for boredom, and altruism for pangs of conscience, sympathy. The latter of which, she’d deny at gunpoint.

Because that sort of stuff, that was how you ended up dead in a hurry.

 

[Obuzeti]

Kara clicks together a plan, and Jonah watches her brain whir and skitter from fact to fact, teasing the sharp edges of the people she knows past each other so they'll work in harmony. She jokes about it, but what would she do without people? This is her talent, her great calling. The labyrinth of the human condition is Kara's home. He's glad that she gets it, because he doesn't. The casual cruelty people inflict on each other under the pretense it doesn't matter, the desperate indignation of idle conversation, all of it itches at Jonah. People are needy, deceptive animals.

He feels a momentary, intense pulse of gratitude that he's found Kara. At least one thing in all of this makes sense to him. And, come to think of it, maybe that's how Joana feels. Maybe she's found something real too, something to hang onto.

Well, whatever his own thoughts on the worthiness of the pursuit, Kara wants to do it, and he'd oblige her even without his own musings on the subject.

"It'd also establish lines of loyalty a lot better," Jonah says, noncommittal, but lack of complaint is as good as agreement from him most of the time. "Better to have them talking to Sarah and you than still going to Joana for help. She's never been in a position to do much."

Bruce wiggles in his hold a bit. Jonah adjusts and slings an arm under the dog's feet, giving him a makeshift ledge to stand on. That seems to steady him some, as the looming ruin of the Casa Madrid Apartments come into view. He'd never been there himself, on account of not being particularly interested in prostitution, but it was well known enough in Westside. There's some guy in a ballcap sitting outside with a shotgun. He looks like a smarmy motherfucker between the hat and the beard, and he proves it as soon as he opens his mouth.

"Kara, babe, you finally come around? Sarah'll be glad to find you a room." he says. He's smiling at her, completely ignoring Jonah, and this annoys him immediately, though he doesn't say anything. This isn't his show, or any kind of ground he knows or is known on.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Kara’s something of a flirt-very comfortable in her own skin and sexuality, as crass and unashamed as any of the raunchiest of people or places. Sure, she’s never actually LOOKING for company-it’s just part of the game, part of the fun, part of her unattainable appeal. Use what you got and tease when you felt like it.

Marco though-Marco’s boring. Old enough news Kara doesn’t usually bother more than a cocky smirk and sailing on by for Pretty Sarah or Jimmy. He never gives it up despite the chances of getting with her being in the negative percentage points-but somehow, with Jonah standing there holding her impulsively adopted former Fiend fur baby-Marco’s swarm goes from boring to mildly annoying.

Huh.

So Kara stops to rectify at least part of that, because her arm candy ain’t just arm candy, alright? “Same old overly optimistic Marco.” The red head says to her partner with a shake of her head and a trace of that cocky smirk, gesturing to the man with her thumb. “Glass isn’t just half full of piss water-it’s good whiskey.”

And that’s it. Kara dismisses the slumlord in the worst way possible-she ignores him, and it’s into Casa Apartments she goes, hitting the stairs and starting up in a sprightly manner before whirling around to finish her joke.

“Little does he know-” Kara says, eye level with Jonah due to the stairs, conspiratorial and amused, looping him in on the joke that has those large blue eyes sparkling with mirth and mischief. “I am here to finally fuck him-out of his business partner that is.” Well shit, that’s just more icing on the cake, wasn’t it?

 

[Obuzeti]

Marco's face folds in a little as Kara moves right past him without so much as a word in his direction. Jonah sees the sullen hatred come up, that particularly vile brand of spite that only comes from spurned men, and is abruptly exhausted. This sort of thing follows Kara everywhere, he's found. Men everywhere, furious that she's not spreading her legs. Men looking to own her, to brag about her. To find and sport a conquest worth hefting high. It's fucking sickening.

Instead, he reaches out and clamps a hand over Marco's mouth as he starts to speak, muffling whatever words he'd been about to say. The other man jerks, his shotgun coming up and about, but stops halfway.

There's a moment of dead silence as Moray and Marco stare at each other, and then Marco lets go of his shotgun and lifts both hands in the air, miming a release.

Moray nods, lets go of Marco, and follows Kara into the apartment complex without another word exchanged.

~*~

Inside is a messy lobby, the usual Pre-War clutter organized around an actually pretty serviceable hotel desk. There's a few tables in the back with a pair of dark-skinned men lounging in them, one pretty lonely-looking guy off in another corner, and a tough old lady with a burned face watching hawk over them all.

It's the last that notices Kara first, and the old bag inclines her head with a wry touch of a smile. "More window shopping, hon? Or just here to take Sweetie out for a night on the town?"

This must be Pretty Sarah, though the name turns out to be a bit of a cruel joke. There's cooked flesh on either side of her face and around her mouth, and the scarring goes around her collarbone to the nape of her neck, like someone had held her down and poured molten metal over her face. Knowing Fiends, that had been exactly what had happened. For all that, she speaks clean and crisp, her eyes are sharp, and her body language welcoming. Sarah faces Kara and ignores the rest of the lobby for the moment, even Moray.

Somehow, that impresses him almost as much.