#falloutfun

The restaurants on the Strip were the only spots in the whole region where one could reliably acquire safe food. The only other places I trusted were the Atomic Wrangler (which was bordering on losing my trust, to be honest) and Blue Moon Breakfast & Burgers, which was owned by two men that had been rendered untouchable since their daughter became one of my closest friends. Sep and Lun, whose full names I kept forgetting, were almost respectable business owners… except for the fact that they enjoyed catering to the raiders and even more to the few remaining locals that never had enough caps to actually pay for their damn food. 

The smell of greasy breakfast was almost strong enough to cut through the stench of Freeside entirely, drawing in a crowd from dawn ‘til dusk. To get in without shoving, I had to skip the front altogether and dip into the little alley in the back to avoid the local riffraff, even as morning shifted towards noon and we reached the eye of the storm between breakfast and lunch rushes.

As I approached the backdoor I dragged my feet across the dirt, lightly brushing my fingertips along the cracked bricks until they reached it, shoddy and barely hanging on its hinges. Curling them into a loose fist, I tapped on the door softly, then a little firmer until I worked my way into an audible knocking. Then, I slowly turned the handle before opening the door, inch by inch, to the kitchen. These were the measures I had to take every goddamn time I came over to avoid scaring the local freak. “Good morning, Lun. It’s Auguste.”

“H-H-Hi,” Stuttered the squeaky, high-strung man in question. He didn’t even look at me; his eyes were honed in on the blobs of shredded potato in hot oil before him, and his mind was on some dough seemingly kneading itself on a counter nearby, as well as the spatula gently prodding at gecko eggs and steaks on the flattop. One might assume telepathic abilities unlocked unlimited opportunities, but for Lun all they did was allow him to cook a few dishes at once. Something most professional chefs already do without psychic powers. “Vera’s u-upstairs.”

“Thanks. I’m gonna go there now.” I told him slowly, then cautiously walked by him before heading up the creaky, narrow staircase in the back corner of the kitchen. There were just two doors at the top for what were once two tiny apartments, and I knocked on the right before stepping back. There was barely any room on the landing for either door to open all the way without knocking someone on their ass, and I only had to fall down the stairs once to never repeat my mistake.

Vera had learned from her mistake too, and opened the door slowly as always despite knowing I’d be standing on the top step. She was a little too excited to see me, stepping out only to lift me up into a tight embrace, and I couldn’t help but hug her back, even if I hated it when she picked me up like that. It was bad enough she was half a foot taller than me even in my elevator shoes, she didn’t need to look stronger, too. But when she pulled away to smile at me, I couldn’t help but let it slide. It was impossible to be mad at her for most things, let alone something so trivial.

“I missed you.” She said, setting me down on the landing. “I was really worried about you, too.”

“I know, I missed you too.” I said, and stepped aside to let her down the stairs first before following behind. “I’d rather not talk about any of that, if it’s all the same to you. I just wanna forget about things. Move on. Have some goddamn fun again.” “Sure!” She said, her voice as bouncy as her skirts. “If you change your mind, um, I don’t mind talking about it, but we don’t have to if you don’t want to.” She hopped off the last step and landed on both feet before turning to face me, offering her hand. “Any place in mind?”

“We’re gonna go to the Atomic Wrangler.” I said, partly to Lun, but I knew Sep might have heard me too. “And then probably do some window shopping. Maybe catch a show. Nothing crazy.” I said, taking her hand before approaching the back door. “I’ll have her home by eleven.”

“Nine.” Said Sep, from the other side of the room. He stood behind a counter adjacent to what was once a bright living room window, broken open to serve as a takeout window. I was hoping he wouldn’t hear me over the orders coming in and the general noise of the kitchen, but he was always sure to lay out some ground rules every time I took Vera out on a date. “No alcohol, no chems, don’t step foot on the Strip or outside of Freeside.”

That was a new one.

“Yes sir,” I said with a smile despite how much I tried to visualize one of the ‘customers’ getting impatient and painting the counter top with his brains. It’d never happen, but it was funny to think about. I dragged Vera outside before he could think to ruin our fun even further.

“We can still go to the Strip if you want.” Vera said quietly as soon as we were out of earshot, stepping onto Fremont Street. “They’re still worried about… you know, but…”

“I wasn’t planning on taking you to the Strip today anyway.” I said, squeezing her hand a little and giving her a smile. “Don’t sweat it. We’ll just break one rule today.”

The Atomic Wrangler’s sign was just coming into view from around the corner when I spotted someone coming right at me out of the corner of my eye, and I stopped to look right at him, reflexively reaching into my pocket where my gun was still missing. But I slowly lowered my hand when I saw it was just one man with awful hair, and tugged Vera’s hand a little to make her stop.

“Hey, it’s Auguste, right?” the man asked as he approached, as if anyone around here didn’t know my name. “You haven’t come around Freeside in a while.”

I could have given him a plethora of reasons why, but I decided to be nice, and just gave him a polite smile. “I’ve been busy.”

“So we’ve heard.” He said, sounding just a little sorry before reaching into his jeans pocket to withdraw an envelope, offering it to me. “The King heard about Brutus, and thought this might cheer you up. He also wanted me to tell you that you’re always welcome to pay him a visit, any time.”

I took the envelope, staring at it for a moment. Off-white and the size of a postcard, sealed with a little square of electrical tape. Must be his idea of the modern man’s wax seal. I quietly thanked the King’s lackey, but he was already walking away. Whatever, I don’t have time to stand in the middle of the street looking like an idiot. I pocketed the envelope and kept walking with Vera in tow.

“You’re not gonna open it?” She asked, likely even more curious than I was.

“Nope.” I said. Last thing I needed was for one of his boys to relay my reaction to him. “Not yet. I’ll do it at home. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you what it says later.”

Lunch at the Wrangler was rather mediocre, as usual as of late. I heard that it used to be better before one of the owners died, but with how chewy the steak was I struggled to recall when it was actually good. I wasn’t even sure if this was real Brahmin. Vera seemed to like hers, at least. She even laughed at one of the comedian’s jokes. I was still wondering why they had someone on stage at noon in the first place.

“Are you okay?”

I stopped cutting my bite-sized piece of meat into a microscopic one to look at her. Either I had glared at my food or she noticed my leg shaking under the table, because she looked oddly concerned. “Yeah.” I said simply, then kept cutting my steak into smaller and smaller pieces. Truthfully, I was also still pissed about her father having the audacity to tighten her leash when I needed her company now more than ever, but I couldn’t just tell her that. “Just a little nervous, you know.”

“About what?”

I had to wonder what she did know. My dog gets shot, a week later I go into the Ultra-Luxe, and a Jackal falls from a window. I was already getting weird looks from everyone, but clearly she hadn’t noticed. For as much as I love her, I’ll be the first to say she’s not always the brightest.

“Cal, mostly.” I took a moment to eat one of my many little pieces of dry, tasteless meat to allow her to ask the next obvious question. Instead, she just waited quietly for me to continue. I swallowed. “Just worried about getting caught, I mean. According to him, I’m ‘grounded’.” I went on with an amused grin, assuming she’d find the idea just as stupid as I did.

She didn’t. She looked pretty serious, actually.

“My dads didn’t really want me going out, either.” She admitted. “They said I’m not even allowed on the Strip at all right now.”

“Yeah, why is that?” I asked. “When the hell did they establish that rule?”

“Yesterday. They said there’s a lot going on right now, but they didn’t really tell me what.” She explained, then looked at me expectantly. As if I’d have any idea what they meant, unless they were just referring to the incident with the Jackal.

“Well, obviously there was the shooting a week ago. And yesterday a Jackal died. But that doesn’t mean the Strip is suddenly any more chaotic than it’s always been.”

“Was the Jackal shot, too?”

What am I gonna do, tell her I shot the bastard myself? That’d just freak her the fuck out. “Actually, Cal shot him.” I lied. “He figured out this guy shot Brutus, so we went up there to talk to him, and he tried to attack me. He had to shoot him to save me. And now he’s worried other Jackals might come after me, hence the grounding. But they won’t. They’d have to be really stupid to.”

“Oh.”

I wasn’t actually expecting her to go quiet at that. And apparently the comedian had finished his set while we were talking, because now it was too quiet. Only one other table was occupied, and the woman sitting there seemed to be napping, so it was just our forks and knives scraping our plates while someone played slots in the adjacent room. It was suffocating.

“Vera, it’s fine, I promise.” I emphasized. “We even talked to the leader of the Jackals about it. Nothing’s gonna happen.”

“Okay, but… are you sure you’re okay?” She asked, leaning in a little. “You’ve only had a couple of bites since we got here and you’re talking fast again.”

I glanced at her plate. Somehow, it was already empty, while I’d barely touched the food on mine. As for talking fast… I don’t know, apparently I did that really annoying thing Fresno does when they get anxious; talking so fast they could barely be understood, especially if they were on something. But I wasn’t that anxious, was I? I felt calm. Completely calm. I was not continuing to imagine her father dying horrific deaths or wondering who wanted me dead or if they’d make another attempt while I was unarmed-

“You know what’d make me feel better?” I put the fork and knife down. “Shopping. We should go shopping. Your phone clearly needs a new cord anyway, doesn’t it?”

I got up before she could object, picking up my Rum & Nuka and having another sip before leaving the bottle where it was. Only halfway drank, but anything more on a near-empty stomach would be a terrible idea. Unlike Fresno, I’m not stupid. “And I need a new gun. You should probably get one, too.”

“Oh, what’s wrong with your old one?” She asked, getting up along with me.

“Nothing, I just forgot it at home.” I lied.

She actually still had her old gun in her skirt pocket, loaded and everything, just in case. I bought it for her nearly a year ago now, but honestly, she was due for an upgrade. I’m sure her fathers would appreciate it if I got her better hardware, too, since apparently the Strip is oh so dangerous now. We held hands as we walked casually to Mick & Ralph’s, and I held the door open for her like the gentleman I was before following behind her.

Dim and dusty and loaded with junk, including items that had gone unsold for as long as I could remember, the shop was one of the few useful stores that went un-looted on account of Mick’s enthusiasm for firearms. Despite sharing the same enthusiasm, I contained myself and approached Ralph’s counter first, doing the talking to ensure we acquired the right type of cord to fix Vera’s phone. Her phone was close to mine in make, so I knew what to look for.

“You know, at this point you might just be better off getting a whole new phone.” Ralph said to Vera as he handed her the cord. “I’ve got a few you could take a look at, if you’d like.”

“We’ll try this first, but thanks.” I said before she could speak, handing him the caps then taking her hand again. “You want a new dress?” I asked, nodding to the one displayed by the window. It was the first thing I saw, and I know she saw it too. Pastel pink with a floral pattern and trimmed with black lace, finished with a ruffled knee-length skirt; it was cute yet elegant, like an old-world prom dress, and it suited her perfectly.

“I’m okay, but thank you.” She said, pocketing the new phone cord. “I know you want to spoil me, but you really don’t have to. I just like being with you.”

When she said it so blatantly, it was difficult to argue that. Whoever said women never really speak their minds was a moron. Still, I’d be a terrible boyfriend if I didn’t get her something that wasn’t a necessity.

“Alright,” I conceded, “But if you see a gun you like, I have to get it. Actually, wait, lemme see yours.”

She showed me the silenced .22, her first gun ever, and I cringed. Had I really not gotten her a real gun yet?

“I only ever use it for target practice with you, so I don’t really need anything else.” She explained.

“Oh yes you do.” I said, taking the gun from her before taking her hand. “This is more like a toy than a gun. I’m gonna get you something smaller, lighter, and better. A real gun that’ll fit right in your pocket. You want a semi-automatic or a revolver?”

“Semi-automatic.” She said, letting me lead her to the back of the shop. “They’re easier to reload, right?”

“That’s right. Revolvers just have more style.” I said, keeping it simple. “Speaking of style,” I held the .22 by the grip with the barrel pointed to the floor as I offered it to Mick, who’d already opened the back wall for me. “We’d like to trade this in for an upgrade.”

“Great timing,” Mick said, taking the gun to examine it briefly. “Some Khans came in from the North the other day looking to make some quick caps. Still got most of what they left, including a piece I set aside for you.”

“Ooh, exciting. You’ll have to show me after you’ve sold me on a new gun for her, though. She needs a new one even more than me right now. Mostly for target practice, but you never know. Not a toy, something good, but for a more…” ”Novice marksman. I think I’ve got just the thing.” Mick said, and turned around to open that case on the back wall to retrieve a pistol. There were some guns in there that hadn’t moved from that display for as long as I’ve been coming here, and at this point I think he only puts hard-to-sell items in there to make them look all special. “Lightweight, durable, easy to use, and even comes with integrated luminescent lights if you ever have to shoot in the dark. Effective and user-friendly.” He said, offering the gun to Vera. It looked simple yet beautiful in her hands, and I couldn’t quite recognize the make. “It’s even lighter than the one I had before.” She said. “So what’s the catch?” I asked, looking back to Mick. He didn’t grimace, but didn’t smile either. Salesman or not, he knew better than to lie to me, I would hope. “Well, you don’t see these around here too often, so you might have a harder time repairing it without coming to me first.” Or Fresno. “That also means the ammunition won’t always be stocked here. It’s .45 calibre.”

I’d only heard of .45, but there was a slim chance that my father or even Fresno had the parts and ammunition to make up for it. Either way, it’s not like Vera would have to use it actively. “What do you think?” I asked her, and looked down at her hands again. She still didn’t seem entirely comfortable handling it, if her grip on it was anything to go by, but she remembered to keep it pointed away from people. “I like it. If it’s not too expensive, I mean.” She said. “It’s nice.”

“How much?” I asked.

“Going rate is fifteen hundred caps.” He said. “I’d give you a better discount, but like I said, these are pretty scarce these days. The people that used to make ‘em aren’t exactly around anymore.”

“Couldn’t that be said for most guns?” I asked.

“Nah, I’m talking about the New Canaanites. Long story, ask your parents.” He said, then gave me a slight grin. “If you take it and the one I wanted to show you, you can walk away with both for three thousand caps.”

Roughly the same value, yet he saved it for me? Must be a collector’s item with more flourish than function, if I had to guess. “Alright, Mick. Show me.”

This one came out of a box on the back table that I’d never seen him open personally. Even from here I could see it was a beautiful black revolver decorated in brass filigree, with a bear and star carved into its wooden handle and text etched into the barrel. Upon closer inspection, one side read ‘For Honorable Service’ while the other said ‘Against All Tyrants’. It was just a touch lighter than my current 12.7mm and had far, far more style to it.

“This one’s even rarer than the .45; the Ranger Sequoia.” Mick began. “Given to NCR Rangers after 20 years of service, only so many of them have ever been made, and they were pretty rare even when the NCR was still here. Most people, especially Khans, keep them as trophies, but don’t let its pretty looks fool you. This thing packs a punch, and I can guarantee you won’t wanna use any other revolver after trying it out.”

“Nice pitch.” I said. Genuinely, I couldn’t stop staring at it, admiring it, and I’m sure he could tell. Even if I never shot it, I felt like I just had to carry it. “Lemme guess, the ammo is even harder to come by?”

“Not quite as rare as the .45 auto, but you’ll have a hard time finding the rounds outside of my shop. But I do almost always have some on hand, and I can always keep them on hold for you.” He reassured me. “So, what do you think? Three-K for the lot sound fair?” 

I looked to my left to ask Vera only to see she wasn’t standing next to me anymore. I hadn’t even noticed she’d started to look at the hats hung up on the wall nearby, still holding the .45 pointed to the floor. Figuring she seemed to like it well enough, I gave Mick the caps and then some for extra ammo. Now it was time for target practice.

The lot by the old train station was open and spacious, typically free from squatters and lowlifes -- a perfect target practice field. Just up the street and around the corner from Mick & Ralph’s, the walk was short and peaceful, and-

Vera suddenly gasped and pointed at something, and I followed her line of sight to see what the hell she was looking at.

It was a rat eating some garbage. Thankfully, they were getting less and less common around here since the raiders had no palette or standards to speak of, but unfortunately they still cropped up in the streets now and then. I hated the vermin like any normal person would, but Vera in all her sweet naivety would love an animal even if it killed her.

“Do you think it’s a normal rat, or a baby giant rat?”

It’d be massive if it was a ‘normal’ rat, but pretty tiny if it was a giant rat, baby or otherwise. I also didn’t really care, but she seemed to, so I had to humour her. “Probably a normal rat that got into some radioactive waste. Maybe it’ll mutate.” I joked, trying not to watch the thing any longer than I needed to, and led her the rest of the way to our destination.

The crates were still there where we left them last time, standing in neat lines at various distances from the bench we used to mark where to stand and shoot. We just had to take a few minutes to pick up trash and debris suitable for still targets, position them on the crates, and take our marks before we began.

“Need me to go over the pointers again?” I asked her.

“I think I remember!” She said with a smile. “But I wanted to see you shoot first.”

She either didn’t really want to shoot herself, or thought it’d put me in a better mood to get to firing my latest piece right away. If so, she was right. It was pretty easy to aim down the sight, though I really underestimated the recoil. It didn’t have the same kick as my 12.7mm, but I could still feel the power through my arms, and the shot made a poor little slab of concrete explode into tiny bits.

Vera clapped with each shot, and I only missed one out of the five before I had to reload. “Looks like this one’s just as good as your old gun.” She said. “And it looks nicer, too.” “That it does.” I said, unable to conceal the pride in my voice. I wasn’t normally one for revolvers with how much longer it took me to load them, but it was hard to argue with results and style. I could get used to this. “But now it’s your turn. As soon as I get you some new targets.” I said, and pocketed my new Ranger Sequoia before approaching the crates. Determining that none of the fallen targets were reusable, I began looking for suitable replacements when movement drew my attention from the ground.

Two men, armed with a sledgehammer and a baseball bat respectively, in ratty clothing were coming my way, fast. I quickly withdrew the Sequoia again and took a shot-- one, two, nailing Sledgehammer in the arm and again in the chest, and I was about to go for Bat when something made my arm stop. At first, it just felt cold, and then my nerves realized there was something long and sharp in my shoulder and sounded the alarm to my brain, lighting my body on fire and drawing a scream from me.

Looking behind me, there were two women and another man; one of the former just threw a fucking knife into me and she was gearing to throw another, while the other woman lifted a fire axe and the man gripped a machete as they both came at me. Knives threw a blade between them and I only just barely stepped aside out of the way in time, trying to lift my gun again just making my arm burn even worse and drawing another pathetic cry out of me. Thinking fast I took it with my left hand instead, and shot at the three of them before they could get any closer to me.

Three, four, five.

Unfortunately, quick didn’t usually mean accurate. I hit Axe in the neck just fine, though I was aiming for her head. I missed Knives and Machete completely, and I could hear Bat running up behind me while I fumbled with the box of rounds in my pocket, right hand shaking so hard I nearly dropped them, I’m fucked, I’m so fucked-

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.