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Looking out at the New Vegas skyline, Six decided that there was a certain beauty to the apocalypse. The husks of buildings, the barren wasteland, and the sounds of drunken revelry coming from the strip below, all added a certain charm to the place.
Unfortunately, charm wasn’t enough. The strip and surrounding territories of New Vegas were in excellent condition; safe, happy, well-fed. A virtual paradise, bringing in travelers from all directions.
It was also very boring.
Which was a massive, glaring problem for Courier Six, who thrived on adventure and adrenaline.
He made do where he could, wrestling deathclaws in The Thorn, punching the occasional Cazadore for shits and giggles, and pissing off his companions in various ways, but it wasn’t enough. He needed the thrum of cortisol in his blood and the whizzing of bullets in the air to feel alive. New Vegas just wasn’t providing those benefits anymore, what with the newfound peace in the area following the Second Battle of Hoover Dam.
So, as he sat on the roof of the Lucky 38 and nursed the whiskey in his hand, he thought of ways to combat this boredom. He couldn’t gamble, as the last time any of the casinos let him anywhere near their blackjack tables was the time he’d nearly bankrupted them. He couldn’t fight, due to the suspicious lack of wasteland beasts larger than a molerat and the disbandment of The Fiends. He couldn't even fuck with Arcade by stealing his glasses, curse the little shit for finding backup contacts for that exact scenario.
No, what Six needed was another big threat, a cause worth fighting and bleeding for. Once, it had been the destruction of Caesar’s Legion and the rescue of New Vegas citizens from their woes.
Six needed another fight, another cause.
How could he help people if he was just sitting up here, all alone in his casino, not a care in the world? There were still people out there who needed help, and the only reason he wasn’t helping them was that they were too far away.
No, that was no excuse. He would find people to help, a cause to fight. He just needed the right place to do so.
A smile, dangerous and vicious to his enemies, but mischievous and kind to his friends, gradually made its way onto his face.
Six had a plan. A stupid, dangerous, reckless plan, but a plan nonetheless.
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“We’re heading east tomorrow! Pack your bags and don’t expect to come back for a while!”
Six’s grin did not falter under the concentrated glare of all six of his companions. Even Lily turned from her mass of tangles she called knitting to look at him incredulously.
“And why would we do that, Six?”
Arcade, ever the voice of reason, looked at him like he had walked in covered with brahmin dung. (Which had happened, a while ago, though that is a story for another time.)
“We’re going to Colorado.”
A sigh.
“Yes, Six, that makes perfect sense, running off to a distant location with little to no preparation or warning. Why, exactly, are we going to Colorado?”
Six considered his options. He could tell them the actual truth, which was that he was extremely bored, though that might cause some… Discontent.
He could tell them there was a good fight to be fought somewhere and that somewhere just happened to be in Colorado, which might get enough of them on his side for a majority vote.
Or…
“I hear that there is an abundance of former Legionaries in Denver. Apparently, they plan on rebuilding the Legion.”
Boone, who had been studiously ignoring the conversation in favor of cleaning his rifle, immediately focused the brunt of his - very intense - attention on Six.
“What? You’re just now telling me this?” He looked positively pissed, as he always was at the mention of The Legion.
Six felt slightly guilty for manipulating Boone with the Legion. It wasn’t entirely untrue; there had been whispers of a second legion coming from Denver, but they were just that: whispers. In his defense, the possible presence of the Legion was one of the main factors in heading to Colorado.
“I just recently heard about it. I was planning on telling you, but then you had to go off on that caravan guard job. That’s why we’re heading there this quickly.”
The sniper seemed to accept that response because his scowl lessened and he started towards his room, presumably to pack.
One down, five to go.
So far, Cass, Arcade, and Raúl seemed to be the most against the idea, which did not bode well for Six, as their respective stubbornness, intelligence, and shrewdness combined to create an arguing force that would cow a deathclaw.
Fortunately, Six had an ace up his sleeve.
“Whoever wants to stay behind is in charge of negotiations with the NCR.”
Read ‘em and weep. Six knew they were beaten, and so did they.
The NCR, pissy after Six took Hoover Dam and Vegas, had decided to play the role of nuisance, enforcing heavy tariffs, harassing the border towns, and sending ambassadors to the strip with ridiculous demands.
In Six’s defense, he had tried to be reasonable and made a deal at first, allowing all NCR soldiers to go back home with no resistance and offering a percentage of the dam’s power output, but they had refused to budge, claiming that they had the right to New Vegas.
Now, negotiating with them meant long hours in a stifling room with an envoy who had an attitude that would make a spinster recoil. Hours and hours of conversation, just for the envoy to refuse the offer on some ridiculous NCR law that had probably been made just so he could waste their time.
It was a fate worse than death, and Six, having died three times, would know.
Cass reluctantly went back to her whiskey, a sure sign of defeat, while Raúl muttered a curse in Spanish that Six didn’t bother telling him that he could translate.
Everyone else in the room started packing, going to their respective rooms, and filling up their packs with all the essentials.
Only Arcade remained strong, though by looking at his face, he knew he was fighting a losing battle.
“Come on, ‘Cade! It’ll be fun, just like old times!”
Veronica chirped at Arcade, lugging a bag of something that looked suspiciously like power armor pieces behind her. It seemed that she was planning on packing heavy, then.
Arcade seemed less than convinced.
“Fun. Yes, trudging through miles of dirt to find more Legionaries to kill. Our favorite pastime. What, exactly do we stand to gain from this?”
Boone shoved Arcade’s backpack into his arms.
“Dead Legionaries.”
The doctor sighed, realizing that he was well and truly outmatched, and finally began packing, tossing the occasional snide remark over his shoulder as a protest.
Six sat back and watched as his team, bickering and bitching, prepared to head east. It was a chaotic, beautiful sight, he reflected as Cass threw a book at Arcade’s head, with more charm than the wasteland could ever hope to match.
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Eventually, everyone was as packed as possible, and they all settled down for one last night at The Lucky 38.
Cass was at the bar, playing some sort of old-world card game with Raúl, who was switching between playing and doing last-minute repairs on the team’s various weapons, making sure that they were all up to standard.
Despite his distraction, he was still kicking her ass at the game, if her fluent swearing was anything to go by.
Arcade was sitting with Lily, reading her a cookbook that she had picked out while she “knitted” him a new sweater. A few first aid kits sat next to him, filled with various supplies.
Arcade claimed that he was only making them so that people would stop coming to him every time they got hurt, but Six knew better. If he was in an especially instigating mood, he would have teased Arcade for fretting over the group like a mother.
For now, though, Six was content to let Arcade sit and make disapproving noises every time the cookbook called for an unhealthy ingredient and mask his fondness for Lily with wit.
Veronica seemed to be the only reasonable one of the group, as she was already sleeping, curled up in her bed with Rex. Her pack was ready at the foot of her bed, as well as a note for The Followers of the Apocalypse that she and Arcade would be gone for a while.
Boone was sitting in the cocktail lounge, looking out at the strip and brooding as per usual. However, his brooding tonight did seem more purposeful, and there was a gleam in his eye that was usually only present before particularly satisfying battles.
Six, finished with performing a routine maintenance check on Ed-E, meandered throughout the casino, checking up on everyone.
They all seemed overall okay with his decision to leave New Vegas for one reason or another, though they were displeased with the suddenness of the decision.
All in all, it was a good night. Six readied himself for bed and the grueling days ahead.
Just before he made it to his room, Arcade stopped him. He looked tired but was in full doctor mode, ready to figure out an especially difficult problem.
“Six. What’s the actual reason for this?”
“I-” Six sighed, too tired and unwilling to fight. “- I was bored. I wanted a good fight to fight again. There are so many people out there who need help, and we aren’t helping them. Instead, we play as diplomats and leaders for a region that essentially governs itself while innocent people suffer because we can’t be bothered to find them.”
Arcade considered him; the steady decrease of Six’s smiles of late, his recent bouts of hedonism, and the complaints of boredom that had been ever-increasing.
Unfortunately, Six was right, and he had a good point to boot. New Vegas could govern itself, what with Yes Man running the show behind the curtain, and there were certainly people somewhere in the wasteland that only their motley team was equipped to help.
“Well,” Arcade smiled. “I guess we’re heading to Denver.”
The dazzling smile on Six’s face was almost enough for Arcade to forgive the many aches and pains that the trip would undoubtedly cause.
Almost.