Vulpes had to stop his jaw from dropping at that comment. Was the Courier really a frumentarii now? Why hadn't he even been notified? He had worked years to get to the position he was in now, and suddenly this woman who stumbled in from the wastes was being regarded on the same level as him.
“I understand, my lord,” he pressed a balled fist to his chest before rising and exiting the tent. The Courier did the same and followed him out.
They walked in silence for a few moments before the Courier spoke. “I worry for our lord,” she said, “his headaches are becoming more frequent.”
“Hm.” Vulpes gave her a small glare, he didn't believe a single word that fell from her degenerate lips. Was she planning something? It was always a possibility that she was on the side of the Omertas, or possibly even the NCR. A profligate whore like her should have no qualms with being a double agent.
He made a stop at his tent to gather supplies and change. It wouldn't do them any good if he walked around the Strip in his Legion armor. The Courier stood at the mouth of his tent as he undressed, leaning casually against a support pole. She intently scanned him up and down with her eyes, as if searching for any weak points.
“You don't trust me, do you?” the corners of her mouth twitched into a smile. One of the many stories of her origin around the camp said that she was once a fierce member of the Jackals, a cannibalistic group of raiders known for the ritual of sharpening their teeth into sharp points. Vulpes was not one to believe any of the tall tales the other legionaries spread, but he also took notice that she never showed her teeth when she smiled.
“I think that was established when you waltzed in here with Driver Nephi's golf club, shortly after an unknown assailant assisted the NCR in wiping out the Fiend leaders.”
That was around the time he had begun to become suspicious of her loyalties. She would disappear from camp for weeks at a time, and around the same time many reports from all over the Mojave would pour in. A drug runner for the Khans, a strange new bodyguard for the Van Graffs, the disappearance of an old woman and a sniper from Novac. There wasn't a single doubt in his mind that it was all her.
“There are hundreds of golf clubs out there in the Mojave. It could have been any one of them.” Her eyes followed the movement of his arms as he pulled on a shirt. “Are you sure you're not jealous of me, Vulpes Inculta?”
He ground his teeth together at her words. She knew just what to say to get him worked up. “I have no reason to be jealous of you, Courier.” “Oh, but who was it that retrieved the platinum chip from Benny? Destroyed the robots in the bunker? Eradicated the Brotherhood of Steel? Defended Nelson? Single-handedly killed every soldier in Camp Forlorn Hope?” she paused, playing with the Mark of Caesar hanging around her neck, the one he had given her months ago. “You know, people say we're quite similar.”
Vulpes stopped in the middle of buckling his pants, and worked hard to keep his composure. “There is nothing similar about us,” he hissed. The Courier was nothing but chaos locked in a gilded cage, ready to break free at any moment. He, on the other hand, was the image of absolute control. “When did Caesar even make you a frumentarius?”
“Just this morning, actually.” She raked her fingers through the dark tendrils of her hair, shifting them out of her face. “He must have been quite pleased with my recon work, taking out the NCR monorail.”
Vulpes finished donning the rest of his mercenary gear, now easily passable as just another wastelander.
The Courier took a step towards him, her eyes narrowed and her grin as big as ever. “That's a good look for you. I like it,” she began to raise a hand toward his face, and he quickly snatched her by the wrist, squeezed tightly until she winced.
“We should get moving, I want to make it to Freeside by evening. We'll make plans for tomorrow from there,” he released her arm and left the tent.
When Day is Done 2/?
“I understand, my lord,” he pressed a balled fist to his chest before rising and exiting the tent. The Courier did the same and followed him out.
They walked in silence for a few moments before the Courier spoke.
“I worry for our lord,” she said, “his headaches are becoming more frequent.”
“Hm.” Vulpes gave her a small glare, he didn't believe a single word that fell from her degenerate lips. Was she planning something? It was always a possibility that she was on the side of the Omertas, or possibly even the NCR. A profligate whore like her should have no qualms with being a double agent.
He made a stop at his tent to gather supplies and change. It wouldn't do them any good if he walked around the Strip in his Legion armor. The Courier stood at the mouth of his tent as he undressed, leaning casually against a support pole. She intently scanned him up and down with her eyes, as if searching for any weak points.
“You don't trust me, do you?” the corners of her mouth twitched into a smile. One of the many stories of her origin around the camp said that she was once a fierce member of the Jackals, a cannibalistic group of raiders known for the ritual of sharpening their teeth into sharp points. Vulpes was not one to believe any of the tall tales the other legionaries spread, but he also took notice that she never showed her teeth when she smiled.
“I think that was established when you waltzed in here with Driver Nephi's golf club, shortly after an unknown assailant assisted the NCR in wiping out the Fiend leaders.”
That was around the time he had begun to become suspicious of her loyalties. She would disappear from camp for weeks at a time, and around the same time many reports from all over the Mojave would pour in. A drug runner for the Khans, a strange new bodyguard for the Van Graffs, the disappearance of an old woman and a sniper from Novac. There wasn't a single doubt in his mind that it was all her.
“There are hundreds of golf clubs out there in the Mojave. It could have been any one of them.” Her eyes followed the movement of his arms as he pulled on a shirt. “Are you sure you're not jealous of me, Vulpes Inculta?”
He ground his teeth together at her words. She knew just what to say to get him worked up. “I have no reason to be jealous of you, Courier.”
“Oh, but who was it that retrieved the platinum chip from Benny? Destroyed the robots in the bunker? Eradicated the Brotherhood of Steel? Defended Nelson? Single-handedly killed every soldier in Camp Forlorn Hope?” she paused, playing with the Mark of Caesar hanging around her neck, the one he had given her months ago. “You know, people say we're quite similar.”
Vulpes stopped in the middle of buckling his pants, and worked hard to keep his composure. “There is nothing similar about us,” he hissed. The Courier was nothing but chaos locked in a gilded cage, ready to break free at any moment. He, on the other hand, was the image of absolute control. “When did Caesar even make you a frumentarius?”
“Just this morning, actually.” She raked her fingers through the dark tendrils of her hair, shifting them out of her face. “He must have been quite pleased with my recon work, taking out the NCR monorail.”
Vulpes finished donning the rest of his mercenary gear, now easily passable as just another wastelander.
The Courier took a step towards him, her eyes narrowed and her grin as big as ever. “That's a good look for you. I like it,” she began to raise a hand toward his face, and he quickly snatched her by the wrist, squeezed tightly until she winced.
“We should get moving, I want to make it to Freeside by evening. We'll make plans for tomorrow from there,” he released her arm and left the tent.