“He's NOT my godson.” She pleaded to the courier, soundly slightly desperate. A quick look from the courier to Cross shut the cyborg up.
“It doesn't matter and he knows it, Cross.” She snapped, her eyes on his face. “Let's not play that game, kid.”
“Then how about we talk about you, courier, 'Woman of the West'.” His voice took on a thoughtful intonation, his eyes boring into hers. He was a very, very intense person, but she bet he had no idea. She wondered if she was the same way. She shook off the thought.
“I take it you've been hanging around the Legion, then. That explains why they've suddenly gotten a lot more frisky around here.” She responded tartly. “They couldn't be doing it on their own.”
“I suspect the NCR is much the same way, in that respect. Neither of them can pull up their pants like big boys without a little help.” Somewhere, she heard maniacal giggling at that. She vaguely remembered something about his female slave being something of a nutter, so she suspected that was who it was.
“Well, the NCR has one huge point over Caesar's Legion. No slaves.” She offered simply.
“Yes, the one thing the Legion has over the NCR. Slaves. You'd make a terrible slave, wouldn't you? Simply inadequate for their purposes. Suitable for mine, however.” His eyes were gleaming, and his face held what was hopefully an insincere leer, trying to unbalance her. It wouldn't work.
“Asking me to join you? Pretty lame, if you ask me. Planning on putting on a monocle and tying me to the train tracks next?” She drawled, sounding disappointed. “I'm hardly suitable for that.”
“True.” He agreed readily. “But you're still suitable for something.”
“Dare I ask?” Already feeling her nerves respond to his answer as she prepared to move.
“Target practice.” The stream of plasma narrowly missed her as she responded by jumping forward into Veronica, who she grabbed like a child with a favorite dolly. The Lone Wanderer had a moment where he was stunned at her speed, though he recovered too quickly for her to gloat. He never really stopped being utterly pleased with himself, that was for damn sure.
The courier held Veronica in her arms with her back taut against the wall before the door. The angle made it impossible for anyone atop the dome to shoot her, but it wasn't for lack of trying. She could smell the singed dirt from their energy weapons as his previously unseen slave took potshots at her from her own vantage.
Her own companions were providing more than enough cover for the courier to fiddle with the Bunker's door controls, only to find the damn door wouldn't budge. So, like any normal, reasonable woman, the courier began to pound on it like it was going out of style. Nothing. It didn't even sound as hollow as it should have.
The black smoke that had been rising from the sandstorm vents... Did this mean...?
Bad Moon Rising Pt. 11/?
“It doesn't matter and he knows it, Cross.” She snapped, her eyes on his face. “Let's not play that game, kid.”
“Then how about we talk about you, courier, 'Woman of the West'.” His voice took on a thoughtful intonation, his eyes boring into hers. He was a very, very intense person, but she bet he had no idea. She wondered if she was the same way. She shook off the thought.
“I take it you've been hanging around the Legion, then. That explains why they've suddenly gotten a lot more frisky around here.” She responded tartly. “They couldn't be doing it on their own.”
“I suspect the NCR is much the same way, in that respect. Neither of them can pull up their pants like big boys without a little help.” Somewhere, she heard maniacal giggling at that. She vaguely remembered something about his female slave being something of a nutter, so she suspected that was who it was.
“Well, the NCR has one huge point over Caesar's Legion. No slaves.” She offered simply.
“Yes, the one thing the Legion has over the NCR. Slaves. You'd make a terrible slave, wouldn't you? Simply inadequate for their purposes. Suitable for mine, however.” His eyes were gleaming, and his face held what was hopefully an insincere leer, trying to unbalance her. It wouldn't work.
“Asking me to join you? Pretty lame, if you ask me. Planning on putting on a monocle and tying me to the train tracks next?” She drawled, sounding disappointed. “I'm hardly suitable for that.”
“True.” He agreed readily. “But you're still suitable for something.”
“Dare I ask?” Already feeling her nerves respond to his answer as she prepared to move.
“Target practice.” The stream of plasma narrowly missed her as she responded by jumping forward into Veronica, who she grabbed like a child with a favorite dolly. The Lone Wanderer had a moment where he was stunned at her speed, though he recovered too quickly for her to gloat. He never really stopped being utterly pleased with himself, that was for damn sure.
The courier held Veronica in her arms with her back taut against the wall before the door. The angle made it impossible for anyone atop the dome to shoot her, but it wasn't for lack of trying. She could smell the singed dirt from their energy weapons as his previously unseen slave took potshots at her from her own vantage.
Her own companions were providing more than enough cover for the courier to fiddle with the Bunker's door controls, only to find the damn door wouldn't budge. So, like any normal, reasonable woman, the courier began to pound on it like it was going out of style. Nothing. It didn't even sound as hollow as it should have.
The black smoke that had been rising from the sandstorm vents... Did this mean...?