The Courier strutted down the New Vegas Strip, and Caesar be damned if she didn’t look like she was working a catwalk. As usual, self confidence literally oozed out of her tanned, smooth skin. The never ending crowd of visitors to the Strip recognized her importance—her prolificness—and parted in front of her in silent awe and respect. A few paces behind, Boone and Arcade Gannon followed, looking slightly out of place and frumpy in the wake of such self assured grace. The trio breezed past the dirty prostitutes grinding outside of Gomorrah’s sleazy exterior. That fat fuck Cachino was puffing on a cigarette, leaning against the pillars of the carport and getting a good eyeful of the girls. That is, until he saw the Courier. Quickly, he put his cigarette out against the pillar and smoothed back his greasy hair.
“Hey, baby,” Caccino called to the Courier. “Lookin’ good as usual. How’s about you come dance tables for me and make some big caps? Hell, I’ll even cut my “protection fee” down to ten percent. Anything for you, toots.”
“No thanks, Caccino. The only tables I make big bucks on are the card tables,” the Courier replied back winningly. There was general laughter from the crowd around her and she favored them with a smile. Even Caccino laughed along, taking no insult from her refusal. After all, this wasn’t the first time he’d asked. And he’d be damned if it’d be the last. You never know; sometimes these mouthy bitches get themselves in deep, especially when they don’t got no man to tell them what’s what. And when she finally did, she’d come crawling back to Caccino and beg on her knees for a job, and he’d give her one, alright. Mind you, he didn’t say any of this out loud because that bitch was all bark, but also all bite, but her time would come.
Just as Caccino dropped out of hearing range, the Courier fell back beside Boone and murmured, “remind me to gut that disgusting pig one of these days.” Just as she finished conversing with Boone, they passed a gaggle of off-duty NCR soldiers. Even in their raucous, drunken state, they recognized the Courier straight off, and hurriedly attempted to organize themselves. They shot off a smart salute as she passed, and the Courier flipped her hair and smiled graciously towards them. A few of the NCR boys nearly tripped over themselves in excitement, Arcade noted before rolling his eyes. He wondered if they’d still be so star struck if they could have seen the Courier earlier—her and Veronica setting with their hair rolled around tin cans for two hours as it dried—and Arcade concluded that yes, they probably would.
The people of the Mojave were crazy for her. Some hated her, most loved her, and all were stark terrified of her. The Courier had a certain look about her—something along the lines of ‘I might fuck you or I might fuck you up, depending on the next sentence out of your mouth.’ She was killing it tonight, as she strutted down the street. Her armor was specially chosen for this mission; a piecemeal arrangement of tit-lifting leather raider bikini, tight shorts, and a big ranger belt buckle, over which metal armor plates hung to protect her hips and thighs. The arrangement was carefully chosen to max out her sex appeal, but still remind you she could knock your block off. ‘The spike heels are a little much, though,’ Arcade thought to himself, but he’d be a liar if he said they weren’t doing anything for her.
Adventures of a Wasteland Goddess
“Hey, baby,” Caccino called to the Courier. “Lookin’ good as usual. How’s about you come dance tables for me and make some big caps? Hell, I’ll even cut my “protection fee” down to ten percent. Anything for you, toots.”
“No thanks, Caccino. The only tables I make big bucks on are the card tables,” the Courier replied back winningly. There was general laughter from the crowd around her and she favored them with a smile. Even Caccino laughed along, taking no insult from her refusal. After all, this wasn’t the first time he’d asked. And he’d be damned if it’d be the last. You never know; sometimes these mouthy bitches get themselves in deep, especially when they don’t got no man to tell them what’s what. And when she finally did, she’d come crawling back to Caccino and beg on her knees for a job, and he’d give her one, alright. Mind you, he didn’t say any of this out loud because that bitch was all bark, but also all bite, but her time would come.
Just as Caccino dropped out of hearing range, the Courier fell back beside Boone and murmured, “remind me to gut that disgusting pig one of these days.” Just as she finished conversing with Boone, they passed a gaggle of off-duty NCR soldiers. Even in their raucous, drunken state, they recognized the Courier straight off, and hurriedly attempted to organize themselves. They shot off a smart salute as she passed, and the Courier flipped her hair and smiled graciously towards them. A few of the NCR boys nearly tripped over themselves in excitement, Arcade noted before rolling his eyes. He wondered if they’d still be so star struck if they could have seen the Courier earlier—her and Veronica setting with their hair rolled around tin cans for two hours as it dried—and Arcade concluded that yes, they probably would.
The people of the Mojave were crazy for her. Some hated her, most loved her, and all were stark terrified of her. The Courier had a certain look about her—something along the lines of ‘I might fuck you or I might fuck you up, depending on the next sentence out of your mouth.’ She was killing it tonight, as she strutted down the street. Her armor was specially chosen for this mission; a piecemeal arrangement of tit-lifting leather raider bikini, tight shorts, and a big ranger belt buckle, over which metal armor plates hung to protect her hips and thighs. The arrangement was carefully chosen to max out her sex appeal, but still remind you she could knock your block off. ‘The spike heels are a little much, though,’ Arcade thought to himself, but he’d be a liar if he said they weren’t doing anything for her.