The courier found Benny sitting in a back corner of Aces sipping a cocktail, exactly where and how she knew she'd find him. He'd gotten a little predictable since they'd taken over New Vegas, which was part of the reason she was here. She leaned over his shoulder. "Ever heard of a wet t-shirt contest?"

He hardly glanced at her. "No. Should I have?"

"It seems the sort of thing you'd approve of," she replied offhandedly as she took a seat across from him, deliberately blocking his view of the stage. As he started to lean to look past her at the new (female) dancers they'd hired, she continued, "It's an all-woman competition--"

She had his attention now.

"-- where the women dress in t-shirts with nothing under them, get soaked with water, and are then judged for their attractiveness. According to Veronica, it's an Old World tradition."

He raised his eyebrows. "And where do we find one of these quaint little competitions?"

"I want to host one. Here. On the Strip."

He grinned. "You run with that, Pussycat."

"And I want you to judge."

The grin somehow got bigger, and he took a slow drink. "The day just keeps improving, girlie girl."