Another Unoriginal Oneshot Book

Two Lies and the Truth

The Capital Wasteland, December 2283.
-
The woman who opened the door struck Sage as a dog of war. Tense, yet deliberate. Height, strong features, and well-kept raven hair spoke to a childhood of plenty in a gilded cage. But, Sage knew, a vault hadn't been enough for the Lone Wanderer — or she'd been too much for the vault.

She wore a steady frown and the bottom half of a set of power armor. One stately eyebrow arched, inviting answers to questions she hadn't even asked. She was beautiful — beautiful like a thunderstorm. Exhaustion clouded her eyes.

Sage could see Veronica's superhero and Arcade's terrorist in those eyes, but could only guess which she was truly looking at. She only knew that lives hinged on this woman's decisions.

"Aniss!" she cried fondly. "Such an honor."

"Pleasure's all mine," Aniss said, distracted. She
surveyed the motley crew with guarded interest.

"Courier Six," Sage introduced, drawing attention back to herself. "Or Paladin Sage, whatever you prefer."

-

"But I'm an adoptee, so don't expect me to start reciting the Codex to prove it," the newcomer smiled dashingly.

That was clear enough — Aniss's visitor was another wasterat, bold and insatiable. Tan, angular features and a bony figure under that longcoat; bullet and surgical scars not-quite-hidden by a short mop of helmet hair. She had good equipment and a handful of lackeys; a life of fighting for survival had won her power. She wielded it easily, or at least pretended to. Hard to tell much else from that easy stance and quirky smile, but safe enough to say she was trouble. A Pip-Boy and two confusing titles completed the inexplicable ensemble.

Her entourage was nearly as eclectic, and they didn't escape Aniss's notice. The woman to her left wore what looked like armored treeminders' robes, complete with hood and power fist. She was lovely and eager, maybe a bit immature. Her smile was larger and far more genuine than the alleged paladin's.

To their right stood a stern-looking man in a military uniform Aniss didn't recognize. He wore a red beret and dark shades that made it hard to tell what he was thinking. His arms were crossed, and he was watching Sage instead of Aniss — waiting for cues, maybe, or just waiting for this to be over. The stock of a sniper rifle peeked over his shoulder, and a sidearm and machete were at his belt.

The last guy stood further back, apparently more interested in something happening down the street. Tall, blond, and sunburnt, a bit older than the rest of them. He wore glasses and a lab coat, but oddly had only a ripper for a weapon. Possibly a non-combatant, but even that didn't explain the anxiety in his stance and movements. Maybe he had something to hide, maybe he was just awkward or having a bad day. Aniss had a deep respect for doctors, even though she eschewed strangers' medical services herself, so she wasn't immediately suspicious.

"Scribe Santangelo, Corporal Boone, Doctor Gannon," Sage introduced her companions. She looked at each of them in turn, perhaps pausing for a second when she got to the doctor.

"Are you from the Midwest chapter?" Aniss asked, bemused.

"Mojave, actually."

"Really? Long way," Aniss said. "Haven't heard much from there. My elder would appreciate news."

Sage considered that a moment. "Well, if it's anything, they signed a peace treaty with a longtime enemy, the NCR."

"Yeah, under threat of extinction," the scribe muttered.

"I wouldn't have let that happen."

The scribe brightened and turned back to the doorway. "Hi Aniss, I'm Veronica. Would you sign everything I've ever owned?"