Rubicon | Vulpes Inculta

5

New Vegas, Nevada
December 13, 2284

Life continued on as usual in New Vegas. Six broke into Helios One with Cass one night to tweak the power routing, something that seemed to help make people happy. It gave her something to do, at least. It was a compromise after Cass wanted to go drink and Six wanted to go get rid of the Fiends camping outside town. Breaking and entering was something they could both enjoy, and Cassidy was good at distracting the idiot that the NCR left in charge of the place.

Although she didn't tell anyone else, people assumed the juice flowing again was her doing. People tended to assume everything out of the ordinary was somehow linked to her. Six didn't quite know how she felt about that, but at least it got her off the local hate-list, if only for a bit.

Of course, that didn't mean people were any happier with the NCR. They just found new ways to express their displeasure.

She had taken to visiting a secret nightclub in Freeside, located deep in the basements of the King's place. They called it a honky-tonk, which apparently meant a giant dancefloor, a live band, and rivers of illegal untaxed booze. The latter was the sticking point. Since the NCR had moved in the price on alcohol had more than tripled. Import taxes, vice taxes, excise taxes... they had a list as long as her arm to cover their take. While Cass enjoyed taking full advantage of the cheap, albeit likely poisonous, drinks, Six usually didn't stop dancing long enough to have any. Just as well, between the increased number of people complaining of vision loss at the Followers' clinic, and constantly stepping around Boone in various states of unconsciousness on the floor of the Lucky 38, the idea of being drunk had become more than slightly repulsive.

She wondered how the NCR didn't know about this place, as one of the Chairmen spun her across the floor. It seemed like everyone else did. It had to catch someone's attention when half of the city decided to pour into the Kings' base late at night, all dressed to the nines.

"May I?" someone tapped her dance partner on the shoulder just as the song changed. The man shrugged, passing her off before going to the bar.

"You could have asked me," she said as her new partner grabbed her by the hip.

"I think I've already gone to enough trouble tracking you down tonight," said a distinctive and familiar voice. "This is the fourth secret dancehall I've visited." He glanced around, "and easily the most depraved."

She looked at him with surprise. He briefly raised the brim of his hat, pale blue eyes meeting hers. "Vulp-"

"Vince," he cut her off. "Vince Fox."

"Is this some kind of joke?"

"Of course it is. The kind that isn't at all funny and could likely end with both of our deaths," he had a hand on the small of her back, guiding them clumsily across the floor. Six began scouting the room for a clear exit. She had a gun in a thigh holster, a switchblade tucked down the front of her dress... maybe she could grab one of them in time. As if on cue, he cleared his throat. "I went to a lot of trouble to find you. I also managed to convince, by which I mean bribe, the band to play something slow so we could speak without being overheard," he said. "Could you at least pretend I don't repulse you? This is like trying to drag an armoire across a dance floor and, to be frank, people are starting to stare."

"Sorry," Six said, trying to relax, at least until she knew what he wanted. "I'm a bit confused right now. And you reek of booze so bad it's making my eyes burn." She looked at him closely, eyes narrowed. "I swear, if you puke on me-"

"I don't drink," he said, sounding tired. "I splashed some on my tie so no one would notice I wasn't drinking."

"That's a waste of caps," she said. "I never drink. No one cares."