Fandom Which a-way does that blood red river run (closed)

[Swan Van Gogh]

The obnoxiously, cutesy elevator music chimed through the speakers, in a way filling the awkward silence between Edie and her 'contact'. He called himself Benny, however she wasn't sure if it was his name or a nickname and now the two of them had been through the ringer with some of most weirdest requests.
"This stupid machine told me I hadn't paid?"

"Where's the drawing room?"

One woman even snapped to get Edie's attention.

The Tops wasn't like anything Edie had ever witnessed before, petty little people vying for attention and power that came from the being close enough to the ever mysterious Mr. House. However the voice of her father rung through her mind.

"There will always be folks like that Edie, don't let them get to you."

She didn't intend to, but still this was the closest she'd gotten to finding Octavia and she wouldn't stop now. Dealing with spoiled suits was the least of her worries. Edie cleared her throat, breaking the silence, "So, what in the hell was that?" She pointed down to the lobby of her worst nightmares. Never in her life had she witnessed a convention of needy, entitled people and was ready to check that off her bucket list. "I mean- how do you deal with that? I'd much rather walk into the den of deathclaw in heat than be in the lobby?" Maybe now she was filling the silence even the elevator music becoming a grating song version of "look at me! look at me! I'm the most important being here!"

The elevator mercifully dinged and it's gilded doors opened back up to the suite where she had spent sleeping on a couch to observe her new friend? subject? Immediately, she went for the liqour cart, pouring herself a glass of whiskey, and chugging it down. Sighing in exasperation, she began to pour herself another, ignoring the little voice in her head telling her to fucking stop.

She thankfully only took a small sip, not fully intending to get plastered so early in the afternoon.

 

[Lucyfer]

The radio had been full of stories of a Courier who got shot in the head. Benny wasn’t pleased to hear any of it, though he didn’t start hearing it until after he got back into the Tops. For the Chairman, it was a nightmare. Some sick joke. He was half-convinced the AI that ran the radio station was doing it to fuck with him on purpose, it would be the kind of stunt that House would pull.

Benny felt rather confined to the Tops once he got back, knowing those securitrons were out there, and knowing what he harbored. ‘Soon.’ It was the thought he kept running through his head, as he scrambled to gather not just stealth boys for his venture, but also Legion attire. That, and a good hairstylist.

He was going to need to cut his precious locks.

“Swankie, baby, you seen my lighter anywhere?” Benny asked as he strode into the reception area of the Tops, right to where his right-hand man was, all decked out in his own lined suit. None of them wore the checkered suit like he did, not even in other colors. It was the way Benny stood out as the leader.

They’d had other ways of marking leadership before the days of the Tops, when they had been Boot Riders. Those ways were now covered up at all times, the tattoos never seen peeking from beneath the sleeves of their shirts or hems of their pants.

“Sorry Benny, ain’t seen her show up, but another doll’s come by,” Swank said, “that journalist, Edie?”

“Don’t know her,” Benny lifted a shoulder in a shrug, “should I?”

“Maybe,” Swank grinned, “she came wanting to talk to you. Not sure if I should be jealous or laughing – press,” he grinned, “but any publicity is good publicity, eh?”

“She wouldn’t talk to you, huh?” Benny matched his grin, “Where is the broad?”

“Up in suite 302,” Swank gestured up with his thumb, “told her you’d be around soon.”

“Well, I won’t keep her waiting then. Thanks, Swank. You let me know if you see that lighter around anywhere,” he waved as he headed on up, his usual security continuing to follow, although when he got to the room he silently gestured them to the side. He didn’t need them following him in.

Probably.

‘Shoulda asked how she looked.’ He still knocked on the door, dear Maria at his hip in case this Edie wasn’t Edie at all and tricked Swank into letting her in with some pretty smile and fluttering doe eyes.

Swank wasn’t exactly hard to trick.

~***~

The journey from Goodsprings to the Strip was short, compared to so many other trips that Octavia had been on, but it felt like an eternity. Once she reached Freeside, she had to get even more caps to get onto the Strip. The price went up since the last time she’d been around. In the end, she wound up dealing with the Kings and NCR and the King got her a pass for helping out with that messy situation.

Still, when the woman strode onto the strip with her desperado hat pulled low, she could feel that tingle of anticipation that not even the irksome Victor could remove when he pulled her towards the Lucky 38.

Meeting House didn’t even leave her starstruck, and she was a bit more hostile in questioning than she should have been – but she had been taken away from her mission, and if Benny heard she was already here, he might escape her grasp.

Still, she did listen, and she understood plenty in all that House didn’t tell her.

The Platinum Chip really was something special.

Something worth killing for, if Mr. House wanted it, and refused to divulge why until it was in her own hands. ‘So maybe Benny will.’ The odds felt slim, given she probably wouldn’t even spare his life for that. Then again, there was that possibility.

‘What’s the old saying?’ Octavia thought as she stepped out from the Lucky 38 to all eyes on her. She knew why. No one went into the Lucky 38. ‘Alea iacta est.’ As she descended the steps, an NCR trooper approached.

“You’re Octavia?”

“I am,” she was really getting annoyed with these interruptions.

“Ambassador Crocker would like to meet with you. He’s just down in the Embassy—”

“I’ll see him later,” was this about the Lucky 38, or was it about the Kings? Questions, questions, but the woman with the strawberry blonde hair had become impatient. House was someone worth seeing. Crocker likely was, too, but President Kimball would have moved her faster. “I do have some business to attend to.”

“For Mr. House?” The NCR trooper looked equally disgusted as intrigued.

“Personal.” She said, “If you’ll give the Ambassador my regards—”

Instead, a letter was offered. Sealed. She took it. “You can use this to see him at another time. He thought you might not be able to come immediately.”

Octavia managed not to sigh as it was handed to her, and the NCR trooper awkwardly dismissed themselves as Octavia folded the letter to slip it into a pocket for later. ‘Probably going to become popular after this Lucky 38 thing….’ For better or worse.

The die had indeed been cast.

 

[Swan Van Gogh]

What Benny would've heard coming from the inside was the sound of the liquor cart being bumped into and a loud string of curses. Then scrambling to get her shit together, along with, "God damn it, get your shit together! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Finally, the door would open, with a slightly buzzed Edie poking her head out the door, she had gotten two and a half glasses in forgetting she was meeting him. A strand of her uncut and long black hair falling in the middle of her face. She glanced at Benny, her dark eyes barely giving off their usual perceptive intensity, "Hi, I am Edie Blackfeather, a journalist for the New Vegas Interpreter." She put on her best professional tone, opening up the door ever so slightly. "I have to admit, I've never received a full liquor cart before." She quickly shoved the strand of hair back, moving around to let him come in.

To some, this reporter was an odd duck, those who weren't prewar ghouls anyway. To those ghouls, she was a "Shoshone Native", and by her cultural standards, her hair wasn't to be cut, outside of mourning. To others, she was simply Edie Blackfeather, a damn good reporter, who was so dedicated to her job, she lived in the apartment above her place of work. Edie motioned to a seat for the checker suited man to place himself, just as she closed the door and headed to her spot in a comfy little chair with an afghan rug slug across the back. She sat, shoulders slumped in a way that would direct the top of her body towards the man. Watching him take his seat, she had already gone into reporter mode by the time her suited ass hit the seat.

"I'll be frank with you, this won't be in any newspapers, because this is something personal to me." She started off, maybe to ease him into the conversation that way by giving him the information that this wouldn't appear in the papers. "I took it from your friend 'Swank', that you're a rather lucky individual. After all, you don't run the Tops without a little of that?" In all honesty, she felt Swank was trying to flirt with her. These casino types all blubbered on about their 'luck' and oozed charisma like an infected wound would pus. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, towards Benny. "Am I correct in that assumption, Benny?" It was a little bit of a challenge those words, but if she knew anything about people like him it would get him going.

||

The clothes felt wrong, ill-fitting and not at all protective. Sure, those in power claimed New Vegas was a safe place to be, but Septimus knew better. Packing hidden knives and knowledge in his coat, like one would valuables, he sauntered through the streets stopping briefly to stare up at the building called "The Tops". The reporter was there, no doubt charming the pants of his red herring, from what he had heard she was unlike any other woman in the legion, by that they meant free and able to buck the system. In his travels through the strip, he'd picked up some clippings written by her. They were well-written, smart and just a little bit cutting that kept the reader (regrettably including him) hooked on her every word. Nonetheless, he could tell she was desperate, and when she fell for his trick, he was free to pursue the courier.

Tracking her down was increasingly harder, after all one couldn't find footprints on the concrete ground of the strip, naturally he stuck close to her. Stopping in an alleyway to watch the exchange of the courier and a sniveling NCR messenger. He sneered, watching this conversation go down, only pausing when Latin escaped the courier's lips. Odd. Caeser never mentioned anything of the courier knowing Latin and indeed the die had been cast. Prowling closer, trying to see what was placed in her pockets. A letter, definitely sealed. Only stopping breifly when he shoulder checked a man.

"What is your problem?" The slurred speech of an ordinary drunkard was quickly followed by the smell of cheap, pungent alcohol.

Septimus didn't answer only glaring back at the man.

"I asked you a fucking question!" The man was drawing attention to Septimus and admittedly himself.

"Cave audacium tuam (be careful with your brashness)." Was all Septimus said, staring pointedly at the courier to gage her reaction. After all, it wasn't everyday one heard another speak Latin.

The drunkard looked confused for a moment, only leaving when he the light up signs of a nearby casino called to him like a siren. Giving Septimus the opportunity to have a one-on-one conversation with this mysterious courier that Caeser cared so much about, he'd send one of his best frumentarii after her. As of late, the elder man's decisions made less sense, but if he commanded it, it would be done. No hesitation.

 

[Lucyfer]

Benny definitely heard all the cursing. And he smelled the alcohol on the woman’s breath when she got to the door, disheveled and unprepared for his arrival. He also noted she had the longest hair he’d ever seen on a dame – or a gent, for that matter, but he didn’t comment on that immediately as she tried to play host and gesture him in. “Well baby, you’ve never stayed at the Tops before. Our name isn’t just a name, we’re the top of the line.” He said as he swaggered in like he owned the place.

Because, well, he did.

“I’m Benny,” he offered no surname, as he took a seat in the lounger, and gave a mock pout as she mentioned no publicity, “Aw, baby, what am I doing here if not to get more famous? Not that I’m not interested in knowing you on a far more personal level,” his crooked smile came easily as he relaxed, resting his cheek against his hand as he leaned into it and eyed the woman across from him.

She asked about luck.

Such a stupid thing.

“Luck is for losers, baby.” Although he knew he’d deemed that damn lighter lucky, and now it was gone, he still felt that held true. “It’s what people like Swank and others say when they don’t understand what’s going on upstairs,” he tapped the side of his head lazily as he sat up a bit straighter, “or all around them, for that matter. I ain’t lucky, doll, just perceptive,” perceptive enough she didn’t care to ask about luck. “But if this is some personal matter, doll, I don’t think you’re here looking for lucky feet to add to some collection. I love some foreplay, but I like to know what I’m getting into with all of it, too. Don’t tease me, what’s the real ring-a-ding reason you’re here?”

He was a busy man, and if this wasn’t leading to something like good publicity, or a nice night, he did need to get back to his plans with Yes Man.

~***~

Octavia watched the NCR trooper leave, before starting to make her own way on towards the Tops, glittering ahead. Of course, it couldn’t be that easy. Some drunks collided near her and one stumbled into her way. She stepped around as he demanded an answer from the other, rolling her eyes.

She heard the Latin, though, and frowned at the use of it, glancing back at the one who spoke it. He wasn’t dressed like a Legionnaire, but that didn’t mean much. Any legionnaire who dressed it was likely to get shot, no matter the neutrality rules on the Strip. ‘Just what I need.’ She couldn’t help the annoyed thought.

Especially given the way he was staring right at her.

She knew what he said, but she didn’t respond back in kind. “You ought to speak the local tongue if you hope to be understood by anyone,” she noted, “not whatever that Hail Caesar nonsense is,” she pronounced Caesar wrong, the ‘C’ soft rather than hard, on purpose. It did pain her to do so.

She used to love Latin, especially since her name had come from that language. It had spurred so much of her interest, although her parents had embarrassed to learn her name only meant ‘8’, she’d been quick to reassure them it was a great name.

It was, of course.

But now the lottery ticket from Nipton burned in her pocket, and she could still see the crosses lining the street and smell the pungent scent of burning flesh in her nose. She couldn't stop her own knowledge, or even residual like...but she knew how bad it was to hear the language spoken, nowadays.

Either way, she had no time for the stranger and meant to walk on, hoping their business wasn’t also with her like the NCR. She didn’t need to be pulled in every direction when all she wanted was to put a bullet between someone’s eyes.

 

[Swan Van Gogh]

Edie had to fight every fiber of her being to not roll her eyes, of course the man would use cute, little pet names and double entendres. She didn't like glibness; it did her subjects no credit. She squinted a little further, furrowing her eyebrows, he'd need his ego stroked in order to get any information out of Benny. She was too stubborn not to stoop to his level, "If I gave you all of my secrets, where is the fun it that?" A tight smirk graced her features, eyebrows still furrowed. "Truly, I think this 'Swankie', couldn't keep it in his pants long enough to even speak of luck." She'd been around his type before, men who collected women like those high up in this gilded, art deco hellhole collected their caps. She leaned, back slowly as her sharp, reporter mode gaze returned to her. "However, I sense you're on a time limit as am I, so I'll make it quick: I'm here about the courier, I know from a few sources you were the last one seen with her, and I think I'd be a bad friend if I didn't figure out what the fuck happened to her that night." A biting edge hit her voice, a ploy, if he had no hand in Octavia's supposed death he wouldn't react harshly.

She gauged his reaction, seeing a flash of vulnerability at the mention of her. Gotcha. The man was nervous but seemed to be covering her up. "Don't try to lie your way out of this, baby. I grew up around Khans and they wouldn't outright lie to one of their own." The tight smirk left her lips, betraying a little bit of frustration. This whole ordeal wasn't getting easier, people like to think grief and the search for answers would ease up and you would slowly let those dogged, nagging feelings leave you (often just as quickly as it had come). It was the most blatant fucking lie, Edie ever heard. She refused to stop, not until Octavia was found, not until she or her spirit were at rest. Whether that be in a shallow grave in the Mojave or out there living life, Edie owed it to her only friend to find out what happened.

"I'm sure you have someone in your life, you'd do the same for?"

It was another play, surely this was only a facade and he'd have a heart underneath all of that bullshit bravado. He couldn't be that alone in this world, a man like him needed to have allies in the snake pit that was The Tops, nobody could survive and thrive this long amongst the scions of privilege here. "Swank perhaps? How do you know him?"

||

Septimus only shrugged, "You are a woman with a mission, I take it." He knew the answer would be some variation of "fuck yes I am", these NCR types were so uncouth. It didn't matter, he wasn't here to debate his use of Latin, he was here for her. He fiddled with the dusty lint in his jacket pocket, cringing in disgust. No good Legion would let their garments be soiled like this. Nonetheless, he resumed his mask of haughty indifference, "Your friend, is here you know?" He followed her, "Edie Blackfeather, she's quite the accomplished little thing, well-written for someone born to Khans." Septimus may have put his foot in his mouth, even mentioning the reporter, but he liked toying with his subjects. He stilled followed Octavia, watching her every reaction, every glare and movement to his words.

It was the frumentarii's job to understand how their target worked, what made them tic essentially. Mentioning Edie was a perfect way to observe this in action. His time as the son of a slave was all about this, knowing what made your master angry, pleased, was what kept one alive. His mother had the scars to show the results of provoking those above you. He had the scars from a similar type of provocation himself, though he thought of them as markers of pride, instead of shame. He ensured that. Nonetheless, his cat and mouse routine continued, as scheduled, now side by side with Octavia, speeding up to match her movements and get closer to her. Another tactic, he was trained to do, after all the most secretive and closed off among his targets could only betray their true intentions for so long and it would be written across their faces.

"She's at the Tops, but I am sure you know that, and yet I don't think she's your target." He smiled, this infuriating and prodding smile that was reminiscent of a needle being injected into one's body. Invading, perhaps, but Septimus didn't like to think of himself as in invader, just an investigator. "If I am to speak, I'd much prefer Latin, seems easier to fend off the refuse of drunks that litter this place." However, here he was speaking English, like any other man, but that was besides the point right then. He wouldn't get into semantics over the politics here, not when there were more important matters to attend to. Especially, not matters that concerned Caeser, like Octavia. "Would you prefer it if, for every other word I said, 'hail Caeser' so openly?" He pronounced it with the hard 'c', another prodding question to get into her mind.

Someone who knew it so well and spoke it would've shivered at that faux pau and it seemed she outright grimaced, when she did so. The most infuriating smile spread across her visage, at this little dig.

 

[Lucyfer]

Edie didn’t quite get to the point, but she did start to beat at it as she brought up the damned Courier.

Benny didn’t even know her name. It wasn’t said by Mr. New Vegas, just courier, a constant taunt. Benny lifted his brows, though, unimpressed with it being brought up. No, of course he wasn’t going to admit it, no matter how she called him baby. He couldn’t help but snort and smile at that, “Babe, I see a lot of people, in a lot of jobs, you’re going to have to be a bit more specific about this courier.”

He knew the one.

Everyone knew the one.

“I’m gonna take a stab in the dark for you, and guess you mean the one Mr. New Vegas is always on about lately,” he rolled his eyes, “as if there’s no other news in the world. Someone’s got a hard-on for this courier, that’s for sure.” He knew who. Mr. House, who kept control of the radio, and was using it to increase the Courier’s renown for his own devious plans.

Apparently the Khans had told her something though. Benny didn’t have to admit to anything. He wouldn’t have guessed she was Khan, but then again, there were Khans in the NCR. “Also, baby, knowing you’re a Khan, you ought to know better than anyone that everyone’s an individual. Khans will lie to their own. They’ll kill their own. There are some of you in the NCR, doll,” he smiled, though it wasn’t entirely kind, as he rose.

He understood where this was heading, and although he doubted she got in here with a weapon, he wasn’t an idiot. “I don’t know this courier you’re talking about, but if it’s the one on the radio, it seems like she’s doing just fine. Might want to try looking her up to find out what happened right from the horse’s mouth, you dig?”

Would she remember? Well, Benny could hope the shot made her a bit amnesiac. “If that’s all you wanted to talk about, I’m afraid you came to the wrong place.”

~***~

The Maybe-Legionnaire started to walk alongside her, keeping pace as she walked. He started talking about Edie, which seemed strange. True, she was friends with Edie, and true, she knew Edie was in this area. She worked on the Strip after all. None of this was a surprise, so she didn’t bother reacting except with mild annoyance about why this was relevant.

Edie being at the Tops was relevant. ‘Does Benny know our connection? Is she a hostage?’ Those were the first two thoughts to flick through her head, although she didn’t let the questions spill from her mouth. The Maybe-Legionnaire was trying to get something from her with this information.

“I would, actually, prefer all of you go around doing that, so I can pick you out easier,” Octavia answered his rhetorical coldly, “I would also like you to speak plainly about why you are telling me Edie’s location, because you must want something for it. You can tell me, or you can make yourself useful and help me get a gun into the Tops, and keep your secrets.”

She did wonder which way he might lean. She’d made her intentions in the Top pretty clear. If he wanted a show, he could get it, and likely see the end to Benny. Not that Mr. House hadn’t given her advice for working with Swank, supposedly Benny’s right-hand man, but one who was more loyal to House.

She had to hope House was right, as the colorful sign of the Tops drew closer.

 

[Swan Van Gogh]

Edie swallowed down the anxiety bubbling up at the bottom of her stomach, replacing with her own sort of charisma that could attempt to mirror his own. She hid how he talked about Khans made her bristle with rage, of course someone like him would say that. Bittersprings really brought out the bigotry in people in the massacre's aftermath. Her mind flashed back to her cutting her father's similar raven hair, how the man who seemed so strong and impenetrable shook as the sobs wracked his body. How he had yelled at Edie to keep cutting in a booming and almost monstrous voice. How she started crying and accidentally sliced her knuckles, before continuing cutting his hair. She clenched her fists, the scar now a long pink line that slid across her hand. Her voice became ever so slightly darker, "Clearly, you know just as much as the NCR, because your little business associates told me a lot after a few drinks." Pulling out an holotape, she stood up before playing it.

"So, what happened, after you intercepted her?" Edie's voice crackled through the tape; you could tell how anxious she was. The constant tapping on a china glass of whiskey making much more evident.

"I won't lie to ya, kid... he shot her point blank in the head." The drunken tones of a Khan followed, then the sound of glass breaking.

Edie had dropped her glass of whiskey, cursing, before hastily making an exit, the holotape sputtered to a stop.

Back in the suite at the Tops, Edie now stood by the tape player, turning to face Benny. A complex patchwork of emotions on her face ranging from anger to an almost depressed feeling that she had to resort to listen to one of the worst moments of her life. She wondered if the man before felt any of those feelings before, did he even lower himself to feel them after wasting a life? Edie crossed her arms, in a way hoping that she could protect herself from shattering like that glass of whiskey. "I don't like liars, especially liars who hide behind this glib little mask of yours, so tell me what the hell happened that night." Her veneer of reporter charm was gone, replaced with the same menace her father could have. In that moment, she looked so much like him.

||
Septimus turned his head to stare up at the blaring, tacky sign reading "The Tops", it was like the sun had sent down one of its harsh rays to scream above them. He only stopped his slight amazement, to answer the courier's ultimatum. "My friend," he was needling her again, of course this ruffian from the desert wasteland had no friends, aside from the little journalist. "It would seem you wished for both of those things." He knew, if their relationship was any indication, Octavia would save one of the bullets to fire into Benny's balls for even breathing in Edie's direction. He could sense the protectiveness boiling into rage, at the very thought. Charming. He could use that.

"If it speeds you along on your little vengeance quest," he paused for dramatic effect "Edie figured out your connection to your target, in fact if anything she's walked into the snake pit to interrogate him. She seems like a resourceful sort, but if anything, she could be a little over her head." His gaze went subtly back to the loud sign, they were inching ever so slightly closer to the building, seemingly at a faster pace. Good. It seemed Octavia was a woman of action, and this little event would be a perfect judge of character to send back to Caeser. He liked her, in a way a scavenger might respect a predator for leaving their table scraps.

The two continued their inching closer towards the building, "If you want to get past their little securitrons, I'd suggest bluffing your way through. After all, surely someone with the NCR begging for her attention would be allowed a little bit of protection. Flaunting what you have does a lot for these fools." Septimus had clearly made sure most of his weapons were hidden to the point of being unnoticeable, then again, he could quickly make up some little white lie that could grant him access. However, he wasn't done with his poking of Octavia, "Who is this girl to you?" A hint of genuine curiosity betrayed him in that moment. He'd only read Edie's words but had yet to encounter what made the courier keep her close to her chest. There had to be some connection that Caeser would've known of that caused the frumentarii to send the journalist on a wild goose (or in this case red herring) chase.

 

[Lucyfer]

‘Well if the NCR thinks everyone is an individual and a stereotype and that’s wrong, then hey! I’ll think that way.’ Benny that say that, blissfully unaware of why the woman was so upset with his words. He thought it was nice for people to be assumed an individual. He’d always found he didn’t get very far when he assumed people were exactly what they presented themselves.

Edie, of course, had more to present.

A holotape without names in it. Without context.

Benny snorted, “Babe, I don’t know who you’re talking to there, or who you’re talking about.” Of course, he did, but admit it? No. The tape said fuck all. It didn’t have the part where she asked about a specific person. It didn’t even mention him by name. “Look, I’ve enjoyed this little game of yours, but I’m afraid I’m just getting tired of it. You’re wonderful to look at, but without something going on up here,” he tapped his own head as he stood up, “I’d rather be looking at a whore in Gomorrah shaking her charlies.”

This wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’ll let ya keep the suite for the night, on the Tops,” he said, “I can see you’re distraught over your friend, and I feel for ya, baby, I do, but you’re takin’ your anger out on the wrong guy. You get some good sleep, drown your sorrows in the best the Tops has, all right pussycat?”

Either way, he was going to start walking to the exit, blissfully unaware he was about to be cut off in his escape by Swank and the one person he didn’t want to see.

~***~

Septimus did not choose to help in a meaningful way. He also did not tell Octavia why he was telling her anything at all. ‘Well, if you say I should bluff….’ Bluffs were always better with a dab of truth on them, and she was no stranger to lying when needed. She’d lied her way into and out of plenty of situations, so what was more?

What a wonderful thing she had a nice patsy.

“They don’t have securitrons in the casinos,” Octavia noted, “I suppose you wouldn’t know that, so I shouldn’t have expected you to be able to help me get into one,” she almost sounded sad, “but don’t worry, friend, you’ll play your role well enough.” And be out of her hair, ideally, forever, although she doubted she was that lucky.

He wanted something, after all, even if he refused to state it.

So rather than answer any more of his questions or humor his presence, she screamed “LEGION!” at the top of her lungs and ran right for the Tops casino as the closest haven of safety, letting all the securitrons on the Strip turn towards where she’d been – turn towards Septimus, and assess the threat. Not that Legion was forbidden, but by the reaction of the crowd, they definitely weren’t welcome.

And it let Octavia run into the Tops in a frenzy and right into the arms of some guy in a suit who was quick to take her aside – weapons still on her person – and try to console her. “Baby, baby, kitten – no, no, we won’t let any Legion roughs in here,” the man said after she’d blabbered about the horror on the Strip and the fear she was going to be enslaved.

“You promise?”

“I promise, babe,” he said, rubbing his hand down her arm, “I practically have full run of this casino, you dig?”

“You don’t look like Benny….”

He huffed at that, “Benny’s got his eyes up at the sky, but one of us has to keep our eyes on the ground. I’m Swank.”

“Octavia,” she introduced.

“No way – that broad they’ve been talking about on the radio? Well, I can see why Legion’s lookin’ for ya, but you can just stay in here long as you need, all right? There anything I can get you?”

“I’m actually in town looking for my friend,” she sniffed, playing up pathetic, “Edie. Do you think you could send someone for her? I know she lives in town.”

“Hey hey!” He smiled, “she’s actually here, speaking with the Ben-Man. Let me take you up.”

 

[Swan Van Gogh]

Edie bristled at the comment, like she wanted to be around someone who probably didn't wash their ugly ass checkered suit. Her lips curled into an annoyed frown, at how all she had accomplished was being ogled at. "Please, as if Gomorrah's finest harlots wouldn't spend more than five minutes in your presence, considering how much you seem to compensate." Edie wasn't going to let him go without a few choice words, "You would rather deny everything, put up this little front of some charming devil in disguise, than face the facts," she stepped closer to him "Without that little chip, you would be nothing." She could feel the tension heat up the room, all the while she was near spitting with rage and fighting off a panic attack simultaneously. Edie heard several swift knocks, of course one of his little friends had come skulking around. She had about enough of The Tops, moving past Benny, with the energy of a storm cloud, not even willing to touch the checkered suit.

She could hear Swank, rolling her eyes, trying to psych herself up to even give off the vaguest notion of cordiality. She plastered on a pearly white smile, as she opened the door, "Hi, your friend was jus-" Edie's mouth ran dry, this wasn't fucking happening. No. Fuck. No. Certainly Octavia wasn't here. What the fuck. She was dead right? The dead cannot just scramble out of their shallow graves. Her smile dropped; she stood in the doorway. The drink had to spiked with something right? She was just hallucinating and when she woke up, she'd be laying on her bed in a daze. This was all just one bad trip, and everything would be normal, wouldn't it? She spoke again, now less confident, "E-excuse me, I... I need to go." Her gaze went to the floor, the swirling, circular pattern of the carpet spinning, in her tunnel vision. Quickly rushing into the bathroom, locking the door. Edie gripped the sink, trying to quell the vomit from spewing out of her mouth.

"Fuck... fuck... fuck..." She muttered to herself, hastily trying to turn on the fan to drown out her hyperventilating. Edie shakily slid down the wall, curling up in a ball. She could hear the arguing, from the outside. She curled further into herself, her heart pounded, and her breathing became shallower and fiercer. She hadn't even registered the medbot that came bumbling into the bathroom.

"Do you have a history of panic attacks, ma'am?" The decidedly British accent of the plump robot asked.

"I... what?" Edie glanced up at the admittedly massive doctor, this was supposed to be calming. Nonetheless, she mustered the strength to answer, "Yeah... I do." She barely tuned into the medbot going on about her cortisol and adrenaline levels being way too high and how she needed to rest in between jobs, even left a card for a therapist before scooting its way out. Leaving Benny standing in the doorway, he seemed to have had the shit kicked outta him. Good. She saw Octavia was still in the room, but Swank wasn't in view. "What the hell do you need?" Edie grumbled, still not in the mood for whatever the hell he was up to.