New Vegas: Sheason's Story

Chapter 41: Conversations

Welcome back to the Mr. New Vegas show, only on Radio New Vegas. For those just joining us, our top story today has been the dramatic destruction of the Silver Rush. However, a number of RNV correspondents are reporting that the Crimson Caravan Company's New Vegas branch was attacked by unknown assailants last night as well. It's currently unknown if the destruction of the Silver Rush and the attack on the Crimson Caravan are related. The Crimson Caravan refuses to release any details on the attack, but several eyewitnesses who wish to remain anonymous reported at least two dozen injured, and at least one fatality.

The trip back down the mountain was more or less uneventful. I didn't see any super mutants - not even Neil - coming down, which gave Veronica, Raul and I plenty of time to get the introductions out of the way.

"So, Te... uh... Tay... how do you pronounce your last name again?" I asked. The ghoul let out a grim chuckle and shook his head.

"Tejada. My name is Raul Alfonso Tejada," he said, a lot slower than the first time. "I'm sure you'll get it eventually, boss. Just stick with Raul for now."

"If that's your name, how come your jumpsuit says Miguel?" Veronica asked. I peered around, trying to get a good look at the nametag on Raul's jumpsuit. It did, indeed, say Miguel on the front. Raul shrugged.

"Probably because it used to be Miguel's."

"Fair enough," I said, softly chuckling to myself. "So, where are you headed Raul? My car should be able to give you a lift to wherever you want to go."

"I'm headed wherever you're going, boss." He said matter-of-factly.

"Is that so?" I shot Veronica a look that I hoped said 'I told you so.' "Well, I'm always grateful for more help, I admit. But why're you interested in tagging along?

"You saved my life, boss. Who knows how long I'd be locked in that damn cell if you hadn't shown up? I figure, I should stick around at least 'til I return the favor."

"That's a noble sentiment. Don't really see much of that anymore." Veronica said approvingly.

"What can I say," Raul shrugged. "I'm not really from around here."

By this time, we'd finally reached my car, just beyond Neil's shack. Raul let out a slow whistle, eyeing the car up and down.

"Nice wheels. This your car, boss?" I nodded, moving towards the trunk so I could start stowing my weapons. He started walking around my car, admiring it. "Damn... an old '57 Chryslus Corvega four-door. This is one of the third generation models, isn't it?"

"Uh..." I put the anti-materiel rifle in the trunk, alongside the rest of the weapons, and closed the lid, trying to think of something to say. I scratched the back of my head and tried not to look sheepish. "I'll be honest, I don't know. The guy I bought it from in New Reno just called it a Corvega. I didn't know there were different models." This was a bit embarrassing - I'd finally run into someone who knew more about my car than I did.

"Oh sure, boss. I know lots of things about cars from before the bombs. If you ever have questions, you could always use me as a walking encyclopedia." The three of us got in my car, and I started her up. "I'm actually kind of surprised, boss. This car here isn't in bad shape. Apart from the bullet holes, I mean."

"There's a bit of wear and tear around the edges, I admit," I turned the car around, and saw ED-E float past the window. The engine rumbled and we were on our way. "But I like to think I've kept it running as well as possible."

"I can tell. But if you ever think it needs any serious work done, boss, let me know. I know a thing or two about engines." I gave him a nod, and he settled into the backseat. "So, just out of curiosity boss, where are we going?"

"The Lucky 38," Veronica said, turning around in her seat to talk to the ghoul.

"I'm... uh... kind of working for Mr. House. Sort of." That elicited a strange look from Veronica. I just shrugged. "Hey, Raul, you know about House, right?"

"Just how old do you think I am, boss?" Raul said, almost indignantly. I spluttered, but he continued with a cracked smile on his face before I got a chance to apologize. "Because I can pretty much guarantee, I'm older than that."

"I see what you've done there," Veronica smiled back at Raul with a nod. "Clever."

"Thanks. Let me tell you a story from before the bombs dropped: Everybody knew Robert House. People said he was a genius. A superstar. Founded RobCo at 22, dated Hollywood starlets, the works. They say he saved Las Vegas."

"That's what he said when I talked to him, at least," I offered up helpfully.

"I was in Mexico City when the bombs dropped, and I know it's impossible, but I swear that I could see House's defensive lasers shooting down the incoming missiles, even from there. Everybody assumed House died in the war. And now, you're here telling me you're working for a Mr. House?"

"Well, if he's a fake, he's a very convincing one." I said.

"I still haven't seen him, if it makes you feel any better," Veronica said. "Personally, I think the whole thing is a load of bullshit and chips."

"I've always had a few theories about who's actually running Vegas, myself. I mean, maybe the new guy is just a clever raider chief with a knowledge of history? Maybe House left instructions for his robots to carry out in his name? Or maybe it is the real Robert House, and he uploaded his brain pattern into a computer, ruling to this day, a godless, soulless machine-god!" A stiff silence permeated the inside of my car for a few minutes, until Raul finally spoke up again. "Or maybe the whole thing's a crazy coincidence? Who knows."

"Is there anything else you know about the House you know for certain wasn't a phony?" Veronica asked with a smirk. "I mean, it'd be 200 year old gossip, but it's still gossip, right?"

"Well... I remember there were some weird stories about him, especially near the end. There was a tell-all in El Periodico de las Aburridas by a starlet House dated. She said they never, uh..." Raul shifted in his seat, and suddenly looked a little uncomfortable. "Don't make me spell it out, boss."

"They never did the horizontal mambo? Never laid some pipe? Never went twenty-toes?" I offered up helpfully. I looked at him in the rear view mirror, and he seemed to relax and nodded.

"You don't have to be bashful, Raul," Veronica leaned back in her seat. "We're all adults here."

"Well, you're not." I turned to the scribe, smiling at her smugly. She just rolled her eyes.

"Anyway," Raul spoke up again. "She said all he wanted to do was scan her brain. And... er... well, make her dress up in different outfits." For some reason, I immediately thought of Marilyn and Jane - the two 'female' Securitron's in House's office - and wondered... maybe they weren't just programs? The thought sent a chill up my spine, though I'm not entirely sure why. Before I could wonder for too much longer, Raul continued. "It was quite the scandal, at least in the Latin-American tabloid journalism market."

The car was quiet for a few minutes, leaving me some time to digest everything I knew about the House I'd been working for - which, admittedly, wasn't much - and what Raul had told me. And then, Raul spoke up again.

"You know what, boss? There was one place I wanted to go first."

It was a small shack almost due east of Freeside, close to the hills separating the run-down residential neighborhoods outside the Vegas wall, and Lake Mead. We'd long since stopped seeing other houses around; there were plenty of burned out and collapsed frames, but this small shack was the only one still standing. A small fence ran around the perimeter, and two run-down cars sat on the lawn; granted, they merely looked run down. I did notice that they both still had tires on them, so who knows? Maybe they were like mine.

"So, what are we doing here?" I asked Raul when I stopped the car. Raul walked toward the shack, smiling back at us.

"Bienvenidos a la casa de Tejada." He said to us with open arms. He stood there for a minute, looking back and forth between the two of us. "What?"

"Raul," I tried to figure out how to put this delicately. "I don't actually know how to speak Spanish. You do know that, right?" He set down his arms and chuckled.

"S que usted no habla Espaol. Me gusta jodiendo."

"What?" I turned to Veronica. "Do you know what he said?" Instead of a real response, I just saw her put her face in her hands, and fail to hold back laughter. ED-E, on the other hand, just hovered in place and let out two confused beeps.

"Don't worry about it, boss. It's not important. What is important, is this place right here. It's not much, but it's my home. Just thought I'd pick up a few things before we head to Vegas." He went to the large garage door behind one of the cars, and pulled it up with a series of metal clanks, displacing about 8 cubic feet of dust and rust in the process. The inside of the garage was pitch black.

"Well, it's a nice place you got here, I'll give you that." I said, looking around. I meant it, too. It was pretty big, it was out of the way and hard to find unless you knew where to look... which meant that raiders probably wouldn't bother coming out this far. And aside from some recent disuse, it was obvious Raul kept the house in decent shape most of the time. "You live here all by yourself?"

"Nobody except Tabitha ever wanted to keep me around, boss," Raul said in the darkness. There was a rumble from inside the garage: an electric generator being warmed up. Slowly, a pair of lights inside the garage flickered on, revealing a strange shape sitting in the middle of the garage, covered in a tarp. At the back end of the garage, Raul was standing by a workbench and a wall full of tools.

"So, how'd you end up at Black Mountain, anyway?" I asked.

"Well, boss, when a giant, insane super mutant asks you to stay put, you do what you're told," He looked up, stared at me for a minute, then shook his head. "Well, maybe you don't, but I'm just a broke down old man."

"But how did Tabitha even find you in the first place?" I stepped into the garage, trying to work out what was under the tarp. "I mean, this place is miles from anyone or anywhere. This is just the ideal safehouse, so how did she find you?" Raul just chuckled grimly.

"Ah, it's stupid, boss. I used to listen to the radio broadcasts, just to pass the time. Well, one day the signal stops, so I figured I'd try to find the transmitter. I'm a pretty good repairman... or I used to be before my eyes started to go." He started looking over his tools, organizing them and brining them together on the workbench. "Anyway, I found Black Mountain and offered my services, but Tabitha decided I was useful enough to keep around. Permanently."

"Hey, I know you told me that you feel like you owe me," I said. "But you don't have to follow me if you don't want to. I mean, if you want to stay here, V and I ain't gonna stop ya..."

"Don't worry about it, boss," Raul waved me off and smiled. "I'm in the mood for some company for a while. Besides, we're only here so as I can pick up some things... like my pride and joy here."

He walked into the center of the garage, took the tarp in one of his rotted hands, and pulled it back... revealing a motorcycle in pristine condition. It looked like an old easy rider, a kind of "chopper" bike, with the huge handlebars, the kind of seat you'd recline in, and the wheel way out in front. Parts of it were painted red, but most of it was chrome and leather, and it looked almost like new (despite a few scuffs here and there). I'm not really a fan of motorcycles, but even I thought it was gorgeous.

"She's an old Harley I found outside Santa Fe, 'bout three decades ago. It took me a while to find all the parts, but I eventually got her working again. I'm still glad I didn't drive to Black Mountain on it - who knows what those idiotas de mierda mutantes would've done to my baby while Tabitha had me locked up?"

"What's this?" Veronica spoke up, startling me; she really did love to sneak up on everyone. She was standing next to the bike, pointing at an odd metal shape on the handlebars. "It looks like the mounting point for some kind of weapon. Like a minigun or something."

"A minigun on a motorcycle?" Raul chuckled. "Don't be silly, that would be ridiculous."

"I gotta tell ya, boss," Raul spoke up after the elevator doors shut. "There were a lot of things I was expecting to do today. Walking into the legendary Lucky 38 wasn't one of them."

"Yeah, well I wasn't expecting a race on the way home," I said, holding back a grin. "How fast does that bike of yours go, anyway?"

"I've seen 105 out of it, once. Had to tweak the engine, though. No way an old-world Harley could ever go that fast. What about your car?"

"I think the fastest I've ever been is 124 miles an hour, but I needed an awful long stretch of unbroken flat ground to get it that fast. It was on that one stretch of road, just outside the glass flats of Bonneville. You know the one I mean?"

"Yeah, I've heard of that place, boss. Mecca for speed freaks, or something like that." Raul nodded and rubbed his chin. "I remember when they were called the salt flats. But that was before the bombs. Never been that far north, myself."

The elevator doors slid open, and Boone was standing in front of me, almost like he was waiting for us. He looked from me, to Veronica, to Raul, then back to me with a raised eyebrow.

"New arrival?" he said, monotone as ever.

"So, it's more than just you and the girl here then, eh boss?" Raul and Veronica walked past me out of the elevator. He held out a hand, and Boone shook it without hesitation. "The name's Raul. Raul Alfonso Tejada."

"Boone," he said with a single nod, turning back to me. "Fisher, do you have a minute?"

"Uh... sure," I gestured a thumb towards Raul. "Are you gonna be -"

"Don't worry, Shea," Veronica took Raul by the shoulder. "I'll help him get settled, you and Boone can go chat."

The next thing I knew, Boone had led me into his room in the suite. I'd often wondered what he'd been up to when nobody could find him, and after seeing the inside of his room, I had a few suspicions. The inside was no longer furnished like the high-class, old world suite that it was, and instead looked more like a soldier's bunk. The bed was made with green sheets so tight you could bounce a quarter off it. There was a dented green footlocker at the base of the bed. Two flags hung on the wall: the most prominent was the two-headed bear flag of the New California Republic, and next to it was a black flag, with the silhouette of a man in profile inside a white circle, with the words "POW * MIA" on the top and "YOU ARE NOT FORGOTTEN" on the bottom. Next to the bed was a hat stand - at least, I assumed it was a hat stand; it was hard to tell with the USMC armor displayed on it.

"Alright, Boone, you got my attention." I said to him after he closed the door. "What's up?" At first, he didn't say anything. He just sort of... crossed his arms, and stared at me behind his sunglasses. I heard a sharp intake of breath through his nose.

"What are you not telling us?" Well, he was direct, if nothing else.

"What... do you mean?" I tried to stall for time, to give me time to work out what he meant. I racked my brain, trying to figure out what he thought I was hiding from him. I mean, there was what (possibly) happened last night between Cass and me, but... why would he even care about that?

"Yesterday - the assault on the Silver Rush. The way you acted during the op, and before, when you were planning it. Checking your corners, using the terrain, incapacitating enemies before engaging... Making sure the fight was already won before a single shot was fired. I've only ever seen that kind of behavior from professionals. People who've had training. So..." Boone advanced on me, continuing to stare me down. "What are you not telling us?"

I'll be honest, I must have stood there like an idiot for I don't know how long, just trying to process what I was hearing. He was accusing me of what now?

"Look, Boone, I'm not... I don't know what you think, but before coming to the Mojave, I was just a courier. The most I ever got up to before this was fighting off raiders occasionally. I'm not really 'military' material, and I'm not a professional when it comes to... stuff like this." Boone continued to stare me down, apparently unconvinced,

"So explain where all that came from. Your skill with a gun, your tactical mind, the ease in which you carry your armor -" Boone pointed at my chest, and I looked down... only to realize I was still wearing the combat armor I'd gotten from the Gun Runners. That was... surprising. How long had I been wearing this? "- that doesn't come naturally to people. It has to be taught. People have to be trained."

"I... I don't know what to say. I'm telling you the truth - nobody's ever trained me to do any of this crap. I've just... I think about what needs to be done in my head, and I try to come up with the best way to succeed without getting killed. I'm just doing what makes sense to me. What makes sense in my head. That's all."

Boone studied me for a long while, staring at me from behind those sunglasses of his.

"You do believe me, don't you?" I asked. He just shook his head.

"No. But if you don't want to tell me, that's your business. I was just curious."

I needed a drink. So far, this day hadn't exactly turned out like I'd planned. I'd barely gotten any thinking done, and now it seemed like I was in danger of losing Boone's trust. That is something that I didn't want to happen. With everything going on between Cass, Veronica, and Arcade (who were all causing me stress for various reasons), I needed Boone to be the voice of reason. I didn't know Raul well enough (or at all, really) to be able to rely on him, and ED-E... I couldn't really understand him.

I suddenly remembered why I spent most of my time alone before coming to the Mojave. I didn't have to play umpire. I didn't have to deal with bullshit drama. And I didn't have to explain myself - or answer - to anyone.

I grabbed a bottle of beer out of the fridge - momentarily debating in my head if I should grab something stronger - and headed to the common room. Darts. That's what I needed to clear my head. Beer and darts will give me plenty of time to work things out.

Of course, things didn't go to plan. Why would they? That would make things easy. Arcade was already there, bent over the pool table, cue in hand and lining up a shot. His labcoat was discarded on the back of a chair somewhere, and his glasses looked in danger of falling off his nose. He looked up from his shot briefly when I entered the room, and gave me a simple nod.

"Sheason," was all he said before returning to his shot. There was a crack of pool balls, and three of the striped balls were knocked gracefully into three separate pockets.

"Hey, Arcade," I walked past him towards the dart board. "I didn't know you played pool."

"I don't," he said, lining up for another shot. I paused, and shot him a questioning look. "That is, I don't play against other people. Mostly, I just try to work out the most complex shots at unconventional angles. Doing the math in my head helps me think." He hit the cue ball; it ricocheted off one of the table edges, hit the 7-ball, which hit the 2-ball, which hit the 9-ball into the pocket right next to where the cue ball started. "If I played against anyone else, it would be unfair."

"Is that why I haven't seen much of you today?" I asked, standing on the strip of duct tape we'd put on the floor for the throw line. "Needed some time to think?"

"Not really." Arcade grabbed a piece of chalk and twisted it on the tip of the pool cue. As he talked, I started lining up my shots, and throwing the darts at the board. As I was about to throw the third dart, Arcade spoke up again. "Just wanting to stay out of the way of anyone who might find my company disagreeable."

My aim was thrown off by that last comment so much that the dart embedded itself in the wall about a foot and a half away from the board. I couldn't help but sigh. I guess fate can't even give me five minutes, can it?

"Arcade," I walked over to the wall to collect the errant projectile as I spoke. "Look, I appreciate that you're not trying to start any more shit with Veronica. But you've got to tell me what your real problem is with the Brotherhood of Steel." He looked up from his pool cue, pushed his glasses up his nose, and narrowed his eyes at me

"I don't know what you mean. I've already told you: they're murderers and bullies, and I refuse to work with one of their esoteric order." His words were toneless and well rehearsed... which only further proved the point to me. I shook my head.

"No. There's some other reason. Something you're not telling me. I want to know what it is, so that something like what happened the other day won't happen again. So we can all work together as a team." Arcade was quiet for a long time, holding the cue; eventually, he looked away from me, and began studying the remaining balls on the pool table.

"Do you know why I joined the Followers of the Apocalypse?" He asked, leaning over the table and lining up a shot. Before I got a chance to reply, he continued. "Because they are a force for good in this empty shell of a hellhole we call a world. Of all the people and organizations I've met out there in the wasteland, only the Followers don't seem to have any ulterior motives. They want to heal the sick. Shelter the homeless. Feed the hungry. Educate the ignorant. And all they ask in return is enough to survive - and sometimes, they don't even ask for that."

"The Brotherhood, on the other hand," he paused, striking the cue ball. "Do not help people. They are little more than glorified scavengers. Everything they have is stolen, usually after the original owner has been disintegrated. And if they admitted to that, then I'd have no issue with them. At least... I wouldn't harbor as much animosity. But the fact is, they don't think they're doing anything wrong. Just ask Veronica. They claim everything they do is to protect humanity, even when their actions speak of murder and theft on the grandest of scales."

"You know, I don't have anything except hear-say for both sides of this argument," I said, aiming the dart in my hand straight at the bulls eye. "Aside from Veronica, I've never met anyone from the Brotherhood of Steel."

"Well, I have," Arcade knocked the final pool ball into one of the corner pockets. "And I admit, Veronica is a nice girl, so I will try to keep my opinions to myself in the future... but they're not all like that. Fact of the matter is, the Brotherhood is an organization that is rampant with hypocrisy. That is why I don't like them. They're massive hypocrites." Arcade looked away from me, and set the pool cue down with a sigh. "And I've had my fill of organizations who claim to help people, but murder them instead."

There was something about that last statement... it threw me off. I just stared at Arcade as he grabbed his labcoat and started walking out of the room. Before he left, I spoke up.

"There's another story behind that, isn't there?" Arcade looked over his shoulder at me, and clutched at the doorframe.

"Yes. Yes there is... And maybe... I'll tell you someday." He let go of the door and turned away from me. "But not yet."

I made my way to the balcony that surrounded the suite, cracking open another bottle of beer on the way. Perhaps here, I might be able to find that time alone to think that I desired so desperately?

"Fuckin' hell..." I heard a faint voice from somewhere to my left.

Guess not.

I followed the voice, walking the length of the curved balcony, until I came across Cass. She was leaning on the railing, looking out at Vegas, with a half-empty whiskey bottle still in hand. Her hat and jacket were nowhere to be seen, and her red hair wasn't tied back like it normally was, but instead was falling loosely around her head. She must have heard my footsteps, because she turned to look up when I got close.

"Oh! Uh... hey." She waved weakly at me, and turned back to the balcony. I came to a stop a few feet away from her, and leaned over the balcony as well.

"Hey," I offered in response, trying to get a look at her. Most of her face was hidden behind the mass of red hair. She didn't say anything for a few minutes. She just kept staring out at the skyline of Vegas.

"Look, Sheas'n... 'bout last night... er, I mean, this mornin', or..." Cass ran her free hand along the side of her head, brushing her hair out of the way. "Ah, fuck, I don' even know. Listen, m'sorry fer sneakin' off like I did. I jus'... I didn't want things t'get... awkward."

"It was plenty awkward, waking up wondering if last night even happened." If nothing else, at least now I had some kind of confirmation about the whole series of events. One less thing to worry about, I guess.

"I meant awkward fer me," Cass looked away, back to the whiskey bottle in her hand. "Didn't want t'deal with... mornin' after stuff. Questions n'th' like. Made that mistake b'fore with Veronica, n'look how that turned out?"

"Hrm." I felt like Boone, since all I could think to say was a monosyllabic, non-committal grunt. The two of us leaned against the railing, and the air between us became silent again. Cass shook her head and sighed.

"D'yever feel like... maybe comin' to th' Mojave was a mistake?" she asked. I nodded.

"All the time." Cass just nodded back at me.

"If I never came here... maybe m'caravan wouldnt've..." Cass trailed off a bit, and took a swig of whiskey. "Plus, there's V... An' don' get m'wrong, she's awesome'n th' sex is great but... I jus'... m'not lookin' forward to talkin' t'her 'bout..." she gulped audibly. "... stuff."

"Yeah..." I reached in my pocket, and pulled out the Platinum Chip, twirling it around my fingers a few times. "If I never took the job for this damn chip... who knows, maybe I wouldn't have gotten shot in the face. Wouldn't have to deal with armies, or megalomaniacs with robots, and I wouldn't get shot at constantly." I thought about that for a minute, then added: "Or, at least as much."

"Guess we both might've been better off if we never came here." Cass' shoulders sagged, and her head drooped. I inched toward her and, against my better judgment, wrapped my arm around her left shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Maybe..." I said softly. She leaned against me and set her head against my chest with a soft thunk. I felt some movement around my back... was that... was she wrapping an arm around me?

"Y'know... we don't have t'stay. Neither one'v us. We could just pack up, an' haul ass back to California. Leave all this craziness in th' dust." I looked down, trying to get a look at Cass' face. She was still looking out at Vegas... or maybe it wasn't Vegas she was staring at. Maybe she was just looking west...

"We?" I asked. Cass shrugged against me.

"Sure. Why not? I've gotta start rebuildin' m'caravan somewhere. An' yer already a courier, so I know you've got experience. B'sides..." Cass looked up at me, through the mess of red hair falling down around her face. "Yer easy to talk to, ya don' ask anythin' 've me that you wouldn't do yerself, it'd be easier to get around in yer car than walkin' every-fuckin'-where..." A small smirk crept into the corner of Cass' mouth. "Plus, th' sex is pretty good, too. Definitely wouldn't mind keepin y'around."

I blinked a few times, processing what she was saying... and, for some reason, only spoke up about one of her points.

"What, only 'pretty good'?" Cass shook her head and laughed at me.

"Yeah, well, you're only working with so much." Without warning, Cass reached down and grabbed at my crotch, flashing me a predatory smile. "You more than make up for it with enthusiasm, though." Her right arm started creeping up my back, and I could feel her drawing me closer...

Alright Sheason, focus. No, I said focus, not... Get a hold of yourself! No, wait, that's not right... Get a grip - aaugh! I mean - just - oh, for fuck sake!

It took every single ounce of self control in my being, but... eventually, I grabbed her by both her wrists to dislodge her from me, and then held her at arms length by her shoulders.

"Cass, what the fuck has gotten into you lately? And what about Veronica? Have you thought about what leaving would do to her?" I tried to talk some sense into her... and, based on her expression, it seemed like some of it was getting through. At least, a little bit.

"Yeah, well... s'not like it'd be th' first time I left with nothin' but an' empty whiskey bottle on th' nightstand. Prob'ly won't be th' last." Cass shook her head and sighed, shaking off my hands. I let her go, and thankfully she stayed put. "I guess I just... ev'rythin' that's been goin' on - Benny, House, th' NCR, Caesar's Legion, th' Dam, Crimson Caravan an' th' Van Graff's... All've this is big an' crazy. Bigger'n crazier than I've ever had t' deal with. I'm not built fer this shit, y'know? I like it when things ain't complicated. You seem t'get that. V jus'... she jus' doesn't." She picked her head up, brushed the hair out of her face, and stared at me with those grey eyes of hers. "I... I dunno. Maybe I jus' turn t'sex when I get stressed. Maybe I jus' want somethin' in m'life t'make sense again. I dunno."

Cass turned away from me, and leaned against the railing again. She sighed heavily.

"Maybe I jus' wanna stop fuckin' things up fer m'self so bad. Or, if that don't work, leave, so I won' have t'deal with th' consequences."

"Cass, you haven't fucked things up so badly that your only recourse is to run away. It's like I keep telling you - what you need to do is talk to Veronica. Like you're talking with me. It's not hard. And it'll help in the long run." I leaned against the railing myself - but this time, I decided to keep a respectful distance away. Just in case. Cass shook her head, and continued to look down.

"Fuck me, man..." Cass let out a single, grim laugh and started to smirk. "When th' fuck did my life get so weird?"

"That's my line," I said, half-jokingly. She shrugged.

"Hey, if th' shoe fits..."

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