#clue to what he’s been up to cough the courier cough came he had to throw caution to the wind

[dykedvonte]

A Defense of Benny Gecko

Benny is more of a capable leader and person than people give him credit for.

Seeing as no one challenged his position as head Chairmen for 7 years and even then he only loses the position if he’s caught, killed or forced to leave. Yes, it’s also likely House wouldn’t have allowed him to be killed but he sure as hell would of found a way to remove him if he was causing too much unrest within The Tops power structure. Even Swank and Tommy don’t outright dislike him and more so are concerned with his recent secretive and shady behavior, emphasis on recent.

Taking all we know into consideration, Benny likely knew the future direction that he wanted to take Vegas but was so caught up in the plans to acquire Vegas that he didn’t think of how to make his dream a reality. Something he admits to in canon. I see this being used as the main argument that Benny doesn’t know what he’s doing at all but I see it more in the same vein as you can’t really plan something from nothing. The transformation of Vegas is a sensitive thing that he can’t really work on until he has it. The only reason he ran to the Fort prematurely is the Courier who was causing so much of a stir he would’ve likely been found out much faster, making all that planning for nothing if he didn’t take that chance.

Benny is careful (well a lot more careful than he is regularly depicted in fanon), the Courier being able to trace him was dumb luck on their part and his hair being noticed at the Fort is a realistically small oversight that even Caesar is disappointed in because he admits Benny got farther than he should’ve been allowed by his legionaries. The fact he can plan an ambush on the Courier or tries to quickly and concisely clean up lose ends that don’t lead back to him shows he’s not just acting on impulses or in the moment decisions. Or rather he’s quite good at thinking them out, whether they work depends on how you play really. This is all to say it’s 100% believable that Benny could lead an independent Vegas (house was basically setting him up to do that). If he had known explicitly that House was setting him up to replace him, he likely would’ve bought more time by getting in closer, learning more of the system to then flip House’s edge to his favor. Again something he was doing already but likely without the knowledge of House’s feelings on him personally.

No matter what, Vegas’ future was tied to Benny; House’s plans for him, having to get the chip and if he had somehow succeeded. It’s also interesting that of all the people vying for control of the dam/Vegas, Benny’s plans are the only ones actually oriented towards a new future, not a recreation of something long past.

[ceilingcow]

Yeehawgust Day 3: Tequila Sunrise

(Fallout New Vegas ficlet, featuring male Courier and Arcade Gannon)

“Sincerely though, how are you doing that?” Arcade asked in a hushed tone as the Courier stepped away from the blackjack table, the equivalent of two thousand caps in casino chips in hand. 

The courier shrugged, or at least as much as he could shrug with an armful of chips. 

“I thought of you as smart enough not to gamble but maybe not quite smart enough to count cards. No offense,” Arcade whispered, glancing nervously around. “I can’t believe you talked me into coming here of all places, it must have been flattery, but if you get caught cheating by the Omertas…” 

“Counting sounds like too much effort,” the Courier said, before walking up to cash in most of his chips. “Work smart, not hard, you know.”

“No, I have not the slightest clue what you mean in this case.”

“Why try to count anything when you can just go by vibes.”

“Vibes? 2000 caps worth of vibes?”

The Courier walked up to the window to cash out all but 200 caps worth of chips. He stashed his newfound riches in his messenger satchel, not even bothering to be inconspicuous about it. 

“Let’s get a drink.” the Courier said, jangling a handful of caps.

“Sure, you’re welcome to get one. When in Rome and all that. But if you start throwing caps at any of these dancers I’m leaving.”

The two walked to the back of the Casino’s main room to pass through the doorway to the bar. Neither the Courier nor Arcade paid any attention to the woman dancing on stage to an almost empty room. 

“That Follower fucker is going to have some trouble if he tries to liberate any of our employees,” one of the Omertas roaming about said to the Courier, as if Arcade wasn’t there.

“What’ll it be?” The bartender asked, a look of bored incuriosity on his face. 

“A Tequila Sunrise, please,” the Courier asked. The Bartender stared blankly.

“Right. Sure. I’ll whip up the closest thing I can manage. And for your friend?” the bartender asked, gesturing at Arcade. 

“Just water,” Arcade replied. The bartender busied himself, and the Courier situated himself on a barstool. Arcade hesitated, examining the barstool in front of him before sitting next to the Courier. “I feel like everything here is sticky and smells of sweat and desperation. You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

“Would you have rather gone to Vault 21?”

“Oh absolutely,” came Arcade’s answer a bit too quickly. “The whole gambling enterprise would go broke on my business, but at least Vault 21 wouldn’t have the air of human trafficking.”

The two stopped talking as the bartender returned. Caps were exchanged, and the bartender set a glass of water in front of Arcade, and then a glass of purple liquid in front of the Courier before leaving to tend to another patron. 

“That’s um…” the Courier started, examining the glass. The drink was a murky purple, with a slight fade to deep red at the bottom of the glass. “Not really a tequila sunrise.”

The Courier took a sip. It was sickly sweet, with a tang of tartness on the rebound, with an almost medicinal taste of cherry as if somebody had boiled Nuka Cherry down to a syrup. The unmistakable burn of vodka hit his palette as he swallowed. 

“Less of a tequila sunrise and more of a Mutfruit Midnight,” the Courier said, coughing. Arcade eyed his own glass warily and decided he’d rather not imbibe. 

“You know, Mr. House offered me 2000 caps to retrieve the Platinum chip for him.�� the Courier laughed to himself as he took another sip, this time much smaller. “Risk my life for 2k.”

“Given how easily caps seem to come to you, I’d assume you see that for the bad deal it is,” Arcade replied. “Be careful you don’t lose it all, though.”

“I’m not worried about that. I’ve got luck on my side.”

“Pardon me for saying so, but I don’t think lucky people tend to get shot in the head,” Arcade quipped.

“Maybe, but I imagine unlucky people don’t survive it.”

“Touche,” Arcade said, he raised his glass of water, “A toast to the intangible and entirely fictional concept of luck, then.”

The Courier clinked his beverage against Arcade’s and took another sip. Arcade continued eying the water suspiciously.

“It’s real, though. I can prove it.” the Courier said with a smirk.

“I’d very much love to see you try. Blackjack is a game about probabilities, and you can make educated decisions based on those probabilities. It’s the one game where the house doesn’t necessarily have the edge by default, and anyone with a brain can at least avoid losing their shirt or come out well enough. That’s not really proof of luck as a concept.”

“Alright,” the Courier replied, tossing a few caps on the bar as a tip. He took his glass and got up from his stool, “Let’s try something devoid of skill.”

Arcade left his water behind and followed, a bit of a wry smile playing around his lips as he shook his head. They strolled back to the main atrium of Gomorrah and the Courier sat at one of the slot machines. 

Over a period of ten minutes or so, the Courier increased his cache of 200 chips to 400-odd chips. 

“Sure, I’m not winning every spin or anything, but it’s gradually going up. As long as I sit here and keep spinning, it’s going to creep upwards. Not as good as Blackjack, but the odds are still in my favor,” the Courier explained to a still skeptical looking Arcade. 

“I’m not certain an upward trend is quite proof of concept,” Arcade crossed his arms, but there was a hint of consternation in his voice. The courier kept pulling the lever. The pile of chips grew once more. “How many caps have you won?”

“Hm… that’s… about 13 thousand or so in the past few days, just playing on and off. Came out with 4000 the first time I sat at a Blackjack table a few days ago over at the Ultra Luxe. The dealer had to explain how to play and I’m not sure I really get it, but it seems easy enough,” the Courier said casually. Arcade seemed to be sweating now. 

“I suppose you’re better than average at playing the odds then,” Arcade responded, trying to wave off his doubt.

The Courier downed more of his drink, and he was feeling a bit tingly and confident now. He increased his bet significantly. Arcade winced as the bet grew, but no sooner than the Courier had pulled the lever it seemed like the slot machine was spitting out more coins than it could contain. They started falling on the floor all around the Courier’s feet.

“But that’s not the point, really,” the Courier said, completely unfazed by this turn of fortune even as the coins kept falling in a pile below, “The point is that House is offering two thousand caps. two thousand caps comes easy. I don’t need him. For that matter, I don’t need the NCR, and I sure as hell don’t need Caesar’s Legion.”

“So you’re making a decision about the political fate of New Vegas based on personal winnings in Blackjack and Slots?”

“Don’t you want a free and independent New Vegas?” the Courier asked. The deluge of coins finally stopped and the Courier seemed poised to pull the handle again. “Definitely. I just didn’t expect it to come down to, and I can’t believe I’m admitting this,” Arcade sighed and massaged his temples, “Dumb luck.”

[itsuki-minamy]

“OTSUKAI CAKE”

* Mini Episodes KFCN (List of Chapters) * Projects & Chapters

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

"I'm home! Cake!"

Neko entered the room with a paper bag from a pastry shop on her head.

"Uh, so good that you came back safely. It was hard work."

Kuro stopped cooking and faced Neko.

He was a little worried about letting this girl take over the assignment, but apparently everything went well. He thinks it's something to try and quit.

"Then, I'll pick up the receipt and change it before I forget it. It's a matter of time until the final report."

Then Neko bowed her head and,

"Receipt?"

"I think I got it at accounting time. I got so much paperwork."

Neko bends her neck almost at a right angle,

"Accounting?"

"Huh, you by no means stole it from the store. Plus, it's packed properly, right? Well, if you look closely, it's in a bag with a cake box. So where's the receipt?"

"I see, it's creepy..."

"With this paper, the change... they should have returned a small amount of money, what happened?"

"What do not you understand?"

Neko stretched out her chest and looked at Kuro's face.

"As you told me, I gave the money to the store staff and got the cake. Better the cake than getting the money."

"Well, yes... that kind of understanding. The change is... no, it's fine for today. I'll explain later."

"If you're satisfied, eat the cake. And Shiro?"

"He hasn't returned from shopping yet... and the cake is for after dinner. Put it away."

At that moment, the sound of the front door opening was heard, followed by Isana Yashiro's voice.

"I'm home! I bought a cake."

"What?"

A few minutes later, Kuro was confused in front of the two paper boxes in the chabudai.

An orthodox strawberry cake and a large cake that can be cut and eaten by about eight people.

There are two whole cakes for Kuro's birthday celebration.

Neko told him to "find the right one", so it was to be expected that he would buy something bigger than necessary. Well, he thought it would be nice to eat it two or three times.

He has doubled.

"A cake of this size... I wouldn't buy it without thinking."

He's not going to blame the boy at all, but because of his personality, he worries when things show unexpected changes, so he ended up asking the other person.

"You must have been in charge of 'ingredients (other than cake)'."

"No, I sorry."

The boy scratched his head.

"In the unlikely event that Neko drops money on the way or drops the cake on the way home, Kuro will be disappointed... If you think, just in case..."

"Why don't you trust this girl more?"

That said, Kuro himself was worried about that kind of thing, so he couldn't help but understand his feelings. But the problem is...

"Did you think about the possibility that there could be two cakes?"

"Well if that happens, big cakes will line up in this chabudai."

"They are lined up right now."

"It feels like a big party and I thought it was wonderful."

"It's wonderful! Let's eat!"

"What is the party? I wonder if three people will eat this amount of cake."

"That's why."

The boy spread both hands in front of his chest.

"Let's call the classmates and share the celebration."

"Ah? Hm, I see."

When he thought about it and laughed, he suddenly took an attitude like opening his chest. He wasn't used to this breathing yet, but Isana Yashiro's proposal was a blind spot for Kuro and it was also convincing.

"If it's Yukizome, you could call her. It's a sudden story, but why don't you call her?"

The front door bell rang as Kuro took out the PDA.

When he opened the door, Kukuri Yukizome, who he was just talking about, was in the bedroom hallway. Behind them are classmates Sumika Inaba and Sota Mishina.

"Kuro-kun, today is your birthday, right? Congratulations!"

"Hey, Mishina. The gift."

"Ah!"

At Inaba's urging, Mishina gave him a paper bag from a pastry shop.

"I did it big so everyone could eat a lot!"

She has increased the number of cakes.

And…

"Ah, did you already have a cake? I should have confirmed it correctly."

In front of the three full cakes, Yukizome shows her forehead.

"I received the consideration. Thank you all."

As he bowed deeply, Kuro pondered again.

(I would like my hometown teacher Ichigen Miwa to eat this cake, but this kind of raw food will not be accepted by courier. After that, would I like to take it with my own hands and go home?)

There the bell rang again.

What appeared at the front door...

"Hey, how are you, Kuro?"

"Ichigen-sama? And…"

Kuroh Yatogami's teacher, Ichigen Miwa, and behind him, a tall person.

"Hello, Kuro-chan."

"Mishakuji Yukari?!"

When Kuro unwittingly stood up, Yukari smiled with a slight bow and a sharp smile.

"What are you planning to do? With such a wide stance."

"Neither of you guys should fight, because today is Kuro's celebration."

Miwa said that softly.

"Uh... please tell this boy that."

Yukari lifted the paper bag that he was holding and winked at him.

"I bought a cake, Kuro-chan."

(Cake! Another cake?)

When he coughed into his heart, his consciousness quickly woke up.

(Oh, is this a dream?)

A dry winter breeze hit his cheeks.

After the "Gakuenjima Incident", Kuro and Neko began a journey to find clues about the missing master, Isana Yashiro. First, they visited the grave of Miwa Ichigen in Kuro's hometown and the residents, where they spent the end of the year parties at Kuro's house and returned to Tokyo at the beginning of the new year to the present.

It happened that the cold weather was not so strong for the last few days, Kuro and Neko, who are used to the outdoor life, were camping in a corner of the park.

(If I dream like that, I may be starting to get tired. I'll have to establish a base around here soon.)

The room that was the setting for his dream was a room in the Ashinaka High School student dormitory. It exploded during the incident and now they can't get in, but... he woke up for a few days, and it seems like it was unexpectedly big for him.

Also, the people who came out in the dreams, "classmates" from Ashinaka High School, brother and nemesis Mishakuji Yukari, the late teacher Miwa Ichigen, and right now "Silver King" Isana Yashiro. Those people for whom he felt affection are not in front of them now.

Only one remains.

"Hmm..."

A piece of blanket fluttered next to Kuro, she rubbed her eyes and Neko lifted half her body.

"Rice?"

"No, I haven't cooked food yet. Well, it's my birthday today. Do you want to eat cake?"

"Cake!"

A few hours later.

"You, this is..."

Kuro was completely disappointed in front of two large paper boxes placed on a park bench. Neko who jumped up and said, "Let me buy the cake!", came back with two whole cakes.

"Because... it seemed like I could buy two with a lot of money..."

"I wish I had one for each person..."

"Maybe tomorrow is my birthday...!"

When Kuro raised his face, Neko took a step back.

"Oh... are you angry?"

There was no money to spend on this. He thought about how much they both eat. Even if he left it, there was no place to keep it. Are they going to walk around with a cake that they are about to eat?

He wondered if he could give her two lectures, but... surprisingly, he only escaped a bitter smile from his mouth.

"So... what I saw this morning was a dream."

As he kept Neko waiting and made tea with simple camping gear, Kuro coughed.

"Fufu... Today is a great party."

After that, the heartburn feast lasted for two days, but he felt the area around his shoulders have become lighter.

His wandering journey will continue for a time.

[ladylike-foxes]

for DA Drunk Writing: "Remember what brought you here and what drove you out" for Alistair in a pairing of your choice?

Thank you, again! Wow, I don’t know how I didn’t realize it was your prompts I was filling, back-to-back 😅😅😅 I probably got Alistair’s voice all wrong, but here ya go, @dadrunkwriting ❤︎ ❤︎ 

           Alistair’s arrival was not really a surprise. After all, he had sent a courier a few hours ahead. Unlike Josephine or Cullen, Halesta didn’t mind. She was looking forward to seeing him again; he hadn’t spoken much when she was in Redcliffe or Denerim, deferring to Anora to speak for them. From their little interaction and stories from Leliana, Cullen—and countless more fantastical tales from Varric—she pieced together the impression that Ferelden’s King was a slightly nervous but friendly man with a kind heart. And she tried taking Morrigan’s accounts of him with a grain of salt.           Halesta was ambling the garden at the moment of King Therin’s arrival, which was announced quite loudly by a ruckus in the courtyard. She knew it was certainly rude of her not to meet him at the stairs, or the Hall doors, but wistful as she felt, it seemed more appropriate here. It was mere moments before the King appeared from amongst the dark colonnade, and having only glimpsed but one of Leliana’s agents, Halie felt certain no one would be allowed out to either the garden or the quarters off the loggia. They would be left alone.

“Your Majesty,” Half-bow, half-curtsy, all awkward, “I’m sincerely grateful for your visit.”

“Oh, please don’t, Inquisitor. You’re about to tip over,” Alistair’s laugh was pleasant, “Might we forego the formalities, perhaps? It’s been too long since I’ve just been a person.”

“Oh, thank the Creators—Yes, please. I am awful at all this,” Straightening up, she strode forward to shake his hand, “Can you imagine, walking out of the woods into this?”

“Ah, but you didn’t walk out of the woods into the Inquisition, did you?”

          He smirked at her knowingly as they fell into step along the winding garden path. She caught herself before looking too surprised, subtly tapping a finger to her lips. She glanced pointedly over his shoulder up to the veranda, where a scout stood casually, pretending not to pay attention. Alistair followed her gaze, nodding in subtle understanding and lowering his voice.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell. I didn’t mention it at Redcliffe or your stay in Denerim, did I?” He chuckled softly, looking ahead.

“I wonder though, Your Highness, how you came to such a conclusion?” Mirroring his posture with wrists crossed behind her.

“There’s something of Lowtown in how your only use your hands to speak when you feel comfortable in your surroundings,” He shot her a quick glance, “Speaking of which: I’m suppose I’m glad you don’t find me threatening.”

“I know a good man when I meet one.”

“And Jader, I imagine, is where you originally arrived on this side of Lake Celestine,” She looked sidelong up at him, tilting her head curiously, “And first introduced to the frequent use of titles.”“That sounds like a valid assumption, Your Highness,” She smiled noncommittally.

“Just Alistair, please. Your evasiveness is very Orlesian, as well.”

“Well, Alistair,” She led him to the pergola, not waiting for him to take her seat, “Since you are familiar enough with Lowtown, you know that the nature of my time there was rather, ah, surreptitious.”

“As one would assume, Inquisitor.”

“It’s Halesta. Please.”

          The king nodded a stifled smile, conceding. Halesta took a subtle glance around, noting another scout in the far corner of the battlements, where the tavern backed up to the garden wall. She wasn’t sure how much to give away, though she was grateful he felt comfortable that his life was in no danger here with her.

“I was an assassin in Kirkwall, though only briefly,” Hanging her head, lips barely moving, “I was sent to the Conclave to prevent—well, presumably what happened anyway. I suppose I failed.”

“Oh, I fail all the time, Halesta. Sometimes I lie awake at night, wondering how many lives have been lost due to my ineptitude as king. Thank the Maker for Anora. We didn’t get on at first, but she really is a strong leader and wants the best for her people. Er. Our people, I suppose.”

          He laughed again: a loud, barking sound that bounced off the stone around them. It was disbelief, and Halesta found herself laughing too. They both seemed to slip into hysterics, tears in their eyes, laughter in confusion and fear.

“What are we doing, playing at leaders?”

“We have no business at all being in charge!” Alistair gestured with dramatic incredulity.

“Of anything!” Her voice was a gasping whisper, strained from lack of air.

          They slowly settled down, chests heaving as they shook their heads and wiped their eyes. He clapped her on the shoulder, firmly jostling her in camaraderie. When he smiled it was genuine, and his teeth were bright against his browned skin. She could nearly picture him when he was younger, running around Ferelden with the Warden Commander or sailing with Varric and the Pirate Queen.

“The Champion was so stoic about being given his title,” She shook her head again, feeling how deeply her brow was furrowed, “Though, considering he was technically born into nobility…. But when they began calling me Herald, and then Inquisitor? I’m still lost. I couldn’t be further from what I was born into.”

“I can empathize somewhat, born a bastard without knowing what I came from,” Alistair gave a small smile, sincerity in his eyes, “I must admit, Halesta: you are so much more than I could ever have expected—and I knew the Warden. You do the Inquisition proud. You do your people proud. You are navigating all of this mess with such consideration.”

“I certainly don’t feel like it. Especially after Adamant, and then that business at Halamshiral,” She stood with a sigh, and he followed suit.

“Halamshiral was a shit-show, and you made the best of it. As for Adamant,” He exaggerated a shudder, “And the Breach, as well: remember what sent you into the Fade, and what drove you out. I don’t know what caused all this, or about Corypheus and his power, but I have a feeling the clues are there for you. Tevinter always seems to have a big arrow on its back.”

“Ha! They’re not the only ones. The El—”           Suddenly, it dawned on her. She felt the realization pour over her, running like cool water from her head to her feet. She couldn’t have known how wild she looked then, her head snapping toward him, eyes wide and brows high. It was Alistair’s concerned reaction that brought her back to the moment, finding her arms flung around his waist, hugging him. After a moment of surprise, he tentatively returned the gesture with a bemused chuckle.

“Sorry, Your Highness,” She coughed awkwardly as she released him, blushing with embarrassment and the thrill of insight, “It’s just, I think you helped me with a big piece of my puzzle.”

“I won’t even ask,” He laughed again, following her eager stride back towards the hall, looking both pleased and confused in a way that reminded her somewhat of a Mabari pup.

[badcowboy69]

Feeding Knowledge to a Fever

This was an abandoned WIP of mine.  I found it semi started in my files and thought it’d be nice to modify it and finish it. So, here ya go. Simple and pure fluff between my courier six Travis Blackfox and @zoey-and-dakota‘s sole survivor Riley White.  This story takes place in the early part of their relationship and will be Travis’ first time experiencing the chill of fall in the Commonwealth.  It’s also short compared to what I usually write....it’s five pages.  It’s also very safe for work.  Thanks for reading and as always reblogs, comments, and questions are always welcomed!  Thank you!   Under the read more thing due to length.

The sun had just set on Diamond City allowing the chill of autumn to slowly creep in.  The scent of burning wood billowing from chimneys filled the air as the residents began to settle down for a long evening.  At the dwelling called Home Plate, Riley White and his partner, Travis Blackfox, were prepping for a peaceful night together as well.

Today was game night for the couple and the fun usually lasted until the wee hours of the morning.  After that, if they weren’t too tired or drunk off their rockers, they were prone to find something a bit more physical to do before succumbing to sleep.  While Travis made his way upstairs to get his deck of Caravan cards, Riley began to brew a fresh pot of coffee to not only warm them, but help give their energy a boost.    

“Coffee’s almost done, Travis!” Riley called moments later while he brought out their coffee mugs and the sugar bowl.  He waited for Travis’ typical ‘a’yup” response, but got none.  “Did you hear me?  Coffee’s about ready.”

Still not getting a reply, he set the mugs down on the bar and went to the bottom of the stairs.  He looked up towards their loft bedroom, but saw and heard no movement.  “You ok?” he inquired.  

A soft, pained grunt hit his ears making him arch an eyebrow.  Ascending the wooden stairs, Riley took a quick glance around the dimly lit room and spotted his shirtless lover sitting slumped on the bed.  “Travis..is something wrong?  Are you alright?” he asked with mounting concern as he made his way to Travis’ side.

Travis shrugged and the very act made him groan and lean his elbows heavily on his knees.  “Ain’t right...came on all of a sudden.  Been feeling shitty, but I’ve been fighting it.  Throat hurts...head...feel weak.”

Riley took a seat next to him and gently placed his hand on Travis’ bare shoulder.  He gasped in surprise feeling how hot his partner's flesh was.  “Shit, babe, you're burning up, “ he said in concern while placing the back of his hand against Travis’ brow.  “Possibly got yourself a fever.”

“Thought I was just getting over tired so’s that’s why I ain’t said nothing,” Travis muttered while leaning wearily against Riley.  “I'm sorry.”

“Sorry?  You've done nothing wrong.  Listen, let's get you tucked in.  I'll get you some aspirin and bring up our coffee.  We'll stay snuggled and warm here the rest of the night.  How does that sound?  Would you like that?”

Travis slowly nodded and flopped onto his side with a grunt while he squirmed to get under the covers.  Riley stood and and helped cover his partner with the quilt.  He pulled it up over Travis’ shoulders and tucked it around him comfortably.  Inclining his head forward, Riley gently pressed his lips against Travis’ warm brow.  “Try and relax.  I won't be long.”

Heading downstairs, Riley sought out the small medical bag he kept behind the bar.  Digging through it he found the pill bottle and shoved it in his pocket. Getting an idea he grabbed a flask off the counter and filled it with some whiskey.  Not only would alcohol help Travis wash the meds down, but it would help relax and further warm him.  Taking a quick swig from the flask, Riley stuffed it in his other pocket then went to prepare their coffee.

After sugaring it how Travis liked, Riley added a dollop of cazador honey (brought back from his visit to New Vegas) to help soothe Travis’ throat. Carefully gathering the steaming mugs he next made his way upstairs to his ill partner.  “I’m really sorry you aren’t feeling well.  I’m sure this northern weather isn’t exactly something you’re used to right yet,” Riley commented as he placed a mug on the little table next to where Travis lay.  “Hopefully these aspirins will help.  My experience in doctoring isn’t exactly too high up there, but I most certainly won’t cause your demise.”

Travis twitched his moustache and grimaced over Riley’s attempt at a little joke.  “That’s mighty kind of you,” he rasped while taking the aspirins and flask from him.  Travis popped the pills in his mouth then took a few deep swallows from the flask before he handed it back to Riley.

Taking a mouthful of alcohol himself, Riley went to his side of the bed and set his mug down on the nightstand.  “The best thing for you now is to rest and let those meds work on you.  Getting something warm inside of you should help even more.”

“Like you?” Travis jested and wished he hadn't as he began coughing.

“Glad to see you haven't lost your sense of humor,” Riley smirked as he stripped down to his boxers.  Flipping back the covers he crawled into bed and gathered up his coffee, gently blowing on it before taking a sip.  “I think I’m going to catch up with my journal entries.  I am a little behind with that.  Is there anything else I can do for you before I start, or are you set?” Riley asked while reaching for his book and pencil.

"Well... I'd love hearing a pre-war story...love hearing your voice...relaxes me," Travis said as he gingerly sipped his coffee.

"A story?  Travis, you need rest, not listen to my ramblings," Riley replied as he reached over and absently began stroking Travis' hair, letting the black strands sift through his fingers.  Travis shifted his position and gazed up at Riley, his blue eyes shining eagerly.  Riley sighed and gave a soft chuckle.  He could never quite tell Travis no, especially when it came to talking about some pre-war topic.  "Fine.  What is it you'd like to hear about?"

The ends of Travis' moustache lifted to a weary grin which quickly disappeared as he began to cough.  "The old west," he grunted while taking a mouthful of coffee.  "Cowboys mostly...I wanna know about all that stuff.”

Riley inwardly groaned.  Even though history was right up his alley, cowboys wasn't a topic he was totally savvy with.  Hopefully the limited knowledge he did have would be more than enough to satisfy his own cowboy.  "Well," he began slowly, not exactly sure how to start this pre-war history lesson.  "The word cowboy comes from the Spanish word vaquero as I’m sure you might know.  Buckaroo, from what I gather, is English speaking people back in the day not knowing how to say vaquero correctly.”

Taking a sip of his coffee, Riley took a moment to ponder what information he could even tell Travis that would be new.   Travis had a decent knowledge of the pre-war west thanks to his vaquero ghoul friend Raul.  There was also a small assortment of books dealing with colonizing the west up in the penthouse that he knew Travis read countless times.  For that matter, Mister House no doubt had plenty of discussions with the courier about such things.

Furrowing his brow, Riley considered asking if there was a more generalized topic Travis was interested in.  The western subject was rather vast and varied and Riley honestly had no clue where to start.  Fortunately, Travis unwittingly helped the situation.  “How's about the cowboys in movies?  Was the west much different in how it's portrayed on holotapes?”

“Movies?  Ummm...oh!  Hell yes!  Western movies hardly came close to accurately depicting the true life of cowboys.  In fact movies had it where basically anyone wearing a Stetson was considered a cowboy.  White hats were the good guys while black hats were the bad.”

“Reckon I'm a bad cowboy, huh?”

Riley smirked and took a swallow of his coffee before reaching for his flask.  “Not even close,” he grinned as he poured the whiskey into his mug.  Seeing Travis had his mug held out to him, Riley poured the remainder of the alcohol into it then settled back comfortably against the covers.

“Anyway,” he continued.  “Cowboy life was almost always shown as a glamorous one.  Huge herds of prime cattle, champion horses, the finest gear.  Real cowboys were usually poor men simply trying to make a buck or two.  Movie cowboys were also portrayed as dashing, clean cut white men.  In reality most cowboys were people of color and that included Native Americans.  Speaking of Indians, they weren't even portrayed by Natives in movies or television shows, but rather they were mostly Italians.”

Travis snorted, “That's mighty stupid.  Why'd they go and do that for?”

“Mighty stupid as you said, but it's a story for another time.”  Riley paused from his banter to finish the last of his drink.  Glancing to his left he noticed Travis looking as if he were finally fading from the waking world.  As Riley placed his empty mug on the nightstand he asked, “How are you feeling, Travis?  Do you still want me to continue?”

Travis nodded while staring at the remainder of his drink.  He swirled the contents around before downing it.  “S-sure,” he said behind his hand as he tried to stifle a yawn.  

Riley smirked and took Travis’ mug before he ended up dropping it.  Gathering his ill cowboy in his arms and making him comfortable, Riley continued with his unusual history lesson.  “One interesting fact about the life of a cowboy is there were a lot of gays joining the roundups.  Back in those days folks had to hide their sexuality.  No one cared what people did out on the range as long as the job got done.  Many gay men knew it was the one way they could be themselves without being judged.”

Snuggling down against Riley’s chest, a soft sound escaped Travis’ throat making Riley wonder if he had fallen asleep at last.  A few moments passed and Riley was about to reach for his journal again when the dozing Travis suddenly started to caress over his arm.  “Y’all finished?” he drawled.

“I could be if you’d like me to be,” Riley chimed as he tightened his arms around his lover.  Travis shook his head no and voiced his interest in hearing more of what Riley has to offer.  “Don’t force yourself to listen to me ramble.  You need rest.”

“Ain’t forcing nothing...one more story, then I’ll go to sleep.”

“Very well.”  Riley began to sift his fingers through Travis’ hair while trying to think of a random tidbit of information on the Hollywood version of cowboys. “Here’s a little bit of trivia.  The reason cowboys used to sing sad, lonely songs was mostly for soothing the skittish cattle they watched over.  I’m wanting to bet that style of songs was where country music came from eventually.  In Hollywood the singing bled into a lot of the shows and almost every actor was now a country singer or vice-versa.  Gene Autry is one such actor.  Roy Rogers and Dale Evans were a very popular duo and…”

“They're from that song!” Travis excitedly interrupted.

“What song?”

“Let's ride into the sunset together!  Part that goes something like I'll be your Dale.  I'll be your Roy.  I know you heard it back in Vegas.”

Riley thought about it for a moment and suddenly recalled the sweet little country song.  “I seem to remember you most certainly did like it.  You blasted it and Big Iron every time they played.”

Travis nodded against him when his entire body suddenly relaxed.  The minor burst of energy gone thanks to his pending illness.  “Y-yeah...I like that song.  Riley...can I...can I be your Dale and you be my Roy?”

Chuckling, Riley rested his chin on Travis’ head.  I’d love that, but you do know the Dale they’re referring to was a woman, right?”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Uh-huh!  Husband and wife team...very popular and beloved.  They had a big ranch named the Double R Bar and were in plenty of films...even had their own television show.”

“Dale’s a dumb name for a girl,” Travis grunted as he began lightly caressing his hand over Riley’s arm.

Riley felt Travis’ touch falter every few seconds showing the cowboy’s fight to stay awake was finally coming to an end.  “How about you forget about the name thing.  Let’s keep the song as I’ll be your Riley and you’ll be my Travis.  Does that sound good?  Would you like that better?”

A series of unintelligible sounds came from Travis before he lifted his hand up to wave off the conversation.  “S’ok...I’ll be Dale...ain’t...uhhh...ain’t shavin’ and...and ain’t wearin’ no dress, though.”

Riley blinked behind his glasses and couldn’t help but chuckle and shake his head at the odd reply.  Apparently Travis was suffering from a mild bout of delirium brought on by either the fever, exhaustion, or the bit of alcohol he consumed with his coffee.  Maybe it was a combo of all three.  “Fine.  No dress.  You haven’t the legs for one anyway,” Riley jested while bowing his head down to give Travis a tender kiss on top of his head.

He waited for a response, but got none.  It was then he felt the steady breathing and weight on his chest indicating that his partner finally passed out.  Smiling to himself and hugging Travis to him, Riley said quietly, “Sleep well and get well fast my little buckaroo.”

Fin~