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lesvegas · 2 months

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New Vegas - Now Under New Management!

With his investigation 'concluded', Auguste returns home for some much needed R&R, and has a chat with his father before making an important call.

Chapter 4: Laplace's Angel [ao3 link]

When dogs ‘cried’, they made these horrible whines that grate on the ears, whether they’re in pain or just feel they’re not being doted on enough. They can’t help it, though; unlike people, they’re only capable of making a few kinds of sounds with their animalistic vocal chords. I still never understood why their whining was called ‘crying’, though. People didn’t sound like that when they cried, did they?

Maybe it’d just been so long since I let myself cry that I just forgot what it sounded like. I certainly forgot how to do it.

When I left the Ultra-Luxe, I started walking alongside Cal, lighting a cigarette to ease my nerves while keeping my head held high. I ignored the crowd that parted for us and dismissed him when he asked again if I was alright, going straight into the Tops without him and being let right in. I didn’t realize he still had my gun until I saw someone else getting their weapons confiscated, but the last thing I wanted to do was go back outside. I’ll have him return it another time.

I did a phenomenal job at maintaining my composure until I got into the elevator. When I was finally in solitude for a moment, I choked again, quickly clasping my hand over my mouth to shut myself up. I held my breath as the elevator doors opened, glanced up and down the corridor to find myself alone, then made a run for my room, slamming the door shut behind me.

Surrounded by childish comforts, I only briefly wondered which of the three stupid teddy bears Dia had apparently given me, then approached my oversized plush bed and collapsed onto it, bundling up the silk sheets in my hands before bringing them to my face and weeping. Finally able to be at ease, I sobbed into the smooth fabric, my face already feeling hot and soaked with tears. Muffled, I whined like an injured animal between gasps, shaking and inconsolable.

A soft, polite knock rang loud throughout my room, startling me into near silence. It was quiet for a half a moment before I realized in a panic that someone might see me like this. “Don’topenthedoor-” I said, quickly sitting upright and rubbing my eyes on my sleeve, taking a deep breath. “Don’t. Open the door.” I repeated, firmly. “What do you want.”

“I’m home.” my father said from the other side. Of course, who else would it be? Housekeeping? “Someone was selling bird eggs in Freeside. And Brahmin bacon.” He continued when I didn’t respond. “I’m going to make breakfast. It will be ready in twenty minutes.”

I heard him walk away from the door. It didn’t sound like there was anyone out there with him, so there was really no reason not to go out and join him. I got up and went into my private bathroom, taking a face towel and drenching it in cold water before pressing it to my eyes. It only took maybe ten minutes of cold compress before it almost looked like I hadn’t been crying. I combed my hair and slipped out of my coat and tie, leaving them on my bed. I wasn’t going out anytime soon anyway.

By the time I opened the door, the suite already reeked of bacon. My father stood in our kitchenette, his back facing me as he stirred something. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d cooked something; we both lived off the local restaurants with a never-ending tab that had no limit. But I do remember that the last thing he made was something he always called ‘Eggs Nevada’. Stupid name for an odd but really good breakfast.

“Could you set the table, please, Auguste?” He asked as soon as he heard my door open. I wordlessly walked through the living area to the dining area, and approached him to see what he was making first. In a glass bowl on top of a metal pot he was whisking a yellow sauce–

“Did they have butter, too?” I asked, retrieving a pair of forks and knives from a drawer.

“Unfortunately, no. This is just what we had in the freezer.” He said. “The sauce would be the same either way.”

Butter made from Brahmin’s milk wasn’t expensive or even difficult to obtain, if you lived someplace where Brahmin ranches were abundant. But we didn’t have an abundance of ranches here, and the few sources of Brahmin butter were sold to the casinos specifically, not individuals. We could get anything slathered in the stuff if we ordered it, but we didn’t normally have much to just use on our own. Not that we really needed it.

With forks and knives on cloth napkins, I retrieved two glasses next, and the jug of apple-pear juice from the fridge, setting it in the middle of the small dining table. All set, I then approached the counter again to watch my father finish preparing the food.

With the butter sauce at the perfect consistency, he took it off the pot of boiling water and quickly poured it over the eggs; four of them, about the size of a golf ball each, on top of crispy greasy Brahmin bacon, on of thick slices of toasted bread, split between two plates. A heavy breakfast, and one of the only meals he could make better than the restaurants. If he made this specifically to cheer me up… I had to admit, it was already working.

I took both plates to the table while he turned the stove off and did some quick cleaning up. I sat on my side of the table; back facing the door, looking to the windows, in the chair that has always been my spot. I didn’t need to wait for him, but I did anyway, because it was ‘polite’, he once said. And I might as well pour the juice for us both.

The second he sat down, of course, I picked up my knife and gently stabbed the egg until it broke. Even under the light yellow sauce I saw the yolk ooze out of the soft white like syrup, golden-orange lava slowly enveloping the deep brown bacon like the sun itself was melting over earth. I gave it a moment to soak into the bread before I began to cut it all into one bite-sized piece.

“I spoke to Callipho on my way home this morning.”

I stopped cutting. So, that’s what this is. He’s done this before; he’ll make or order food he knows I can’t resist, wait until I’ve sat down and started to eat, then ask a hard question I’d never answer otherwise. Only he hasn’t actually asked me anything yet. He was waiting for me to take the first bite. “So?” I asked.

“He told me you went to the Ultra-Luxe together.”

Was he stalling? Or was he waiting for me to break down and tell him everything? I just took my first bite and waited for him to continue. The bacon was a bit thicker than I thought it’d be, which kept it from being too crispy, and the runny egg drenching the crunchy toast was… it was honestly divine. Salty and savoury and as flavourful as a dish could be despite the simplicity of it all.

“He also told me why the Jackals were all riled up when I returned to the Strip.” He went on when I said nothing. He only paused to finally eat, quietly and with his mouth closed, and didn’t speak again until he swallowed. “He insisted it was nothing to worry about, and that he and Fresno could take care of it, but…”

“I’m not scared of them.” I spoke up.

That made him look at me, his expression as unreadable as always. I never knew what he was thinking, but at the same time I wasn’t scared of him. Not of him directly, at least. “Well, I don’t really care how you 'feel' about them specifically.” He said. “What’s done is done. But next time, you should really let Callipho deal with these things himself. It’s why we have employees.”

Fresno has employees. Father’s just their husband. Technically, neither of us had any real authority. I’m not sure if he really understood that, or if he simply pretended otherwise.

“So did he tell you why I did it?” I asked. If he didn’t, then that was a really important detail he chose to leave out.

“He did.” He said, and let me wonder exactly what Cal had said about me as he used his knife to carefully pile on equal parts egg and toast onto his fork, then eating it slowly. Chew, swallow, speak again. “So, how do you feel now?”

Great, he wasn’t even going to tell me what Cal told him. Did he have any idea someone tried to hire a Jackal to kill me? …would Cal want him to know that, or would it accomplish nothing but making him worry? If he really thought my life was in danger, he’d probably keep me locked up in here. I had to assume Cal left out some details for my sake yet again. “How do I feel about the Jackals?” I asked. “No different from before.”

“No, I mean how do you feel now that you’ve killed a man?”

I’d already finished an entire slice of toast with all the toppings, and it began to hit my stomach all at once, making me a little nauseous. That was the only reason I felt queasy, I told myself. “Again, no different from before.”

“Are you sure?”

He stared at me, and I stared back at him. He looked more tired than usual this morning, even though late nights were a regular thing for him and had been since forever. I still blinked first, conceding.

“What do you want me to say, here?” I asked, getting really fucking tired of whatever it was he was trying to pull at this point. He clearly wanted to hear something specific out of my mouth, but it was too damn early in the morning for his mind games. Thankfully, he then decided to get to the damn point.

“I would have preferred it if you’d said it was upsetting.” He said. “That it was simply so horrifying you’ll never kill again. Not that I want you to be upset, but it would be nice if you didn’t derive any catharsis or pleasure from murder.”

Oh, was that all?

“It was more like an execution, but sure, I really didn’t feel much of anything.” I lied. Well, it was a half-lie. I was scared, but it was less because I killed the bastard, and more because someone really wanted me dead. “Nothing at all?” He asked again, firmly, twirling his fork absentmindedly between his fingers.

I set my fork down to take a sip of juice. I wasn’t going to be able to give him a satisfying answer unless I was honest, but I didn’t need him to find out about the bounty on my head, so… “I mean,” I paused again, considering my words carefully, “Look, yeah, it was kinda scary in the moment, adrenaline and all, but… right now? I don’t really feel anything anymore.”

He followed me and had a sip of juice as well, contemplating my answer before asking another strange question. “Do you feel empty?” He asked. “Unsatisfied. Like you hadn’t done enough to him, or… that you lost a part of yourself.”

What the hell was he on about now.

“Uh… no? To both.” Well, I guess I did feel a little… numb, now. Almost. It was hard to describe the feeling, but it was similar to how I felt not long after Brutus had been shot. A numbness that felt heavy, holding back the weight of emotions that threatened to break my composure. A temporary dam to hold back the tears, strong and unable to crumble until I’ve found some privacy again. “That’s… really specific. Got something you wanna tell me?” I asked, only half joking.

“Perhaps I should.” He said, and set his fork and knife down for now. Oh, this had to be important if he was going to let his food get cold over it. I continued to eat quietly as he spoke.

“I was younger than you are when I first killed a man. Much younger, I believe I was thirteen, possibly fourteen. I used to practice all the time with my father’s gun, shooting rats and birds… sometimes people, but I never killed them…” I held back a grin as I imagined him taking potshots at random people with some peashooter. “...and by the time I was old enough to work for one of the families in Reno, I was very good at my hobby; enough to prove myself a capable marksman, at least. There wasn’t much work for a boy at that age to do besides deliver messages and products, but I wanted to avoid all that. Killing full-grown men seemed the safer choice, if you can believe it.”

My father rarely ever talked about his past. His life back in Reno wasn’t one he liked revisiting, so I listened closely, enraptured. I knew he’d probably never repeat this story again, so I needed to dedicate it to memory. I’ll worry about how he’s trying to use it against me later.

“Now that I think of it, I was definitely thirteen when I took the first job. I’d killed an addict that owed money to the family…” I was only now realizing he would never in a million years tell me which damn family he’d worked for. Maybe Fresno knew. “...out of it when I confronted him, I don’t know if he even felt it when I initially missed the first shot. I had grazed his ear before the second shot landed near the centre of his forehead. Not quite, but close enough to impress my new superiors. For the first year or so, I was only really called up to deal with such simple cases, no one particularly important, but…”

This is where it gets good, I can feel it.

“Then there was a family. Not a casino family, a real family. A father who was about to be on the run after trying and failing to rob his employers, a mother that was in on it, and two young sons that were none the…” I knew it. “...they were playing outside when I showed up. The father tried to defend himself by grabbing a shotgun off the wall, but he was old, and I was faster. He was down before the wife could draw her piece, and she only managed to add some holes to the wall before I shot her. I still remember, it was one in the chest, one in the neck. Even I’d never seen so much blood before. It must have been horrific for the boys to see. They didn’t go in right away, of course, they were just watching at me as I left. Probably too afraid to look.”

“And that’s when you stopped?” I asked. Maybe the boys tried to pay him back, maybe his superiors ordered him to finish the job…

“No.” He said, to my surprise. “Double the targets, double the pay… a whole five hundred caps. It was too tempting not to continue. I killed someone different at least once a month for a few more years, just until I had made enough to leave Reno for good.” He picked up his fork and knife again, and I frowned, thinking that was all. “I always thought it would get easier. It didn’t. But it always left me feeling… empty. Which is why I wanted to know how it made you feel.”

Right, this was probably his idea of father-son bonding, or maybe he wanted to make sure I wasn’t going crazy. And I guess because killing people was something he felt like he had to do to survive, there was no reason for me to do it at all. This was all part of the narrative in his head that anything he had to go through, I should never even know about let alone experience. There’s good but misguided intentions in there somewhere, probably.

“Really didn’t feel any different from the first time.” I admitted, deciding to try and top his story. It was true, but not something I’d ever told him about before. Part of me relished in him finding out I’ve always been as much a killer as he was.

He only glanced at me as he continued to eat. He was surprised, he definitely didn’t know, but he didn’t want to make eye contact anymore. Maybe he was upset. Maybe he was already judging me. It wasn’t going to stop me from sharing my own story now.

“I was definitely fourteen.” I went on. “I remember ‘cause it was after my birthday party and I wanted to play more card games. But you made me go to bed at one o’clock in the morning, so I ended up sneaking out. But, see, I couldn’t play in any of the casinos since they’d just tell me to go back to bed on your orders, so I went just outside of Freeside’s gate.”

He definitely hadn’t heard this story before. He was listening intently, despite not looking at me at all. I had to make this sound good.

“I went alone, just had the gun you gave me.” Already hard to believe, I know; I wasn’t really comfortable leaving the Strip alone, not without Brutus at least. “I found a group of Scorpions just hanging around, drinking whatever, smoking I don’t even know, playing cards. Blackjack, poker, three-card Monte, anything they knew, right? I had a ton of caps, so of course they let me join in. And since you and Cal had already taught me how to play, there was no way I could lo–”

“Who shot first?” He asked, trying to force me to get to the point with an odd sharpness.

I scowled. Didn’t he know anything about storytelling? It’s all about the details, the build-up, the tension. But he was almost done eating now. I huffed. “I won too much and the guy across from me snapped.” I muttered, then cleared my throat. “He was yelling at me, demanding his caps back, but I didn’t wanna give them back. I won. I told him to fuck off and he pulled a gun on me. And he shot first.”

“In your shoulder.” He said quietly, suddenly remembering something, finally looking at me. “You never told me, but I had heard about it. You went to the Fort, when the Followers still occupied it. You must have thought I wouldn’t find out you received treatment there.”

I didn’t. I had no idea he’d found out. I didn’t even have a scar and those doctors swore confidentiality, so who the hell told him? He didn’t even mention it after the fact. “You knew?”

He hummed, and set his fork and knife down, but made no move to get up. He was waiting for me to finish, at least. How polite.

“So, he shot first.” I went on. “He was on something, all clumsy and shit, missed when he should’ve nailed me. Didn’t even hit my right shoulder. I mean, it slowed me down, but not enough for any of them to stop me from shooting right back.”

That had been an unintentionally perfect shot. I wasn’t even looking when I raised my gun, but when I took the shot, there was a split second where his body was still upright. Frozen in place, much like his comrades, staring right at me with dead eyes as blood seeped from a hole in his forehead, before his body fell forward, the dead weight crushing the cardboard box that had been a makeshift card table. Just a foot away from me, I got the perfect view of the back of his head, exit wound having blown his skull wide open. I didn’t know handguns, even powerful ones, were capable of that.

“And it left you feeling numb?” My father asked again.

In the moment, I think it did. Something between numb and scared. I had run away, back into Freeside, straight to the Fort ‘cause I was still too scared of getting caught. More than I was scared of being out there, at the time. I had nightmares about him for years, I still do sometimes, and I remembered him when I shot Rocco. I haven’t even stepped outside of Freeside’s gates since. These feelings, fears, were too complicated to convey to him. We didn’t talk about deeper things like that. “Yeah.” I said simply, and left it at that.

He didn’t ask any other probing questions, and I didn’t feel like telling anymore stories. He’d gotten up to start washing the dishes, and I finished what was left on my plate before giving it to him.

“We ran into Vera and Lun while we were on Fremont Street.” He said as he began to scrub my plate with a sponge. “They asked about you. I told them you were doing well. Vera wanted me to let you know that she misses you.”

Vera was the closest thing I had to a friend my age. We met when we could barely walk after my father arranged a play-date with hers. He had been concerned that I was missing out by not socializing with other children, but he also didn’t want me to associate with any of the typical street urchins. It turns out not many families were interested in having kids in the new raider capital of the world, and she was literally our only option. But despite growing up in Freeside, she was what I considered to be the last classy lady in the whole city… or close enough, at least. I thank her fathers’ paranoia for making her somewhat shut-in and my own class rubbing off on her over the years.

She only officially became my girlfriend two years ago. It only made sense; we were the same age, she was the only girl I liked (or at least tolerated), and she was pretty enough that we looked good as an item. As soon as there’s a good enough reason to, I’ll likely propose to her and maybe that’ll be enough to convince her to move out of that pit.

“I’ll call her.” I said quietly. I may have forgotten she even existed in the last week, but who could blame me? I was mourning. She’d understand. “I could use a distraction.” I added, quieter.

I waited until it was nearly ten in the morning before I made the call. Late enough that there was no way she wouldn’t be awake, but early enough that if she had any plans, she probably wouldn’t have left home yet. Not that she would have any plans; she didn’t exactly have much to do without me. All she did was help her fathers run their restaurant, and in her free time she mostly went out and about, despite how much everyone around her preferred she stay in where it was safer.

The phone in my room was pristine, but I always had to take a moment to brush off a thin layer of dust whenever I needed to use it. I only ever used it to call her; all other calls I just made on the suite’s main phone. I didn’t need privacy to order room service.

I'm reaching for the phone when it rings first, the blaring bell drawing a startled squeak out of me before I can take the phone off the hook to make it stop. I almost thought Vera had the same idea and thought to call first before I brought the phone closer and spoke. "Yes?"

"They're not happy about Rocco." Cal said, though he sounded more annoyed than worried. "Honestly, neither am I. That was one of the dumbest things I’ve ever seen you do."

"Tell me something I don't know." I muttered, and laid back on my bed as I continued. "Look, I'm really not in the mood for a lecture, keep it short. I've got a call to make."

There was silence for a moment, and a little whisper of a sound that could only be an exasperated sigh from the other end of the line, with the receiver kept at an inaudible distance. Then his voice returned, loud and clear. "New rules, kid. You're not going anywhere anytime soon. Consider yourself grounded until further notice."

"Grounded?" I balked. "I’m an adult. My father could ‘ground’ me and I wouldn't listen to him, why would I listen to you?"

"Are you fucking dense?" Cal snapped in a way that made me glad we weren't having this conversation in person. Before I could further consider the stupidity of my response, he continued. "Have you already forgotten what your would-be assassin told you? Someone has it out for you and there’s nothing stopping him from just hiring another Jackal. Hell, the Jackals probably wouldn’t even ask for half as much after today.”

I knew he was right, I just really didn’t want to think about death right now. I just wanted to call my girlfriend and pretend the last several days hadn’t happened at all. I missed when the only things on my mind were how we were gonna blow Fresno’s caps and whether Brutus should have a Brahmin or Bighorner steak, too afraid of looking stupid to ask what the difference even was. There were no would-be assassins in the back of my mind just a week ago.

“You killing Rocco made the trail die.” Cal continued when I didn’t say anything. “I have absolutely no leads now. Just… ‘a man in a suit’. So do me a favour and just stay home while I figure something out.”

I blinked at the ceiling. “Figure what out?” I asked.

“Who the hell wants you dead, obviously.”

“A lot of people, I think.” I said, quietly. I don’t really know why I said that, it was just a funny feeling that came out of nowhere. Very few people actually liked me, because I liked very few people. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if many wanted me dead. Too bad for them, then. “Why? You have any ideas? You said the trail’s dead.”

There was a pause before he spoke up again. “Yeah, I do.” Cal said. “But mostly just a hunch.”

I sat upright on my bed, crossing my legs childishly. “What kind of ‘hunch’?” I demanded. “You should really just leave the overthinking to me.” Cal said. “But… fine. Don’t blame me if you get nightmares. Just think for a second, what would happen if you died right now?”

My father would be devastated. So would Vera. Cal, too, I imagine. But no one else would mourn me, not personally. The city would have lost one of its most important residents, but I had no other friends to speak of. “I dunno. What?”

“Not much. Sorry. But the only people who would know that for sure would be the people who actually live around here. The ones who’ve seen how you and Fresno act around each other. Or, more importantly, how you avoid each other. But to an outsider who only knows of you by name, it might be reasonable to assume the Courier of New Vegas was close to their kid. Would be real upset if he died. Might even weaken their hold on the city.”

Oh. That almost made sense. It was hard to imagine anyone thinking Fresno would do anything but party upon hearing of my death, but if someone really didn’t know anything about us, well…

“I don't wanna make you paranoid, but I have a feeling whoever is behind this has, let's say, political motivations. Twenty years is a long time to keep Vegas and the Dam out of reach. I can think of at least one party that's bide their time long enough and feels the need to start chipping away at the Mojave again from the inside out. So like I said, just stay indoors where it's good and secure away from any windows and you'll probably be fine. At least wait until I get in touch with some old contacts, alright?” He asked, his voice softening a little like it used to whenever he tried to explain to me why I couldn't do something stupid; like stand on top of the Tops’ courtyard wall or tell a raider to go away because I didn't like looking at him.

“...okay.” I said, only to placate him. “But who do you think it is?”

His hesitation told me that he didn't want to tell me, because he couldn't control what I did with that information. But he still told me anyway, if reluctantly. “I haven't felt much movement from out West in a long time. It's almost too quiet. And I know the Republic is still bitter about Fresno kicking them out of the Mojave. But again, it's just a hunch. Go ahead and make your call, I've got a few of my own to make.”

The low droll of a dead line played in my ear, and I returned the phone to its hook for a moment. I could listen to him and just stay home, but the thought of staying in my room with nothing but my thoughts made me want to shoot myself (good thing I still don't have my gun, I suppose), so I called Vera anyway. The dial whirred gently as I spun it ten times, once for each number and the speaker buzzed softly as it began to ring.

Her family’s phone, to my memory, was barely functional, and kept together with duct tape and glue. Sometimes it’d stay broken for a week or so until her fathers had the right parts to repair it again. If I could commend them for anything, it was that they were slightly more resourceful than the usual Freeside rabble, but it helped that one of them came from a Vault where he had the privilege to be taught how to read technical manuals. Broken or functional, her phone always took an agonizing minute to even start ringing, but fortunately for me she was too eager to let it ring for long.

“Auguste?” Her voice chimed in after half a ring, her delight always audible through the static of the horrendous reception. She knew it was me because no one else had any reason to call her family at this time of day. Unfortunately, she also sounded incredibly worried, and I knew I had to control the subject before she could ask how I was feeling. “Vera, dear, I’m glad I caught you.” I said before she could go on. “Listen, I…” I couldn’t act like everything was fine. I had to at least act sorry or something. “I apologize for not calling you sooner, I-”

“It’s okay.” She said, cutting me off. She rarely did that, but I forgave her. “You don’t have to say anything.”

I couldn’t help but relax a little. I knew she would say all of this, act like I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong and needed to be coddled, and that’s because she knows nothing. She knows my dog died and that it made me a very sad boy. And that’s all she needed to know. “Thank you.” I said quietly, and pretended to think for a moment before speaking again. “I… I just wanted to know if you’re free tomorrow?”

Today was too soon. “I was going to work, but I’ll get out of it.” She said, and I swear I could hear her smile. “Where did you want to meet up?”

“Oh, I’ll just come pick you up.” I said. I never liked the thought of her going around the city all by herself, even if she was armed. Her fathers and I had that in common. “We can just decide where to go from there. Eleven o’clock?” Perfect for late brunch.

“That’s perfect.” She said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetie.”

A pet name I tolerated rather than liked, and only in private. When we were kids we could talk over the phone for hours, but now I could hardly stand it. I needed to see her in person every time. I liked her voice, but I preferred hearing it without the fuzz, and I loved looking at her. Watching her whether she was telling me about some bizarre encounter in the restaurant or listening to me talk about something more important. I could count on one hand the number of people I actually enjoyed being around, and she was one of them.

So, I said my goodbyes and hung up. And with nothing else to do until tomorrow, I decided to make the most of my time by sleeping the day away, too exhausted to avoid having any nightmares.

#fnv #fonv #fallout new vegas #falloutfun #fnv fanfiction #oc: auguste/augustus #oc: callipho #oc: valoire

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