[IC] War Never Changes

[Tiberius67]

Brother Joseph - Ultra-Luxe

"Runner!.....", said a man's voice from the holotape player's speaker, "Right, let's see.... Greetings, Men of Steel. I am commander John Fulman of the Arctic Haven mercenary force. I apologise for all the loops, spy games and mystery surrounding this message, but I assure you I have good cause for this, as you will soon learn. Please come to our temporary command outpost set up at the old 'Allied Technologies Offices' just south of the McCarran walls. It's the base with old Navarro Class vertibirds and concrete walls. I dare not explain my purpose for these security measures even in this tape I've obfuscated for fear of this falling into the wrong hands."

"That is all that was on the tape, My Lord", Joseph said as he reached over to the holo-tape player and pushed the stop button. "There was no supporting documentation at all, whatever Fulman wants, he is afraid of it getting intercepted."

"As well he should", Barnaky said as the robot began to pace back and forth pensively. As many years as he had served the Lord-Paladin as his lieutenant and advisor, Brother Joseph had never quite gotten used to the human-like gestures of the Lord Paladin's robot avatars when he was controlling them. The robot stopped, and pointed at a portrait on the wall, a print of one of Rembrandt's self-portraits, then waved at it. "The walls here...have ears. And probably eyes, too." He then looked back at Joseph and added. "speaking of that...for Christ's sake, stand the hell back up or take a seat, I don't need our host thinking there is something to what that moron Kimball sent to pretend to be him said about me thinking I'm a 'Man-God'."

"Yes, my Lord", Joseph said as he got up off his knee and sat on the couch. "Kimball's deception does not seem to have been well received, that could be useful to Lucius...and us."

"I hope that idiot is only a 'body double'," Barnaky growled as he begun to pace again, through the area where Joseph had been kneeling, "if his 'intellect'", Barnaky emphasized by raising his hands and sarcastically making quote marks to each side of his head, "matches Kimball's as closely as his looks do, they both must eat lead paint chips for breakfast, lunch, and dinner." Barnaky stopped directly in front of the reproduction of the Rembrantdt and faced it.

"So tell me, Robert", Barnaky asked, "what do you think of Kimball and the pickle he's putting you in?"

At that, the terminal sitting on a desk in one corner of the room emitted a single beep, then it's screen popped into life. The cursor scrolled across the screen, leaving behind a single sentence.

Mr. Robert Edwin House is available for communication.

"Out-standing.", Barnaky said in a satisfied voice. "Brother Joseph, go at once to the location in Fulman's tape and find out what he wants, then report to me from the plane. While you're there, give Fulman the offer we discussed before you left." Barnaky then added, "And now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to have a robot to screen chat with our host. Dismissed."

Allied Technologies - Later

"The Allied Technologies Offices", intoned the Securitron he had requested as an escort and guide from the Ultra-Luxe's front desk as it swept it's arm to take in the decrepit single story office building, surrounded with concrete barricades and armed guards. "I will wait here for your return, Brother Joseph."

"Thank you", Joseph said as he walked forward alone, approaching what appeared to be the security checkpoint. As the tape said, there were several Vertibirds, of the type once used by the Enclave, parked near the building, well back from the barricades. He reached the checkpoint, and halted as requested by the guards.

"I am Brother Joseph of the Midwestern Order of the Brotherhood of Steel", Joseph said in a dignified manner. "I am here at the request of Commander Fulman, I wish to discuss with him matters of his interest...and ours."

[Wampower]

Governor Harris

“I’m glad you could make it, President Harris,” Alexander said with his soft, Tidewater voice. “It is always a pleasure to find friends in this far-flung city. You’ve missed quite the show, unfortunately. Mr. Kimball has declared war on the Legion- without consulting their allies in the Hoover War, mind you- and House has declared that any military operations in Vegas territory will not be tolerated. This war will certainly affect our fair Gulf in one way or another.”

The Key delegate stretched out his hand for a shake.

That.... would not do.

Harris firmly grasped Alexander’s hand, and went through some quick political thought. The NCR’s jump to war was the worst kind of surprise. When an enemy surprised you, the solution is simple: fight back. But when an ally surprised you, the course of action was much more uncertain. Though it wasn’t the first time he had been faced with this kind of challenge. And House’s posturing was another surprise, since House had tolerated the NCR before. He allowed a small frown in response to Alexander. No weakness or fear, just disappointment.

“How rash”, he responded with his own dignified Texan drawl. Only it was coarser than he would have liked. “How rash for both powers. We were the NCR’s only allies during the Hoover War, and yet they fail to even consider us before breaking the peace.” He paused before his planned proposition. “I propose we immediately strengthen the regional alliance between the Most Serene Key Republic, the Confederation of Free Texan States, and the Angels of War”.

Harris looked over to Angela, only to see her listening to something Leland had said. Leland was certainly the expert on the Frontier, and he would want to hear his opinion too. “Angela, could you get the Angels of War to come meet with us.”

While Angela left, Harris turned back to Alexander and smiled. “I hope we can continue to further our interests together. Tell me, have the pirates been thoroughly crushed by our joint naval operations? And what do you know of the Commonwealth in Pennsylvania? They seem to share our ideals. And that cult that threatens them, do they have the same power the rumors say they do?”

……..

Governor Riviera

"Kimball will want us to serve as the hard place against his rock no doubt, to trap the Legion."

Angela listened intently to Leland’s advice. She was thankful the old Ranger always accommodated her lost ear. It brought her back to dusty days at Fort Bliss when Leland helped her adjust after her injury.

She turned to whisper back to him as more convoluted NCR schemes were revealed. She admired the NCR’s directness in attacking the Legion, but the shroud of secrecy irked her. They hadn't informed Texas before striking, and she would be sure to not jump into their war yet. As much as Texans hated the Legion, she knew they wouldn't be appreciated to being called to fight by tomorrow. “You're right. We won't fall into Kimball’s war unless we have to. We’ll have to keep the Fort and our friends in the Tex Legio on high alert.”

Then Harris turned from the Key Delegate, croaking as elegantly as possible. “Angela, could you get the Angels of War to come meet with us.”

She simply nodded, gave Leland a thumbs up and a little grin, and started searching the room for them. The abrupt brawl between one of Calypso’s cronies and the fake NCR president made it difficult to get across the Convention floor without getting kicked in the shin, but she dodged the tussle and soon spotted the unimpressed soldiers she had heard of in one of her reports.

Angela approached the men. One was an old war veteran, and one was an even older war veteran if she remembered correctly. She could relate to some degree.

“I’m Governor Riviera of New Austin.” She outstretched a hand to give both men a firm handshake.

“Texas wants you to come talk business with us and the Keys.”, starting straightforwardly in a way Harris wouldn’t approve of. “With the unstable situation in the West, we’re thinking it’d be best if we made sure our relationship was firm.”

[Malta307]

Renault and Lenix sat together letting the various sounds and sights of the conference wash over them but caring about little of it. The NCR had declared war on the Legion, what seemed like dozens of new delegates have shown up, and now Renault spotted a middle-aged woman carefully skirting a brawl that had broken out between the NCR's body double and someone he couldn't identify. He could also tell that he had upset one of the very strange diplomats, one of the cultists of Ug-Qualtoth. The man was clearly angry with him, though Renault wasn't sure why. Renault was also very interested in a woman only wearing tape covering her extremities looking like she had just walked out of a prewar model magazine.

Both men were interested in the war declaration as it meant the Angels of War would be able to sell far more weaponry than they did in the arms race that was created by the Treaty of Goodsprings. Such a power vacuum did little to stabilize a region and their fat profit margins had shown that.
"Incoming, three o'clock." Renault whispered to the physically older, yet technically younger commander beside him.
A discreet look told Lenix everything he needed to know.
"Miss Angela Riviera, governor of New Austin. Ally."
Renault pulled a small brown flask out of the chest pocket of his trench coat and opened it, letting the scent of two hundred year old Russian vodka wash over him. This was far better than any alcohol that he'd ever had from after the war that killed the human race.0. He had kept this flask, a gift from his mother upon entering the USMC back before the war on his person most of his adult life. He took a sip and let a smile wash over his face. He would need his flask to get through this meeting but he knew he had to ration what little vodka he had left as he had drained nearly a third of it during the last war before the Treaty of Goodsprings allowed him to try to settle down.

"I'm governor Riviera of New Austin." The woman's skin was a soft light brown and her hair was straight but it hung strangely on one side, as if something was missing. Her posture was different than most of the people in here, instead of the high and mighty of the politicians that made up most of the people in the room she carried herself like a soldier.She held out her hand to shake, "Texas wants you to come talk business with the Keys. With the unstable situation in the west we're thinking it'd be best of we made sure our relationship was firm."

Both men stood and shook her hand, First Lenix, then Renault. The two men looked at each other and silently argued which one had to entertain the diplomats. While they were good allies, neither man was much for conversation. Both believed in the word of the sword more than the word of the pen. Lenix rolled his eyes after a moment and stood to follow Miss Riviera back to where he saw the other Texan delegates speaking to a Keys delegate. Lenix hoped his compatriot wouldn't find a way to get into trouble while he was gone as was generally the case. Last time he left the pre-war veteran alone he ended up blowing up a weapons warehouse while he was still inside.

Lenix took a deep breath as he stepped past the brawl on the floor, resisting the urge to pull the offenders apart and teach them both how to fight properly the hard way. The NCR's double was on top of some woman and hitting her in the face while a steel chopstick stuck out of his shoulder. Lenix turned away once he was no longer within punching distance and started towards the other delegates.

"Friends! What a nice day for a war don't you think?" He enthusiastically shook the hand of every delegate in the small cluster from Texas and the Keys while faking a bright smile that widely split his weathered face. He looked towards the Texan delegates and says,
"Our relations with the Confederation of Free Texan States are as strong and firm as ever, inseparable allies I'd say. We had your back in the last war and you've had ours ever since and we think it would be in our best interest for us to continue this policy.

Meanwhile, Renault was bored. Really bored. He wanted to get drunk and do things he would later regret, but business came first. He pulled a small piece of paper out of his back pocket and wrote 'Guns for hire, terms negotiable' on it and set it on the table pointed towards the center of the table. He tapped his fingers on the nice wood as he whittled away the seconds until he had something interesting to do.

[Kouropalates]

Allied Technologies- Arctic Haven Temporary Command Center, New Vegas

The two soldiers, one male and one female, stood outside the roll-down gate that separated the base with the outside world, divided by massive concrete walls with joints at even segments in a square shape. The two soldiers guarding the gate were suspicious of this newcomer, dressed in obvious Brotherhood apparel. "Halt! You're approaching Arctic Haven territory. State your purpose or vacate immediately." The man gave a dignified but rigid response to their challenge. "I am Brother Joseph of the Midwestern Order of the Brotherhood of Steel. I am here at the request of Commander Fulman, I wish to discuss with him matters of his interest...and ours." The soldiers eyed each other warily before the man leaned into his shoulder, muttering into the radio. "Alright, you're clear for entry. Hyena, take him to the Commander." The woman banged three times on the gate in a one - two three rhythm and it rolled up with a groaning screech. The woman said nothing to the man, escorting him past the row of neatly parked trucks and the vertibirds, soldiers still at practice in combat with each other. They stopped at a white trailer with the banner of the Haven flying high. She saluted the Brotherhood guest, "Here is the Commander's post, sir. I must get back to the gate.", she walked back down the road and the gate squealed once more to let her out.

John Fulman, Commander of Arctic Haven Forces

John was busy studying the patrol logs of soldiers who were doubling as police in return to House when the door opened to a man quite clearly of the Brotherhood. "Welcome, Brother Joseph. Have a seat, if it pleases you." He pulled up a big jug of water and poured a glass for himself and for the Brother. "I'm not one for theatrics, so I'll skip right to the chase. We need the Brotherhood's aid, one that will be clear in a moment." He closed the metal shutters, then took his seat behind the desk once more. "Much like the Brotherhood, our outfit has its origins tied in the Pre-War US Army. A key to our history is our residency on a chain of islands used as a small sector of Alaska's missile silos. Recently, our excavation crew clearing out collapsed tunnels found a long lost secondary command silo, overrun with weeds, vines and dust. But one thing they did find before I ordered them out until further notice was an ICBM. Now, according to our top technicians, all it'd take to repair this missile is to repair the rocket's boosters and recalibrate some....I don't know. Some kind of circuit board gizmo the eggheads were trying to explain. But the point remains, this missile poses a threat to the world. We have no desire to ever use nuclear arms, but we always prepare for the 'if' of should our home islands fall into enemy hands." He paused, scratching rubbing his beard in contemplation before he continued.

"I get why you might wonder why I am bringing this up, 'Are you bragging?' you may be wondering, but it's quite the opposite. The only people I could ever trust to lock this weapon away....is the Brotherhood. If need be, we'll cover the costs of removal if need be, but one this is clear: That weapon of our ancestor's sins must be hidden from the world for good. Especially given factions like Kimball and those freakshow cultists running around. The beefs we've had with the Brotherhood have all been business, but on a personal level, we have a degree of respect for the Brotherhood, so we're looking to your people to take it away and keep it secure in your hands."

[NecroKnight]

@Gingy
Christine Royce - Ultra-Luxe Casino

"That would be most helpful. Thank you, Mr. King," replied Christine, upon hearing the King agree to regular trading. But that any energy or plasma related equipment needed to go through the Van Graff's.

Despite Christine knowing what they had done or rather heard of when, she had been tracking Father Elijah from region to region - her face nodded in agreement. She wasn't in any mood to pick fights, especially since she had an entire people to care for. Even if she remembered her old days as a Brotherhood Paladin.

Christine sighed in reply, as the NCR and another raider 'nation' representatives engaged in a fist-brawl. Joshua Graham doing nothing but chuckling to himself at the sight that was happening.

@Casey

While some were fighting, Christine turned and faced the Van Graff's to speak. Dulling out the sound of fighting in the background.

"Your request is a reasonable. One we can agree to - I hear your Company is good at 'manufacturig'," she spoke, emphasizing on that point. "I would ask, if it's possible to be paid in these..."

In question, she slid over a Sierra Madre Chip to the Van Graff's and let them see it. While the Sierra Madre was full of them, they weren't infinite. Sooner or later they needed to get more - namely from Big MT where the things were likely built and their Chips.

"Caps are also okay. But Chips are better. Perhaps we can talk merchandise and prices after this...brawl and talks?" she asked, namely meaning the two stooges fighting.

[f8lcobra]

New Vegas

Unable to easily widen her stance from the restricted dress Alex quickly flung Shelby to the floor. He cursed as he dropped bombs splitting her lip, Shelby moved her head as best she could but to no avail. She clenched the chopstick in her left hand and swung, Alex grabbed her arm and headbutt her in the nose. Shelby blinked briefly seeing stars when she felt Alex's weight lighten, she quickly scrambled up and stepped back.

Shelby wiped her nose with the back of her hand leaving blood smeared across it, she licked her split lip and smiled, "If it weren't for this tight ass dress I would've..." She went to throw a right hook as she stepped back towards Alex when one of the Securitrons snatched her arm with its cool steel stopping her in her tracks.

Calypso coolly looked at Shelby, "That is enough Darling," she turned her gaze to The King, "I do apologize Love, as you can see, my Shelby's loyalty knows no bounds. Shelby, you are dismissed, do clean yourself up Darling."

Reggie peered into the room after hearing the commotion, "Jesus, everything alright in here Boss..." her mouth fell open when she noticed Sam. Calypso waived Reggie off and she stared at Sam as she closed the door.

Shelby bent down, but the Securitron tightened its grip, "I'm just trying to get my shoes," she reached them with her foot amd pulled to her, "See?"

[2sky11]

Sam Littlehorn – Ultra Luxe – Conference Room

Sam drank her wine and things began to escalate between Calypso and that NCR rep. She shook her as it was expected. As she sat there enjoying what most likely would be a great show, one of the Children of Atom delegates approached her.

"Greetings, Madame Governor. I am Pontiff Cromwell of the Church of the Children of Atom," he introduced himself as he sat down next to her. Might we speak?"

She stood up and shook his hand, “The pleasure is mine Pontiff. We welcome the Children of Atom in our Commonwealth. I’m sure there’s much we can discuss.”

As she spoke Shelby attacked the NCR rep. She placed her hand on the Pontiff’s shoulder and moved him out of the way as Shelby rolled on the ground with the rep. “Okay, we’ll things are getting lively here. I think perhaps we should head somewhere else, Pontiff. How about the Tops or Vault 21?”

The door opened and there stood Reggie. Fuck what was she doing here? She froze for a bit but quickly turned away. “Well we should get going perhaps Pontiff? Things are far too exiting around here.

[SunsetWanderer]

T H E E N C L A V E

_{Huron Base, Michigan, Enclave Eastern Headquarters}

---

---

Deep within the Huron Forest, once a place of great beauty among nature now reduced to fallen trees, overgrown weeds and marshland, lies the Enclaves Eastern base of operations, Huron Base. Inside the steel walls of the underground site, men and women in the well-kept uniforms of Enclave staff and officers hurried past each other in the hallways to their posts. For a long time now, the base had remained dormant, awaiting orders from the central leadership. Too long. Today, the base would awaken from its slumber, eagerly awaiting not only their first orders, but the arrival of General Redwine.

The command room saw the most activity. Its walls of cold steel were hidden by maps stuck to it, and various active computer screens lined across the room. Desks, organised in neat rows, filled the center of the room while the various Enclave staff scrambled past one another from one computer to the next, collecting and processing various pieces of information. At the front of the room stood a young man, apparently directing the efforts. Calmly folding his hands behind his back, he stood behind several seated individuals at their own computers as they accessed the Enclave communication network. Rudimentary compared to the communication systems of the United States, it now remained as one of the premier communication networks still active across the wastes. Suddenly, a repetitive beep sounded from one of the screens, signalling an alert of some sort. The figure opposite the screen receiving the alert turned his attention to the commanding officer stood behind him, "Sir. The command has come through."

"Finally. Signal the operational alarm. The men have been briefed."

Immediately, the slow, repetitive wail of a siren echoed across the base. Springing to action, various soldiers Enclave left their dormitories in orderly formation as they proceeded to arm themselves and step into the infamous power armor of the Enclave. It was not long before the force of some thirty men had prepared themselves, and the group made their way to the hangar before splitting into two vertibirds. Through their headsets, the grainy voice of their expedition leader addressed them, "You were all present at the briefing, and you know what it is we must do. I want a perimeter set up around the ruins of the research and development complex as soon as we land. Our preliminary investigations have shown that there is a built-up settlement based near, and around, the complex. Pheonix Squadron, you will eradicate the mutants while Raptor Squadron searches the complex. No slip-ups. This is what you've trained for. Over and out."

Almost as soon as the instructions ceased, the familiar whir of the vertibird engines kicked in as the hangar doors gradually opened. The Enclave, finally, was back.

---

_{Ultra Lux Casino, New Vegas, The Free Economic Zone of the Mojave}

Mallory remained seated with his arms folded as the events unfolded before him. He couldn't help but feel somewhat a little taken aback by the actions of the NCR, though he wasn't complaining. Certainly, the chaos caused by the NCR in the west would play to the advantage of the Enclave. Fools, he thought. If anything, this conference was concrete proof that America needed to be united under one banner once more. They were like children. Arrogant, stupid, fiercely independent. But most of all, unable to see the big picture. That would be their downfall, of that Mallory was certain.

He could not help but smirk for a brief moment as the representatives from the savage Jaded 'Empire' entered the room. They had no idea of the reckoning that was coming for them. Truth be told, Mallory paid little attention to much of the convention, greatly uninterested in the squabbles of lesser beings. Witnessing the spectacular fight between a member of the NCR and some savage, however, proved greatly entertaining. Allowing a loud, surprised laugh to echo through the room, Mallory clapped his hands together for a brief moment, reveling in the chaotic situation. It was not long before the securitrons had contained the situation, however, and Mallory found himself resigned once more to boredom.

Rising from his seat as the various factions began to retreat from the conference for more private discussions, Mallory too headed silently for his own suite. He almost felt a slight sympathy for the assembled delegates. They thought the future was theirs to command.

---

_{Ann Arbor Settlement, Michigan, The Jaded Empire}

"Disgusting", remarked one Enclave soldier of Pheonix Squad to another as they stood in the center of what was once a relatively prosperous settlement for the Jaded Empire. Around them was the chaos of a battlefield. Primitive homes and fields were ablaze, and corpses of the settlers lay scattered on the ground. Screams echoed throughout the wind as some desperately tried to flee with their loved ones, while others took up their simple rifles in a desperate attempt to defend what was once theirs. They would have had as much success were they to lob rocks at the Enclave soldiers, with their bullets barely chipping the advanced power armour. To the soldiers of Pheonix Squadron, it was a sporting exercise. The settlers of Ann Arbor were the day's game.

The vertibirds had landed in the settlement only moments ago, allowing the Enclave soldiers to storm out with the element of surprise. Barely having time to react, some settlers froze in fear, whilst others attempted to run for their lives. Families struggled to find one another amidst the gunfire, smoke and confusion and despite the cries for mercy, the fight raged on. Enclave soldiers moved from building to building. One soldier, with a chilling calm about him, threw a cluster of grenades into a home of metal scrap, silencing the screams from within. Another raised his gatling laser, firing aimlessly into a group of fleeing settlers. "Run!", screamed a father dressed in the simple rags of a farmer to his family, before a stray laser bolt scalded his back and threw him to the ground lifelessly. Such atrocities, to the Enclave, were a necessity.

Outside the university complex, Raptor Squadron assembled and prepared to enter the ruins as the massacre of the settlement not far from them continued on. "Alright!", yelled what can be assumed to be the captain of Raptor Squadron to his men, "Tight formation, keep an eye out for these mutants. Head for the old research buildings, and get every document, folder and item of interest you can find. Let's move!" On the order, the squadron moved into the complex and began their search, ransacking each room for things of value to the Enclave. What they were looking for, was not particularly clear.

Not completing their search for several hours, various items and collections of documents were shuttled to the vertibirds by the soldiers throughout the duration of the search. Finally having deemed everything of worth had been collected, the squad reassembled outside of the complex and made their way to the vertibirds, joined by their colleagues of Pheonix Squadron. A dreadful silence lay in the air as black smoke rose into the sky from the ruined settlement. The chaos of battle now transformed into an eerie peace, the quiet was broken by the vertibird engines as the Enclave prepared to leave.

Signalling to for his soldiers to board the vertibirds, the commander surveyed the slaughter before him before boarding himself.

"Good work, men."

[Gingy]

"The King" - The Gourmand

The King looked on in horror as Shelby jammed a chopstick into Mr. Hornsby's shoulder. He calmly idled in his chair with an irritated-yet-simultaneously-concerned face and said nothing. The securitrons would react with specific instructions from Mr. House. There was no need for him to get his hands dirty. He took a deep sigh and gulped the last of his scotch. It's happening again...

The rest of the table suddenly stared at The King, as if expecting him to react. He did not humor them. The securitrons stationed inside the Gourmand rolled over to Shelby with their usual heavy-handed approach and grabbed her by the arm. They then stared at The King expectantly.

"Well?"

The securitron gripping Shelby's arm said nothing, and instead stayed affixed to The King. This had to have been a test. These securitrons had protocols -- algorithms, which would have guided them through an altercation like this with ease. The only explanation was that House was remote controlling this one.

The King addressed the lot. "We have no tolerance for this sort of behavior here. Mr. House invited you all to the F.Z.M. so that we could write the future together. Stabbing another representative at a summit filled with the most powerful nations of the new world is simply a special, special flavor of stupid." He paused and gave orders to the securitrons. "Put her under room-arrest for the time being. Take her to the quarters I have given her people and guard the door." He glared at Calypso. "If I see any more of that sort of shit from your folks, your entire entourage will be banished from New Vegas." He apologetically looked at Shelby. "I am doing you a favor. It could have been much worse."

After taking a deep breath, The King came down from the particular high of the conflict and slouched in his chair. "I think this calls for an adjournment of our first day. Please enjoy all of the amenities that New Vegas has to offer, and we will meet again tomorrow. If you would like to remain at the table unofficially, that is fine. But you are all free to depart for the day. We will resume at the same time tomorrow." With that, The King scrammed at an astonishing rate out of the room, hustling back to the Lucky 38. He punched the up-button on the elevator and hit "Penthouse". The elevator ascended to Mr. House's quarters.

Robert Edwin House - Lucky 38

"So tell me, Robert..." Barnaky's voice came loud and clear through the intercom. "...what do you think of Kimball and the pickle he's putting you in?" The uplink worked perfectly. Excellent.

Mr. House's harrowingly cold-and-carefully-articulated voice resounded through the speakers. "Simon." After that, there was a long pause, long enough that Barnaky might have been concerned about the quality of the connection.

...

Then he spoke again. Robert's words very slowly rolled out of the speakers. "Kimball is an imbecile. It is only fitting that this pathetic excuse of a representative they have sent us was a very convincing double. 'Pickle' is not a word I would use, Mr. Barnaky. None of what transpired today is at all a surprise -- I predicted the NCR's course of action long before this summit. My representative, on the other hand, has succeeded in creating a cloud of subterfuge without my even planning of it. His extreme lack of poise and impulsive reactions have given the others an inaccurate picture. When I join the fray, tomorrow, things will be very different."

He paused. "You are not known for being a fan of 'fluff' and insincere small-talk, so I will make simple the reason I have opened communication with you. I believe that our technological empires were made for each other. You have the power to curate some of the most dangerous and wildly spectacular technology left in this world. I have the power to cultivate and build an entire civilization around it. This summit has only confirmed my speculation -- the days ahead will be far too turbulent for me to accurately predict them. But we can help each other. My vision for the west is grand, and the NCR will not stand in its way."

The King suddenly entered the penthouse through the elevator, interrupting the meeting.

"Please excuse me, Simon. Just a moment." Mr. House forgot to disable the uplink. Barnaky would be privy to the words he spoke next. "What is it?"

"First day is over, boss-man. Not sure what to think of it," muttered The King.

"I know what to think. You were a fish-out-of-water. You could not keep your own personal nomenclature off the table and made a fool of yourself. You made us look frail in front of the NCR and accomplished the direct opposite of everything I had hoped you would."

"Oh."

"You will be running errands for me tomorrow. I will be attending the meeting. Have a lovely evening."

"O-oh... All right. Good night, Mr. House." The King defeatedly shuffled into the elevator and left the penthouse.

Mr. House returned to the uplink. "My apologies. As I was explaining -- your people are part of my vision. The landscape of western America is ripe, and only we know what exactly to do with it."

[Andronicus23]

Titus Crassus- Quaestor of The Legion/ Praetorian Atius

Titus and Atius watched in a mixture of amusement and disdain as the situation in the elegant restaurant had gone from tense, to downright hostile as The NCR representatives and another faction whom Titus did not immediately recognize had entered into an outright brawl. Someone had been stabbed, there was blood on the floor, and the fight had to be broken up. Things had, without a doubt, gotten off to an excellent start at a convention ostensibly created to encourage peace in the region.

Titus sighed deeply and drummed his fingers against the polished wood of the table, annoyed at the proceedings. While these profligates made fools of themselves attending a faux convention that had only served to become a platform for the NCR's grandstanding and political bungling, men of The Legion were fighting and dying in the wastes of Arizona even as they sat here. When the man known as 'The King' had called an end to the first day's talks, Titus was all too thankful for it. If Mars was merciful, and he wasn't, the second day might pass with more decorum.

"Thank Mars for that," Titus sighed, and stood up from his chair, "Perhaps now we might be able to actually get something done outside of this wretched restaurant."

"Indeed sir," Atius nodded grimly. The Praetorian wasn't much for talking, and even less for informal banter. However, it wasn't for his sharp wit that Caesar had appointed him to protect the Queastor.

Without a word, Titus singled out the representatives of the Great Khanate, their immediate neighbors to the north. Tensions between them had been...uneasy, since the Great Khans had broken their alliance with The Legion. But Caesar Lucius had been willing to ignore that detail in exchange for the hopeful rekindling of their previous kinship. Hopefully this time under more equitable terms for both parties.

Titus approached the man who he assumed was the leader of the Khan delegation, and gave a respectful bow,

"Titus Crassus," He said, introducing himself, "Quaestor of The Legion and the voice of Caesar here...following his departure. Do I have the honor of addressing the representatives of the Khan of Khans? I would ask that we speak privately somewhere, if you would hear me out. Somewhere, Mars willing, beyond these...opulent...walls. The Legion has setup a small camp just beyond the walls of Vegas. A contubernium of Legionaries wait there to act as my escort home...its difficult to quarter Legion soldiers in Vegas you see. I'd like to extend you an invitation for you and your men to join me there."

[Tiberius67]

Brother Joseph - Allied Technologies

"Welcome, Brother Joseph", Furman said, "Have a seat, if it pleases you."

"Don't mind if I do", Joseph replied as he took a seat in one of the chairs before Furman's desk. "We were intrigued with your holotape...your wish to speak with us was fortuitous, we have a proposal of our own for Arctic Haven. But that can wait for the moment."

Furman pulled up a big jug of water and poured a glass for himself and for Joseph, which he gratefully accepted.

"I'm not one for theatrics", Furman began, "So I'll skip right to the chase. We need the Brotherhood's aid, one that will be clear in a moment." He closed the metal shutters, then took his seat behind the desk once more. "Much like the Brotherhood, our outfit has its origins tied in the Pre-War US Army. A key to our history is our residency on a chain of islands used as a small sector of Alaska's missile silos. Recently, our excavation crew clearing out collapsed tunnels found a long lost secondary command silo, overrun with weeds, vines and dust. But one thing they did find before I ordered them out until further notice was an ICBM. Now, according to our top technicians, all it'd take to repair this missile is to repair the rocket's boosters and recalibrate some....I don't know. Some kind of circuit board gizmo the eggheads were trying to explain. But the point remains, this missile poses a threat to the world. We have no desire to ever use nuclear arms, but we always prepare for the 'if' of should our home islands fall into enemy hands." He paused, scratching rubbing his beard in contemplation before he continued.

"A ICBM with a functional payload", Joseph replied grimly, studying Fulman's face for signs of what he planned to do with a weapon that should never have been forged in the first place, much less wielded. "A serious matter indeed. I would be very interested to know why you are bringing this to our attention."

Serious was an understatement. The remnants of the Old World's nuclear 'deterrent' was a positive menace. The seizure of the SAC Headquarters bunker had put the Order in control of thirty-six ICBMs, while some had failed to launch, and a few had payloads of communications and reconnaissance satellites to aid in followup strikes, twenty four of them had been launch capable....enough for the Calculator to have ended any hope of human civilization rising from the ashes. There was discussion on what to do with them, but in the end there was really only one decision that could be made. The Midwestern Order had deviated far from the Codex by that point, but they were still at one with their Brethern to the West when it came to the weapons their ancestors had used to destroy the world. By the Lord Paladin's command, the warheads of each missile had been removed and dismantled, their plutonium cores reprocessed into reactor fuel, well before Joseph was born.

"I get why you might wonder why I am bringing this up", Furman answered, "'Are you bragging?' you may be wondering, but it's quite the opposite. The only people I could ever trust to lock this weapon away....is the Brotherhood. If need be, we'll cover the costs of removal if need be, but one this is clear: That weapon of our ancestor's sins must be hidden from the world for good. Especially given factions like Kimball and those freakshow cultists running around. The beefs we've had with the Brotherhood have all been business, but on a personal level, we have a degree of respect for the Brotherhood, so we're looking to your people to take it away and keep it secure in your hands."

Joseph nodded, inwardly relieved that his hopes had been proven correct. Fulman wanted help destroying it....help the Order would cheerfully provide. There was no need to consult with the Lord-Paladin before making a decision, His Will on this matter was crystal clear.

"It's a harsh world, Commander, and we all do what we must to survive.", Joseph said. "It is true that there is a checkered past between Arctic Haven and the Brotherhood, both our Brethren to the West, and our Order. But we recognize that you and your men are professionals, bearing grudges over past conflicts helps no-one." He paused then continued. "I can speak for the Lord-Paladin on this matter with authority...we shall aid you in making sure this weapon is never, ever used. For that matter, we will dismantle the device or devices on-board, and destroy them, as we have many others before." Joseph pulled a notebook and pen from his satchel. "If you could kindly give me the coordinates of the silo the weapon is housed in, and the designation of the control center you found, we will research military records in our possession to learn precisely what we are dealing with. We will assemble a team that can, with your permission, evaluate the weapon and determine the best way to neutralize it before transportation. Does your command have access to a crane that can hoist a weight of forty tons?"

Once a basic agreement was hammered out, Joseph retrieved a folder from his satchel and offered it to Fulman.

"For your perusal, Commander", Joseph said, "A contract offer I have been authorized and directed to make by the Lord-Paladin."

(OOC- That last part I would like to discuss off board.)

Lord-Paladin Simon Barnaky - Ultra-Luxe

"Simon.", replied a cold and educated voice the moment Joseph had left. After a short pause, it continued as Barnaky began to pace again, listening raptly to what House was saying. "Kimball is an imbecile. It is only fitting that this pathetic excuse of a representative they have sent us was a very convincing double. 'Pickle' is not a word I would use, Mr. Barnaky. None of what transpired today is at all a surprise -- I predicted the NCR's course of action long before this summit. My representative, on the other hand, has succeeded in creating a cloud of subterfuge without my even planning of it. His extreme lack of poise and impulsive reactions have given the others an inaccurate picture. When I join the fray, tomorrow, things will be very different."

"Hmph", Barnaky replied. "I knew Kimball was preparing for war, Robert, a 'Democracy' like the NCR cannot hide troop movements of the size we were seeing. The NCR's economic figures are appalling as well, and they have a history of papering over their fiscal mismanagement at their neighbor's expense...not that I have to tell you, of all people, that. I expected the attack to come after the conference ended...if only to gain some support from his allies from the last go-around....I must admit that moving now was a surprise to me. But it seems I gave him too much credit."

"You are not known for being a fan of 'fluff' and insincere small-talk", House said, "so I will make simple the reason I have opened communication with you. I believe that our technological empires were made for each other. You have the power to curate some of the most dangerous and wildly spectacular technology left in this world. I have the power to cultivate and build an entire civilization around it. This summit has only confirmed my speculation -- the days ahead will be far too turbulent for me to accurately predict them. But we can help each other. My vision for the west is grand, and the NCR will not stand in its way."

"Please excuse me, Simon. Just a moment." his next words appeared to be directed at someone else, his voice also displayed slight irritation. "What is it?"

"First day is over, boss-man. Not sure what to think of it," muttered The King.

"I know what to think. You were a fish-out-of-water. You could not keep your own personal nomenclature off the table and made a fool of yourself. You made us look frail in front of the NCR and accomplished the direct opposite of everything I had hoped you would."

"Oh."

"You will be running errands for me tomorrow. I will be attending the meeting. Have a lovely evening."

"O-oh... All right. Good night, Mr. House."

Barnaky sadly shook his head as he listened.

"You can't talk to the kids like that", he thought, "It only discourages them." Barnaky counted himself fortunate that he had able and reliable lieutenants, but then he had spent decades developing talent that would serve his Cause, something that House had neglected until very recently. Personally, he thought the King had done as well as he could, given what little he probably knew of his Boss's thinking. That was a mistake he had not made, Martin and Joseph knew exactly what he hoped to get from this conference, and he trusted them to do their utmost to carry out his will.

"My apologies", House said as his attention shifted back to Barnaky. "As I was explaining -- your people are part of my vision. The landscape of western America is ripe, and only we know what exactly to do with it."

"I understand", Barnaky replied. "That is quite the compliment coming from you, knowing your opinion of the Brotherhood, or at least my late Brethren of the Mojave Order....not that I want to dredge up past tragedies. I grieve for them, but they chose their path and I see no point bearing a grudge over where that path led them to."

"I only know the outlines of your vision", Barnaky continued, "I know that the much of the money you are extracting from the NCR is being poured into industrialization and a space program....long term investments to be sure. I am very interested in what your long term goals are, though I suspect that at the moment, you wish to discuss a short-term goal....namely putting the NCR back in the jar they were placed in by you and I five years ago."

[Fisheye]

Most Serene Key Republic delegation- Bartholomew Hemingway
 
Bartholomew gave Marie a wide smile as they ended their bit of business. He had discussed the fate of the East at length with His Serenity in preparation for this Convention, and ensuring that the Cult of Ug-Qualtoth was willing to work with the Republic was a major step towards crafting a Key-friendly East Coast.
 
“Wonderful! We’ll be visiting you later before the Convention is concluded.” He paused for a moment, before continuing awkwardly, “I believe Alexander had business with you as well, so I’m sure he will be attending both of you tonight.”
 
As Marie bid her farewell and Alexander focussed on conversation with the Texans, Bartholomew sat back down in his seat and observed the happenings around him. The reveal of ‘Kimball’ as a double and the subsequent brawl that broke out between the Californian and Jaded delegations came as quite the shock to Bartholomew. He did not foresee a physical confrontation at a political summit of this scale, and it showed him just how comparatively sophisticated Gulf politics were.
 
Speaking of Gulf politics, it seemed that the Texans had fetched the Angels of War to discuss regional matters. Bartholomew made his way back to Alexander’s side, just in time to hear his response to the Ghoulish Texan President.
 
“I certainly agree, President Harris. While His Serenity could unfortunately not make it today, the first matter on his agenda for us was ensuring mutual security and friendship for the Gulf nations. As His Serenity sees it, our fair Gulf is under potential threat from all around, and we seek to encourage peace in the region to ensure prosperity for the Keys and all of its friends. As for the pirates, Bartholomew would probably be more well-equipped to answer that question.”
 
Bartholomew was somewhat surprised when Alexander handed the conversation to him. He took in stride however, continuing with a wide smile.
 
“Our main trade routes have been secured and the pirates have been pushed to their old strongholds in the south. Instead, our focus has now turned to the Atlantic side of the southern states, where those lawless vagabonds have been capitalizing on our growing trade in the North. As for the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, they have proven to be good trading partners and peaceful folk, but we have yet to engage in any further political negotiations with them. The Cult, however…” Bartholomew shot a quick glance at Alexander “They are a wild faction, certainly, though they have shown a willingness to accept our traders. The claims of… supernatural power coming out of their lands have yet to be officially confirmed, and we in the Keys suspect something more mundane is at work instead.”
 
This final statement elicited the quietest of laughs from Alexander, who followed it with a small smile. If only these politicians knew truth, he thought. This awkwardness was thankfully interrupted when the two delegates from the Angels of War entered the picture. As expected, they stated their support for their Texan brethren but on of them, rather rudely, reminded the assembled delegates that they were, in fact, soldier for hire. As it seemed the first day of the Convention was coming to an end, Bartholomew made a suggestion.
 
“Perhaps we could all discuss the details of a formal agreement over dinner somewhere else? The Tops is an excellent location, from what I’ve heard. We could invite the Commonwealth in Pennsylvania, if you wish, President Harris.”

[Kouropalates]

John Fulman, Commander of the Arctic Haven outfit
New Vegas TCC, New Vegas

John was sitting back in his chair awaiting the man of the Brotherhood's answer nervous he'd say no. "It's a harsh world, Commander, and we all do what we must to survive. It is true that there is a checkered past between Arctic Haven and the Brotherhood, both our Brethren to the West, and our Order. But we recognize that you and your men are professionals, bearing grudges over past conflicts helps no-one. I can speak for the Lord-Paladin on this matter with authority...we shall aid you in making sure this weapon is never, ever used. For that matter, we will dismantle the device or devices on-board, and destroy them, as we have many others before." John let out a quiet exhale of relief as the Brother Joseph pulled a notebook and pen from a satchel at his side and continued.

"If you could kindly give me the coordinates of the silo the weapon is housed in, and the designation of the control center you found, we will research military records in our possession to learn precisely what we are dealing with. We will assemble a team that can, with your permission, evaluate the weapon and determine the best way to neutralize it before transportation. Does your command have access to a crane that can hoist a weight of forty tons?". John nodded, "Of course, give me a moment." He put his hand in his coat and withdrew a handheld Pipboy 2000, continuing to enter coordinates until they pulled up an island on a map of Alaska with the word 'Nikolski' on the map and transcribed the coordinates to the Brother's pad. "There you are, sir. We also do have old silo cranes, but unused and mothballed. Almost every silo has been depleted, so the cranes were put to storage except down on the dockyard." John put his Pipboy away and had begun to sit down when Joseph turned from the door. He removed a folder from his satchel and offered it to John, "For your perusal, Commander", Joseph said, "A contract offer I have been authorized and directed to make by the Lord-Paladin." John scratched his head as he read over the file as he escorted Joseph out of the office. He took pictures of each document and photo before he threw the file into a nearby metal bin and set it on fire. An old Vertibird with remnants of Enclave callsigns on the side was no whirring as John yelled over the rotor noise, "Sure, I know just the team for this. As for you, be ready to dress warm, Brother. It's not as sunny up north."

Vertibird
En Route to Arctic Haven Motherbase

John was reading over the files, his Pipboy plugged into the helicopter to keep it powered. He was impressed by the data the Brotherhood had compiled and muttered to himself, "Quite the contract. Quite the payday.". You could critique many things about the Brotherhood, but their thoroughness wasn't one of them. "Randolph, take us back to motherbase. I want to be ready for the Brotherhood's arrival.", Randolph's voice came into his earpiece, "Copy, Biddle. Returning home." John was still reading the notes even as the night came until he fell asleep, dropping the Pipboy as he fell into deep sleep.

"Sergeant! Look alive! We got Legion crossing the bridge!" John was nervous, trying to keep behind his CO. "You will stand and hold this line, men. The Bull will not outmatch the bear!" The scenes flashed as bullets popped and concrete chinked with holes from impact and he was on the ground with his unit. "JOHN! HELP ME!" John turned, remembering Susan was hit by a grenade blast, "I got you, Harrison. Let's get you off the front." John was covered in blood and sweat, some of the blood his, some alien. He was dragging Susan behind the visitor center, trying to get her out of the fighting. "I'm hit, man. I'm going to die. Please, give this to my husband, John. As my brother in arms." John shook his head, "You'll get that to your husband yourself, Susan." He began looking around frantically hollering "MEDIC!" as loud as he could until one came. "Doc, she got hit in the chest. She needs help!" The doctor removed her chestplate and opened her shirt. She inspected Sarah for what felt like hours before shrugging, "It looks like her left breast took most of the impact, nothing deep or fatal. Just needs the bullet removed and disinfected." John looked at his friend with concern, "But wh-" A voice over a loudspeaker interrupted, "All soldiers are ordered to retreat to Boulder City! This is an order!" John hoisted Susan onto his back and limped the road to Boulder but a hard impact punched him forward. He didn't stop to recoup, continuing to carry his comrade on his back through Boulder with the last of the soldiers too weak and injured to run anymore. He fell forward when a violent explosion shook the earth, Boulder City collapsing feet behind them and soldiers cheering. He put Susan down and sat on the ground, pain in his ankle. "Harrison, we did it! We won! Look!" He looked down and saw the lifelessness in her eyes and he rolled her over gently, a giant hole in her back and he knew. That pushing force earlier wasn't a shockwave, it was Susan taking a bullet that should have killed him. He wept as two of his brothers came upon him, seeing Susan's body and understood. "John. It's not your fault, man. You tried to save her, that's not something everyone would do." John wiped his eyes, "I know, but still. We've all been through so much together." He realised something wasn't right, "Where's the rest of our unit?" Tom and Bradley looked at each other gravely, then Tom spoke up in a hushed tone, "John...We....We are the rest of our unit."

John woke up in the Vertibird and as he did every time he had this dream, he instinctively reached for the small bag he kept on him at all times, inside each dead brother and sister in his squad's ID tags and whispered quietly, "I am so sorry...." under the muffled sound of the rotors.

[Crimson Paladin]

Pontiff Cromwell

“The pleasure is mine Pontiff," replied the Governor, shaking Cromwell's hand. "We welcome the Children of Atom in our Commonwealth. I’m sure there’s much we can discuss.”

Before the Pontiff could reply, he heard a scuffle break out and before he knew what was going on, he found himself being nudged out of the way just as the NCR representative and Calypso's assistant hurtled to the floor near where he had been standing. A most inappropriate display, by any account.

“Okay, we’ll things are getting lively here. I think perhaps we should head somewhere else, Pontiff. How about the Tops or Vault 21?”

Cromwell was not familiar with these establishments, but perhaps it would be a good idea to discuss matters with the governor elsewhere, away from the prying eyes of the Cult, and away from the dangerous insanity of the Jaded Empire.

“Well we should get going perhaps Pontiff? Things are far too exiting around here," she continued.

"Very well, governor, let us find somewhere more suitable for our discussion," he replied as he nodded. "My Grand Zealot can handle matters in my absense." Richter was not a diplomatic man, but he had a mind for military matters, an unfortunate necessity the dark shadow of the Cult hanging over the Capital Wasteland, and could be trusted to take the necessary steps to ensure the Church's safety, to ensure the light of Atom is not extinguished.

Just as Atom divides and brings the holy glow, so shall the Grand Zealot and I divide to spread His light.

[Gingy]

Robert House, President of the FZM
Lucky 38

" I am very interested in what your long term goals are, though I suspect that at the moment, you wish to discuss a short-term goal....namely putting the NCR back in the jar they were placed in by you and I five years ago."

Mr. House gave an affirming 'hm' in response to the Lord-Paladin's request. "It pleases me to see that you have not fallen prey to the fatal ideologies of your contemporaries. The only way we can rebuild is if we learn from the pitfalls of our predecessors. I have a vision for your Brotherhood of Steel and my city, but we must lay down many layers of bricks before it can come to fruition." He paused. "If the New California Republic were to invade New Vegas, they would suffer extreme losses, but they would win. As long as this hypothetical is true, my vision will not be able to run its course. We must become powerful enough to halt their expansion."

Robert took a deep breath. "The NCR--just like my generation was before them--is doomed to destroy itself. It is a warped facsimile of America's doomsday government. We must create a large enough barrier that they cannot grow any larger. They have the capability to swallow the entire western stretch of this nation whole, and in a few centuries, they will be letting all of those people down." He chuckled. "I suppose that is where our ideologies align. We must ensure that humanity does not repeat its mistakes."

Mr. House gave himself another few moments to articulate his thoughts. "The first steps toward keeping the NCR within their own borders is for the FZM to establish a human military. Years ago, one of my former associates led his own expedition into an old military fortress known as 'The Divide'. It is filled to the brim with priceless military tech, including dormant ICBMs and special weaponry and armor. I want to restore it to its former glory and establish a human military, filled with my own citizens, NCR deserters, and anyone else who wishes to fight for the old flag. I would be willing to share any research I find from The Divide with you, in exchange for the Brotherhood's help with training my inevitably human military. A formal alliance would imply that we could defend each other and become a formidable partnership in this war's landscape moving forward."

"Perhaps Caesar's Legion can play a role in all of this..."

"The King", Leader of The Kings
Freeside

The King strolled alone through Freeside's neon-lit streets. These days, it had become a sea of NCR shoppers. His men roamed the streets on their own respective beat patrols, ensuring that all of the stores and street corners were free of crime. He admired how far this place had come since his reign over the School began, but he couldn't but be appalled by the grotesque array of neon lighting. Freeside had always been brutal and disgusting, but it was genuine. Everything was left on the outside. Now, House had candy-coated the entire place and its identity had been swallowed by New Vegas. Oh, well. The King, despite how unpopular it made him, had chosen fame and wealth in exchange for selling out his home to the man in the ivory tower.

The door to the Kings' School of Impersonation had been left wide open. He walked inside to see a secretary at the desk. He had caught her moving boxes filled with case files from one shelf to another.

"Any new developments while I was gone, Audrey?" asked The King.

"A few..." replied the gorgeous receptionist. Her short black hair had been coated in grease, presumably from The Kings' nearly endless supply of mousse. "The NCR's envoy was stabbed inside the Ultra-Luxe this evening."

"I know. That has already been handled. I am impressed that word of this unfortunate happening traveled home so quickly. Anything else?" asked The King.

"Yes. An NCR visitor was found dead in her hotel room. Overdose."

"On what?"

Audrey sifted through the box next to her and pulled out a file. "Uh...psycho. There were three syringes on the bedside."

The King sighed. "I thought we had found the culprit. I suppose someone else is moving dope into Freeside. Put Pacer on this one. It is of utmost importance that we keep contraband away from this district. They are supposed to feel safe here."

Audrey nodded at The King and sparsely typed on her terminal. The King departed upstairs and took several flights until he finally made it to his old room. He knocked at the door.

"Come in."

The King slowly opened the door. On his massive plush bedspread sat a peculiar-looking dame -- a moderately tall woman with long hair, sparsely dyed with colors that did not at all go together -- orange, pink, blue, and black. "Alison. What are you doing here?"

Alison stood and gave some sarcastic semblance of a curtsy. "I'm on vacation, remember? Robert won't dare hand me any contracts while he's having his cute little fucking tea party at the Ultra-Luxe."

"Then why didn't you come see me?"

Alison strolled over to The King and planted a kiss on his forehead. "Because that is a surefire way for him to learn about us."

The King scoffed. "I don't care. What's he going to do -- fire you? If he does that, how is going to make his problems 'disappear' as if they never existed?"

Alison bit her lip and gave a slight nod. "Touche. But it's better this way. Whenever Robert House catches wind of something, he dissects it in that beautiful brain of his until it's laid out into tiny, easily-manipulated pieces."

"Whatever you want. But I can't stay. I was only checking in. Robert pulled me from the meeting, but I suspect that he will grow weary of his visitors and send me back."

"Does he want me to 'take care' of any of them?" muttered Alison.

"No. He is responsible for their well-being. If any of them were to meet an unfortunate-yet-perhaps-fortunate end, it would reflect poorly on this place."

"Fine." Alison gave The King a long embrace and then he was gone. By now, the envoys would be making fools of themselves inside the casinos -- an ample time to talk brass tacks with some of the others he hadn't gotten a chance to converse with.

[Tiberius67]

Brother Martin - The Gourmand

Appalled to the core, Brother Martin watched the spectacle as in response to Calypso putting a bounty on Kimball's double's head, her lieutenant withdrew a steel rod that she had been using to hold up her hair and stabbed him in the shoulder, inciting a all out brawl between the two, much to the horror or delight of the other representatives. Calypso, not surprisingly, was enthralled by the whole affair.

“She is a fantastic protégé is she not?” Calypso tilted her head towards Martin while watching Shelby attack the NCR rep, “About dinner Martin, where did you have in mind?”

"Erm...she certainly is bold.", Brother Martin replied awkwardly, "I have reservations for the Tops at eight, but depending on how House takes your protégé's actions, we might have to reschedule to the Bison Steve in Primm."

@Malta307

The waiter sidled up to the two bored mercenaries, carrying a tray with two ice cold beers of the best quality, two glasses and two napkins, one containing a envelope.

"Compliments of Mr Johnson, Messieurs", the masked waiter said as he served them their drinks, and then placed the napkins, Lenix receiving the napkin discreetly enclosing the envelope. His mission accomplished, the waiter glided away gracefully.

(OOC - The envelope contains two tickets for the 4pm performance of the Rad Pack at the Aces Theatre in the Tops, and a business card for a Mr. Mark Johnson, a purchasing agent for the Consolidated Trading Company of Cheyenne, WY)

@MagustheRed

"Are there any here who have business with Western Brotherhood?", High Elder Gladstone asked, "Or wish to speak to us on any matter?"

The Scribe, Brother Joseph's Aide, approached the Elder.

"High Elder", the aide said as he gave the Brotherhood salute respectfully, then offered him a envelope. "I have been directed to deliver this to you."

The letter inside read as thus:

High Elder Gladstone,

I have been made aware by my lieutenants that you have expressed the desire to bring and end to the estrangement between the Western Order and the Mid-Western Order that has caused no end of sorrow to all concerned. To that end, I would like to meet with you for the purpose of beginning the process of overcoming the differences between us. For the present, I can only receive visitors in our suites, though I am in negotiations with our host to gain freedom of movement for the construct I must necessarily use to interact with others. I will be available at your convenience any time after 5pm. If you wish to see me, please advise the Brother bearing this letter and I will see you then.

Yours in Steel,
Simon Barnaky
Lord-Paladin

Brother Joseph - McCarran Field - Several hours later

Brother Joseph sighed with pleasure as he closed the passenger door of the aircraft behind him, luxuriating in the air conditioning. Nevada's weather was oppressively hot, to say the least, it reminded him of the Engine Room of one of the river or Lake monitors. Making his way to the rear of the aircraft, he found the dormant robot, still strapped into it's seat, and took a seat opposite from it.

"Robot", Joseph said sternly, "Activate."

The robot's head jerked slightly and looked blankly at Joseph.

"Your orders, My Lord?", it said.

"Enter page mode", Joseph said, then waited. After several minutes, the robot tilted it's head slightly, and drummed it's fingers on the armrest of the chair it was strapped to.

"Ah, Brother Joseph", Barnaky said, "Report. Keep it quick, I'm still talking to Robert."

"Commander Furman's soldiers have located a active pre-war ICBM, My Lord", Joseph said, "They wished our aid to dispose of it."

"I take it you offered that aid.", Barnaky replied in a tone that indicated the answer to that had better be affirmative.

"Of course, My Lord", as he pulled out his notebook and flipped it open, showing the page to the Lord Paladin for a few seconds. Once he nodded, Joseph tore the page out and produced a lighter, setting it on fire and dropping the burning page into a wastepaper basket. "We will need Sister Nakamura's NEST Team, and one of the heavy cargo lifters, rigged for Arctic conditions."

"I'm transmitting the orders now", Barnaky replied. "What about Operation Thomas?"

"It's Go, My Lord", Joseph said, "They will deploy once initial payment is received."

"The good Sister will deliver it." Barnaky said. "Excellent work, Joseph. Return to the Ultra-Luxe and assist Martin, he needs all the help he can get with Calypso. One of her people attacked Kimball's double, it's created quite a stir."

[MagustheRed]

High Elder Gladstone – The Tops

They’d been divided.

His pen danced over the paper as letters blossomed on the missives. Personal communiqués to concerned parties. Invitations to form embassies to all nations present. Others contained messages requesting an exchange of cultural knowledge. The Brotherhood knew much, but it did not know everything. Knowledge was power, how a nation thought of others, and of itself was telling in a way.

They’d been divided.

He paused, before gently setting his pen down on the mahogany desk. His fingers came to gather, clasping as if in prayer. He wasn’t a pious man, Maxson had been an Atheist, had enforced such views on his own men in the dark days of the march from Mariposa. No god’s, no demons, only men had been his decree. Atticus disagreed with such thinking. There weren’t any gods, but there certainly were demons. He let out a small sigh, before going through the motions. The letter was folded, and the envelope sealed with a wax seal. Before being lifted up, one of the scribes scampered forwards and took it, and promptly left the room.

They’d been divided.

Squabbling like children, bickering like an unhappy family at dinner. To be expected of course, he didn’t know what House had expected. Had the man expected peace? Peace was an illusion. There was only ever the ceasefire. His fingers rapped on the desk, one hand under his chin as he brooded.

He had a plan. A plan to ensure the security of the Brotherhood. Security without, but to do so, he’d have to ensure order within. His thoughts had taken darker and darker turns. They couldn’t go back, they’d built too much, to go back would eventually be to die alone in the cold and the dark.

To go forwards? Yes. But which way? And how far? He’d heard the rumours, his informants, or at least what passed for informants. And now, a conundrum faced him. The older ranks mostly believed in the old ways, small surprise there. What worried him most were the younger ranks. Some looked to the Midwest, some looked to the NCR, he didn’t know what else they thought.

That was the problem with being at the top, climb to the peak of the mountain, and you can’t see the levels below for the cloud you’ve come through.

As such, it had become clearer and clearer to him as to what he had to do.

And so, standing, the High Elder set his shoulders back and raised his head high.

He had meetings to attend.

High Elder Gladstone – Ultra Luxe

Having received the message from Barnaky earlier, and arranging a time, Atticus Gladstone, High Elder of the Western Brotherhood, now stood waiting. He waited before the door, as the guards outside the room informed the, cyborg, within of his arrival.

He’d donned his best robes, a rich navy blue robe trimmed with silver-grey. His right hand bore the signet ring that had been passed down from High Elder to High Elder. A scribe carried materials for signing a treaty. His slow pacing footsteps were interrupted as the guards stamped to attention. Turning to the doors, Atticus straightened his posture and smoothed his robes, before stepping forwards as the doors opened.

The sight that greeted him was, strange. A large human shaped robot. Walking forwards, Atticus halted a few feet away, and bowed as much as he felt proper. Enough to show respect, but not enough to show deference. He paused, to let the scribe lay out the scroll, the wax and the pens, before gesturing for the man to leave them. Once the doors had shut, Atticus turned to the, Lord-Paladin, and spoke.

“Lord-Paladin Barnaky. If I might be presumptive, I suspect neither of us thought this day would ever occur, and certainly not in such circumstances. Or such surroundings.”

[VATROU]

The Alaskan Federation

With the Convention clearly and surprisingly escalating into a fight as a woman had stabbed the doppelganger of the NCR president. Soon after the meeting was officially over for the day with more talks supposed to be held tomorrow, though if North was to return and see yet another violent spectacle Alaska might have to take a closed borders stance save one or two ports. While the delegates left North turned to speak with his two men. "This was, interesting but ultimately pointless. Even Clan Bearhorn is more delicate in political affairs and they consider trial by combat the standard for peace talks. But as least their cordial about it. We should see just who we support if any, or if we should remain neutral to which I am currently leaning towards."

The trooper agreed, as he held a couple fingers to his chin. "Civilized my ass indeed. Despite the glittering lights and technological advancements there seems to be no civil discourse. I do think we should understand the current political climate before we make decisions."

"You are right since the Legion are here perhaps we should speak to them after they are freed up. For now we might need to bring in Victoria Bearhorn for tomorrow's meeting. For added caution."

[Lewis251]

James Kimball- The road to Phoenix.

Travelling towards Phoenix James could see a small farm up ahead as they approached they could see that a Squad of NCR troopers where ransacking the house with the owners, an old couple tied up on the porch. Nearby the Squad leader and NCR Combat Engineer were removing collars and seemlying recruiting several tribal looking young men

“Mr President Sir!” the squad leader called out as the president’s tank approached “Farm belongs to that old couple and along with using slave labour to run the farm one of the slaves told me they have been supplying the legion forces with food.”

“Two crimes punishable by death.” James coldly replied “Once you are done with the House Burn the crops and then continue onto Phoenix.”

Meanwhile 300 miles away in Vegas.

"Put her under room-arrest for the time being. Take her to the quarters I have given her people and guard the door." He glared at Calypso. "If I see any more of that sort of shit from your folks, your entire entourage will be banished from New Vegas." He apologetically looked at Shelby. "I am doing you a favour. It could have been much worse.

“House arrest?” Alex called out as he sat back down his chair, his shoulder hurt alot but he could wait a few minutes for the meeting to end before going to see the doctor. “Clearly this poor girl has been brainwashed by the "Non-chosen one", I ask that she be handed over to the followers for treatment.”

Anything more extreme King would refuse but he might agree to that.

After taking a deep breath, The King came down from the particular high of the conflict and slouched in his chair. "I think this calls for an adjournment of our first day. Please enjoy all of the amenities that New Vegas has to offer, and we will meet again tomorrow. If you would like to remain at the table unofficially, that is fine. But you are all free to depart for the day. We will resume at the same time tomorrow."

“If anyone wishes to speak to the NCR several representatives will be at the tops casino.” Alex stated as he looked at his shoulder wound, the chopstick had dung in rather deep. “... I’ll be joining them once this has been dealt with.”

A short time later- The lucky 38

A drunken man walked up to the doors of the Lucky 38, ranting Nonsense he suddenly fell over and slip something under the door...

Dear Mr House

I apologise for not being able to go to the convention myself and that you had to deal with my body double, the man may look like me but he is somewhat of an asshole. Although to be fair to the man I did tell him to be an utter dick to the legion and get Caesar to leave assuming the attack is an full on invasion.

As I’m sure you’re aware the Legion uses spies “Frumentarii” to gather information, with them no doubt having agents in both the NCR & Vegas. I plan on stopping or hindering them from properly informing the Legion by purposely spreading "Fake news"..made up stories, reports, contradicting press statements and even giving out eight different version of the attack plan to non-essential officers back in the NCR.

With any luck the Frumentarii will give false information to Caesar but at the same time my allies and neutral parties like the FZM will be unsure of the NCR plans.

Which is why I wanted to write and state regardless of what you may hear or be told the NCR has no intention of invading the FZM (If anything I’d like it to become a client state but that’s an discussion for another day.) or even Arizona for that matter, the goal of the attack is to weaken the legion and humiliate Caesar with the hopes of causing an civil war.

Yours sincerely

President James Kimball [K]

[Gingy]

Robert House - Lucky 38

"Excuse me again, Lord-Paladin. I must peruse my security cameras. It will be just a moment." Robert assumed immediate control of Victor inside the dark, completely-empty Lucky 38 lobby. He rolled over to the door and snatched a peculiar note off the ground. He used the securitron's inefficient hands to pry open the envelope and held open the letter. He scanned its contents and sent them back to his original database. Victor resumed his duties.

Dear Mr House

I apologise for not being able to go to the convention myself and that you had to deal with my body double, the man may look like me but he is somewhat of an asshole. Although to be fair to the man I did tell him to be an utter dick to the legion and get Caesar to leave assuming the attack is an full on invasion.

As I’m sure you’re aware the Legion uses spies “Frumentarii” to gather information, with them no doubt having agents in both the NCR & Vegas. I plan on stopping or hindering them from properly informing the Legion by purposely spreading "Fake news"..made up stories, reports, contradicting press statements and even giving out eight different version of the attack plan to non-essential officers back in the NCR.

With any luck the Frumentarii will give false information to Caesar but at the same time my allies and neutral parties like the FZM will be unsure of the NCR plans.

Which is why I wanted to write and state regardless of what you may hear or be told the NCR has no intention of invading the FZM (If anything I’d like to a client state but that’s an discussion for another day.) or even Arizona for that matter, the goal of the attack is to weaken the legion and humiliate Caesar with the hopes of causing an civil war.

Yours sincerely

President James Kimball

Robert drafted his response to the NCR's official terminal inside the Tops hotel and casino -- a database well within his jurisdiction.

Dear Mr. Kimball,

I appreciate your letter but do not appreciate its contents. Your apology falls on deaf ears, I'm afraid; not even the Legion--who are known for subterfuge--were disrespectful enough to waste our time on a decoy. Stick to what you do best. You aren't doing yourself or anyone else any favors by acting erratic and secretive. I understand your aspirations to become as versatile as Caesar, but don't try it. The NCR is too large and clumsy to gracefully emulate their nuances.

As my envoy so poorly articulated -- you are free to engage in your war with Caesar on the condition that New Vegas remain open to your people. I am glad that we are on the same page about your reservations on expanding into the Mojave desert. On the other hand, however, I am insulted you think so lowly of me that you would assume I would be foolish enough to consider becoming a 'client state'. Such a preposterous idea is *forever* off the table.

Have a beautiful evening and good luck with your future endeavors, so long as they have absolutely nothing to do with the city of Las Vegas.

Best,
Robert Edwin House
President, C.E.O, and Sole Proprietor of the Free Economic Zone of the Mojave

Robert returned his focus to Lord-Paladin Barnaky. "I am sorry about that. Where were we?"

A Sharp-Dressed Ghoul - The Tops Hotel and Casino

Focus. This is child's play. You've done this before, back in the old days. A sharp-dressed ghoul stood alone near the elevators leading to the high towers of The Tops. As he had suspected, the chairmen were too daft to pinpoint his weapon on the way in. That was all he needed -- his mental faculties, a gun, and funds to be 'misplaced'. His sunglasses proved to be ineffective in blurring his identity; this place was strictly smoothskin. No matter. If he wasn't seen, then he was never there. This was why he always preferred to work alone.

The ghoul, donning a fedora and freshly-ironed suit and holding a half-filled glass of vodka, lit a cigarette and casually strolled toward the lobby. He looked around. The timing was immaculate; the guards had all been ordered to accommodate and focus on the guests of Mr. House's grand summit. They weren't bothering with the commonfolk. Not today. Perfect. He took a few more huffs from his cigarette and collapsed it onto an ashtray. He finished his drink and set the glass on an abandoned table. The ghoul shuffled to the cashier's box. He watched as the guards switched shifts. He had five minutes. He rested his back against the side-panel of the cashier's chamber and began to fiddle with the lock on the door. It was quite a trick, lockpicking behind his back. It required an astute sense of coordination and feeling. But he had executed it so many times in the past that it was almost like breathing. He decimated the lock in seconds.

The door came unlocked with a soft, inviting click. Showtime.