Gingy

Carousel

Alison Fitzpatrick, 1949

Brooklyn, 4:46 PM

Alison wiped her hand against the taxicab's filthy, dust-molested window. New York wasn't going anywhere, but she was. Sooner or later, she'd be right in the thick of these unearthly skyscrapers and the clarity of the city's skyline would be gone. She'd seen places somewhat like this before -- Chicago, New Orleans, among others -- and they were always so mesmerizing to look at from the outside. It was once you found your way into the maze and rooted yourself into its reality that the city lost its appeal. The cab driver, a black man wearing a weathered fedora, hollered back. "...Like what you see?"

"Yes, yes," was all Alison could offer him in response during her very short break from the hypnosis. She was under a spell.

It was easy to tell, though, that New York was nothing like the others. From here, it looked like someone had smashed Chicago, Houston, and Los Angeles into pieces and meticulously put them back together into one massive, impossible sculpture. Alison could hardly believe that she -- and this nameless taxi driver -- was headed straight toward it.

In a sense, Alison was tremendously proud of herself, but when she allowed her thoughts to be honest with themselves, she hadn't the slightest idea of what to expect from this place. She was intelligent enough to know that the reality of New York City was masqueraded by its beauty, but she had not yet learned just how much was hiding behind its mesmerizing lights.

Club Carousel, 7:31 PM

415. This was the one. Alison set down her suitcase and banged on the door. She looked around at the grimy walls of the apartment hallway and grimaced. This explained why she had managed to afford an apartment on Manhattan Island at all. The building was pretty disgusting and they sat directly above a nightclub, and she could already tell it would gruesomely subtract from her beauty sleep. Neon lights bled into the room from the window at the end of the hall.

The door barely opened and a the face of a gorgeous albeit makeup-smothered woman wearing hair-curlers poked out. "What?"

"Are you...uh..." Alison looked down at a piece of paper with Julia, room 415 scribbled onto it. "...Julia?"

The woman narrowed her eyes and further opened the door. "Uh huh...and you're Allie?"

Alison looked down at the floor. "Alison."

"Come in," Julia said. The girl, to Alison's surprise, was in some sort of sparkly underwear and looked to be in the middle of getting ready for something. The pure splendor of it juxtaposed the apartment, which was about as ugly and decrepit as Alison had feared.

"It's not much, but it's Manhattan. With luck, you won't be spending much time in here at all," said Julia as she winked back at Alison. The living room, which the door entered into, was small, but had a single couch, a small television, and a large window with a neon-tinted view of the street below. Julia pointed at an open door. "That's yours."

Alison nodded her head thankfully and said nothing else. She departed into her new room and looked around. It was empty. There was a bed, standing lamp, a desk, and literally nothing else. She tossed her suitcase onto the mattress and its steel supports clanged against its impact. She sat down and stared out her minuscule window. Alison couldn't see jack shit out of the glass. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and rubbed against the window. Nothing. It was if the grime had encrusted onto the window. She hollered back into the living room. "I can't see the city in the dust on my window!"

Her future roommate hollered back. "Well? What do you want me to do?"

Alison sighed and closed the door. She let her bodyweight fall onto the bed. She was so unbelievably tired that even the unopposed neon from the outside could not keep her from drifting into sleep.

Carousel

"Carousel"

An Elegy to the City That Never Sleeps

War Never Changes

Robert House - Lucky 38

Mr. House paused his audio conference and articulated a news message, audible through all speakers on the Strip, in a digitally-crafted voice:

"The NCR has foiled a Ghost invasion on the Arizona border. Despite usage of 'the cloud', the NCR suffered minimal casualties.

House returned to his conference and gave a second affirming 'hm.' upon hearing Barnaky's request. "Done. I have no interest in repeating the mistakes of my deceased contemporaries. If it means that the FZM and Brotherhood of Steel can enjoy a mutually beneficial and stable relationship going forward, I will let you handle the deconstruction of nuclear facilities. That is part of your mission, isn't it? I will not interfere."

After a few seconds of hesitation, Robert took a deep breath. "We can put this all on paper and I can write up a formal document for your party before it leaves New Vegas. In fact, I'll have it drafted momentarily. Included would be that the your chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel will be allowed sanctuary inside FZM lands, so long as it does not incite any violence within my lands. The FZM will formally occupy The Divide and hand over any ICBM technologies discovered to the Brotherhood. In exchange, the Brotherhood will assist in developing the FZM's future human military and the two parties will together ensure that the NCR does not advance into the east. Satisfactory?"

Securitron Mk. II - New Vegas

"Hey, uh....bot man...I need to talk to you boss, Mr. House. Can you tell him the Arctic Haven mercenaries are here with a business proposal?"

The securitron's TV-screen became wholly blank as a response, leaving static behind, as if the artificial personality had gone into temporary stasis. Within moments, the image returned.

"President Robert House would be happy to meet with you. He has immediately reserved a room in Vault 21, equipped with a screen for a video-conference. Please let the front office know who you are and you will be led to your quarters."

After the Arctic Haven representative left, a curious man approached. "Err...robots! Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? What....what are you exactly?"

"I am a Mark-II PDQ 88-b Securitron, also known as a Rob-Co Security Model 2060-B. We have been tasked by our creator and president Robert Edwin House to protect the citizens of the Free Economic Zone of the Mojave and deliver Mr. House's vision. This particular unit is tasked with the defense of the Lucky 38 Hotel and Casino, the crown jewel of the city of Las Vegas. My programming obligates me to answer any further questions you might have."

A Sharp-Dressed Ghoul - The Tops Hotel and Casino

The ghoul immediately slipped into the door and crouched down underneath the desk. A lovely young woman had been placed in charge of the distribution of casino chips.

"Do not make a sound," mumbled the ghoul. He pointed his pistol directly toward the woman's head. "Act normal."

The poor girl obliged and nervously kept her gaze fixed out of the register's window.

"Good. Now. I want you to grab those complimentary reward bags and start filling them with all of the cash--caps, NCR dollars, Legion coins, all of it--and I want you to act normal. If a customer walks up, do your job and do not go off script."

"O-okay..." the woman mumbled, She began retrieving the bags and arbitrarily emptying out the drawers. It took a total of about five minutes for her to finish filling the bags. The replacement door guardsman had yet to show.

The ghoul scoffed at the fact that he had so easily broken the bank. All of their currently-uninvested funds had been assigned to a single guard, in a spot that existed in plain sight. "Hurry."

The woman grimaced and slid the two large bags across the ground toward the ghoul.

"Now, miss. There is a way that we can both walk out of this with roses. Take a break to the little girl's room. Feign ignorance. Keep your job. All right?"

The woman took a deep breath and shakily nodded.

"Good. You go first."

The cashier gingerly strolled out of the small vault and the ghoul followed behind her, carrying two massive bags of cash. The perfect alibi existed in the fact that this image was not abnormal. He simply looked like a man who had won big at cards. At that, he parted ways with the woman and returned to his room. The ghoul was almost disappointed. It had been so pathetically easily to empty the coffers. Nonetheless, he had made it out unscathed.

Now it was time for the next phase of the plan.

War Never Changes

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.

War Never Changes

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.

War Never Changes

"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."

War Never Changes

"The King" - New Vegas

As Chief Ashland made his entrance, the King eyed him with intrigue and simply nodded in greeting. The table had become very full. Good. It meant that the wide expanse of the ruins of the United States was willing to work for peace. Or, at least, something akin to it. He sat back in his chair and watched as alternate diplomacy ensued.

The woman sitting next to the King--Shelby--offered him a mysterious mason jar. Gotta keep my head on straight, or I'm fired. The King shook his head. Appreciate the offer, but no. He gave a slight, gracious half-smile.

The King then nodded sparsely toward Elder Gladstone. "We shall meet as soon as today's summit comes to pass...which should be pretty soon?" He took a quick look at his watch. "Mhm." Finally, the NCR's domination of the discussion had passed away and smaller, sub-conversations had uprooted at the Ultra-Luxe table. Good. The King was well aware that, while war could never be healthy, it was never at its best in the midst of a two-sided battle. Smaller alliances meant that the lesser provinces could hold their own in the landscape of 2290. This was good. But he had to take advantage.

Computer Terminal - Midwest Brotherhood of Steel Penthouse Suite

The computer terminal on the desk of the Midwest Brotherhood of Steel's complimentary room began to hum with energy. A clear, concise sentence was scripted in the middle:

Mr. Robert Edwin House is available for communication.

It was easy to tell that Mr. House was trying to get through to Barnaky himself.

War Never Changes

"The King" - New Vegas

The King nodded toward the western Elder in response to the man's request for diplomacy. "Once today's meeting concludes and everyone finds a chance to rest, we will be in touch." He paused. "If the need to converse is more urgent, another envoy can be sent."

After a few moments of sparsely staring at the different envoys, The King then fixated on Christine of the Ghost Traders, an odd and distinct-looking girl. He gazed into her eyes for a moment, trying to gauge the woman's motives. He knew better than to have a staring match with her companion. Nothing. The woman looked to be as much of an enigma as Graham. "The trade of energy weapons in the city of Las Vegas will be a futile goal; the Van Graffs dominate the market and will continue to do so for as long as they share a prosperous relationship with Mr. House. However, any other goods you might be looking to sell?..." He paused. "Sure. I am sure that there is a derelict building in Westside that you could use. I'll give you the rundown that House gives any of his new businesses -- he will leave you well enough alone and you can do business as you please, unless you give him a reason to take back that promise. Understood?"

The King's diplomatic interactions were suddenly halted as the television showed President Kimball's speech. His jaw dropped. One might have interpreted his overwhelming facial expression as pure awe or terror, but it was something else entirely. He simply could not believe it.

You have got to be fucking KIDDING me.

After letting his bodyweight sag into his chair, The King let his face be held up by the palms of his hands. "You must be joking." He narrowly avoided the impulse to smack his glass of scotch off the table. "You're telling me that the NCR is so ambivalent to the plights of its neighbors that they not only failed to send their real president, but then screwed us around with this fucking crony of theirs?" He sighed. "I'm not surprised. I only saw a sample size of your people in Freeside, but I learned enough. You are phony, insincere, and completely ignorant."

The King paused, took a deep breath, and downed a swig of his scotch. "Nevertheless... We are in no position to put an end to NCR's extremist expansionism; Mr. House will not interfere with the coming war, in exchange for a refusal to place an embargo on the F.Z.M...But if NCR troops mobilize anywhere near New Vegas, we will know damn well what you're after, and we will act accordingly. Tread cautiously. You won't make any friends if you continue down this road."

After the room was met with silence, The King sighed. Robert hadn't stopped him, which meant only that Mr. House trusted The King's judgment on backing off from the threatening rant he was ordered to give earlier. Good. This meant that they could avoid bloodshed for the time being. But someone had to do something. Waiting for the NCR and Legion to take thousands of lives from each other would be un-fucking-bearable for the King. There was more to this than cash, and he wondered if Robert truly understood. He supposed he'd find out.

War Never Changes

"The King" - New Vegas

The King watched James stomp his feet around like that of a child. It was astonishing, watching such a powerful and well-respected man feel the need to prove to the table that his dick was larger than the rest. He intently watched as the President berated him, although the man's 'puppet' comment was not wrong. The King had sold out his personal ideologies by becoming House's right hand, and with it had come luxuries beyond his imagining.

However, Mr. House did not but in to prepare The King for his next response. The securitron simply stared at him. The whole table was staring at him. Robert wants me to take this myself? He suddenly surged with confidence. He had this.

"Oh, good. Well, then. Simply abide by our terms and there will be no need for war. If any of the points you invade along the Legion border are within a hundred miles of F.Z.M borders, we will take it as an act of war. Believe me when I say that New Vegas wants nothing to do with the bloodshed." The King paused. "My insult of your foreign policy is more of an observation than a thinly-veiled threat. The NCR is clearly assuming the role that Legion once possessed under Edward Sallow by menacingly beating its chest like it is right now."

The King covered his face with his palm for a moment and sighed. "The Free Economic Zone of the Mojave hasn't had the NCR hooked up to it as a life-support in years. It has an internal working economy outside of the New Vegas Strip that can sustain itself for years without tourism. Not to mention, the NCR are not the only tourists we receive. Common-folk from all different backgrounds of the west find enjoyment in Las Vegas." He paused. "And the fact that you do not know this simply perpetuates the NCR's ignorance. You know nothing that transpires beyond your borders besides tidbits to fuel your propaganda. Your father didn't either, and Robert ruined him."

"The problem with you, I'm afraid, is that you are too obsessed with your image. It is sickening to witness you freely bargain the lives of so many soldiers in a needless war--effectively quietly adopting the same mentality as Edward's Legion--only so you can solidify your role as president." He sighed. "But it's your future. I am only telling you that your military efforts cannot and will not transpire within 100 miles of F.Z.M. borders."

Mr. House might not have appreciated that The King had improvised and altered his message to a less abrasive one, but The King felt that it was necessary to avoid a show of force against the NCR. It was simply a superiority complex charade that New Vegas could not possibly win. Still, he had gotten the truth out. He wanted to expose James' arrogance and ward off the other delegates for cashing in their chips on a man who hadn't clearly thought through anything he had said this evening.

War Never Changes

"The King", New Vegas

The King listened intently as Caesar took hold of the conversation. It was unsurprising that Lucius attacked the podium with a clear head. The Legion--and the rest of the west--had been fertilized by the Treaty of Goodsprings. It was in the interest of no one except perhaps the NCR to disintegrate it. Even then, they'd be foolish to invoke the wrath of everyone who valued peace. It was funny, that -- a group of nations that had managed to co-exist for a decade could just as easily bare their teeth and spill blood at a moment's notice.

James Kimball grabbed hold of the conversation. True to what Robert had predicted, he was going to try to egotistically force everyone's attention upon the NCR. Still, it didn't take a genius like Mr. House to predict that; within a matter of minutes, it had already happened. The King looked cautiously ambivalent at first as the NCR president passed around his proposed maps -- The King was very highly aware that it was foolish for anyone to assume that the Legion would give up even the slightest bit of Arizona's heartland.

It was once Kimball revealed that the NCR's invasion and attack on Caesar's Legion had begun that The King's tired eyes widened and something akin to a weak gasp escaped his lips. Predictably, the situation was not as notoriously black-and-white as the president made it sound. Lucius assured the lot that the Legion were not daft -- they would not dare try to take on the NCR in sheer brute force.

The King waited until the mayhem finally found silence and a window of opportunity. He opened his mouth as if to speak and then stopped. He looked at the securitron stationed next to the table with confusion. The securitron suddenly jolted in place, as if some sort of data had been transferred to it, and then beckoned The King to follow him.

"Excuse me." The King obliged, following the securitron to the waiting room of the Gourmand. He spoke to the securitron--who had its back turned to the group--for close to ten minutes. He slowly returned to the table, seemingly shaken-up. His steps had lost the confidence that they had stomped in with at the very beginning of the convention. He dropped into his chair and took a deep breath.

"Mr. House will not tolerate acts of violence by the NCR," The King said almost shakily. He very well realized that he was letting out the vocal equivalent of dropping a warhead through his carefully constructed statements. 'Tell them exactly what I am saying to you now. Word-for-word,' resonated House's voice as he recalled the conversation he had in the past ten minutes. "If the New California Republic eagerly looks to erase the mutual coexistence of the Goodsprings Treaty, then it is declaring its intentions moving forward and painting itself as a greedy warmonger. The Free Economic Zone of the Mojave is predicated on the freedom to carve out one's existence without of fear of being stepped upon by a salivating regime.

The King took another deep breath. "If you, President James Kimball, declare open war on Caesar's Legion and invade the lands surrounding the Mojave Desert, Robert House will take that as an affront to peace in the west as a whole and the forces of the F.Z.M will retaliate. If you move forward, you will be endangering your own citizens who eagerly run onto our soil despite your weak attempts to keep them home. If you follow through, you will be pitting your soldiers against thousands of Mark-II securitrons in addition to the Legion forces and whomever else desires to keep the west from being rolled over by your regime."

Finally, the King placed his final words of the speech. "So, if I were you, President Kimball...I would choose your next actions very carefully...The F.Z.M values preserving balance in the region far more highly than pandering to the average NCR citizen. You do not want the collective efforts of the west to point in your direction." At that, the King picked up his hat, set it back on his head, and leaned back in his chair. He took a deep breath. He had recited House's chosen words for him immaculately. It terrified him. He hadn't even begun to consider whether or not he actually agreed with or believed in the speech he had given. House had spoken directly through his lips, like a god-damned puppet. The King gave a slight nod toward Lucius before he looked down at the table. What in god's name am I doing, Robert?