#he’s slowly connecting to the entire Mojave and you can help him but its considered a bad end

[dykedvonte]

Am speech from IHNMAIMS but in a Yes-Man au where he betrays Benny early and now you have to save the Mojave from Yes-Man trying to do a whole robo take-over.

Yeah you drag Benny’s ass around with you cause like hell you’re gonna clean up his mess alone.

[paintedbutton]

The Most Interesting Kind

Remember how I said I actually wrote something (and it’s boring as hell)? This is that thing. I’ve mentioned before that Sam pretty much weaseled her way into Russell’s life by virtue of shared alcohol and a lot of persistence. This is that scene. At least half of Russell’s dialogue comes directly from the mod, so credits for that goes to Someguy (as for my boy himself, ofc).

Boulder City hadn't always been mostly comprised of rubble. At least that was what she'd been told. As it was, it was a ruin of a town, filled with NCR and skeletons, and not generally a place Sam liked very much. Add a small group of Great Khans with a rather personal connection to her to the mix and you had a very bad day. By the time she'd stumbled her way out of the ruins of Boulder City, the sun was sinking below the horizon. Half a day wasted for some stupid stand-off she wouldn't have stuck her nose in under normal circumstances. Sam shrugged in response to one of the former hostages thanking her and crushed the remainder of her cigarette under her boot, looking towards the outline of tents not far in the distance, dark against the sinking sun. Least she didn't have to stay where the NCR was crawling all over. The 188 wasn't the best place to shore up but it had food and alcohol, more than enough in her book. "I need a damn drink." Boone grunted in acknowledgement and little else. At least the eyebot floating above them beeped in a way to could be construed as vaguely enthusiastic. Drinking alone it was, then.

"Sorry, I just sold the last one." Samuel gave an apologetic shrug while at the same time pouring a drink out for another costumer. "The entire goddamn bottle?" "'Fraid so. Guy's been hanging around and drinking me dry for a while now. Take it up with him if you're that desperate." Desperate might be an overstatement but she had just let the assholes who buried her alive walk off without a damn scratch and she would've liked a fucking Scotch, thank you very much. Just an old favorite, a little pick-me-up. The man Samuel had indicated was sitting at the end of the bar, slightly apart from the buzz. She watched as he put the bottle to his lips, taking a deep swig. He looked just like any other drifter washed up somewhere in this desert, clothes dusty and ripped, hair mostly hidden by the stetson on his head. The eye patch and the scars covering half his face were a little out of the ordinary but that might've happened a million different ways. The scar tissue on her temple itched like a reminder. He wasn't looking at anyone else, just staring out at the desert slowly sinking into darkness. Probably not looking for a drinking partner then. She considered turning back to the bar, ordering literally anything else, but ... ah fuck, she might as well try. Long as he shared they could just as well drink in silence for all she cared. She walked over and plopped herself down on the stool across from his. "Share that drink?" she asked, giving her best smile. He set the bottle down and eyed her, frowning. Somebody obviously wasn't a fan of company. "Don't drink with strangers." The words had finality to them, like he expected her to take him at face value. She'd never been anything but persistent though. Instead of standing she offered her hand, brows raised. "Sam."He didn't take her up on it. His fingers absently swiped at the condensation running down the side of the bottle while the eye not hidden by the eye patch bored holes into her skull. The stare might have been enough to send her away, she wasn't in the business of forcing herself on people, but she really wanted that damn drink. "Come on, I'll make it worth your while." His gaze casually roamed over her body before he shrugged, leaning back. "You're not my type." Really not what she'd meant to offer, so just as well he was refusing it. Sam grinned, just slightly, and shrugged. "Great, I don't care," she said. "Look, you bought the last damn bottle of Scotch and it's been a long day. I just want one drink and I'll be on my way." Now he looked amused. "There's other shit to drink, y'know?" "Oh, I know, I just have a hankering." Absently she rubbed at the scar tissue on her forehead. Damn thing still itched when it got too hot. So most of the time. His eye followed the gesture but he didn't say anything. "Hell, I ain't even looking for conversation. We can just sit here and empty that bottle." He stared her down for another moment before the bottle slid over to her side of the table. She stopped it before it tumbled to the ground, grabbed the neck and took a long, satisfying pull. It wasn't particularly good and probably watered down to all hell, but it went down smooth as anything. Good enough for her, for right now. When the bottle clanked back onto the table it was him, who offered a hand. "Russell," he said, with a half-smile playing around his lips, "and you owe me half of what I paid for that swill.""Done." She shoved a bunch of caps his way, took his hand and shook it, before taking another sip from the bottle and handing it back over.

For a while, they drank in silence. Sam lit up a cigarette, pushed the pack towards him when she saw him eye it. Ignoring the people around them, it might have almost been peaceful. A few tables over, someone was sobbing into a glass; somewhere else, off-key singing harmonized with that hiccuping sound and the conversation drifting in from all sides. At their little table tucked almost behind the bar only quiet reined. Quiet didn't really seem to work for either of them though. Finally, she leaned back in her seat, cocking her head at him in interest. "So, what brings you here?" Something about his smirk told her he'd been waiting for her to say something. "So much for quiet drinking." "Quiet only works for so long." "You know I could ask you the same thing, right?" The way his fingers drummed on the table suggested boredom. The way he leaned in, meeting her eyes directly, suggested otherwise. "How I got here?" "Yeah." Sam shrugged. Fair was fair, she supposed. "Guy shot me in the head for some stupid fucking package I was supposed to deliver. I'd like to pay him back. Been more or less chasing after him. He's a Vegas type, so to Vegas I go. And this place is on the way." "Huh." "So?" "Might as well." He took another gulp of Scotch. At this point, they were halfway through the bottle. "I followed a bounty here not long ago but ... the trail ran cold. Been getting by as a caravan guard but it's not the same." She couldn't quite help a small chuckle. "Yeah, I bet." Her last job getting by had been this damn courier gig and that had obviously been a fucking disaster. In all honesty, much as she hated to admit it, having a goal again was kind of refreshing. Across from her, Russell sighed, staring out at the dust devils dancing in the dark. "I should get back on the hunt," he continued, " but ... I just don't know. I used to pride myself with finding every mark I was after but ... I lost him." He looked resigned. Maybe a little wounded pride in there, too. "And now you're hangin' around here, buying the alcohol out from under my nose." That got a chuckle out of him. "Now I'm hangin' around here," he agreed easily. "Guess you're not really from this piece of dirt then, huh?" It was more of a rhetorical question at this point. Even if he was Mojave born and bred, something about him told her he'd been anywhere but here for a while. Sam could relate. She hadn't managed to keep herself in one place for longer than a week since '73 now. He shrugged in response. "Everywhere and nowhere, partner," he agreed easily and took another swig from the bottle. She grabbed for it as soon as he set it down. "Yeah." Everywhere and nowhere indeed. "So, what about that bounty?" It was as much of a distraction for her as it was for him. Down that road lay depressing thoughts and they'd been too damn close to the surface again ever since Goodsprings. "Might as well, he's  long gone," he said, more to himself, before meeting her eyes again. "Fellow by the name of Glanton. Used to work as a scalp hunter for the NCR. See, back when the republic was brushing up against some nasty tribals and raiders down south they hired Glanton to clean 'em out." Absently, she noted the way his mouth twisted when mentioning the NCR. She was maybe a little familiar with that twist, had seen it in the mirror before a time or two. "Glanton and his gang were making so much money that pretty soon they stopped caring about who's scalp they took - be it women or children. Brass tried to put a lid on it, declared him an outlaw, but it didn't matter. Settlers loved Glanton, made him into a hero. If settlers or miners run into trouble with tribals, they hire Glanton. Wasn't until recently that the government got serious about him. A few months back the NCR finally put a bounty of 10,000 caps on his head. I decided it'd be worth my while to go after him." The number made her swallow just a little too much Scotch. She coughed around the burn in her throat, setting the bottle down hard. Sure as hell was a pretty bounty. Russell seemed slightly amused at that reaction. Of course all the pretty numbers in the world weren't gonna do him any good if the trail was cold, she supposed. Which did give her an idea. "Y'know, if it's all the same to you ... we could work together, split those caps." This time, when he looked her up and down, it was a lot less dismissive than the first time around. Sam met his gaze like it was a challenge, leaning back in her chair. "Could have its advantages," he conceded, "but, I need to make sure you can handle yourself." "Planning on fightin' me?" Of course he was doubting. A lot of people did that, just looking at her. And like it or not, being unconscious for days hadn't really added to her healthy disposition. But he only grinned in response. "Nah. You got any qualifications?" For a moment, she thought. They were in the middle of a desert that was half civil, half mess most of the time. She could probably shoot his head off at 50 yards but she doubted he'd count that as special. "For one, I've been all over this damn place," she finally said, "I'm a good shot. And I just recently walked out of my own grave." That last bit got him to snort. "That's supposed to be an argument for you?" he asked, amused. Sam shrugged, giving him her best smile. "In my experience, a little luck never hurt nobody. And I got more than a little." She grabbed for the bottle again, toasting him. "Besides, you've given me enough to go after it by myself, if you really don't want me in." "Courtesy offer?" "More like pooling of resources. And fond memories of a good drinking buddy." The last of the Scotch swished in the bottle in response. He shook his head but she could see something like a smile on his face. "Fine." "To good huntin' then." She was nice enough the leave one final swig in there for him. He took it like he wasn't sure if he'd made a stupid decision just then. Of course, in her experience, those were the most interesting kind.