i can't believe this url wasn't taken

[shiftythrifting]

Found at Savers

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Characters As Vines Dot Meme

(@) Larkin: “Why the fuck you lying...why you always lying...mmmohmygod...”

Avery: "Hey I like your jeans!” “Thank you! [frantic whispering] What the fuck do I do she told me she liked my pants what do I do, do I give her my pants what do I do if I fuckin’-”

Lewen: “When I think about my worries~ and I think about my strife~ here is what I simply say~ ...AHHHHHHHHHHHH”

Neus: “You know what? I think we’re gonna be friends.” [kazoo]

Elbrin: [small dog looking confused as gifts rain down on it from above]

[loxlla]

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Actually u kno what, I’ll copy across those old dæmon summaries too, just because I had fun writing them way back when and also I am perpetually trying to seduce people into reading HDM.

Amogur is a boisterous frat-boy in the body of an American mustang, which can make for some interesting moments. He seems to consider it his sworn duty to get Nile to loosen up, and will quite cheerfully bump her around or forcefully draw her into mischief. Other daemons can also find themselves on the receiving end of his gregariousness; while he has to take care due to his size, he quite enjoys serving as a perch or playfully lipping at a dangling tail. Unlike many daemons he has no qualms about speaking to another human, and it’s not uncommon for him to chip in or even take over a conversation when Nile is really struggling, with the slight downside of sometimes blurting out things she’d rather he didn’t. He’s not completely insensitive to his human’s insecurities, however, and has always been open with his affection and assurances of support. Both of them value the time spent exclusively together, whether it be seated back-to-back and talking past sundown, or racing across an open space and wrestling in the grass.

Given that Alex is often passive in the extreme, it can be discomforting for others to notice the feral edge his daemon possesses. She throws herself into whatever form she takes, which was most evident in their childhood favourite, the English Shepherd; she would prowl with wary animalistic stiffness and was never heard to speak outside of low growls and sudden snarls. Taking the role of defender from an early age, she rarely strays more than an arm’s length away and tends to position herself between Alex and others. She is also more likely to give quick touches of reassurance or affection to her human than to have him reach out to her. Though Fen is never less than alert, she can lapse into a calm watchfulness in some situations, and to have her close her eyes or glance away in your presence is the ultimate sign of trust. Somewhat unfortunately, her settled form—weedy sea-dragon—is very restricted physically, and the difficulty of coming to terms with this new vulnerability mirrors Alex’s tentative reconnection with the real world. She starts to speak more after settling and can be rather literal-minded.

Whitlan is a cold individual who makes no pretenses otherwise, so most assume his daemon would be equally closed off. In truth, Kezendies appears gentle and almost shy, and will exchange quiet conversation with another daemon even when Whitlan is turning aside all attempts at conversation. It is a mistake to think this puts him in conflict with his harsher human, though; his soft interest in the world around him makes little difference on the job, and he will not hesitate to use his predatory form of a fisher to cripple or kill. In many ways he is treated as an asset or a business associate, expected to follow the directions given; he will force himself to ignore the pain of the stretched bond in order to gain the advantage of being able to split up and both will break the taboo, though the daemon is always the more visibly unsettled by it. Even in private moments he is not an effective balance of opinion, as he does not often try to talk Whitlan out of things, succeeds in doing so even less frequently, and knowingly works against him not at all. Despite the apparent lack of affection in this pair, any assault on Kezendies will provoke swift and vicious retaliation from the human, and it’s possible on rare occasion to find them sitting together, the daemon lying peaceably across his human’s lap as he busies himself with books or schematics of some sort.

Ulysses is not in fact the true name of David’s daemon, in that it is not the name she was given at birth; it was acquired during their early teens, obviously inspired by the literary work of the same name. That they even have a secondary name says a lot about both individuals—Uly is as quiet and withdrawn as her human, often perched upon his shoulder or a nearby surface with such stillness as to be barely present, and even in moments of his distress will make no overt gestures of comfort. The few individuals with whom she does interact—his son being one of the most notable—find the silky anteater short-spoken, if never dismissive. Should you manage to stumble across David and Uly alone, however, the full nature of their relationship is revealed. With their heads bowed close together and conversation little more than a murmur, Uly proves an insightful, animated companion, with her sharp yet optimistic intuition a steadying counterbalance for her human’s musings and fretful concerns. It is then and only then that you might find out her true name, though it would be a kindness to keep your success to yourself.

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Shrike is a dæmon of whimsy and few words. He rarely seems to sit still for long, which is not always to their interest; a patient, restrained dæmon gives away fewer signals and more than once he has taken inadvisable action that has earned trouble. Larkin shrugs at the idea that anything she says would curb his ways, however. He is highly interactive with other dæmons, landing on a larger one, tugging at a tail, or fluttering about in a way that draws their attention (and dulls their human’s in turn), but only ever allows these moments on his terms - should another move for him, he will dart quickly out of reach. He is also known for frequently pushing the distance boundaries of the bond, to the point that Larkin is accustomed enough to the ache of the pull to ignore it better than most. That ‘Shrike’ eventually settled as a black-billed magpie is of great amusement to human and dæmon both, and as with Larkin’s own name it was self-selected in the absence of parental input, plucked from some tatty magazine out of childish appeal.

Avery wears his heart on his sleeve, but Muhima is better at guarding it than he is. She is not one to stray, and is most often found on his shoulder or on nearby furniture, the earthy colouring of a frilled-neck lizard allowing her to blend in to most settings as long as she remains still, watchful and wary. She doesn’t like to be investigated closely, and though she tries to hold her ground she can be stirred into sudden slithering away from curious probings - and if either is sufficiently provoked that frill may snap forward in company with a gaping hiss as clear warning. Theirs is a close and communicative relationship: long discussions, debates, and arguments made loudly on rooftops, muttered in public, whispered in the dark before sleep. She is opinionated and stubborn, but much less ill-tempered; she battles regularly against impulse and anxieties as they arise. On bad days she will slip under his shirt and lie close and quiet, skin to skin, laying words aside in favour of the silent weight of her love. On very bad days, he won’t let her. 

Lewen and his dæmon are something of an unusual case, in that he is very much male, she is very much female, and her form is very much that of a stag. It tends to be a point of curiosity when others notice, but neither of the pair dwells much on the meaning anymore: they are as they are. Jalla makes for sensible counsel, maintaining inscrutable poise in most situations and adeptly trading silent communication with Lewen through glances and the flick of an ear. She is also adept at positioning herself delicately and deliberately so that the bulk of her overshadows a vocal opponent’s dæmon. Though she is mercifully only as large as a white-tailed deer gets, the confines of townships and the narrow winding stairs of Skyhold don’t delight her, and she is never entirely at ease unless out on the road where she can be a valuable aid in carrying equipment and finding safe paths - Dalish dæmons have never scorned practical labour the way a human noble’s might.

It can be difficult for people to reconcile the grim and ghastly face of a death godlike with the bewhiskered adorableness of a sea otter, but anyone who actually talks to Neus will understand quickly enough. Kotissan (or Kotchi, as she calls him) is not quite as good-natured as his counterpart, more often the muttered voice of sarcastic cynicism to be reprovingly nudged with a toe. He’s not shy of approaching other dæmons and usually remembers his manners in doing so; with younger and smaller dæmons in particular he is much more gentle than his acerbic commentary suggests. He is affectionate with his human, winding around ankles and draping over shoulders, and the fierce-eyed watchfulness he turns on others is entirely a matter of protectiveness. He does like to pretend he will eat her pet spider just to earn an exasperated swatting.

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Above all things, Avery wants to belong. He mistakes it for other things, on and off - for conformity (fitting faceless in a crowd, part of the many), or for approval (living up to expectations, matching someone else’s ideal) - but he holds them to unachievable standards and wouldn’t be truly satisfied by them anyway.

He wants to belong. People stress him out and he needs time and space that’s his own, but he’s not built for being Alone. He can’t (and shouldn’t) live inside his head for too long. He just wants to be himself, mucked-up junky ragged-edged jumble that he is, and still have a place and a people.

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eyeb0t said: also it’s arguably hilarious that avery lies This Much. god swedishjazz said: I like to think there’s a couple free spaces between Avery and Larkin

This was definitely an exercise in discovering that mostly only Larkin can and will lie her way out of a wet paper bag and everyone else is useless :|

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Characters ranked by honesty in descending order:

Neus: Literally pledged to the god that celebrates honesty, so. She’s not so rigid as to refuse to bend the truth if the consequences for doing otherwise would be seriously dire, but she also doesn’t try to pretend that loopholes exist - the intent to deceive is what matters, not the exact words - so 99.9% of the time she’s as straight-shooting as anyone can be.

Elbrin: Sees no point in lying and is known for being uncomfortably blunt. She’s not particularly good at lying either; can sometimes get away with it because she’s difficult to read overall, but anyone who knows her well will see it coming as she fixes a stare over their shoulder and speaks even more woodenly than usual.

Lewen: Is honest by preference, but he knows the value of choosing one’s words carefully and he’s capable of light manipulation from a diplomatic front. He’s also very much on the tactful end of the scale in casual interactions.

Yarrow: Doesn’t lie often by nature, but has no moral objection to the notion and in the event that she does tell an untruth it’s with the same guiltless confidence as everything she says, so she tends to get away with it.

Avery: Technically he values honesty, but he lies a lot in a defensive sort of way - of course he wants this, no he doesn’t like that, god he’d be happy to never see you again. He’s not great at it though, and even worse at lying to himself. Seems to think that the louder and angrier he says it the more truthful it will become.

Larkin: Arguably lies more often than she tells the truth. Truth is power and careless honesty means handing that power to other people, so she wants to control who knows what about her, thanks. She also lies to test reactions to statements, lies to purposefully manipulate people, and occasionally lies just for fun.

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The adventures in the Frostback Basin are honestly some of the most fun Lewen has all game. With the threat of Corypheus no longer hanging over everyone’s heads and a mission statement that’s more about historical exploration than an imminent crisis, it’s almost like a vacation! ...naturally it’s a vacation that devolves into an imminent crisis and ends with them fist-fighting an ancient Avvar god of war on an icy plain because that’s just how their luck goes, but everything else was great. Stone-Bear Hold was hearty and warm, the treehouses were delightful, and he just generally revelled in romping through the lush forests and marshlands of the basin while Dorian and Sera complained endlessly because they are useless city brats.

(The discoveries surrounding Ameridan are sobering, of course; although there’s a vicious satisfaction to be had in flinging this particular truth at the world, he has to consider what time and censors might do to his own history down the track. After all, it’s hard enough to stop people rewriting who he is and what he stands for while he’s alive and present.)

The adventures in the Deep Roads, on the other hand, are not so relaxing. Lewen never considered himself the claustrophobic sort until he found himself rubbing his forehead and requesting that no one remind him exactly how far they were underground because it was threatening to give him a serious case of the jitters. There was some unexpectedly gorgeous scenery and he enjoyed the chance to speak with Orzhammer dwarves for simple curiosity’s sake, but there were also fifty thousand darkspawn and a lot of gingerly edging around beautiful sprouts of lyrium that would kill him stone cold dead if he so much as brushed against them. He has no idea what to make of how the venture concluded.

[benjoyment]

48 Shades of Lightning  Taken from last night’s thunderstorm. (color hues are unretouched)

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One of the things Avery struggles with most post-army is getting used to having things. It’s extra difficult because he’s never had such a comparatively large place that is all his before - and the house/workshop is smaller than my place tbh, but it’s still somewhere that fits furniture with plenty of room to spare, and he’s never even owned furniture before, really?

He’s lived at his childhood home, he’s lived in workers’ common houses, he’s bunked in a crowded domesticity with some not-quite-friends, and of course he’s slept in an endless parade of barracks and tents. His Freeside place is the first to be his.

For the first month or two the priority is on getting it fully functional - patching holes, ensuring the plumbing and electricity is working, making sure every door and window can be both opened and closed, dragging in the necessities (a mattress to sleep on, the equipment he needs to make his living, a fridge I guess). After that, though, he’s kind of at a loss.

Between Wyn the renovation fiend and his own vague memories of the nicer places he’s been through, he’s aware his home is a bit spartan, but like? He has what he needs, what else is he supposed to stuff in here? The idea of mounting a molerat head on the wall or fashioning some lovely wind chimes out of shitty tin cans is not really his aesthetic.

He gets a clock, first. Partly because it’s a lot harder to keep track of the time when it’s not broken into scheduled blocks for you, partly out of desperate determination to stick something on his wall. It gets fretfully placed in a half dozen different spots before ending up in its final positioning near the kitchen sink because it’s easiest to see there from almost any point in the house. It’s still mostly a functional acquisition, but it has timber framing instead of chipped Nuka Cola plastic and a quiet tick.

Less justifiable is a painting he pays more than his feeble budget really recommends, but the sunset sits over a landscape that could be anywhere from the Mojave to California and has a soft warmth that colours but does not wash out his otherwise fairly dark interior, and for literal weeks he pauses at random to just stand and gaze on it for a while. It’s calming when the lights of Vegas are a little too bright or the noises on the streets a little too loud.

He gets books, and a shelf to put them on. A radio. Two lamps and candles for when they fail. A broom. A small table and two chairs. A doorbell, despite his protests. A client trades him three plants for his services - he learns, very quickly, the value of bartering in Freeside - and he kills two of them through anxious overwatering before Wyn saves the last with a lecture on proper plant-care. The survivor goes on to propagate some seedlings of its own, one of which he gives back to the client with a defensive sort of pride.

Holly writes him regular letters, and his father writes slightly more erratic ones. His mother even sends a postcard, once. He puts them on the fridge with scribbled memos, a fading bundle of receipts and trade-in pledges, and a photograph Holly passes on that was meant for him in the first place.

He’s not masochistic enough to hang an NCR flag anywhere, but one day Sid presents him with a truly awful wood carving that is nonetheless recognisable as a two-headed bear, and it lives on the windowsill with the plants ever after. He flips an eager young street peddler the caps for a crow-feather good luck charm to hang near his door, keeps binoculars hanging from a hook, and resignedly adds Sid’s comics to his shelves. He makes himself a better toolbox, better tools, and has enough projects that it becomes rarer to not have something on the go. One day he makes a commission of Angelo on the Strip, and the first night his sign flickers to life in the dark is a good night. He gets rid of the ashtrays.

And all the while little bits of Wyn keep sneaking in: articles of clothing, books and magazines, a succulent with strict instructions, what sure seems like fifty sentient hair ties, and a shovel at least once. She has caches all around the Mojave, he knows, but these are not survival kits.

So it is that some six, seven, eight months in, Avery looks up in the middle of nothing-in-particular and realises that this is what it looks like when he builds a home. A little more eclectic than he might have expected, still a lot more functional than someone with true design flair would put together (even accounting for limits in space and funds and interest), but the place looks lived-in, and it looks lived-in by him.

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The fun thing about going Bad Ending with Larkin is that I can now fully embrace darker songs I’d already shiftily associated with her, a la So Sad So Lonely, A Second Opinion, and Railroad Track.

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i love tropes

Larkin

Determinator: Well she is the Unstoppable Mailman.

Combat Pragmatist: Does what it takes to get out alive.

From Nobody To Nightmare: Larkin starts life as a largely neglected child muddling about in small-town post-post-apocalyptic America, gets shot in the head while working a perfectly legitimate job, and eventually graduates to having a very firm grip on the entire Mojave region.

Heel Face Revolving Door: She honestly doesn’t go out of her way to backstab people, but if your goals diverge from hers then she’ll diverge from you.

Lovable Rogue: At the better end of the scale, she tends to be this. It helps that she’s good at people.

Opportunistic Bastard: Though she very occasionally manages to play a mean game of Xanatos Speed Chess, this trope is by far and away the best summary of her modus operandi. The real irony is that it lists Benny as an example as well.

Too Clever By Half: And when it comes back to bite, it bites hard.

Tranquil Fury: The quieter Larkin is being about her displeasure, the more worried you should be.

The Unfettered: What it says on the tin.

Villain Protagonist: By the end of the game, it’s becoming clear that Larkin is not the hero some might have hoped for. A few years after that, it becomes even clearer that she’s no hero at all.

*

Avery Munir

Butt Monkey: Avery has a hard time. And is given a hard time. By everybody. Including me.

Cowardly Lion: He’s self-conscious, endlessly fretful, and jumps a mile when tapped on the shoulder - but he’s capable of more than he gives himself credit for.

Cigarette of Anxiety: The number of cigarettes he smokes in a day is directly proportionate to his stress levels.

Friendly Sniper: “Friendly” might be pushing it, but he’s in no way stoic enough to qualify for cold.

Hair-Trigger Temper: It is not at all hard to set him off.

Jerkass Facade / Sour Outside, Sad Inside: Has cultivated a very prickly exterior in an attempt to both mask and protect his very squishy interior. Even when throwing his all into a cause he can’t seem to manage to rise above Sarcastic Devotee levels of grumping.

My Country, Right Or Wrong: Well, Cass’ quote on the page just about sums it up. The NCR will always be his home, one way or another.

Shell-Shocked Veteran: Much of Avery’s most hatefully shameful moment came from the severity of his shell-shocked status not being recognised in time. Recovery is a long road.

Well Done Son Guy: Desperately wants to do his family proud and keeps falling short - even if the harshest judgements are actually just in his head.

When He Smiles: Nine times out of ten you’re likely to be met with a scowl, but that tenth time...

[yourplayersaidwhat]

Unseen Servant

(For context, the party bard has an unseen/invisible servant. During the adventure the bard turned against the party and was killed)

Bard (OOC): I want the unseen servant to follow them and stab them.

Rogue (OOC): You’re dead.

Bard (OOC): But the servant isn’t.

[playercharacter1]

I do want to emphasise that I don’t think Veronica overly naive or easily manipulated. I think she’s a good person and an optimistic idealist who strives to see the best in people, as evidenced by how determined she is to reform the Brotherhood - but savvy enough to see the writing on the wall when it comes.

The particular issue of Larkin is firstly that she met Larkin pre-Vegas, and secondly that Larkin is genuinely very charming - and quite charmed by Veronica in turn! She’s easy-going, flexible, doesn’t pick fights, is competent and seasoned without being bossy, and Veronica had been dealing with enough cold shoulders from her family that it was really rather nice to hang around someone who laughed at her quips and seemed genuinely interested in her opinions and flat-out admiring of her skills. The scaling of the REPCONN facility was a highlight of those early, carefree days, and I usually headcanon that they share their first kiss in the space room (Larkin bright-eyed with delight at their discovery, the memory of cramming together in a corner to avoid a sentry bot while muffling stupid silly laughter close at hand, the turn of a smile against her lips while the tiny planets spin ceaselessly overhead).

And then even once the Vegas plot started, well, House was a bit weird sure, but the Brotherhood hardly has a cleaner reputation, and it’s not like Larkin was murdering people left right and centre in his name. Everyone knew the war was coming, and by all accounts House was just angling to see Vegas survived it - even angling to help see the Legion outed, which Veronica could get behind. It was actually a little cool to be making a difference out in the wider world. Like getting to be the first people who managed to get in with the Boomers! And all the while Larkin’s still cheery and confident and clever, and still so pleased with Veronica’s company and Veronica’s assistance. Maybe she lies sometimes, maybe that cleverness takes some interesting routes here and there, maybe she’s not always leaping to help without incentive, but they’re still doing a surprising amount of good.

So when things go suddenly downhill and a tense, pacing Larkin tells her she had to kill House - that she did it because House was going after her family - she has no reason to disbelieve that. Things get uglier in the aftermath but war is ugly, and it’s Larkin who’s asking her to stand by her, to help her survive this so that she can help them all survive this. It’s not like she’s trying to kill NCR soldiers but the battlefield is such a mess...

And then they win a victory that’s patchwork at best. It’s not over. The Mojave’s threatening to split at the seams, Larkin’s wounded and exhausted and still saying please stay please help me I need someone I can trust.

The Brotherhood comes out of their cage - but in the worst way, the way she’d always feared. I saved them, Larkin says bitterly. I saved them for you.

People die. Left, right, and centre. Sometimes it’s because Larkin killed them. Sometimes it’s because Larkin made deals with people who kill. Where am I supposed to go? Larkin says when she suggests it; laughing, but not as she used to, not like she did when they were young and silly and breaking into buildings because they could. The Legion wants my head on a stick, after they’re done drying it to jerky on some crucifix. NCR might make it quicker, I suppose. A softening, a soothing. Things’ll settle down soon enough. Just gotta find the trail through it. And someone else dies because they were in the way.

Veronica tells herself: one more week. One more month. Just until things have been smoothed over with the Omertas. Just until the fault in the Dam is fixed. Just until Larkin recovers from the bullet that clipped her shoulder in the newest Freeside riot. Just until she isn’t needed-

I couldn’t have done it without you, Larkin says, warm voice and distracted eyes, and there comes a day Veronica finds herself thinking back, That’s what I’m afraid of.

...ANYWAY. The point is that Veronica Deserves Better and I’m delighted to have found a way to give it to her because, although it had a few bright moments, this was never a ship that was sailing to happy lands when the two songs I associate with it are (mostly jokingly) I Knew You Were Trouble and (not so jokingly) Thistle & Weeds. I’m so sorry, my love. Please find happiness and then return one day to punch my terrible child in the face like she deserves.

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Sweet jiggling giblets that ended up so much longer than I meant it to be. Tl;dr summary of the below post:

A couple years before the main game, Larkin does Dead Money and leaves on decent terms with Christine. A few years after the main game, Larkin returns to the Sierra Madre with Veronica in an attempt to get her hands on the tech to further cement her position in Vegas.

Christine says no because she pretty much lives here in order to tell people no on that exact front, and Veronica breaks ranks to side with Christine after a long slow slide into being very uncomfortable with Larkin’s character ‘growth’, so Larkin first attempts to take them out of the equation nicely (or at least non-fatally) and then, when they prove difficult, leaps at long last off the slippery slope into Villain Protagonist territory and starts getting increasingly nasty about it.

Unfortunately for Larkin, Christine has been living here for six years and is a fair match for Larkin’s admittedly high levels of competence. The stalemate ends when Veronica convinces Christine to destroy the Sierra Madre altogether by igniting the Cloud, though she also insists on giving Larkin enough warning to escape with her life.

Veronica and Christine go one way, to see what life holds next. Larkin goes the other, to commence the Dictatorship part of her Wikipedia page. It is entirely possible that sooner or later V&C turn back around with tired agreement that if anyone’s going to put the rabid dog down, it should be the people who once called her a friend.

And thus it turns out that the real plot of F4 is a bunch of lesbians duking it out on the west coast.

[playercharacter1]

I said that I’d wait to try the DLCs before working out how much of them I want to incorporate into the gameverse tale, and having played Dead Money I’m now inclined to think I want to incorporate more or less the whole thing - because it gives me a really handy post-game hook. Almost certainly messes with the canon timeline a bit, but I’m not out to write a novel any time soon so I’m handwaving it in the name of fun.

As noted, Larkin gets drawn into the Dead Money mess around the age of 23, spends a week or so suffering, and gets out with...maybe one gold bar, which allows for a comfortable few months in recompense. (A spending splurge that means she recovers well from her time amidst the Cloud, with a healthy portion left over as savings to be squirrelled away for emergencies.) She parts with Christine on loosely friendly terms; they didn’t know each other long enough or under relaxed enough circumstances to bond in any great depth, but after dragging someone’s dying ass up a staircase and collaborating on a murder plot with them, it’s only natural to hope their future endeavours go well.

At age 25-26, nine-ish months of game plot occur. Blah blah etc, Larkin eventually deposes House and establishes herself as a significant power in Vegas, with Veronica and Yes Man helping her out. The first six months that follow are barely bridled chaos, and even after that there is a hell of a lot to deal with; there are plenty of people who respect Larkin for being The Courier who pushed the NCR and Legion out, but no small number resent her for upending the status quo so dramatically (and nearly plunging the city into complete economic disaster in the process). There are of course also the handful who simply see her as easier pickings than the elusive House ever was.

And Larkin’s certainly more exposed than House, because she still insists on striking her deals and seeing things carried out in person. There’s a danger to it, but there’s equal danger in sitting too far out of the action; she knows how easy it to have vital information hidden or misconstrued by those with an agenda. It’s around this period that she upgrades her look a bit from the grubby wastelander half-angling to be underestimated. Still goes armed and armoured (because there’s presenting a confident image and then there’s asking to be stabbed), but it’s less of a chunky / patchwork mess, and more...something like the assassin suit in style, I suppose? A sleeker, meaner Larkin, balancing practicality against image, her background and experiences against life as a permanent part of the Strip.

Two-ish years after the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, Larkin’s progressed from significant power to dominant power, generally recognised as the head of what loose hierarchy exists, and had a few close calls. A wary eye is still kept on all horizons, with rumours out of both east and west speaking not of war, not yet, but enough hostility to settle uncomfortably between her shoulder-blades. She has alliances, but people are fickle; she has the Securitrons, but they’re known and familiar and far from invulnerable, and their numbers have been whittled down over the years. As she lounges at the top of the Lucky 38, she finds her thoughts drifting back to a misadventure from her youth and the unique tech she’d witnessed there.

At age 28, Larkin returns to the Sierra Madre with Veronica in tow - a Veronica who’s older and tireder and still trying to do what’s right. The former scribe has been loyal, has been valuable, and has been growing ever uneasier with her friend / sometimes lover and all that’s been done in the name of staying safe or making improvements or it’s not like this is how I want to play it, V, but it’s how it has to happen. After being cast aside by her old family, however, she can’t make herself abandon what small measure of it she has here. 

She’s taken completely by surprise by the face who greets them at the gates.

Larkin has long since guessed that Christine’s Elijah and Veronica’s Elijah are likely one and the same, and Veronica’s presence is at least partly grease on the wheels: Look at this! Old friends, all three of us. Who’d have thought? It works, too; nobody’s throwing themselves into anyone’s arms, but beneath the bewilderment and disbelief there’s real relief at finding out they’re both alive, and the faintest echoes of an old tenderness, a young love cut short but never forgotten. As for Larkin, well, Christine’s memories of Larkin are of a resourceful and reliable ally, and in the wild weirdness of the moment Veronica’s doubts are submerged again as they laugh together and shake heads over how they’ve all changed and oh, god, it’s really Christine? It makes for a warm welcome.

The good feeling lasts maybe a day or two as the warden shows them about and ample tales are traded. Then, on the second night, Larkin casually comes out and says that she’s here for the tech - for the holograms predominantly, but she’s not averse to the other bits and pieces that make the Sierra Madre such a fortress. She’s not after Elijah’s dream of hunching like a mad vulture over a dead zone, but the holograms alone would vastly improve her security.

Christine says no.

More than that, Veronica says no. She, more than Christine, knows what Larkin’s not saying, knows what kind of edge she’s seeking, has watched her walking slowly but steadily down a path that is becoming harder and harder to condone. And now - away from Vegas, away from the politicking and the danger and the Hard Choices That Must Be Made - she finds herself appealing to the young woman she befriended in the first place. Is this really necessary? Heck, do we even need to go back? It was just...it was so nice travelling out here, just the two of them (and a Securitron) like the old days, and Christine’s presence is reminding her of a time she was truly happy, which makes it easier to recognise that she’s not anymore. That she hasn’t been for a long time now.

Veronica’s reluctance only firms Christine’s stance that what’s in the Sierra Madre should stay in the Sierra Madre; likewise, Christine being present means Larkin can’t resort to her usual manipulative tactics to talk Veronica around from her misgivings. It means a long conversation that gets just close enough to ugly for Christine to grow wary - before Larkin finally smiles, holds up her hands, and says alright, very well, the point has been made. Can’t blame her for trying. Have you gotten much news from the south in your six years of solitude? Ah, well...

(And Veronica thinks, later, she should have known that moment for what it was, but she never really thought she’d end up on the other side of it.)

By the time they all part for bed, things aren’t quite as comfortable as they were before the disagreement, but Larkin waves off Veronica’s attempt to talk privately, claiming weariness and no hard feelings. Veronica hesitates, looks down the hallway a long moment before turning in...and then wakes during the night to find Larkin has attempted to lock both she and Christine in their rooms in order to take the tech by force.

What commences is three-ish days of cat-and-mousing in the deadly playground that is the Sierra Madre; no bomb collars this time at least, but an infinitely more personal fight. The longer it goes, the less Larkin holds back, and the ruthless resourcefulness that saw her turn the tables on Elijah has only been honed further since they last met. She is The Courier-

But Christine is the Warden. She has spent those same six years guarding this territory. She knows it inside and out, she taught Larkin half her skills with computers; the Cloud barely scathes her lungs, and the Ghost People shy away from her and those she protects. Eventually, with Veronica’s aid, she ends the bitter struggle over the Sierra Madre’s treasures by taking it out of the equation altogether - they rig a bomb that triggers a chemical reaction and ignites the Cloud like a funeral pyre that will burn for nearly a decade.

All three make it out before it goes; as deeply distressed as Veronica is by Larkin’s actions, as brutal a confirmation this has been that the woman she liked and loved (as a friend and, in a few precious moments, a little like something more) has gradually become no better than House, no better than Elijah - she doesn’t want her dead. She makes sure her old friend has a fair chance to escape.

Veronica and Christine flee together. Nothing has quite been rekindled between them yet; it’s been such a long time, and so much has happened. They’re quiet and hurting, leaving more things burning in Sierra Madre’s fires than tech and treasures. There’s a strange sense of lightness though, the slow awareness of freedom - from Christine’s vigil over the city of the dead, to Veronica’s dogged loyalty to a cause she’d long lost heart in - and for once the future is a total, enticing mystery.

Larkin limps back alone to New Vegas, humiliated and hating. To have lost a fight she started is a grievous blow to her pride, and the paranoiac edge that can in some ways be traced to the her first encounter with the Sierra Madre is now spiralling after the second - it doesn’t help that both Christine and Veronica are ex-Brotherhood, a group that Larkin has developed an increasingly personal grudge against. She genuinely believes that the fight isn’t finished here, that they’ll return all high and mighty to deny her Vegas as well, and even if they don’t someone else fucking will, there’s always someone who wants what she has.

She might not be wrong.

She will be ready.