True to Caesar

My reflection, dirty mirror. There's no connection to myself. I'm your lover. I'm your zero I'm the face in your dreams of glass.

[ratherxintense]

"Strike at the profligates. Pile body upon body."

This is an independent, single-muse fallout rp blog for Vulpes Inculta of Fallout: New Vegas. Mutuals only. 18+ only. Rules and information can be found on the Carrd.

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Arts and crafts with my mutual! We finally met <3

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[[Primm today. Glad to be here after so many years of wanting to go.]]

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[[happy birthday again to this little gremlin

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[[Are any of you going to the Goodsprings meetup in November? Because I will be there.

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[[Small update, I've booked the trip. I'll be staying in Nipton from the 15th through 17th of November. Will be in Goodsprings during the event on the 16th. Might cosplay.

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[[Are any of you going to the Goodsprings meetup in November? Because I will be there.

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@cicero-the-assassin continued from here.

He had heard the commotion from his tent, and that had been some distance from this wretched little corner of the Fort. Assuming at first that a dispute had broken out among the recruits, he had ignored it in favor of the pre-war book he'd brought back from New Vegas. Only when the first of many screams rang out did he snap the book shut, shrug on his armor, and begin his quick search for one wayward dog.

"Cessa, canem!" Two hands seized Cicero by one shoulder and pulled him free from the latest victim. Pausing for only a few seconds, his gaze swept the surviving legionaries.

"Count yourselves fortunate that I do not allow him to continue. Now go. Mandatum est."

As the men dispersed, Vulpes did not linger, either. A momentary sneer at the bodies on the ground, and then he pulled Cicero along by one arm, leading him back the way Vulpes had come.

"Explain that mess you made," he grumbled as they walked.

[cicero-the-assassin]

The horrific yet uncommon scene unfolds before his very eyes. Cicero had been straddled atop this man- pummeling him with heavy blows to the point he couldn't even hold up his arms anymore to block him. No begging for him to stop, merely the wet thud of bone smashing mush.

Meat for the grinder- blood for Mars. Vulpes faithful servant finding justice amongst the soggy meat and blood upon his knuckles.

He hardly even heard Vulpes' voice, merely content to let him be pulled away, bid to stop. Dragged along through the crowd- questioned with words he cannot hear in his foggy haze.

The world was bright- a soft smile settling upon Cicero's features as he examined the trickling of still wet blood on his hands.

Yet he is quiet, he does not heed his master's call.

His tongue drags one long lap between the fingers of his free hand. Coppery sting zinging straight to his hazy mind.

[ratherxintense]

Vulpes bristled at the sight of Cicero's vacant smile, considering that there may have been no reason at all for the outburst, only the breaking of a mental dam. Vulpes prided himself on predicting others' actions - a vital skill in his line of work. Yet he couldn't fathom the behavior of his own loyal dog, the latent aberrations in his mind that surfaced seemingly at random.

Vulpes' nose scrunched, as if smelling something foul, when Cicero tasted the blood on his hands. Snatching him by the wrist, he glared into Cicero's eyes with undisguised irritation.

"Explain. What caused this?"

[ratherxintense]

Wanted to do a little self-reflection before another birthday rolls around and I feel compelled to write twonny-seven in the spirit of tradition.

Looking back on the years I've spent managing my adult life and this blog. I am shocked every day by how easy life has suddenly become. And I shouldn't really say suddenly because I think that a lot of slow, careful steps and conscious effort led up to the easy life that I'm now experiencing. But It still feels unreal and I am still Constantly asking myself. Why is it so good now? Why did it suck so badly before? In the past I couldn't fully enjoy good times because I immediately started to feel a sort of guilt or dread; that this happiness wasn't deserved and it wouldn't last and I need to constantly anticipate something horrible happening. And I think what makes These days so special is that that part of my mind seems To have evaporated, and I did try very hard to get rid of it. So I suppose I won. And instead of Apprehension, I only feel gratitude. Maybe a little bewilderment but definitely gratitude.

I do think this blog helped me more than I ever thought it could have. I always had people to relate to here and write with who shared my interests. And that was invaluable during the pretty isolating college experience I had, and the pandemic afterwards. I always had fellow writers to cathartically escape with. Of course there were other things that I worked through in order to improve my life, mainly handling my mental health - first with medication and then without medication once I was stable enough. Secondly, I had to make some bold changes to the direction of my career and I am very grateful that those changes have paid off and left me in a place that I enjoy, but don't find completely consuming. Lastly, prioritizing my family and helping them through a difficult chapter allowed us all to emerge on the other side as stronger and better people.

I think about the shit I went through during the last several years and it almost feels as though someone else went through that shit for me, that's how thankful I feel and how different my mind has become. I was tortured by OCD - rumination, intrusive thoughts, constant oppressive feelings of guilt, dread, and panic, one night of genuine psychosis. Now it feels as if those things wouldn't manifest even if I tried to trigger them. I wish my experience overcoming it would serve as a blueprint for others, but I know it's doubtful that what worked for me would necessarily work for anyone else.

All this just to say: I feel like returning to this blog over the years has been surprisingly therapeutic. Not the primary reason I overcame my challenges, but one reason among many for sure. I hope others on here are having similar experiences. If any of you struggle with OCD, I'm here to listen. And thanks to everyone I've had the pleasure of writing with. I'm not going anywhere, just making a little diary entry.

[weltenwellen]

Ilya Kaminsky, from “A City Like a Guillotine Shivers on Its Way to the Neck”, Deaf Republic

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@cicero-the-assassin continued from here.

He had heard the commotion from his tent, and that had been some distance from this wretched little corner of the Fort. Assuming at first that a dispute had broken out among the recruits, he had ignored it in favor of the pre-war book he'd brought back from New Vegas. Only when the first of many screams rang out did he snap the book shut, shrug on his armor, and begin his quick search for one wayward dog.

"Cessa, canem!" Two hands seized Cicero by one shoulder and pulled him free from the latest victim. Pausing for only a few seconds, his gaze swept the surviving legionaries.

"Count yourselves fortunate that I do not allow him to continue. Now go. Mandatum est."

As the men dispersed, Vulpes did not linger, either. A momentary sneer at the bodies on the ground, and then he pulled Cicero along by one arm, leading him back the way Vulpes had come.

"Explain that mess you made," he grumbled as they walked.

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[[like this to pick up an old plot, comment to start plotting something new!

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“Did you do it on purpose?”

“I know you from the news” starters. [[accepting]]

"No." The answer arrived almost before the question was done. "No, I should have kept her with the others."

She was around Vulpes' own age, likely younger, and more gaunt than her fellow troopers, short and hollow-cheeked. When her unit surrendered, she became the fifth capture to be brought east.

The river was so close - a special hell for the enemies of the Legion - and across the campfire that night, Vulpes had watched the shivering figure of the young capture, and remembered the countless cold desert nights with only Vee watching over him.

Without warning, and to the alarm of the others, Vulpes had dragged the girl away. She tripped and struggled and bit his hand, and when they arrived on a distant hill overlooking the highway 95, he shoved her and sent her tumbling down onto the pavement. And watched her dash away.

Gabban would know. And Vulpes knew that he would, although it felt preferable to pretend that he did not. He watched the remaining captures from the open end of his tent, distant enough that he would not be overhead.

"The west is no better place for her," he said, and yet two faint nods followed. A fragile assurance, one that would not survive the dissonance to come.

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“You’re good at what you do. I’ve seen it.” (The seldom praise for your war crimes!)

“I know you from the news” starters. [[accepting]]

He wasn't trying hard enough to sleep, in this half-burnt relic of a hotel room. On his side, eyes wide open, five NCR dogtags still squeezed tightly between his fingers.

"They don't fear us enough." Three of the five had been Cicero's kills, lured away from the profligate camp, picked off, pulled apart. The other two had been returning from a patrol. They did not run from the shadow of the dog-headed man that had ambushed them. Only raised their weapons a mite too slowly.

"We'll wipe their little rat's nest off the map, and leave behind a display for the locals to gawk at." His hand finally unclenched; dogtags clattered on the tiles at his bedside.

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[memesomething]

“I know you from the news” starters

“Hey, you’re that - guy/woman/person, right?”

“Can I ask you a question? About what happened.”

“Were you scared?”

“I looked you up.”

“I didn’t know what to think about you. I thought I’d better meet you in person.”

“You’re good at what you do. I’ve seen it.”

“You’re a [job position], right?”

“I looked you up. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t realize you were, like … a real person.”

“An ‘invasion of privacy’? How?”

“Wow, you were different on TV.”

“Well, you did it in public, though. It’s legal to film people in public.”

“Is the media still following you?”

“What did you do after they stopped reporting about it?”

“Someone said you were on the news?”

“Did you do it on purpose?”

“So your life story’s just… published everywhere.”

“That must be lonely.”

“I didn’t watch it.”

“You were/weren’t overreacting.”

“Would you like my opinion?”

“Your life story isn’t news.”

“I don’t want to pretend I didn’t see it, because I did.”

“How do you like to deal with it? Should I pretend I don’t know?”

“So I found this footage…”

“It just popped up in my feed. I didn’t realise what it was until it was too late.”

“It looked like you really hated the attention.”

“I needed to know what happened so I could feel safe.”

“Did you realize it would be that big when you did it?”

“Don’t you miss it/him/her/them?”

[ratherxintense]

He always overestimated his time away; it gave him room to manage set backs, and he enjoyed watching his agents scramble to reorder themselves, in cases when he returned earlier than expected. Such surprises were useful for testing them.

He could understand Cicero's uncertainty, of course. It wasn't often that Vulpes forced their cooperation without at least some warning.

"Novac makes for a decent stopping point," he answered. "We should arrive there shortly before dawn. It lacks the presence of the NCR, and the locals are oblivious. The only preferable place to wait out the heat of the day would be one of our own safe houses. But this choice is more direct."

He hadn't looked back at Cicero until the gift shop was mentioned, and even then, it was only to sneer at him for a second. His pace accelerated.

"What would you honestly expect to buy from that wretched old junk vendor?"

[cicero-the-assassin]

They were merely stopping there to rest? Cicero wouldn't call Novac 'decent'. Sure it wasn't occupied by NCR, but.. it was such a shithole. And boring too. Plus- that No Bark looks at him a certain way. It's kind of unnerving. Something about how he can see who he really is. It's always concerning to him, yet, no one had come after him yet. So either he told no one what he knew, or he was just so crazy that no one believed him.

But, he supposed if it was just to stop and rest, they'd be out as soon as possible. Perhaps he could sneak and buy a small something or two.

Vulpes glanced to him with no hidden amount of annoyance at the mention of the gift shop. Cicero can't help the grin spreading ever wider upon his face.

"A stuffed Dinky the Dino, duh," He teases idly as they trudge along the sand, "It's kinda like... the whole draw of that hovel. Tourists coming to see the statue. Buy a squeaky toy- pray that the beds don't have bed bugs. That sorta thing."

Plus, there's a Sarsaparilla machine in there he's conveniently not mentioning.

[ratherxintense]

Vulpes just shook his head, only half-listening as they walked. If Cicero was content to waste the money he earned, that was his prerogative. Once the rock that marked their dead drop was within sight, he stopped to listen for any sign of enemies. Sweeping the distant cliffs with a pair of binoculars yielded no distant figures out of place, not even the glint of metal among the rocks. Satisfied, the fox ran to retrieve their supplies: more water, ammunition, civilian clothes, and an unopened Nuka Cola.

"It's as though the others knew you would be here next." He lifted the bottle.