leave a word, set of words, or quote for one of my folks. or leave a comment and i'll respond with a word/words or a quote. (if you're searching for words, you might try this site or this site.)
This city displeases him. It's too cramped, too crowded. Full of gawkers and raucous laughter. The neon lighting offends his eyes. He grits his teeth against the metallic soundscape of the casinos. Meanwhile, while he doesn't condemn the city's ceaseless activities - the gambling, the flagrant sex, the excessive drinking - he cannot approve of them, either, and feels assaulted by their presence. Every object in this city reflects the reasons he stays away from people, from settlements. Every object in this city makes him long for Zion.
And being here, in the Mojave, reminds him too clearly of the monster he had been. The monster he still is, if he doesn't watch himself; how easy it is to fall into old habits, how far he would have fallen if the Courier hadn't intervened.
It's the Courier who brought him here. Sent word that she needed him for a mission, and he'd come. Joshua owes her... Well. For his soul, he doesn't doubt. And perhaps for something more. It seems the Mojave as a whole owes the Courier. It was she who'd ended the war, breaking up the Legion and pushing the NCR back from the city. It was she who'd led the efforts to revivify New Vegas, to make it more accessible to Wastelanders and to make it more attractive to travelers coming from the East. Joshua might not like the city, but at least it's a reminder that good things can grow in the desert, that even in the wake of war regrowth is possible.
It's still hard, almost impossible to believe that the Legion was defeated, though of course it never could have remained without Edward; once he'd gone, there'd been no leader that could hold them firm in all of their absurd beliefs. It had lasted longer than it should have, and while Joshua sometimes tells himself it'd had its positive impacts, he knows the Legion never should have grown in the first place. They should have altered its course, he should have altered its course.
That's all in the past now. Nothing to be done for it. The best he can do is try to make some small amends for what he'd done.
Which is why he's here, sitting in a corner of The Lucky 38, the casino's sounds clattering against his head as he waits for the Courier to appear. He should have insisted on meeting outdoors. Well. He'll make it through these distractions; he's made it through far worse. He's casting his gaze over the room when he feels a tingle along his neck, the sign of someone watching close. It's hardly an unusual sensation here; his story - The Burned Man's story - is too familiar, the Strip-goers too inebriated to withhold their casual scrutiny. Happily, more don't linger long, and no one's been foolish enough to speak to him.
The one, though. This one has not yet looked away, and Joshua turns his attention toward the figure. "Is there something you need?"
The Mojave is a fascinating place. Compared to other places in his travels with Zenigata it seems to have some semblance of pre-war order. Of course there's always complications. Factions fighting against each other, roving gangs that are always ready to steal or beat you bloody for whatever is on you.
On the road, these rules never change, nor do the legends and tall tales told by campfire to strangers or whispered about on trade routes. There's the rumors about Courier Six, The Legend of the Burned Man, The Tales of the One Eyed Wanderess, The Witch of the Mojave, and many more.
But Oscar is amazed at the crown jewel of the Mojave, New Vegas. Electricity works, a lot of the buildings are still there and it's one of the few places wholly dedicated not to mere survival but to actual pleasure. Even though he doesn't understand a lot of it and he came alone, without Zenigata. He can't guide him in this city filled with Vice. The neon screams at him, the drunks sort of scare him, he doesn't wish to take his chances at the gambling and he gets offers from prostitutes and just sexually loose people on the street. (Some want payment, others don't.) He gets nervous in cities and it's even worse in New Vegas. Without the anchor of Zenigata's presence, everything is too much.
He goes into The Lucky 38 and... it doesn't help much, but maybe he could find a room to relax in and take a breath. He soon notices a man sitting in the corner of the room, all covered in bandages. It takes only a little while out who he is...
The figure has managed to put down his gray kerchief he often wears about his mouth, but he keeps his large sun hat on. His face is delicately carved for a man, could almost be mistaken for a woman from far away. It isn't often one sees those sort of features in the wasteland. His blue eyes with long, long lashes are wide in wonder at just who is in front of him.
But hadn't he brought this on himself? This, and every other aggravation. It isn't the boy's fault that he stares; even without the legend, a man wrapped head-to-toe in bandages is going to attract attention. Especially here in Vegas, where everything's a spectacle and everyone's seeking entertainment. The entire atmosphere makes Joshua's skin prickle. Who, after all, would want to remain in this place?
Joshua doesn't fault the boy for speaking, either. It's one more step than most others would take, and he's only saying what they're thinking. It's all a game of observation for most of them. For this child... Hard to say. There may be something different in his expression. Right now, Joshua's not interested enough to look too too close.
"I am." He looks back at the boy, gaze unmoving. The boy cuts a figure unusual for the Mojave, even for New Vegas. Could be in from the East; this city's has been drawing even more wanderers since the Courier took over. In any case, the boy certainly doesn't look like a threat (most people aren't, not in here, not to him), nor as if he bears ill will. His is merely (is it?) the look of a young man meeting a legend.
It doesn't hurt to be civil to the boy, though there's no discernible warmth when Joshua speaks again. "Is there something I can help you with?"
Soon enough, Joshua will be free of these encounters and on his way back to Zion. Assuming the Courier isn't planning otherwise, and even then, it'll take a lot of convincing for Joshua to stay.
He is taken out his reverie and in the aftermath Oscar is clearly embarrassed. Living legend or not you just don't stare at a person like that. That is a good way to die or get beat bloody no matter where you are. Zenigata would scold him about it if he was here. So Oscar feels the need to apologize.
"No I don't. I'm sorry for looking at you like that. It was rude." His voice surely doesn't sound like he's from the Mojave or any of the surrounding areas. It's a clean almost book-learned English, with the trace of something foreign to most people in the desert. He's traveled a long way.
You don't expect to come to a major city only to be greeted by an actual Legend in the tales. He almost wants to ask him if the stories are true or it's all coincidence but keeps his curiosity on a leash for now.
Most wouldn't even think to offer an apology, and the boy does seem contrite. Joshua feels himself soften slightly. This is just a boy - a boy who has almost certainly traveled far - and a boy with no mind toward trouble. His horrified expression, his words tell as much.
The boy's voice is noteworthy, touched with an accent Joshua can't pinpoint. There's something of the old world to it, something of sounds that gathered dust for years. He's heard something of its kind before, but that was years ago, amid so many other meetings. Perhaps if he hears more, he'll put the pieces together.
"We all stray from time to time. And I appreciate your contrition."
He watches the boy for another moment. "What is your name, child?"
Child, a lot of people call him 'kid' even though he's twenty-two (and that can't really be helped, he just has a reedy body for a man) but that... that just sounds more intimate for some reason. He doesn't bother to correct Joshua because it just feels... right. The word and giving him respect, the man just has a voice and a presence that doesn't demand respect like so many do, it simply comes in response to him. It's a little strange, to be honest.
"Oscar... Oscar Douxange." Normally he would call himself 'Oscar Zenigata' after his traveling partner and adopted Father, but he isn't here and doesn't want to use his name right now. He doesn't remember his surname when Zenigata found him, so he made up a surname based off his Mother's pet name for him. Most people in the Mojave think it's something fancy with no one the wiser.
Though he doesn't encounter a vast variety of languages these days and his work's focus is in other directions, Joshua retains much of his linguistic knowledge, his training and work as a translator. "Douxange." The boy's surname - from the French, he thinks, or some variant - is unusual, but the wastes are full of those. Names people have made for themselves or names that have been jumbled over generations. He half-wonders what the case is with this boy, but it isn't a question to ask now.
Joshua gives the room a quick but thorough survey, seeking the Courier, seeking signs of threat; he finds neither. Well. For the time being, it can't hurt to continue speaking with this boy. Something about him - the instinct to apologize, a sort of raptness, the set of his shoulders (the boy looks frail, but coiled, capable) - makes conversation not entirely unpleasant. And Joshua does try to speak with those who wish to talk, who have something to give voice to. This boy hasn't yet run; perhaps there is something he wishes to say.
"Are you from around here?" Of course not, but at times it does no good to speak assumptions.
It's rare that Oscar gets to run into someone that knows language like him and Zenigata and probably knows a bunch he doesn't. (He doesn't know about Zenigata though, he's been on the road before he was even born.) He has the vague feeling the surname he gave isn't convincing The Burned Man but he ignores it.
He normally doesn't go around spilling details of his life to strangers he's just met in casino lobbies (and Zenigata doesn't recommend that sort of thing either), but for some reason he's fine with telling Joshua.
He shakes his head. "No, not at all. I'm from out east. Not far east, but very far way from here. I was born in a small settlement in Louisiana, or the the locals call it: Louis." That old accent of his that was in the background comes out in full force with that word. "I wasn't there for long, I've been on the road since I was eight."
Ah. That would explain the accent. It's also more information than Joshua had asked for, but he doesn't mind, and he's only mildly surprised that so much was given. People will speak as they like, and Joshua's always had a talent both both drawing candid confessions out of people and for freezing them to solid silence.
"A long road, indeed. And here you are in the Mojave." There are a thousand reasons a boy might journey to the place, but the questions seems too personal, and Joshua waves it aside.
There's a wry tint to his voice when he speaks again. "How do you find the city?"
Joshua hadn't intended to pose so many questions; it's just a way of making conversation, and a habit of finding out all he can about the people he encounters. Never know when the information might prove useful, or help to save your life (or their own).
"I guess wandering's in my blood." Or rather Zenigata's. On occasion Oscar does wonder what it would be like if he stayed in one place for more than a couple weeks. But he dismisses it. The home of his birth is probably a burned wreck, and he thinks that no place would accept a person like... him. So flawed, so defective as a wastelander. When he and Zenigata split, Oscar may have sobbed the entire way to the next town.
He cut out the one person that accepted him, even if sometimes he doesn't understand him. All because he lost control...
In response to Joshua's question... "You want me to be honest? It's crowded, and it makes me nervous. I never really liked cities. Plus New Vegas is filled with things I don't understand and sometimes I don't want to."
There has never been a shortage of wanderers in the Mojave. Joshua understands the impulse - a joy in the possibility that lies ahead, a fondness for meeting new sights, an inability to call any place one place home - and had felt it himself for years. Or had felt something similar: an ungroundedness, a feeling of existing most clearly in movement. When he reached Zion, that feeling finally flickered away. Had been draining bit by bit since he was accepted in New Canaan, and finally (mostly) left him. Finally allowed him to feel that he had found a home.
His voices softens almost imperceptibly, a shift few might register, a shift that almost, almost suggests the edge of a smile. “Your feelings match my own. I dwell outside of any city of major settlement, and have grown unused to so much company. I’m told this city has its uses, but it isn’t for everyone.
“You may sit, if you’d like.” He gestures toward the chair across the table. The Courier still hasn’t arrived, after all, and it’s unkind to make the boy stand under a barrage of questions.
It's truly something strange for a Living (and still very much feared) Legend being nice to a relative stranger and offering him a chair to sit in. But Oscar takes the chair, it's rare for him to have a good conversation with someone he's just met.
"It's very good for trade, which I'm here for. But aside from that I really don't know how to spend my time here. Some wanderer am I, I'm a stick in the mud."
And he doesn't know where to go after this, stay West to California like Zenigata planned? Go east to Utah? Maybe go further north? He doesn't know... he doesn't know.
He's been watching the boy for three weeks now. He's been watching, gathering information, and his Whalers have been watching. Their continued interest in the boy depends on Daud's opinion, but he likes to hear the input and observations of others, as well. Sometimes they'll catch a sign he hasn't noted, or they'll find the link to understand some piece of a potential recruit. His judgment is what counts in the end, but he's not about to neglect their talent, especially since they'll all need to live and work with the new candidate.
There's also the matter of safety, of course. The more eyes Daud has on a candidate, the better the chance of discerning whether they might turn on the group, whether they might pose any kind of danger. He once had to end a young man who accepted the offer, only to attack Thomas and start shouting about going to the authorities. That was it, though; Daud's been pulling young men and women from the streets for years now to form his gang of Whalers, and aside from that young man, there have been no upsets.
Truth is, there have been questions about this new boy. Oscar. Questions about whether it's too late, whether what he went through so recently has left him unsuited for their group, maybe unsuited for anybody. Billie in particular has questioned Daud over and again about whether the boy is the right fit. He's too much of a risk, she'd said, there's too much anger and we can't say where it'll come out.
The objections were legitimate, yes. But the boy has talent. But he could be great. Maybe not quite at Billie's level (maybe?) but certainly close. And as soon as Bridge had let him to the candidate, Daud had seen the potential. There's a deep resilience to him. A capacity for doing what others might consider immoral (really, it's only business, one way to make a living in a corrupt city). If stories are correct, the boy's shown a strong streak of loyalty in the past. And it doesn't hurt that he appears to be a lone. Thoroughly, utterly alone.
Still. The potential in the young man is too much to pass by, and the early evening finds him tailing the boy. (There are questions to be asked about why he's flaunting warning signs. Of course it could turn out all right, but it also might now. There are questions to be asked about why his own behavior has been erratic of late. Questions about why it's becoming harder and harder to hold any sense of what's best for the Whalers, for himself, for Dunwall. He doesn't want to dwell on any of those questions.) Slipping across rooftops and balconies, Daud follows Oscar to a near-deserted section of dockyard. It's here that he finally moves down to the street, landing several yards behind Oscar, scarcely making a sound.
"Oscar. I'd like to speak with you."
If the boy recognizes him - from the wanted posters plastered around Dunwall, from stories and descriptions (the scar alone is a major giveaway) - fine. If not, Daud will introduce himself when he feels the time is right.
such a long time, but I didn't want to half ass this tag
You do many things for survival on the streets of Dunwall, and Oscar has taken to (ironically enough) stealing from the wealthy and even a few thieves in order to make due. (There's also the matter of some of them being dead in their own hideouts, some of which are messy as hell, but Oscar mostly attributes that to self-defense and not any seething hatred toward thieves in general. He may be lying.)
Of all the shady, quite frankly questionable organizations that have contacted him either with outright threats or requests to join them because a former high ranking member of the police who once had the ear of one of their greatest, near incorruptible enemies is valuable, (but honestly, Oscar would tell them all unless they are certain thieves he doesn't really give two shits about them) the Whalers are... unique. They don't seem to care about his past, or what he did before he was on the street. All that seems to matter to them, is the present and how he performs there.
But they deal in blood, and lots of important people in Dunwall have been dispatched by them. Granted, many of them deserve it. If he knew he'd have the company of assassins off vengeful, obsessive, out of spite 'visits' to that woman's hideouts just to pettily steal some things (and secretly hope she's there just so he can let out his bottomless, acidic rage out on her, but she never is) he would've left well enough alone. Still, he doesn't really object to the assassins following him and watching him. They have a sort of grace to them that he envies a bit.
They tell him they have been watching him, and who in their right mind in this city tells the large band of assassins with powers to fuck off? Still, he's a bit wary. Are they here for business, information, did she pay them to kill him? He doesn't really know. So he remains careful.
On this night, he's sort of sure he's being followed by them, it's why he's cornered in dockyard fully expected one of them to come out and tell him something... but this one looks different. No mask, but his face is known throughout the city. The founder and leader of the Whalers, The Knife Of Dunwall himself: Daud.
Either he wants him for something important... or he's going to die. Either way, you don't refuse this man.
Daud isn’t surprised to find that Oscar stands unflinching. The ‘sir’ surprises him, would elicit the hint of a smirk if Daud didn’t keep his expressions so regulated.
“You know who I am. Good.”
And he knows about the boy. Knows the blood he’s shed, the way the boy’s been murdering thieves, and the hatred he carries for them (despite the theft Oscar himself commits; Daud’s seen it, as have several of the Whalers). He knows there’s rage in the boy.
And what of that? If the boy’s a potential danger - and if he is, it’s no dire threat he poses - it’s better to have him close than let him run untethered. (Best of all to have him dead, Lurk would have pointed out. Has pointed out. She’s watching somewhere nearby, now. Out of sight and too careful to be caught, but he has no doubt she’s followed him here.)
Should the boy join the Whalers, he’ll be kept under watch by a rotating trio of assassins. It’s standard protocol for new recruits; what alters from one to the next is the number of guards and the number of weeks they remain on watch. There won’t be trouble from the boy. Daud’s sure of it. (Mostly sure of it, though he’s not about to admit that doubt to himself.)
Besides, what matters to Daud is the way the boy exists. The will toward survival that he demonstrates. The skills he so clearly possesses. There’s something in this boy that might be of use. Something to be done with his talents that doesn’t mean simply burning out in the streets or winding up gunned down by the City Watch.
“I've been watching you. I know what happened to you. How you were abandoned.
“There isn’t much left for you in Dunwall, is there?”
"Everyone that lives in this city knows who you are."
If Oscar knew about Billie's thoughts about him, he wouldn't blame her. His actions towards the thieves of Dunwall (and others of the underworld, those haven't even been reported because they aren't important enough) don't really have a reason behind it besides pure and utter malice and hatred of them on Oscar's part. (Unless one does the research and knows the actual truth to the relationship he had with his former superior. Then it makes a little sense... merciless, vicious, borderline crazy sense. But sense nonetheless.)
It isn't Oscar without a fair amount of hypocrisy on part of his actions. (It also isn't him if he doesn't really give a shit about it.) These were now empty hideouts with treasures and money inside... he doesn't wish to be on the streets again fulltime. (To him, it's only fair.)
Still, he is aware that he can't do this forever and will get caught eventually, left with an addiction and a bit of a broken mind. Just... not this soon (that wicked, awful whore of a woman still takes breath) and by them. His suspicion only grows in his head, but he doesn't show it.
"What do want me for? Or rather... who ordered you to find me?"
He's made even more enemies since then... he wishes he could care anymore.
Well as he knows his own infamy, it’s still flattering to hear.
Though Daud doesn't know every detail bound up in Oscar's reasons, he's been thorough enough in researching the boy to make some strong guesses. And even before that research, he'd sensed a purpose driving the boy's actions. Maybe the boy doesn't know what it is, maybe the purpose is corrupt, largely drawn by hatred, but there is a purpose there, Daud's certain of it. Recognizes it the way he knows his own drive, his singleness of pursuit. So long as there's a purpose, even the most reckless-seeming people can be reasoned with, their purposes brought into the open and dealt with.
"Don't presume too far, boy." Daud folds his arms, expression impassive.
"You may have garnered some attention, but no one's paid to have you killed." Not so far as Daud knows. It's possible that someone's requested it. Possible that someone's contacted Daud about a contract, that the letter's sitting on his desk along with all of his other unopened correspondence. He'll have to take a look, burn anything that might mention the boy's name. There's no good in giving him reason to mistrust the Whalers. (He'll have to deal with those contracts, too. Have to take on one or two to keep his Whalers from asking questions. He can't put it off interminably.)
For several moments he watches the boy, silently scanning him. It's true Oscar appears unassuming, but there's capability in him, and speed. "You have talent. A determination that could do you credit, with training.
"Good." Oscar's response is one half relief, another half uncertainly at Daud and The Whaler's reasoning. He was a former member of police, a group of assassins shouldn't want anything to do with him. But they are speaking to him, asking him to join... but why?
He doesn't quite know how to ask without getting a generic answer. Surely the group of assassin's that practically are the shadows in Dunwall have some scruples, right? Right?
"'Talent' doesn't drown out the past or the risks that come with it, you should know that." Talent doesn't stop you from failing, becoming corrupt with a scrambled brain and nursing limitless amounts of anger.
"I'm not interested in what you think I should know." There's a warning edge to his voice, though it's restrained, only the slightest ripple against nonchalance. It goes without saying that he understands those risks. (Understands, yes, but has he moved past bare understanding in this case? Has he listened to any of the warning bells this boy sets off? He shouldn't be standing here, but never mind that. He knows what he's doing. He knows.) He tells himself they don't weigh so heavily in this case. Tells himself the boy could be a Whaler worth the risk. (Only that's wrong, too. Daud's never been a man to take unnecessary risks. There's nothing that can justify this. Maybe. Maybe.)
"Every one of my assassins carries their past like a wound. Don't think you're the only risk I've taken."
It's so easy to say (never mind the warning twinge at the back of his neck). He speaks and holds himself with confidence. Never mind that there's a difference between a carefully calculated risk and a knowingly dangerous leap. Never mind that he has plenty of assassins as it is, that this new recruit is perhaps uncalled-for as well as potentially perilous.
"You'll be watched around the clock. Your actions monitored and reported to me. I don't intend to let you roam free until you've proven yourself."
The man is very matter of fact about the fact he wants him to join. Almost too much, as if he's somewhat trying to tell himself this is a good risk to take. But Oscar holds his tongue in front of the leader.
After explaining he'll be watched, Oscar sees it even more as a sign he could be unsure. After all, why keep such a close watch on him?
"I assume you do that to everyone that recently joins the fold?" The unspoken part hangs in the air: "Or is it because I'm a risk?"
What Daud knows is that this boy ought to be a Whaler. That he has talent and nowhere else to take it. That whether or not a new recruit is necessary, he'll be a sign that Daud's still planning for the future of the gang. That everything isn't falling to pieces.
He also knows - is finding out all too well - that this boy's audacious, challenge after challenge written clearly in his voice. He appears to have no qualms against questioning the man who's offering work, the man whose name is known throughout the city, the man who could cut the boy's throat in an instant.
There's something admirable in that brazenness. (Something worrisome, as well. But Daud's gathered recruits with similar attitudes. But Oscar isn't the first to pose questions. And Daud would rather gather assassins-to-be who bear a mind of their own, who can think - but not act without need - beyond the bare instructions.)
"You assume correctly." There's a hint of a sneer, though his gaze remains unmoved. "And you're no unique case. We could use your talent, but we can also do without it.
"Your options are more limited." His voice is back to its level tone, the final statement more an observation than anything else.
Admittedly he feels a bit (if foolishly) bold. Maybe dying in an alley with his throat slit by the assassin of Dunwall isn't a bad way to die. But he's not doing to go out merely accepting whatever he gives him. (Or maybe he's just feeling reckless. Thieves speak about him like a faceless destructive force of nature. He is not afraid of talking back to the Wolf of Dunwall. He's afraid of few things anymore.)
But then he has to remind him of an obvious thing: he can't do what he's doing forever. And Oscar becomes a bit sheepish. "I know."
There. There, at last, the boy's admitting to reason. Which suggests he isn't so foolhardy or frenzied as rumors - and as some of Daud's Whalers - would imply. (It doesn't suggest anything of the sort, really. It'd taken too long to coax the boy to this point. Had taken the unrelenting words of a master assassin to draw out a simple 'I know.' Well, so the boy's prideful. Fearless. It might not be ideal, but Daud can work with it. He tells himself.) Daud continues to watch Oscar for several long moments, letting the boy's admission hang in the air.
You just caught him at the right (and lucid) time, Daud. Honestly he's just trapped in a corner with nowhere to go and nothing to protect himself. So of course, he will agree to whatever Daud asks for.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Oscar | Lupin The 3rd | OTA | yolo
have one crispy man who does not want to be here
And being here, in the Mojave, reminds him too clearly of the monster he had been. The monster he still is, if he doesn't watch himself; how easy it is to fall into old habits, how far he would have fallen if the Courier hadn't intervened.
It's the Courier who brought him here. Sent word that she needed him for a mission, and he'd come. Joshua owes her... Well. For his soul, he doesn't doubt. And perhaps for something more. It seems the Mojave as a whole owes the Courier. It was she who'd ended the war, breaking up the Legion and pushing the NCR back from the city. It was she who'd led the efforts to revivify New Vegas, to make it more accessible to Wastelanders and to make it more attractive to travelers coming from the East. Joshua might not like the city, but at least it's a reminder that good things can grow in the desert, that even in the wake of war regrowth is possible.
It's still hard, almost impossible to believe that the Legion was defeated, though of course it never could have remained without Edward; once he'd gone, there'd been no leader that could hold them firm in all of their absurd beliefs. It had lasted longer than it should have, and while Joshua sometimes tells himself it'd had its positive impacts, he knows the Legion never should have grown in the first place. They should have altered its course, he should have altered its course.
That's all in the past now. Nothing to be done for it. The best he can do is try to make some small amends for what he'd done.
Which is why he's here, sitting in a corner of The Lucky 38, the casino's sounds clattering against his head as he waits for the Courier to appear. He should have insisted on meeting outdoors. Well. He'll make it through these distractions; he's made it through far worse. He's casting his gaze over the room when he feels a tingle along his neck, the sign of someone watching close. It's hardly an unusual sensation here; his story - The Burned Man's story - is too familiar, the Strip-goers too inebriated to withhold their casual scrutiny. Happily, more don't linger long, and no one's been foolish enough to speak to him.
The one, though. This one has not yet looked away, and Joshua turns his attention toward the figure. "Is there something you need?"
no subject
On the road, these rules never change, nor do the legends and tall tales told by campfire to strangers or whispered about on trade routes. There's the rumors about Courier Six, The Legend of the Burned Man, The Tales of the One Eyed Wanderess, The Witch of the Mojave, and many more.
But Oscar is amazed at the crown jewel of the Mojave, New Vegas. Electricity works, a lot of the buildings are still there and it's one of the few places wholly dedicated not to mere survival but to actual pleasure. Even though he doesn't understand a lot of it and he came alone, without Zenigata. He can't guide him in this city filled with Vice. The neon screams at him, the drunks sort of scare him, he doesn't wish to take his chances at the gambling and he gets offers from prostitutes and just sexually loose people on the street. (Some want payment, others don't.) He gets nervous in cities and it's even worse in New Vegas. Without the anchor of Zenigata's presence, everything is too much.
He goes into The Lucky 38 and... it doesn't help much, but maybe he could find a room to relax in and take a breath. He soon notices a man sitting in the corner of the room, all covered in bandages. It takes only a little while out who he is...
The figure has managed to put down his gray kerchief he often wears about his mouth, but he keeps his large sun hat on. His face is delicately carved for a man, could almost be mistaken for a woman from far away. It isn't often one sees those sort of features in the wasteland. His blue eyes with long, long lashes are wide in wonder at just who is in front of him.
"You're The Burned Man, Joshua Graham..."
He thought he was just a legend.
no subject
But hadn't he brought this on himself? This, and every other aggravation. It isn't the boy's fault that he stares; even without the legend, a man wrapped head-to-toe in bandages is going to attract attention. Especially here in Vegas, where everything's a spectacle and everyone's seeking entertainment. The entire atmosphere makes Joshua's skin prickle. Who, after all, would want to remain in this place?
Joshua doesn't fault the boy for speaking, either. It's one more step than most others would take, and he's only saying what they're thinking. It's all a game of observation for most of them. For this child... Hard to say. There may be something different in his expression. Right now, Joshua's not interested enough to look too too close.
"I am." He looks back at the boy, gaze unmoving. The boy cuts a figure unusual for the Mojave, even for New Vegas. Could be in from the East; this city's has been drawing even more wanderers since the Courier took over. In any case, the boy certainly doesn't look like a threat (most people aren't, not in here, not to him), nor as if he bears ill will. His is merely (is it?) the look of a young man meeting a legend.
It doesn't hurt to be civil to the boy, though there's no discernible warmth when Joshua speaks again. "Is there something I can help you with?"
Soon enough, Joshua will be free of these encounters and on his way back to Zion. Assuming the Courier isn't planning otherwise, and even then, it'll take a lot of convincing for Joshua to stay.
no subject
"No I don't. I'm sorry for looking at you like that. It was rude." His voice surely doesn't sound like he's from the Mojave or any of the surrounding areas. It's a clean almost book-learned English, with the trace of something foreign to most people in the desert. He's traveled a long way.
You don't expect to come to a major city only to be greeted by an actual Legend in the tales. He almost wants to ask him if the stories are true or it's all coincidence but keeps his curiosity on a leash for now.
no subject
The boy's voice is noteworthy, touched with an accent Joshua can't pinpoint. There's something of the old world to it, something of sounds that gathered dust for years. He's heard something of its kind before, but that was years ago, amid so many other meetings. Perhaps if he hears more, he'll put the pieces together.
"We all stray from time to time. And I appreciate your contrition."
He watches the boy for another moment. "What is your name, child?"
no subject
"Oscar... Oscar Douxange." Normally he would call himself 'Oscar Zenigata' after his traveling partner and adopted Father, but he isn't here and doesn't want to use his name right now. He doesn't remember his surname when Zenigata found him, so he made up a surname based off his Mother's pet name for him. Most people in the Mojave think it's something fancy with no one the wiser.
no subject
Joshua gives the room a quick but thorough survey, seeking the Courier, seeking signs of threat; he finds neither. Well. For the time being, it can't hurt to continue speaking with this boy. Something about him - the instinct to apologize, a sort of raptness, the set of his shoulders (the boy looks frail, but coiled, capable) - makes conversation not entirely unpleasant. And Joshua does try to speak with those who wish to talk, who have something to give voice to. This boy hasn't yet run; perhaps there is something he wishes to say.
"Are you from around here?" Of course not, but at times it does no good to speak assumptions.
no subject
He normally doesn't go around spilling details of his life to strangers he's just met in casino lobbies (and Zenigata doesn't recommend that sort of thing either), but for some reason he's fine with telling Joshua.
He shakes his head. "No, not at all. I'm from out east. Not far east, but very far way from here. I was born in a small settlement in Louisiana, or the the locals call it: Louis." That old accent of his that was in the background comes out in full force with that word. "I wasn't there for long, I've been on the road since I was eight."
no subject
"A long road, indeed. And here you are in the Mojave." There are a thousand reasons a boy might journey to the place, but the questions seems too personal, and Joshua waves it aside.
There's a wry tint to his voice when he speaks again. "How do you find the city?"
Joshua hadn't intended to pose so many questions; it's just a way of making conversation, and a habit of finding out all he can about the people he encounters. Never know when the information might prove useful, or help to save your life (or their own).
no subject
He cut out the one person that accepted him, even if sometimes he doesn't understand him. All because he lost control...
In response to Joshua's question... "You want me to be honest? It's crowded, and it makes me nervous. I never really liked cities. Plus New Vegas is filled with things I don't understand and sometimes I don't want to."
no subject
His voices softens almost imperceptibly, a shift few might register, a shift that almost, almost suggests the edge of a smile. “Your feelings match my own. I dwell outside of any city of major settlement, and have grown unused to so much company. I’m told this city has its uses, but it isn’t for everyone.
“You may sit, if you’d like.” He gestures toward the chair across the table. The Courier still hasn’t arrived, after all, and it’s unkind to make the boy stand under a barrage of questions.
no subject
"It's very good for trade, which I'm here for. But aside from that I really don't know how to spend my time here. Some wanderer am I, I'm a stick in the mud."
And he doesn't know where to go after this, stay West to California like Zenigata planned? Go east to Utah? Maybe go further north? He doesn't know... he doesn't know.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
you know what have this fucker too (let me know if this ought to be edited)
There's also the matter of safety, of course. The more eyes Daud has on a candidate, the better the chance of discerning whether they might turn on the group, whether they might pose any kind of danger. He once had to end a young man who accepted the offer, only to attack Thomas and start shouting about going to the authorities. That was it, though; Daud's been pulling young men and women from the streets for years now to form his gang of Whalers, and aside from that young man, there have been no upsets.
Truth is, there have been questions about this new boy. Oscar. Questions about whether it's too late, whether what he went through so recently has left him unsuited for their group, maybe unsuited for anybody. Billie in particular has questioned Daud over and again about whether the boy is the right fit. He's too much of a risk, she'd said, there's too much anger and we can't say where it'll come out.
The objections were legitimate, yes. But the boy has talent. But he could be great. Maybe not quite at Billie's level (maybe?) but certainly close. And as soon as Bridge had let him to the candidate, Daud had seen the potential. There's a deep resilience to him. A capacity for doing what others might consider immoral (really, it's only business, one way to make a living in a corrupt city). If stories are correct, the boy's shown a strong streak of loyalty in the past. And it doesn't hurt that he appears to be a lone. Thoroughly, utterly alone.
Still. The potential in the young man is too much to pass by, and the early evening finds him tailing the boy. (There are questions to be asked about why he's flaunting warning signs. Of course it could turn out all right, but it also might now. There are questions to be asked about why his own behavior has been erratic of late. Questions about why it's becoming harder and harder to hold any sense of what's best for the Whalers, for himself, for Dunwall. He doesn't want to dwell on any of those questions.) Slipping across rooftops and balconies, Daud follows Oscar to a near-deserted section of dockyard. It's here that he finally moves down to the street, landing several yards behind Oscar, scarcely making a sound.
"Oscar. I'd like to speak with you."
If the boy recognizes him - from the wanted posters plastered around Dunwall, from stories and descriptions (the scar alone is a major giveaway) - fine. If not, Daud will introduce himself when he feels the time is right.
such a long time, but I didn't want to half ass this tag
Of all the shady, quite frankly questionable organizations that have contacted him either with outright threats or requests to join them because a former high ranking member of the police who once had the ear of one of their greatest, near incorruptible enemies is valuable, (but honestly, Oscar would tell them all unless they are certain thieves he doesn't really give two shits about them) the Whalers are... unique. They don't seem to care about his past, or what he did before he was on the street. All that seems to matter to them, is the present and how he performs there.
But they deal in blood, and lots of important people in Dunwall have been dispatched by them. Granted, many of them deserve it. If he knew he'd have the company of assassins off vengeful, obsessive, out of spite 'visits' to that woman's hideouts just to pettily steal some things (and secretly hope she's there just so he can let out his bottomless, acidic rage out on her, but she never is) he would've left well enough alone. Still, he doesn't really object to the assassins following him and watching him. They have a sort of grace to them that he envies a bit.
They tell him they have been watching him, and who in their right mind in this city tells the large band of assassins with powers to fuck off? Still, he's a bit wary. Are they here for business, information,
did she pay them to kill him? He doesn't really know. So he remains careful.On this night, he's sort of sure he's being followed by them, it's why he's cornered in dockyard fully expected one of them to come out and tell him something... but this one looks different. No mask, but his face is known throughout the city. The founder and leader of the Whalers, The Knife Of Dunwall himself: Daud.
Either he wants him for something important... or he's going to die. Either way, you don't refuse this man.
"Of course. What is it, Sir?"
Be respectful, it might save his life.
<3 <3 <3 <3
Daud isn’t surprised to find that Oscar stands unflinching. The ‘sir’ surprises him, would elicit the hint of a smirk if Daud didn’t keep his expressions so regulated.
“You know who I am. Good.”
And he knows about the boy. Knows the blood he’s shed, the way the boy’s been murdering thieves, and the hatred he carries for them (despite the theft Oscar himself commits; Daud’s seen it, as have several of the Whalers). He knows there’s rage in the boy.
And what of that? If the boy’s a potential danger - and if he is, it’s no dire threat he poses - it’s better to have him close than let him run untethered. (Best of all to have him dead, Lurk would have pointed out. Has pointed out. She’s watching somewhere nearby, now. Out of sight and too careful to be caught, but he has no doubt she’s followed him here.)
Should the boy join the Whalers, he’ll be kept under watch by a rotating trio of assassins. It’s standard protocol for new recruits; what alters from one to the next is the number of guards and the number of weeks they remain on watch. There won’t be trouble from the boy. Daud’s sure of it. (Mostly sure of it, though he’s not about to admit that doubt to himself.)
Besides, what matters to Daud is the way the boy exists. The will toward survival that he demonstrates. The skills he so clearly possesses. There’s something in this boy that might be of use. Something to be done with his talents that doesn’t mean simply burning out in the streets or winding up gunned down by the City Watch.
“I've been watching you. I know what happened to you. How you were abandoned.
“There isn’t much left for you in Dunwall, is there?”
no subject
If Oscar knew about Billie's thoughts about him, he wouldn't blame her. His actions towards the thieves of Dunwall (and others of the underworld, those haven't even been reported because they aren't important enough) don't really have a reason behind it besides pure and utter malice and hatred of them on Oscar's part. (Unless one does the research and knows the actual truth to the relationship he had with his former superior. Then it makes a little sense... merciless, vicious, borderline crazy sense. But sense nonetheless.)
It isn't Oscar without a fair amount of hypocrisy on part of his actions. (It also isn't him if he doesn't really give a shit about it.) These were now empty hideouts with treasures and money inside... he doesn't wish to be on the streets again fulltime. (To him, it's only fair.)
Still, he is aware that he can't do this forever and will get caught eventually, left with an addiction and a bit of a broken mind. Just... not this soon (that wicked, awful whore of a woman still takes breath) and by them. His suspicion only grows in his head, but he doesn't show it.
"What do want me for? Or rather... who ordered you to find me?"
He's made even more enemies since then... he wishes he could care anymore.
no subject
Though Daud doesn't know every detail bound up in Oscar's reasons, he's been thorough enough in researching the boy to make some strong guesses. And even before that research, he'd sensed a purpose driving the boy's actions. Maybe the boy doesn't know what it is, maybe the purpose is corrupt, largely drawn by hatred, but there is a purpose there, Daud's certain of it. Recognizes it the way he knows his own drive, his singleness of pursuit. So long as there's a purpose, even the most reckless-seeming people can be reasoned with, their purposes brought into the open and dealt with.
"Don't presume too far, boy." Daud folds his arms, expression impassive.
"You may have garnered some attention, but no one's paid to have you killed." Not so far as Daud knows. It's possible that someone's requested it. Possible that someone's contacted Daud about a contract, that the letter's sitting on his desk along with all of his other unopened correspondence. He'll have to take a look, burn anything that might mention the boy's name. There's no good in giving him reason to mistrust the Whalers. (He'll have to deal with those contracts, too. Have to take on one or two to keep his Whalers from asking questions. He can't put it off interminably.)
For several moments he watches the boy, silently scanning him. It's true Oscar appears unassuming, but there's capability in him, and speed. "You have talent. A determination that could do you credit, with training.
"We may have a place for you."
no subject
He doesn't quite know how to ask without getting a generic answer. Surely the group of assassin's that practically are the shadows in Dunwall have some scruples, right? Right?
"'Talent' doesn't drown out the past or the risks that come with it, you should know that." Talent doesn't stop you from failing, becoming corrupt with a scrambled brain and nursing limitless amounts of anger.
no subject
"Every one of my assassins carries their past like a wound. Don't think you're the only risk I've taken."
It's so easy to say (never mind the warning twinge at the back of his neck). He speaks and holds himself with confidence. Never mind that there's a difference between a carefully calculated risk and a knowingly dangerous leap. Never mind that he has plenty of assassins as it is, that this new recruit is perhaps uncalled-for as well as potentially perilous.
"You'll be watched around the clock. Your actions monitored and reported to me. I don't intend to let you roam free until you've proven yourself."
no subject
After explaining he'll be watched, Oscar sees it even more as a sign he could be unsure. After all, why keep such a close watch on him?
"I assume you do that to everyone that recently joins the fold?" The unspoken part hangs in the air: "Or is it because I'm a risk?"
no subject
He also knows - is finding out all too well - that this boy's audacious, challenge after challenge written clearly in his voice. He appears to have no qualms against questioning the man who's offering work, the man whose name is known throughout the city, the man who could cut the boy's throat in an instant.
There's something admirable in that brazenness. (Something worrisome, as well. But Daud's gathered recruits with similar attitudes. But Oscar isn't the first to pose questions. And Daud would rather gather assassins-to-be who bear a mind of their own, who can think - but not act without need - beyond the bare instructions.)
"You assume correctly." There's a hint of a sneer, though his gaze remains unmoved. "And you're no unique case. We could use your talent, but we can also do without it.
"Your options are more limited." His voice is back to its level tone, the final statement more an observation than anything else.
no subject
But then he has to remind him of an obvious thing: he can't do what he's doing forever. And Oscar becomes a bit sheepish. "I know."
How did he manage to get himself into this?
no subject
"Well."
What'll it be, boy?
no subject
"Do I even have a choice?"
(no subject)