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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.
And it's rare for this Living Legend to invite anyone to sit with him outside of Zion, but Joshua senses no ill-intent in the boy, and even outside of Zion, it is his duty to give comfort and welcome where he can.
"You're a trader." It's on the edge of being a question, and there's a subtle hint of approval in Joshua's voice. "It can be a hard life." The boy must be more enduring than he appears at a glance, and seated so close, Joshua can see the resilience written in his face, the ways experience has marked him.
"Do you belong with a particular caravan?" He asks partly because he suspects that the boy may be traveling alone, or nearly alone. He seems too adrift to be attached to any outfit, nor does he seem like he spends much time around other people.
Surely enough, when looked at closely there are calluses on his graceful hands that could only come from constantly holding a gun, his small body coming from a lifetime of running, his eyes are shadowed from a lack of sleep, (He's traveling alone for the first time in the wasteland, he will not bother with sleeping on the road alone, it is a risk.) and a manner that suggests he not only keeps his distance with customers a lot but also most people.
Despite all this, there's an undercurrent of earnest youthful purity within him, a desire for something bigger than him, bigger than the wastes. To find something pure and shining in this dust to hold on to.
He shakes his head. "No. There's no organized caravan's that wander in from places from east and far east, but I think that might change." He'd read that before the war, cities were often in trade with one another, maybe the regions were finally becoming less isolated.
"But really I'm just a wanderer with more things on my back."
"The road is long with company. Taken alone, it is interminable." He hasn't taken his eyes from the boy, though his mind remains partly with the yet-absent Courier. It's like her to be late, but perhaps it's for the best; he's beginning to feel as if he was meant to meet this boy.
The road is long with company, taken alone it is interminable. Internally it hits him that from now on, he will walk alone in the wastes. Forced to deal with every trial and tribulation alone and dealing with the vast, endless stretch of road alone and lonely. This, he feels is his price for doing things his own way.
It's what I deserve... it's what he deserves.
There's a part of Oscar that wants to tell the Legendary stranger that he wasn't alone until recently. He still figures that he shouldn't tell him about Zenigata, it's still very much none of his business and... well. He's had an intense stare, his eyes such a vivid light blue they practically burn with destructive fire. But the way Joshua is looking at him right now... his eyes are gentle, still burning brightly, but with something that warms, that nurtures life instead of destroying it.
Oscar doesn't want it to stop for any reason, wants to held in that gaze for as long as possible. (And he doesn't know why.)
There’s something in the boy’s expression, a hesitation and a struggle and behind it all perseverance. Something enduring, an obstinacy Joshua knows well. This is the face of a young man who has come far and been put through a trial recently, who may still be in its midst.
(There’s something else in those eyes, too. Something he’s seen often, something like adoration, a willingness to stand beside. Joshua notes this only in the back of his mind, hardly admitting it to himself, let alone considering its consequences.)
“Even so, it isn't everyone who can survive the wastes alone.
I mean... I've only been on the road alone for a month. He counts himself really lucky he's had to shoot few people on the way to New Vegas. Creatures, maybe.
From the outside, it seems really really foolish to tell this stranger that still has the aura of danger to him by reputation alone important details about his trip but Oscar strangely feels like he has to. If he's a fool for being starstruck, then fine. He'll deal with the consequences later if they ever come.
"Don't tell anyone this, but I haven't really planned ahead of New Vegas. I was thinking about going west to California. But I'm not so sure right now. There was all sorts of things on the road to this place. Who knows what I might run into. But for now I'll just rest for a while, trade and try to find my bearings here while I make that next decision."
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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
"You're a trader." It's on the edge of being a question, and there's a subtle hint of approval in Joshua's voice. "It can be a hard life." The boy must be more enduring than he appears at a glance, and seated so close, Joshua can see the resilience written in his face, the ways experience has marked him.
"Do you belong with a particular caravan?" He asks partly because he suspects that the boy may be traveling alone, or nearly alone. He seems too adrift to be attached to any outfit, nor does he seem like he spends much time around other people.
no subject
Despite all this, there's an undercurrent of earnest youthful purity within him, a desire for something bigger than him, bigger than the wastes. To find something pure and shining in this dust to hold on to.
He shakes his head. "No. There's no organized caravan's that wander in from places from east and far east, but I think that might change." He'd read that before the war, cities were often in trade with one another, maybe the regions were finally becoming less isolated.
"But really I'm just a wanderer with more things on my back."
no subject
"The road is long with company. Taken alone, it is interminable." He hasn't taken his eyes from the boy, though his mind remains partly with the yet-absent Courier. It's like her to be late, but perhaps it's for the best; he's beginning to feel as if he was meant to meet this boy.
"You are brave to have survived so far, child."
no subject
It's what I deserve... it's what he deserves.
There's a part of Oscar that wants to tell the Legendary stranger that he wasn't alone until recently. He still figures that he shouldn't tell him about Zenigata, it's still very much none of his business and... well. He's had an intense stare, his eyes such a vivid light blue they practically burn with destructive fire. But the way Joshua is looking at him right now... his eyes are gentle, still burning brightly, but with something that warms, that nurtures life instead of destroying it.
Oscar doesn't want it to stop for any reason, wants to held in that gaze for as long as possible. (And he doesn't know why.)
"I try."
no subject
There’s something in the boy’s expression, a hesitation and a struggle and behind it all perseverance. Something enduring, an obstinacy Joshua knows well. This is the face of a young man who has come far and been put through a trial recently, who may still be in its midst.
(There’s something else in those eyes, too. Something he’s seen often, something like adoration, a willingness to stand beside. Joshua notes this only in the back of his mind, hardly admitting it to himself, let alone considering its consequences.)
“Even so, it isn't everyone who can survive the wastes alone.
"Tell me, Oscar. What will you do now?”
no subject
From the outside, it seems really really foolish to tell this stranger that still has the aura of danger to him by reputation alone important details about his trip but Oscar strangely feels like he has to. If he's a fool for being starstruck, then fine. He'll deal with the consequences later if they ever come.
"Don't tell anyone this, but I haven't really planned ahead of New Vegas. I was thinking about going west to California. But I'm not so sure right now. There was all sorts of things on the road to this place. Who knows what I might run into. But for now I'll just rest for a while, trade and try to find my bearings here while I make that next decision."