Returned Home - July 18 Fuck it
Honestly, I never liked dating anything. Whether it was a note to myself or even this journal … I despise keeping track of time like that. Sure I have tried to date stuff, and this entry is no different. Each time I try and date something, it feels like I am looking at a dead body, something that once lived but has since passed.
Many a friend has asked me as to why I am like this, questioning the madness that has me hating dates. Each time, I simply shrug in response and just say ‘it’s who I am.’ That’s my answer, not some little cover up to a deeply hidden secret or horrible past. No, those are on display as it is; I simply hate dates.
Every time I looked at a history book that somehow managed to survive, I keep seeing dates and times that were always marked next to something horrid or great. You don’t need a date marker to know something important happened.
I do like the names for the days of the week, no matter how stupid they sound when you say them continuously.
It was a Wednesday I think, perhaps Thursday, either way, when I made it back to New Vegas I found something that shocked me more than anything has in the past. New Vegas, in all of her glory in the forsaken desert, was still standing.
It was a nice shock, for during my trek back, I constantly wondered what had become of the place over the week I was gone. To my surprise, nothing really changed, except my friends, but nothing drastic.
Veronica was constantly talking with McNamara about plans to help keep the roads safe once this was over. Also, she apparently found a very nice dress that she bought with my caps. I simply laughed at this and told her to ask for a refund.
Being the stick in the mud with one hell of a poker face, Boone went back to Novac and kept up duties. Honestly, that man needs to figure out what he is going to do now. He keeps claiming he is at peace with what happened at Bitter Springs, but I’m not convinced. Maybe he needs a damn good therapist …
Raul had apparently been helping the Boomers keep their tech good, as well as work on the plane. Not much to say to that; I trust Raul more than the rest, what with his experience.
Cass apparently stocked the Lucky 38 suite with enough alcohol to kill New Vegas twice over. Gal has a problem.
Rex is back with The King, while Arcade … well he disappeared really. I remember talking to him about so many things, experiences, beliefs, and history yet he never really opened up. He was always so vague with what he said. Perhaps he died? Wouldn’t be the first time someone died following me.
After playing catch up during a couple of days after returning, I decided to check out the cliffs facing the Legion Fort. I often visit the place, taking my time watching what I can from the lower advantage. Surprisingly enough, you can actually catch a glimpse of Caesar now and then out on a walk. Features are tougher to tell but the large group of bodyguards give him away.
I think it was around midday when my Pipboy picked up some weird ass signal. Something about ‘The Sierra Madre’ or some bullshit like that. I gave it no heed at first, mainly because I was too busy watching this scout nervously scamper behind cliff faces. The Legion must be picking fresh blood to send out and prove themselves. Fucking idiots.
See, there was this open area near a collapsed mine called Lucky Jim Mine apparently. Hilly area with a bunch of Geckos running about, but otherwise it is rather quiet. Legion Scouts always move through this area when trying to get deeper into NCR territory, which always brings about a confrontation with the Geckos. Sometimes it is amusing to watch them fight to see who gets a three-oh-eight between their eyes.
Anyway, the scout was by himself this time, not in a usual pack of three. He kept ducking back and forth behind rocks, eyes darting back and forth probably. No doubt he heard stories of scout teams being picked off constantly in the area and was nervous as balls. He had no idea I was there, perched in southern cliffs to the open valley, watching his every move.
As amusing as it was, and a little bit of pity for being sent into a death trap, he was still Legion. So when he poked his head out from a rock for a second too long, I put a round through his forehead. Bloody mess it caused on one of the rocks behind him; at least the geckos had a meal.
I remember reading somewhere, it was a while back, that you should never hate the soldiers of your enemy. They are simply pawns in a higher chess game played by those who rule. Yeah, thats a bunch of bullshit if you ask me. A man who sides with those who murder and rape for fun is no longer a man, in my books. He is a beast that needs to be put down, a shell of what might have been a respectable man.
Cottonwood showed me this; a lesson learned in how far a person can go past the point of sanity.
After that scout, it was all quiet in the valley again. Eventually, I packed up my weapon and left, yet that radio signal kept drawing my attention.
Perhaps after I restock in Novac, I’ll check it out.
