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ajremixTitle: The Birth of a Faction
Fandom: Fallout New Vegas
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2139
Characters: Wyn, Ryker, Larkin, Sterling, Elbow Grease
Summary: The (unofficial) founding of the Courier Faction.
It wasn't so much all the business they weren't doing because Nash was turning down the more potentially dangerous runs or even the ones he felt were too far out. It wasn't the couriers that tended to bring down their reputation by being slow or losing or damaging packages. It wasn't even the fact that the open employment policy allowed a rotation of, Wyn was 96% certain, disguised frumentarii sabotaging the runs made for the NCR. It was, in fact, all those and a half dozen reasons more that led her to wondering if there wasn't a better way to courier than with the Mojave Express.
She said as much to the twins when she met up with them again as they were running non-Express packages to offset their income.
"Better how?" Larkin asked. Their package was sizable enough to require passing between sisters during their route. It had holes poked into it and hissed randomly and was currently sitting on the opposite side of the fire from the women.
"For stuff like that." Wyn gestured at the box which she swore was now snoring softly. "Nash wouldn't accept a package if he thought something living was inside it, but you're making good caps running it, right?"
"They want at the Thorn asap which means going through Fiend territory," Larkin replied. "So we made them double the price." Of course there were ways to get to the Thorn skirting around the Fiends without losing significant time, but the customers didn't have to know that.
And really, how could Wyn possibly argue with that kind of business savvy? "That's part of what I'm talking about. Not saying we should take absolutely every job, but what's fun if there's not some danger and excitement in there? A little mystery, a little adventure, no one coddling grown ass people who know what kind of troubles lurk in the Wasteland."
"And what's in it for us?" Ryker asked, arms folded tight over her leathers, still half-eying the box with suspicion, in case it might grown legs and come at them.
"Steady income, no boss hovering over your shoulder, hiring only people we trust, a safe place to kick your feet up for a spell."
"Do you actually have this 'safe place' set up?"
"Like I'm going to get to that before I know if this thing'll actually work out? Please- I'm not that ambitious."
"I suppose that means you haven't figured out anything like rates and how we get paid or how people are even going to know we exist," Larkin hazard with absolute certainty.
"And do either of you know how to do that?" Came the knowing retort. Wyn was surprised to see the two exchange glances. Glances that weren't exactly unhappy but not thrilled either. "What? You have an idea?"
"There's a guy we've run into a couple times. Came from New Reno where there's apparently some kind of courier group or something," Larking let out a breath just short of a sigh. "He might know something about it."
Wyn's eyes ping ponged between the sisters. "Do we not like this guy?"
They shrugged. "He's fine."
Guess it was up to Wyn to make the call then. "Alright. Let's find him and see if he's any use."
~*~*~*~
They found said guy lounging on top of Dinky's head of all places, apparently chatting with Manny Vargas. The women weren't certain until Ryker took a look through her scope and found him sighting right back in on her. She lowered her rifle with a snort, "That's him." They hailed him from the bottom of Dinky's tail, a head poking out around the dinosaur's spines.
"Hi there," he called down to them in a rather friendly manner.
"Thought we were supposed to meet at the Mojave Outpost," Wyn called back, not at all pleased with having to crane her neck so far back or with this Sterling having the literal high ground.
"I got bored."
"So you made us chase you?"
"That was more of a side effect, really."
"We warned you he tended to wander," Ryker said, not even making a show of speaking out of the corner of her mouth.
"I wouldn't call trekking halfway across the Wasteland 'wandering'." It also proved to Sterling how badly they wanted to speak with him which Wyn was also not happy about. "You mind coming down for a little chat?"
One quick slide down Dinky's back later and Sterling stood before the trio, not much bigger than them in any sense but Wyn's attention was drawn to the patch sewn on his jacket sleeve. It was dirty, sun bleached and on the verge of unraveling but it said NEW RENO COURIERS in bold letters around what Wyn assumed to be a skyline of said city. She rather liked the idea and wondered what it would take to get something similar for them.
They explained the concept to him. Wyn did anyway; Ryker wasn't talkative on the best of days and Larkin seemed content to let Wyn take the reigns of the whole thing. But Sterling listened and asked questions and seemed interested enough in the idea. When they got to the part of what immediate action they wanted him to take, he raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You want me to write up the charter?"
"You're the one with experience in a group like what we want."
"I'm going to assume that this a pretty... loose alliance." He looked from one woman to another. "And you're not looking for anything complicated or binding."
"Probably for the best."
Sterling sucked air in through his teeth as he visibly weighed his options. "What the hell, it'll be an experience."
"Now that we've got four of us," Larkin finally spoke up, "we should probably talk about where we're going to be setting up shop."
"We've got an idea if you don't," Ryker added, then gave a pointed look at all the long-ranged rifles and willowy limbs in the group. "But we're gonna need someone who can actually take a hit."
Wyn pressed her lips together, "I think I know who to get for that."
~*~*~*~
The twins and Sterling met Wyn and their fifth member at the abandoned drive-in just south of Primm. He was a big man- at least in comparison to the others -and he seemed just as unimpressed with his new co-workers as they him.
"Guys, this is Elbow Grease. Elbow Grease, that's Ryker and Larkin- have fun figuring out who is who -and Sterling. Noodlehead is bringing in some much needed muscle around here." She eyed the others coolly. "Unless someone feels like expanding on their skillsets."
"You first," they shot back collectively.
Elbow Grease snorted, "Talk about your birds of a feather."
"They're about as hearty as one," Wyn agreed.
The twins' idea for a base of operations was the old Jackal-infested highway patrol building. The five of them knew they'd be in for a fight- each having confirmed the gang's presence individually (some more accidentally than others) -but with more numbers than they usually worked with, the fledgling courier group was confident they could handle it.
It was decided that Sterling and the twins would split up, finding sniper positions to pick off and hopefully draw more Jackals out from the building. Elbow Grease would charge inside once opposition was thinned out, taking care of anyone left within with Wyn following after him.
There were grumbles all around (the snipers because they had to actively lure people out, thus putting themselves at risk, Elbow Grease because it left him with less people to punch, and Wyn because if everyone was so put out with the plan then they should come up with their own, dammit) but they eventually got into position and settled in.
There was a pause.
A long pause.
Elbow Grease and Wyn exchanged looks. "Maybe we should invest in radios or something," he drawled.
"We'll make a list," was the annoyed reply.
The plan took off eventually with no casualties. On the couriers' part anyway. Once everything was cleaned out, Wyn called an all clear and everyone wandered through the building, taking stock of the place.
"Yeah," Wyn kicked at the foul remains of a toilet, "definitely making a list."
~*~*~*~
Cleaning up the station wasn't done with nearly as much enthusiasm as cleaning it out, especially once the list of supplies and replacement parts was complete and everyone realized simultaneously that no one was about to start shelling out from their own pockets.
"Guess we'll have to start up a courier fund," Larkin said grudgingly, knowing it would be kept a close eye on and thus off limits for permanent borrowing.
They split into groups again: the twins going off to earn some caps for fixing the place up, Wyn and Sterling making rounds to advertise their existence and Elbow Grease to make sure no one tried to take the place from them in their absence. When they came back they found that Elbow Grease had started up a garden to pass the time, the twins brought a half-shit ton of caps as well as a mustachioed man ("We woulda shot him if he didn't come," Ryker said blandly, on account of he was apparently stealing packages to run freelance) while Wyn and Sterling brought back a thick sheaf of delivery contracts from the Strip and the surrounding area as well as a fashionable woman ("She's gonna make us patches," Wyn explained, beaming).
Even after initial clean ups it was a rough start for the couriers. The charter itself drew heated debated even in its first draft (Elbow Grease was the most vehement throughout the process, claiming he was there for the fun of it, not because he wanted to be part of some damned legislative process. Sterling shot back with, "This is bare bones stuff compared to the New Reno charter. Besides, there's an open contract clause already that says you can quit any time so long as you inform another courier and give them any package you may have."). They also drew some heat from the Mojave Express and its loyalists- which was common given their proximity to Primm -which caused business to pick up slowly.
But it did eventually, like a ball being sluggishly pulled down the slightest of inclines by gravity- first running packages from the Mojave Outpost, then from Novac and families in the Strip. Once people realized they had no problems running along known gang or ghoul territory, business started hopping and the more caps they made, the better equipment they got for the base and themselves- including Pipboys and hand radios for all of them.
There was a nearly disastrous incident early on when some of the big name folks in Freeside were trying to muscle the Strip's economy, making the Three Families unhappy with the couriers for running for them. It took a couple days and the combined quick tongues and snake-oil pitching of Larkin and Sterling to smooth things over while keeping the couriers' autonomy. It was also the first time the group was referred to by the moniker Courier Faction though the two involved were rather tightlipped about how that came to pass.
Time passed. New couriers joined, some eventually left. The business grew and so did their routes, some packages even going across state lines. The NCR and Legion fought for the dam, the Familes fought for the Strip and little independent towns fought for survival, and sitting pretty (thought not non-violently as package thieves and bandits learned repeatedly) the Courier Faction's success came and went in tides; but even at their lowest they thrived.
It was one of those times- more relaxed than slow -that the table at Home Base was occupied by the Founding Five (which precisely no one called them because no one cared about who had been there from the beginning and who hadn't) chatting together when someone at the front desk called out, "Hey, did you know we've been in business almost a year?"
Heads craned around, "Huh?"
"Was just going through the ledger and the first recorded purchase was almost a year ago."
Larkin gave an amused huff. "You mean the register? That was just the first thing when we finally started keeping track. We were around before then."
"About three weeks, I think," Wyn added.
"Oh. Then I guess we've been around for a year then," the relative newcomer said, then proceeded to turn back to the ledger, completely missing the Founding Five (which they were suddenly aware that they were) exchanging glances.
Eventually Wyn snickered, "Can you believe it? We've all been here a year."
"I can't believe none of us left," Sterling mused.
"Hell," Elbow Grease said with a grin, "I can't believe none of us have died."
Fandom: Fallout New Vegas
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2139
Characters: Wyn, Ryker, Larkin, Sterling, Elbow Grease
Summary: The (unofficial) founding of the Courier Faction.
It wasn't so much all the business they weren't doing because Nash was turning down the more potentially dangerous runs or even the ones he felt were too far out. It wasn't the couriers that tended to bring down their reputation by being slow or losing or damaging packages. It wasn't even the fact that the open employment policy allowed a rotation of, Wyn was 96% certain, disguised frumentarii sabotaging the runs made for the NCR. It was, in fact, all those and a half dozen reasons more that led her to wondering if there wasn't a better way to courier than with the Mojave Express.
She said as much to the twins when she met up with them again as they were running non-Express packages to offset their income.
"Better how?" Larkin asked. Their package was sizable enough to require passing between sisters during their route. It had holes poked into it and hissed randomly and was currently sitting on the opposite side of the fire from the women.
"For stuff like that." Wyn gestured at the box which she swore was now snoring softly. "Nash wouldn't accept a package if he thought something living was inside it, but you're making good caps running it, right?"
"They want at the Thorn asap which means going through Fiend territory," Larkin replied. "So we made them double the price." Of course there were ways to get to the Thorn skirting around the Fiends without losing significant time, but the customers didn't have to know that.
And really, how could Wyn possibly argue with that kind of business savvy? "That's part of what I'm talking about. Not saying we should take absolutely every job, but what's fun if there's not some danger and excitement in there? A little mystery, a little adventure, no one coddling grown ass people who know what kind of troubles lurk in the Wasteland."
"And what's in it for us?" Ryker asked, arms folded tight over her leathers, still half-eying the box with suspicion, in case it might grown legs and come at them.
"Steady income, no boss hovering over your shoulder, hiring only people we trust, a safe place to kick your feet up for a spell."
"Do you actually have this 'safe place' set up?"
"Like I'm going to get to that before I know if this thing'll actually work out? Please- I'm not that ambitious."
"I suppose that means you haven't figured out anything like rates and how we get paid or how people are even going to know we exist," Larkin hazard with absolute certainty.
"And do either of you know how to do that?" Came the knowing retort. Wyn was surprised to see the two exchange glances. Glances that weren't exactly unhappy but not thrilled either. "What? You have an idea?"
"There's a guy we've run into a couple times. Came from New Reno where there's apparently some kind of courier group or something," Larking let out a breath just short of a sigh. "He might know something about it."
Wyn's eyes ping ponged between the sisters. "Do we not like this guy?"
They shrugged. "He's fine."
Guess it was up to Wyn to make the call then. "Alright. Let's find him and see if he's any use."
~*~*~*~
They found said guy lounging on top of Dinky's head of all places, apparently chatting with Manny Vargas. The women weren't certain until Ryker took a look through her scope and found him sighting right back in on her. She lowered her rifle with a snort, "That's him." They hailed him from the bottom of Dinky's tail, a head poking out around the dinosaur's spines.
"Hi there," he called down to them in a rather friendly manner.
"Thought we were supposed to meet at the Mojave Outpost," Wyn called back, not at all pleased with having to crane her neck so far back or with this Sterling having the literal high ground.
"I got bored."
"So you made us chase you?"
"That was more of a side effect, really."
"We warned you he tended to wander," Ryker said, not even making a show of speaking out of the corner of her mouth.
"I wouldn't call trekking halfway across the Wasteland 'wandering'." It also proved to Sterling how badly they wanted to speak with him which Wyn was also not happy about. "You mind coming down for a little chat?"
One quick slide down Dinky's back later and Sterling stood before the trio, not much bigger than them in any sense but Wyn's attention was drawn to the patch sewn on his jacket sleeve. It was dirty, sun bleached and on the verge of unraveling but it said NEW RENO COURIERS in bold letters around what Wyn assumed to be a skyline of said city. She rather liked the idea and wondered what it would take to get something similar for them.
They explained the concept to him. Wyn did anyway; Ryker wasn't talkative on the best of days and Larkin seemed content to let Wyn take the reigns of the whole thing. But Sterling listened and asked questions and seemed interested enough in the idea. When they got to the part of what immediate action they wanted him to take, he raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You want me to write up the charter?"
"You're the one with experience in a group like what we want."
"I'm going to assume that this a pretty... loose alliance." He looked from one woman to another. "And you're not looking for anything complicated or binding."
"Probably for the best."
Sterling sucked air in through his teeth as he visibly weighed his options. "What the hell, it'll be an experience."
"Now that we've got four of us," Larkin finally spoke up, "we should probably talk about where we're going to be setting up shop."
"We've got an idea if you don't," Ryker added, then gave a pointed look at all the long-ranged rifles and willowy limbs in the group. "But we're gonna need someone who can actually take a hit."
Wyn pressed her lips together, "I think I know who to get for that."
~*~*~*~
The twins and Sterling met Wyn and their fifth member at the abandoned drive-in just south of Primm. He was a big man- at least in comparison to the others -and he seemed just as unimpressed with his new co-workers as they him.
"Guys, this is Elbow Grease. Elbow Grease, that's Ryker and Larkin- have fun figuring out who is who -and Sterling. Noodlehead is bringing in some much needed muscle around here." She eyed the others coolly. "Unless someone feels like expanding on their skillsets."
"You first," they shot back collectively.
Elbow Grease snorted, "Talk about your birds of a feather."
"They're about as hearty as one," Wyn agreed.
The twins' idea for a base of operations was the old Jackal-infested highway patrol building. The five of them knew they'd be in for a fight- each having confirmed the gang's presence individually (some more accidentally than others) -but with more numbers than they usually worked with, the fledgling courier group was confident they could handle it.
It was decided that Sterling and the twins would split up, finding sniper positions to pick off and hopefully draw more Jackals out from the building. Elbow Grease would charge inside once opposition was thinned out, taking care of anyone left within with Wyn following after him.
There were grumbles all around (the snipers because they had to actively lure people out, thus putting themselves at risk, Elbow Grease because it left him with less people to punch, and Wyn because if everyone was so put out with the plan then they should come up with their own, dammit) but they eventually got into position and settled in.
There was a pause.
A long pause.
Elbow Grease and Wyn exchanged looks. "Maybe we should invest in radios or something," he drawled.
"We'll make a list," was the annoyed reply.
The plan took off eventually with no casualties. On the couriers' part anyway. Once everything was cleaned out, Wyn called an all clear and everyone wandered through the building, taking stock of the place.
"Yeah," Wyn kicked at the foul remains of a toilet, "definitely making a list."
~*~*~*~
Cleaning up the station wasn't done with nearly as much enthusiasm as cleaning it out, especially once the list of supplies and replacement parts was complete and everyone realized simultaneously that no one was about to start shelling out from their own pockets.
"Guess we'll have to start up a courier fund," Larkin said grudgingly, knowing it would be kept a close eye on and thus off limits for permanent borrowing.
They split into groups again: the twins going off to earn some caps for fixing the place up, Wyn and Sterling making rounds to advertise their existence and Elbow Grease to make sure no one tried to take the place from them in their absence. When they came back they found that Elbow Grease had started up a garden to pass the time, the twins brought a half-shit ton of caps as well as a mustachioed man ("We woulda shot him if he didn't come," Ryker said blandly, on account of he was apparently stealing packages to run freelance) while Wyn and Sterling brought back a thick sheaf of delivery contracts from the Strip and the surrounding area as well as a fashionable woman ("She's gonna make us patches," Wyn explained, beaming).
Even after initial clean ups it was a rough start for the couriers. The charter itself drew heated debated even in its first draft (Elbow Grease was the most vehement throughout the process, claiming he was there for the fun of it, not because he wanted to be part of some damned legislative process. Sterling shot back with, "This is bare bones stuff compared to the New Reno charter. Besides, there's an open contract clause already that says you can quit any time so long as you inform another courier and give them any package you may have."). They also drew some heat from the Mojave Express and its loyalists- which was common given their proximity to Primm -which caused business to pick up slowly.
But it did eventually, like a ball being sluggishly pulled down the slightest of inclines by gravity- first running packages from the Mojave Outpost, then from Novac and families in the Strip. Once people realized they had no problems running along known gang or ghoul territory, business started hopping and the more caps they made, the better equipment they got for the base and themselves- including Pipboys and hand radios for all of them.
There was a nearly disastrous incident early on when some of the big name folks in Freeside were trying to muscle the Strip's economy, making the Three Families unhappy with the couriers for running for them. It took a couple days and the combined quick tongues and snake-oil pitching of Larkin and Sterling to smooth things over while keeping the couriers' autonomy. It was also the first time the group was referred to by the moniker Courier Faction though the two involved were rather tightlipped about how that came to pass.
Time passed. New couriers joined, some eventually left. The business grew and so did their routes, some packages even going across state lines. The NCR and Legion fought for the dam, the Familes fought for the Strip and little independent towns fought for survival, and sitting pretty (thought not non-violently as package thieves and bandits learned repeatedly) the Courier Faction's success came and went in tides; but even at their lowest they thrived.
It was one of those times- more relaxed than slow -that the table at Home Base was occupied by the Founding Five (which precisely no one called them because no one cared about who had been there from the beginning and who hadn't) chatting together when someone at the front desk called out, "Hey, did you know we've been in business almost a year?"
Heads craned around, "Huh?"
"Was just going through the ledger and the first recorded purchase was almost a year ago."
Larkin gave an amused huff. "You mean the register? That was just the first thing when we finally started keeping track. We were around before then."
"About three weeks, I think," Wyn added.
"Oh. Then I guess we've been around for a year then," the relative newcomer said, then proceeded to turn back to the ledger, completely missing the Founding Five (which they were suddenly aware that they were) exchanging glances.
Eventually Wyn snickered, "Can you believe it? We've all been here a year."
"I can't believe none of us left," Sterling mused.
"Hell," Elbow Grease said with a grin, "I can't believe none of us have died."
