KingofHearts709

Arcade doesn't condone much gambling, at least on his own personal end. But, with Aerri running the Strip, he almost feels bad for not frequenting the place more often. Oftentimes, he feels as though he spends more days in his research tent than he does his shared bed with Aerri in the Lucky 38. Which is why, as per Aerri’s suggestion, they're both taking a week off of everything. No work, no travels. Just the two of them, doing whatever they want. They’d started off simple, of course, spending the first few days inside, doing menial chores that had been put on back burners. Once the Lucky 38 suite had been cleaned up and organised, though, they found themselves restless and taskless. Arcade feels like they’ve each gotten so used to travelling, so used to being occupied by one thing or the other, that the thought of a week with no work seems...wasteful. He’s always understood that a rested individual is better than an overworked one, though. It's how Arcade finds himself in the Tops

Arcade is starting to see how Novac is Aerri's second home. They always stop by whenever they pass it, this most recent visit included. Aerri had said something about a man named Bruce that would fit Torini's bill. Arcade doesn't argue. Among everything that had just happened, with Mr. House, Benny, Yes Man... Aerri needed an excuse to walk across the desert and clear his head. The Tops wanting some more theatre acts was as good as any. Aerri gathers who he can for a round - or three - of drinks. Boone and Manny both join in, considering REPCONN no longer needs their vigilant attention. Cliff also joins, bringing along his own inventory from his shop. Arcade sits back, listening but not participating much. Aerri avoids recounting their debacle on the Strip, instead gushing about their trysts with the Fiends and locking down Vault 34, telling them that, "Arc's a real beast in the field, I swear." Arcade politely bats away any challenges to target practice, even when Manny insists

"I need a good-looking doctor to protect me in the big, bad wasteland." "Overt flirtation will get you everywhere, you know." It had been some of their first words spoken to each other, albeit their second meeting. To think that such a small exchange would blossom like so seems farfetched to Arcade during most hours of the day. But, during the late ones when he and Aerri are recovering from travel, his thoughts turn into something of both fantasy and fear. Fantasy of imagining better circumstances, fear of those fantastical moments not being as satisfying as fate's design. Sometimes, though, when Aerri is heavily resting after one too many close calls with danger, Arcade hopes that their alternate selves are having a better life than them. Perhaps a version of Arcade exists where the bombs had never fallen. Maybe he has a house, and a yard, and a fence that doesn't tower tens of feet above him. Maybe he has a neighbour. One with a dog who won't stop running through his yard.

Aerri's been out for the count for about twelve hours now. Nothing too alarming, Arcade supposes, considering the amount of Med-X he'd had to administer. Aerri had returned to Lucky 38 with more than a few problems; severe radiation poisoning, a dislocated elbow, three fractured ribs, two bullets in his shoulder, and an oddly-shaped gash on his chest. In this case, Arcade deemed himself a doctor first and a partner second. Of course, Aerri had used the medical knowledge he'd been taught by Arcade to keep himself patched enough to make it back, but in no way was it viable. And now, Arcade waits. Aerri had woken up a few different times in between the hours, glancing around in curiosity before conking out once more. Arcade thinks nothing of it, knowing it's just the Med-X wearing itself away as time passes. Throughout the hours of watching him, his vitals haven't gone awry. The only thing left to do is let Aerri eventually wake up. Finally, though, after hour thirteen, Aerri blinks

Arcade refuses to trust the stranger that just waltzed into Mormon Fort. He's indulged in his fair share of the radio, so of course he's heard of the miraculous recovery of the courier from Goodsprings. But Arcade never thought the man would come here, of all places. People only step into Mormon Fort when they're hurt. Definitely not to donate supplies and offer help, albeit with an attitude and a request for payment. Julie obliges, of course, offering some form of free aid here and there if this courier can get the nearby junkies clean. Arcade gives the man a week before he becomes one of those junkies. °•°•° Holy shit. The courier - Aerri is his name - got both Bill and Jacob within a day. Aerri had arrived at Freeside early that morning, and just when the sun was setting, Arcade saw the two step in sluggishly, heads hungs low. Now Arcade's watching from afar Julie ask for another favour, to look into finding a steady flow of supplies with anyone nearby. Aerri says he'll try

"Blue moon... I saw you standin' alone..." Arcade's ears perk up in the late hours of the evening at the familiar voice of his travelling companion. Not often does Aerri sing; in fact, he never does. He constantly plays the radio off of his Pip-Boy, swapping between Mr. New Vegas' picks and the strange broadcast that only seems to play instrumental pieces, but rarely joins in other than a few taps of his fingers to the tempo. Even Arcade finds himself indulging in the music every so often when they're standing near each other, though he never comments on it. Aerri's voice travels through to the room again, and Arcade has a sudden realisation that he must not even realise he's being heard. "Blue moon... Now I'm no longer alone... Without a dream in my heart... Without a love of my own..." Aerri's voice isn't very deep or particularly enthralling like Frank Sinatra's, but it's pleasant enough for Arcade to indulge in as he would the radio. Aerri's singing stalls after that, and the

"Remind me why you're even out here with me." "Because you'd die in two seconds if I weren't." Aerri winces as Arcade wraps a second layer of gauze around the shot site from the stimpak. "Y'know, you wouldn't get hurt as badly if you didn't run in so fast," Arcade says as he sits down on the curb. "They may just be ants, but they're deadly. And giant." "A bug's a bug," Aerri huffs. "You stomp 'em and they die." "Not with that exoskeleton, no. You do realise ants can carry hundreds of times their own weight because of it, right? They used to be smaller than the pad of your pinkie." "Wonderful, can we go back to those days when bugs were seemingly normal sizes?" Aerri adjusts, his leg outstretched onto the destroyed concrete. Arcade just watches, noting the way his companion is avoiding pressure on his ankle. "...What?" "You twisted your ankle, too, didn't you?" Arcade sighs as he kneels forwards and takes off Aerri's shoe. "Oh- No. You dislocated it. Jesus." "I'm fine, just let

“Trim your nose hairs and we’ll talk.” What the fuck does that mean? Arin knows the bit about him kissing everyone is constantly ongoing and a very opportune laugh, on and off camera or audio. He really only means it about half the time. Okay. Three-quarters. A bit is a bit, sure, but he still pulls from personal feelings like any other person who likes to make people laugh. Normally, Dan writes off his kissing jokes with a playful jab at his weirdness, and an equally playful denial if its directed at him. Sometimes, he initiates the joke, or joins in on the fun if Arin’s really hamming it up. Sometimes, though very not often, Dan won’t deny the joke of Arin kissing him. And sometimes, very rarely, Dan will agree. Harmlessly and still joking, yes, but he’ll still agree. It’s the way he’d said it, like he meant it a little. Like maybe, if Arin really did trim his nose hairs and told Dan, it would actually happen. “This is so stupid,” Arin huffs to himself in the mirror, tiny