Fistful of Caps (Oregon Trails) [FULL/FAST]

He continued, keeping his voice quiet, but shaky. "E-Earl blames the NCR for his Pa's death. Thinks they're doin' n-nothing good fer Oregon...rest o' the boys elected him leader on account of his quick hands...won the regional shooting contest...killed the man who killed his Pa....our towns own genuine gunslinger I reckon. He comes by here fer drinks, later in the evenin'...if yer got business with him, I r-reckon you can wait here fer him..."


"H-h-he's a Rancher....inherited his Pa's ranch...nice bit of land, not much of it....the damned Barons pushing people off their land....tha's what really got t' him I think....got to a lot o' the boys....they want their land for them."


And then... a soft whisper, "It's that bloody Legion feller who showed up's fault as well I reckon. Yar. Started talkin' t' a few of the lads...some sort of Preacher. Claims he serves the 'Oregon Caesar'...whoever the fuck that is..."



Catherine Fyre slid the revolver off of the counter quietly, replacing it in her leather holster. She then poured a fourth shot of whiskey, and slid the glass to the bartender. The woman looked at him and raised her eyebrows.


"Easy now, take tha shot old man." she said, her cold stare relaxed. Cat waited for the shaken bartender to take the drink. The woman had found what she was looking for, and needed to do damage control before things got sketchy. She allowed the man to catch his breath.


"I 'pologize fer threatenin' tah kill yah." Cat said, tipping her hat to the man. "You shouldn't have lied tah me, though. You done good for this town already, mister. You remember anything else, you tell me. Now that we've earned ourselves a special kind uh trust between us, I'm gonna tell yah how I operate."


Cat leaned back in her stool, keeping her gaze on the bartender from under the brim of her hat. She spoke low enough that only the shaken man could hear. "I ain't with the NCR. I and sure as hell ain't never gave more than a bullet fer a Legion man. My motivations are private, sir, but ah can assure yah that no harm will come to tha people in this town so long as no one get's in mah way. I ain't here to hurt innocent people." Cat paused to hold back her darkening thoughts. Thoughts of Legion and fire. The woman turned and propped one boot on the stool beside her, pouring herself another shot.


"Yah say this Earl fella usually hangs 'round this place?" she asked, "Then I 'spose I might just sit a spell. You don't mind if I patronize the Pig a while longer, do yah?" It hand't been a question. Catherine slide the soap right in front of his belly. Producing another eight caps and placing them on the bar with her ungloved hand, Cat pulled her hat down to cover here eyes once again as she relaxed. "Nuka-Cola, please."she said in a dismissive tone.


Catherine produced some tobacco and some dried leaves from her small leather backpack. After rolling a cigarette and smoking it, Cat continued rolling cigarettes until she had rolled a dozen of them. Something told her she wouldn't have a lot of time to sit down and roll her smoke in the near future. She had a good gut for those kind of feelings. Replacing her pack, swilling the Nuka-Cola, and adjusting her weathered duster, she then waited.

Earl just watched all of Martius' shennanigans with a raised eyebrow, not commenting. Around the man, Earl tried to be friendly enough, smile and nod, and the Legionnaire seemed loyal enough...but Earl was uneasy with him. The savagery had its uses in combat, but even after combat the man didn't seem to be satisfied. Honestly, Earl was worried that one day the Legionnaire would turn on them, and just burn down the entire town!

"Alright Martius, get them moving. Treat 'em well though. All we need is the NCR getting 'rebels abuse POW's' as a rallying cry for their fucking propaganda. Meet me at the saloon if you want, but come out of the fucking outfit for Christ's sake. It makes the townspeople nervous. Plus, all we need is a few NCR troopers coming in and shooting the shit outta you while we're not looking."

He looked at all the weapons Martius was carrying with a slight frown. "You sure you can carry all that? Shit, who am I kidding? You'll carry all of that and a brahmin if Caesar commands-" Earl cut himself off as Dan left their group, and shrugged, straightening out his hat. "Alright. I'll be there soon enough." He called after Dan, tucking the map and other items under his arm.

Earl then took one last glance at their work, smiled grimly to himself, and began to walk. His boots crunched into the dirt of the Oregon Trail, unaware and uncaring that hundreds of years before the Great War, this had once been the sight of another great struggle. This one, instead of against a foreign power, had been against the very nature of the land itself. Perhaps Earl would have appreciated the knowledge in happier times, had he known it.

But, this was war. And war never changes.

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The bartender shook his head, "No, no problem at all. Just make yourself at home here miss. Nuka Cola? Sure. On the house." He clutched the soap and the caps to his chest, as if scared they might fly away- and scurried to the back of the saloon.

Soon enough, a saloon boy brought over her Nuka Cola with wide eyes.

30 Minutes Later....


The Saloon doors swung open again as this time, a man in his twenties with a brown hat seated firmly on his head walked in. He wore a typical ranchers outfit, a dirty light grey shirt with a red bandanna tied around his neck. Dark blue pants and brown boots finished the look off, along with a pair of workers gloves covering and protecting his hands. Two other men walked in with him, dressed similarly but with varying colors.

Of course, the two .357 Revolvers strapped to the man certainly helped give the rancher a less than peaceful look, and each of his companions had a similar piece, albeit in less than perfect condition- but he had a slight smile on his face as he looked over at the bartender, walking over to the bar to order. His eyes darted to the stranger, but only momentarily.

"Evenin' Carl."

"Evenin' Earl" Carl replied cheerfully enough, but nervousness was wrecking the man on the inside. His eyes darted over to Cat, and Earls eyes followed them in a flash, nodding. "The usual Carl..." He started, gesturing at the two men with him to sit on his right. Then, to Cat, "Do you mind if I smoke ma'am?" he asked, politely.

The man Cat had been waiting for entered the saloon, accompanied by two other grizzled looking men. Earl made his way tot he bar and greeted the bartender. Catherine sat on the stool with her leg hiked up, boot planted on the seat between herself and Earl. The woman made sure her duster concealed the big iron for the moment.

The bartender glanced at Cat, attracting Earl's attention for a moment and the gunslinger cursed silently. That damn fool might have just gave me up. she though darkly.

"The usual, Carl..." He started, gesturing at the two men with him to sit on his right. Then, to Cat, "Do you mind if I smoke ma'am?" he asked, politely.

"Not at all." Cat replied from under the brim of her hat. Her long, blonde hair lay wildly over her shoulder, and Cat leaned back just enough that it fell behind her. Reaching into her breast pocket with her ungloved hand, the young woman produced a bent cigarette. Finding a rusty zippo in her duster's pocket, Catherine lit her own cigarette, then held the flame to Earl so he may light his smoke.

"Not at all." Cat replied from under the brim of her hat. Her long, blonde hair lay wildly over her shoulder, and Cat leaned back just enough that it fell behind her. Reaching into her breast pocket with her ungloved hand, the young woman produced a bent cigarette. Finding a rusty zippo in her duster's pocket, Catherine lit her own cigarette, then held the flame to Earl so he may light his smoke.

Earl had produced a cigarette of his own by this point, and politely accepted the flame, lighting his up. "Thank ya stranger." He placed it in his mouth, seeming to consider something for a bit. For the moment at least, he remained silent. Finally however, Carl brought over his drink, a bottle of whiskey. Carl poured Earl a shot, and then left the bottle without any questions.

The pianist tried to strike up a tune, and succeeded. At least for now. Idle chit chat resumed in the bar as people shot glances at the two. They had no similar features whatsoever, but perhaps one or two mistook Cat and Earl as twins at that time.

Earl finally spoke up again, "So. Not many strangers coming in from outta town recently. 'Sides NCR troops of course. Where you from miss?? It was a polite enough question, asked in a friendly, off-hand way. The perfect way to get seemingly harmless information. He offered her the bottle of whiskey and was starting to say something else when the saloon doors banged open, causing Earl and his boys to whirl around.

Earl visibly relaxed upon seeing the man dressed in jeans, a SPQR shirt, and a yao-guai head. "Hey there Marty. Care to get a drink?" He asked, somewhat uneasily but still in that same happy and friendly 'nice t' meet ya neighbor' way.

"Play something rousing," Martius demanded, leveling a finger in the direction of the man that was tickling the ivories of the piano. "Tonight is for celebrating!" The massive Legionnaire crossed the tavern floor, no one daring to get in his way, until he was standing next to Earl and then leaning on the bar but not seating himself.

"Caesar's tributes have been put to work doing something productive in the temple," Martius declared, clapping Earl on the shoulder with more force than was necessary. "They are cleaning themselves of the stink of their piss, which Caesar would find offensive. Then they will clean my weapons and armor. Then they will clean the temple until the floors are shiny enough that I can eat off of them and still see my reflected face afterwards!"

Without bothering to ask Earl he grabbed the bottle in front of the other man and took a long pull before setting it down and sliding Earl a few caps to make up for the lost liquor. Then the hulking man produced a bag with more than a few dried crimson stains on it. The bag jingled with the sound of caps and it also had, in clear block letters, the words "NCR Paymaster" written on it in black ink or paint. Where Martius had found the bag, and how long ago he had "liberated" it from the oppression of the NCR was anybody's guess. Still, his companions knew that the caps he took from NCR Troopers tended to find their way into the bag and that those caps, on occasion, were used for a bit of what the Legionnaire referred to as "Ministerial Outreach".

"I'll buy a round of drinks for anyone in the bar that will pledge themselves to the cause of the Oregon Caesar and the Temple of Mars... or even just for those that will attend services at the Temple two days hence," Martius roared loud enough for everyone to hear him. Of course, anyone who took him up would be marked in the memory of the Legionnaire and he would pay attention to if they showed up or not. The last person to take the drink and not show up had met with a very nasty accident. Somehow they had managed to hand themselves out of the second story window of their dwelling with a bed sheet they had been intending to hang up to dry. It was all very sad. But, it did ensure that people who took the missionary drink showed up like they were supposed to.

"And who's this? Flavor of the week," Martius continued, clapping Earl on the back. "Mars favors you and makes his countenance to shine down upon your... conquests!"

The dog of Caesar moved about the tavern, his loud voice drilling into Cat's thoughts and making it difficult to concentrate. Earl must have noticed her stressed body language, and she made a mental note of his perception. He told Catherine not to mind Martius, but his tone was less than convincing.

The man spoke of tributes. NCR captives, no doubt. He made no attempt to disguise what he was involved in, speaking freely in the tavern. Cat took it all in, the sudden situation bombarding her senses. It was all she could do to continue smoking the cigarette, which was nearly gone. It seemed to an extent, the two men were working together in the rebellion.

Pictures of injured soldiers bound in a cave floated to the surface of her mind. A soft spot still existed for the NCR in the woman's heart, and imagined the terror those boys must feel knowing this villian was in charge of their fate. Pictures of chains.

Images of the evil she had seen before, the kind dealt only by Legion hands.

Memories of fire and blood.



The Legionnaire began attempting to recruit the patrons to Caesar's ranks, adding a healthy does of fuel to the fire raging in Catherine's heart. If ever a man had been damned to hell in Catherine's mind, this was one of them. Soft veins began to protrude under the fair skin of the woman's neck, despite her best efforts to calm herself.

"No Martius, she's not my 'conquest'. She's a stranger in town who I was having a drink and a smoke with."

"Yeh, Earl and I were jus havin' a drink and ah smoke." Cat said quietly without looking up at Martius. She looked at Earl, her green eyes gleaming from under the brim of her hat. "Mistuh Walker, could ah have a word in private? I reckon we have some business to discuss now." Catherine asked, regaining some control over herself. She needed to get Earl, and more importantly herself, away from Martius. Even if it was only enough to get some answers.