Chapter Text
Shining in the dark Mojave sky is a full moon, obstructed neither by clouds nor sandstorm, kissing the earth gently with its pale glow. In the distance, the New Vegas Strip clashes with the moon’s luminosity with its neon signs and light shows, burning brightly like a flame to unsuspecting moths, eager to burn whoever comes near it in the hopes of seeing the light.
Far from the bedazzling city lights, three men work in the shadow of night, with only a small lantern and the moon to guide them to their destination. Death and decay linger in the air, and the chill of the Mojave desert did the morbid atmosphere no favors. Two men carry a limp body, the poor soul’s head covered by a burlap sack, while a man in a checkered suit leads them uphill, to Goodsprings Cemetery.
Dumping the body carelessly, it hit the soil with a muffled thump, and the ones carrying them went on with their respective tasks. Their burly physiques shaped by the challenges of living in the wasteland and rugged clothing courtesy of being Great Khans are a contrast to their employer’s pomaded hair and cool posturing. As one of them carpentered a shoddy wooden cross, the other dug a shallow grave, specks of soil flying off, a few of which landed on the cityslicker’s suit.
“Watch it,” he dusts the soil off, expression sour. “This suit is worth twice you finks.”
“If it bothers you then step back while we do your dirty work for you,” one of them snaps back, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead as he toiled. “Could’ve sworn digging a grave wasn’t in our agreement...”
“Stop whining, pally. Hurry up so we can get the hell out of here.”
The Khan rolls his eyes and continues to toil. The other Khan, the one in charge with the cross, snickers under his breath. “Hey Benny, who’s this bitch anyway?” he cocks his head to the unconscious body. Benny takes out an engraved silver lighter and a cigarette from his suit pocket, and as he lit it, he quickly puts the lighter away. He runs a damp hand over through pomaded hair and exhales a cloud of smoke, eyes fixated over the woman’s body, whose hands and feet are bound.
“None of your damn business.”
Years ago, Benny met her. He strolled into the Tops Casino, then into the Aces Theatre, and was met by an olive-skinned woman with dark hair. The theatre’s talent scout, Tommy, comes over to greet him.
“Hey, hey! There’s the man of the hour! Benny, you gotta meet this new act,” Tommy greets. The talent scout turns to the unassuming young woman, expression uncertain and full of curiosity at the same time. Her eyes flit from object to object, marveling at the sights, until her eyes fall on Benny. He holds her gaze with a debonair smile and she looks away, a blush creeping on her cheeks.
Benny eyes her with skepticism, and breaks into a half-smile. “Hello. I’m-” she starts, shyly, but she’s quickly cut off by Benny. “Really Tommy? No offense baby doll, but I can’t let you on stage looking like that ,” he states coolly, half-smile twisting into a condescending smirk. “This is the Aces Theater baby, you gotta have groove , dig?” He pulls out a cigarette and lights one, and then offers one to the girl. “Let me at least give you a smoke, no hard feelings?”
Tommy’s face falls and the woman raises her eyebrow. She takes the stick from him and frowns. “Smokes are bad for my voice,” she hands the cigarette back. “Which Benny hasn't heard yet!” Tommy interjects, patting the aspiring singer in the back. “Why don’t you give the broad a chance. Maybe she’ll be our next big act. We can sort out her wardrobe later.”
Thumb and pointer finger squeezing the bridge of his nose, Benny lets out a sigh of exasperation. “Three minutes. This Janey-come-lately has three minutes to convince me she’s an 18 karat act.”
The singer whispers to the pianist, and wastes no time getting on the stage. Benny and Tommy settle on the table nearest to the stage, the theater mostly empty on a Monday night. Benny takes a good look at the wastelander, the spotlight shining brightly above her. The girl’s black hair cascades down her shoulders in waves. She chews on her bottom lip, slightly plumper than the top, and a few flecks of dirt still clung to her skin, evidence of a hasty clean-up in order to look as presentable as a wastelander could.
Leaning back on the chair, Benny watches the singer as she holds the mic in her fingers.
“You had plenty of money in 1922, you let other women make a fool of you… ”
Goosebumps run on the head Chairman’s arms as the act opens, the singer’s rich, low voice reverberating off the four corners of the room. Coupled with her doe-eyed expression, innocence and sensuality mingled, making Benny reach for his collar to loosen it as his Adam’s apple bobs from taking an excited, nervous gulp. From leaning back on the chair, he leans forward, settling his chin on his entwined hands, his elbows against the table’s surface.
Watching Benny's expression shift from disdain to interest, Tommy gives him a proud, smug look, and he leans over to whisper, “Told you not to doubt my scouting skills.”
After taking a bow, the singer saunters over with a newfound confidence, having seen Benny’s reaction. Around them, the theatre’s patrons whisper amongst themselves over the mysterious wastelander who managed to catch the attention of the head of the Chairmen. “I hope my number pleases you.”
The singer extends her hand for a handshake, but is taken aback when he raises it to his lips instead. “Perhaps I misjudged you, baby girl. You are welcome to perform here anytime,” he purrs, smiling suavely. Before she can say her thanks, he continues. “But we still gotta make you a cool pussycat, ya dig? Swank can help ya out with that.” With a mischievous glint in his eye, Benny places a hand on the small of her back.
“Anyhow baby, think of a stage name too.”
Back in the present, Benny steps forward and removes the bag from her head, revealing a bloody spot in her matted, red-dyed hair, where the butt of a gun made an impact. Sweat covers her face, and her chest, rising up and down quickly as she breathed shallowly. Ensuring the Khans’ backs are turned, the Chairman crouches, then presses two fingers to his lips and brings it to her forehead. “Sweet dreams, Red.”
“Red.”
Benny gave her the stage name himself when he saw what Swank did to her hair. From long black tresses, the singer’s hair is cut short, dyed rosewood red, and styled into a wave on the front. The style complements her high cheekbones and defined jawline, and as he observes her, he notices her once bare lips, now painted with the same deep red. The press started dubbing her as the Vegas Nightingale. Red is easier on the eyes now, indeed, and the dress he picked out for her complemented her body as well.
A shimmering gown of black and silver, it was a stark contrast to the tattered articles of clothing the limp, unconscious Red is wearing now. Internally berating himself for reminiscing better days with his lover, he strides over to the Khans, taking his place between the two of them. Shortly after, Red stirs, and from lying down, she kneels, testing the rope against her wrists.
As she looks up, her heart stops.
Red sees him; the man who changed her to who he wanted her to be, and claimed her heart. Tears well up in her eyes as she gasped for air, whether due to the lack of oxygen in her lungs or the sobs that wracked her body, he didn’t seem to care. Voice cracking, she manages to croak out his name.
“Benny? ”
The way she said his name is a far cry from the excited whispers she gave him when he planted kisses on her jawline. Red, a people pleaser as always, settles between his legs and services him with those painted lips, eyes looking up to bask in the lustful expression her lover has on his face. Benny’s eyes screw shut as she flicks her tongue over his member’s engorged tip and milks his length with her hand, unable to come up with banter over the feeling. The Chairman felt the Vegas Nightingale smirk against him, her chocolate eyes watching his every move, and she continued her ministrations, eager to drink up all the filthy noises he makes.
When he had his release, Benny lounged in his suite, his favorite cigarette on his lips and his favorite girl in his arms. Red throws her leg over his, and whispers in his ear.
“Benny?”
“What is it, baby doll?”
“What are we?”
Partners. They were partners. Out of all the flings he had in the past, Red was the most exciting. It wasn’t just because of him molding her into the woman he wants her to be, or her eagerness to please him; she is the only one smart enough to understand the workings of The Strip, and smart enough to detect whenever he slips up about his work with Mr. House, the genius behind the Strip’s reconstruction. In fact, Benny found her smart enough for him to share his ambitions. The past lovers he messed around with had no interest in holding a conversation with him, but Red is curious. Inquisitive.
The Chairman knows fully well that she can jeopardize his plans, but it felt good, having someone who understood him and his motivations. Perhaps he went soft when he started seeing Red as someone more than a pretty face with a “nice pair of charlies” as he put it, or her hidden depths won him over. They were going to be unstoppable; a power couple that’ll lead New Vegas, Mr. House be damned. The Chairman and the Nightingale spend hours lying awake at night and talking about what they want to change in the Strip once they take charge.
“Definitely kill all the Omertas,” Red said, laughing, taking a drag from a cigarette Benny offered her. As a couple, their habits began to rub off of each other.
“Don’t worry babydoll, I’ll see to it that those finks will get smashed up. Especially after that stunt they pulled off.”
When she became Benny’s girl, no one is allowed to lay a finger on Red, and one Omerta goon found that out the hard way when Benny shot him point blank between the eyes. It was a diplomatic disaster, and yet, Benny virtually got away scot free partly due to his status as the protege of the most powerful man in the New Vegas Strip.
Smiling, Red nuzzles into his bicep. “I love you, Benny.”
A broken cry takes Benny back to the present.
The promise of a future together made the pain of betrayal even more unbearable now.
“Benny?! Fuck, fuck…” Red whimpers, lips trembling as hot, messy tears dripped down her chin. “ How could you? I… I…”
Her lover doesn’t answer, or let her finish, like he usually does. He simply walks over, and gags her with a handkerchief.
Red doesn’t, or couldn’t, listen to what he’s saying now. All that rage and anguish made her body numb, her eyes focused on the gun in her lover’s hand. All the memories come flooding back to her in her final seconds, the good times and the bad; his smile, his charm, the way he grabs her hips to grind against him, the sly look on his face when he beats her at poker, the way his eyes light up when talking about his plans, the way he controlled the way she dressed, the way he never calls her by her real name, the way he took away her old self, her true self, and the day she left.
Red has dressed down into a simple shirt and pants, olive skin wiped clean of any lipstick or blush. Pack on her back, she only packed the essentials; water, food, caps, and clothes. As she does a once-over, she sees her black notebook on the table, a photo album of her memories. Sighing, her sentimentality made her pick up the album and shuck it in her bag. When she turns around, Benny leans in the doorway.
“Hey.”
“There’s nothing you can say that can change my mind, Benny,” Red mutters, almost apologetically. “I’m going back to my old job. I can’t take this life anymore.”
As she passes by him, he grabs her forearm gently, pleadingly. “Babydoll…”
“You can’t even call me by my name, can’t you?”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, babe,” Benny whispers, pulling Red closer to his chest, tears starting to prick at his eyes.
“But you still did. And I’m not sure if I can forgive you. I need my space.” Red withdraws from his embrace.
“Goodbye, Benny. ”
That was the last time she ever saw him, before this. As Benny aims at her head, another memory with him comes crashing back, weeks before she finally broke free from his grasp. Bodies exhausted and glowing in post-coital bliss, Red snuggles into Benny’s chest, still thinking about how Benny killed the Omerta who trifled with her.
“Hey Benny?”
“Yes, babe?”
Red hesitates, planting a small kiss on Benny’s cheek. “What if you had to shoot me, Benny?”
The question earns her a raised eyebrow. “Why in the goddamn wastes would you ask me that, doll?”
Red chews on her lip. She doesn’t know if she should bring it up, but she pushes on anyway. “You shot that Omerta without any second thought or remorse,” Red whispers, scooting towards him. “I… I got a little shaken up. I mean, I’m thankful that you saved me but… I guess I never saw that side of you until now.”
Lips that tasted of whiskey and smoke pressed against hers. “No way baby,” Benny presses Red against his chest and gives her a peck on the top of her head. “I’d be eating dirt six feet under before that’ll ever happen.”
If only her past self could see Benny now.
But the thought never comes as the gunshot echoed through Goodsprings, the bullet driving into her skull.
“Goodbye, Red. ”