~The Scarlet Plus-Fours Fallout: New Vegas Picture Diary~

Starring Gracie Cutesman-Pieworthy

Fallout: New Vegas is one of the Fallout games, set in and around a city called New Vegas, which developed from Las Vegas after much of the surrounding America was destroyed in a nuclear war. It's a special game to a lot of Fallout fans, with characters and stories that feel human, different paths you can take through the main storyline, and a powerful, melancholy, yet beautiful atmosphere.

Since taking screenshots is such fun, I've started a new SSLP, which should eventually cover a whole game of Fallout: New Vegas and some of the expansion packs. I'm playing as a certified Charming Young Lady, complete with silver tongue, plasma weaponry, spiked knuckledusters and many bottles of Sunset Sarsaparilla. I hope you like it.

Chapter 10: It's Time to Reconnect With Yourself at the Exclusive Sierra Madre Resort

Gracie was making quite a name for herself in New Vegas. On a trip to the Omertas' club house, where I didn't manage to take any good pictures, she'd found a stylish women's suit. Gracie did not like the suit. However, she wore it once to give Mr House a laugh.

Mr House, not laughing.

There was good money on the table for one of Mr House's fixers, but Gracie wasn't devoted to the man. Er, computer. Virtual streamer? She wasn't devoted to him, is the point. She'd also done a fair bit to help the New California Republic, which had done quite, quite adequately looking after people west of the Mojave.

One morning, Gracie and her dear friend Rose of Sharon Cassidy went to see Colonel Cassandra Moore about another job. She wondered if much "moore" could be done strengthen ties between New Vegas and the NCR.

To take this picture, Cass stood a tripod on the table.

"Actually, it's quite a simple assignment this time," said Colonel Moore. "I need you to kill Mr House."

"Ooh," said Gracie. "Ooh. Oooh. That isn't really a small undertaking, is it, Colonel?"

Colonel Moore scoffed. "He's just one guy!"

"We'll think about it," lied Gracie.

"I'm never gonna get used to you in heels." --Rose of Sharon Cassidy

"I must be honest with you, Rose of Sharon," Gracie said glumly back at the Lucky 38. "I was originally planning to side with the New California Republic, but I hardly see the value proposition in assasinating Mr House so they might conquer New Vegas!"

Cass nodded somlemnly. "Yessir, that's how freedom and democracy spread. Now take off the suit, will you? I feel like I'm with a property developer!"

"You're the one who keeps wearing- no, never mind. I think Mr House mentioned another job for us as well..." Gracie checked her Pip-Boy and winced loudly. "Ah! Wipe out the Mojave Wasteland chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel! What else?"

Gracie decided to go and talk to the Brotherhood of Steel before she tried anything drastic. Cass decided to go fishing instead. Gracie still had fond memories of the Capital Wasteland chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel, whom she'd helped with their plumbing on two separate occasions, but she'd heard how the wider organisation could be rough with people. Some chapters weren't interested in using their technological might for good; they just used it to hold everyone else down.

She tracked the Mojave Wasteland's ancient technology-gathering cult to their bunker, a few miles east of Novac.

"It's a bit... quiet, isn't it?" Gracie felt nervous as she wandered into the bunker. No-one was home. The beds and some of the chemistry sets looked like they'd been used, but where were the people? A radio was on, playing an advert for a casino, probably one Gracie had overlooked on the Strip; could that have been the old "leave the radio on so burglars don't think we've all gone out" ruse?

A strange feeling came over Gracie as she approached the radio. She'd done a lot of walking that day, under the blazing desert sun. She needed a nap, a nice, cosy nap on the rusty bunker floor, and maybe a cup of Darjeeling... She wondered if Cass was having fun on her fishing trip. Probably fighting a lakelurk or three, and then... Then curling up in the long grass, still in her waders, and... So peaceful, under all those freckles... So sleepy...

"Ohhhh... M-my head..." groaned Gracie, staggering to her feet beside the fountain. "M-Mr House? You look different."

"Shut up," said the beardy man. "I've a very important task for you, so pay close attention. And don't you dare wander off, otherwise I shall detonate your collar! Yes, that got your attention, didn't it? Now, first of all, I need you to find God."

"Wha-wha-what? Fi-find...? Is this a joke?! I already have!" snapped Gracie.

The beardy man smacked his face and groaned loudly. "The super mutant with dissociative identity disorder, you nincompoop! I've given you an Elijah-brand Holographic Rifle (patent pending) to keep you safe from the Ghost People. Find him! Now! Go!"

Gracie managed to piece together the basics of her situation. She was locked in a pre-war resort village, built around the Sierra Madre hotel and casino, which over time had crumbled into a rusty, monster-infested deathtrap. Why was she here? Just a few hours ago - or was it days, or weeks? - she'd been wearing her own clothes and making small talk with Cass. "Begin again"... That lady on the radio had made the Sierra Madre sound so nice.

One moment, she'd been listening to the radio, and the next minute, she was there, taking orders from the beardy man. "Find God", he'd said. "Find God", the glowing face of a beardy man had said, ordering her into deathly ruins under crimson skies... Gracie tried not to dwell on that, and instead focused on her mission as she tromped past banks of thick, red fog that seared her lungs, and dodged shambling, green-eyed maniacs in gas masks.

"Seen any Ghost People? I'm eating for two now." --Dog

Gracie located God, and his headmate Dog, in the police station.

"Ahh, nothing ignites the blood quite like a wench who dresses butch and means it! A pity you couldn't pull off a suit, but many can't." --Dean Domino

Gracie located Dean Domino, and immediately hated him, in an open-plan dining room.

"Unh... where is... who sent you here?" --Laura Bailey, voicing a different woman emerging from a a different cylinder-looking thingy in a different expansion pack for a different game published by Bethesda

Finally, Gracie located Christine Royce in the other basement, much like any other basement built for the casino staff. It was hardly a paradise; the casino itself would have to have been much fancier, probably with carpets and a jukebox. Even the staff basements were expensive, though, with computers that once would have buzzed with computer stuff, and of course that Auto-Doc. Gracie wondered how big the Sierra Madre was. The complex had to be bigger than Vault 101, and probably more expensive. How much money and resources had to have been poured into the Sierra Madre, only for it to end up in ruins? That fog, was it supposed to protect the place? Who was restocking the vending machines? The Ghost People, were THEY restocking the vending machines? Why were there Ghost People in a luxury resort?! What on Earth was she going to find up there, in the actual casino, which had obviously turned into another deathtrap the very minute the bombs fell and the staff ran out of fucking floor polish--

"Hey... Gracie, wasn't it? Calm down. Take a few deep breaths. You're not alone in here," Christine held up a sign she'd painted in front of Gracie's teary eyes.

"Oh..." Gracie sniffed. "Thank you, Miss Royce. I'm... I'm in an awful state, I know. That floating blue face of a beardy man, or one of his agents, they must have kidnapped me and enslaved me to..."

Christine scribbled another paragraph on her sign. "We're in much the same boat, then. That lunatic Father Elijah wants the treasure of the Sierra Madre - its technilogical marvels, like the holograms and vending machines, and probably also a fortune in pre-war money. (sigh) For now, we have no choice but to play along."

"Vending machines!" Gracie smacked her forehead. "We could just crowbar one off the pavement for him, couldn't we? Oh, would that it were so simple."

"I've changed my mind. Shave this one's armpits and glue the resulting hair to her gleaming arse-cheek of a scalp, or I quit!" --Dean Domino

"Dean, I swear to God- no, not you, the other one- just SHUT UP, Dean!" --Gracie

Gracie led her fellow prisoners back to the fountain, where Father Elijah ordered her to trigger the Gala Event. What was the Gala Event? Why, the event which, due to very convenient programming in the Sierra Madre's systems, would automatically unlock the front door! Obviously, what else could a Gala Event be?

"Violence!" --Ghost Person A

"I wonder if I'd look good in yellow." --Ghost Person B

Gracie had given up on self-pity. With grim determination, she laid siege to the Salida del Sol, treating it like any other Bulshita del Sol. With a bear trap strapped to her punching arm, she barged through Ghost People, and then turned on a holographic fountain guard to fend off the Ghost People she'd already killed. She trod on a mine, clambered over the rooftops, fell on a Ghost Person, stubbed her toe kicking its gas bomb away, ran through one last stretch of fog, and wondered how Cass was getting on with that fishing trip.

The Gala Event. Wowee.

Eventually, she found the Gala Event control panel. Under cheeks stained dark red with tears and cloud residue, Gracie managed to smile a little, knowing she'd made some progress at last. She was on her way to breaking into the Sierra Madre itself, getting the beardy man - Father Elijah - his treasure, and then, while he was distracted...

Blunt trauma? Strangulation? Perforation by Holorifle? Feeding into a pasta machine? Vending machine to the head? All felt like viable options for Father Elijah to meet his end. Maybe, if Gracie braved enough of the Sierra Madre and its horrible cloud, she'd find her way to a beautiful silver lining...