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The first fleeting moments of daylight danced across the flecks of dust that hung in the air of the Mojave Outpost barracks. The stale dawn pushed through the cracked and pitted windows and demanded the attention of the stray soldiers and civilians still sitting around the barroom counter, all nursing their drinks and dulling their thoughts with comforting waves of whiskey and vodka.
In the corner of the room, amongst the deep shadows that strung themselves over furniture and person alike, Rose of Sharon Cassidy sat on an iron barstool with a whiskey tumbler, cracked and pitted, in her calloused hands. She leaned over the bar and picked at the chipping paint as a sigh tumbled out of her.
A lesser woman might have crumbled under the weight of the whiskey flowing in her veins. Instead, she shrugged away the tipsy blanket that hung low over her shoulders as she blinked the tiredness from her eyes and stretched. Her eyes fell upon the bartender, Lacey, and she gave a polite, thin-lipped smile.
“Coming back around to the land of the living there, Cassidy?” Lacey quipped. Cass could almost see her judging gaze, though her eyes were obscured by her trader hat.
“Don’t be smart, Lacey. I’m spending all the caps I got at this place right now,” Cass retorted. She extended her arm and dropped the empty whiskey tumbler onto the furthest part of the oak counter and gestured to it in a silent request for another round.
Lacey scoffed. “Yeah, yeah. You’re all heart,” Lacey said with a grunt as she leaned below the bar and pulled out another bottle of whiskey.
She poured half the contents into the tumbler and passed it back to the caraveer with a nod.
“Thanks, Lacey.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Cass took a moment to savour the alcohol as it burned her throat. The amber liquid sloshed down the sides and dripped onto the counter, but she was a million miles away from the NCR Outpost now. Her eyes fluttered closed and she thought back to her dealing with Cassidy Caravans, casting a wish with each sip she took that the roads would clear, or her paperwork would be evaluated and reviewed, so that she might get some closure. That day seemed to get farther and farther with each passing day.
Cass had spent her entire damn life slaving over her caravan company, only to have it taken from her in the blink of an eye. She was a prisoner here now in the barracks, a slave to the bureaucracy of an uncaring government. It wasn’t fair, and she noted with disdain the way the NCR Troopers that constantly patrolled the barracks were so reluctant to leave the area. They could be helping her - they should be helping her - but just like she was, they were stuck in the Outpost.
She couldn’t blame them though. Still, the reality stung a little.
She took another drink, and reality stung her a little less.