[color=0054a6][b]Robert House - Lucky 38[/b][/color]

"Excuse me again, Lord-Paladin. I must peruse my security cameras. It will be just a moment." Robert assumed immediate control of Victor inside the dark, completely-empty Lucky 38 lobby. He rolled over to the door and snatched a peculiar note off the ground. He used the securitron's inefficient hands to pry open the envelope and held open the letter. He scanned its contents and sent them back to his original database. Victor resumed his duties.

[i]Dear Mr House 

I apologise for not being able to go to the convention myself and that you had to deal with my body double, the man may look like me but he is somewhat of an asshole. Although to be fair to the man I did tell him to be an utter dick to the legion and get Caesar to leave assuming the attack is an full on invasion. 

As I’m sure you’re aware the Legion uses spies “Frumentarii” to gather information, with them no doubt having agents in both the NCR & Vegas. I plan on stopping or hindering them from properly informing the Legion by purposely spreading "Fake news"..made up stories, reports, contradicting press statements and even giving out eight different version of the attack plan to non-essential officers back in the NCR.

With any luck the Frumentarii will give false information to Caesar but at the same time my allies and neutral parties like the FZM will be unsure of the NCR plans.   

Which is why I wanted to write and state regardless of what you may hear or be told the NCR has no intention of invading the FZM (If anything I’d like to a client state but that’s an discussion for another day.) or even Arizona for that matter, the goal of the attack is to weaken the legion and humiliate Caesar with the hopes of causing an civil war. 

Yours sincerely

President James Kimball[/i]

Robert drafted his response to the NCR's official terminal inside the Tops hotel and casino -- a database well within his jurisdiction.

[color=39b54a][i]Dear Mr. Kimball,

I appreciate your letter but do not appreciate its contents. Your apology falls on deaf ears, I'm afraid; not even the Legion--who are known for subterfuge--were disrespectful enough to waste our time on a decoy. Stick to what you do best. You aren't doing yourself or anyone else any favors by acting erratic and secretive. I understand your aspirations to become as versatile as Caesar, but don't try it. The NCR is too large and clumsy to gracefully emulate their nuances.

As my envoy so poorly articulated -- you are free to engage in your war with Caesar on the condition that New Vegas remain open to your people. I am glad that we are on the same page about your reservations on expanding into the Mojave desert. On the other hand, however, I am insulted you think so lowly of me that you would assume I would be foolish enough to consider becoming a 'client state'. Such a preposterous idea is *forever* off the table.

Have a beautiful evening and good luck with your future endeavors, so long as they have absolutely nothing to do with the city of Las Vegas.

Best,
Robert Edwin House
President, C.E.O, and Sole Proprietor of the Free Economic Zone of the Mojave[/i][/color]

Robert returned his focus to Lord-Paladin Barnaky. "I am sorry about that. Where were we?"


[color=0054a6][b]A Sharp-Dressed Ghoul - The Tops Hotel and Casino[/b][/color]

[i]Focus. This is child's play. You've done this before, back in the old days. [/i] A sharp-dressed ghoul stood alone near the elevators leading to the high towers of The Tops. As he had suspected, the chairmen were too daft to pinpoint his weapon on the way in. That was all he needed -- his mental faculties, a gun, and funds to be 'misplaced'. His sunglasses proved to be ineffective in blurring his identity; this place was strictly smoothskin. [i]No matter.[/i] If he wasn't seen, then he was never there. This was why he always preferred to work alone.

The ghoul, donning a fedora and freshly-ironed suit and holding a half-filled glass of vodka, lit a cigarette and casually strolled toward the lobby. He looked around. The timing was immaculate; the guards had all been ordered to accommodate and focus on the guests of Mr. House's grand summit. They weren't bothering with the commonfolk. Not today. [i]Perfect[/i]. He took a few more huffs from his cigarette and collapsed it onto an ashtray. He finished his drink and set the glass on an abandoned table. The ghoul shuffled to the cashier's box. He watched as the guards switched shifts. He had five minutes. He rested his back against the side-panel of the cashier's chamber and began to fiddle with the lock on the door. It was quite a trick, lockpicking behind his back. It required an astute sense of coordination and feeling. But he had executed it so many times in the past that it was almost like breathing. He decimated the lock in seconds.

The door came unlocked with a soft, inviting click. [i]Showtime.[/i]