[color=9e0b0f][center][h2]New Vegas, Ultra-Luxe Casino & Resort
Miss Kate Rowsell[/h2][/center][/color]

Kate rolled her eyes as she looked down at her drink, one that had now become dry. What kind of dinner party would let one of its guests even get close to seeing the bottom of their wineglass? She lazily held it in the air and the server—a debonair fellow hidden behind an elegant white mask—poured. She nodded and gazed at the rest of the partygoers, completely uninvolved with the conversation that was rolling around the large white table.

As a little girl, she’d coveted and dreamed of becoming one of the leading ladies of yore, sporting a sparkling dress and immaculate hair, becoming a conduit of talent and beauty that not a soul could ignore. Here she was, invading her fourth glass of wine and tuning out the rest of the table. She was surrounded by a patchwork of celebrities and strangers, but the unifying principle was that at the very least, every single guest at the table acted important. She’d never come to consider herself a celebrity, but ever since Miss Rowsell’s residency at the Aces Theatre, she had become one of the most coveted faces in New Vegas. 

Kate was, in modest terms, a gorgeous, glamorous, and resourceful woman from California with an intoxicating set of lungs and a private life that was often the interest of public interest and scrutiny. It did not come as a surprise that that she’d been invited to this shiny and shallow dinner. This particular gathering, however, was quite curious; Dean Domino, a legend of pre-war entertainment and now the leader of the Chairmen, sat on the opposite end. She had not uttered a word to him, but the ghoul’s eyes had idly remained affixed to her own from across the table for much of the evening.

“Do you always look so deeply uninterested, Miss Rowsell?” asked the man sitting next to her – a rather handsome dark-haired man, wrapped in a velvet coat and sporting what looked like a 100-cap haircut. 

“Oh…I’m just tired, that’s all,” muttered Kate as she looked around. She reached into her purse for a cigarette and plopped one into her mouth. The man did not allow her to reach for her lighter; he offered his, igniting the cigarette. She exhaled a plume of smoke and nodded at the man. “Thank you.” She then glared at him inquisitively. “I don’t recognize you. Are you one of Mr. Domino’s ‘doctors’?”

The man chuckled under his breath and shook his head. “Heavens, no. I am but an investor in happiness, my girl.”

Kate furrowed her brow as she took another smoke. “What in the world does that mean?”

“I am only a representative of this ‘happiness’. I do not know if it is truly my place to describe what it is. My name is Mr. Townley.”

“Kate. Kate Rowsell.”

“Yes, I know. Do you really believe that there is a single soul in New Vegas who does not your name?” Mr. Townley lit a cigarette of his own and smirked. “I doubt that even Mr. House could ignore the likes of you.”

Kate found herself blushing, not because of the man’s rehearsed charm, but the very thought of crossing the mind of the man in the tower. This entire world of theirs had been his brainchild, and she had spent many nights gazing at the Lucky 38, wondering what sort of hidden realm rested within. “You are too kind. But your answer doesn’t satisfy me.”

“I am but a layman of the Starry Glory, Miss Rowsell. A realm of discovery and splendor in this dirty, complicated world.”

Kate grimaced with disgust and crossed her legs in the other direction in dramatic fashion, turning away from the man. “You’re one of the crazies? One of the sales-priests? What the hell are you doing here?” She’d turned away from Mr. Townley with such abandon that her masterpiece of a dress had shown just a hint of the woman’s thigh, a section of her skin that itself was a wasteland of fresh needle-marks. 

Mr. Townley stared down at the woman’s leg and frowned. “There is nothing ‘crazy’ about escaping, my dear.” He gently tapped his finger against the flawed skin—the hidden indicator of one of the woman’s darker secrets—and smiled. “And our escape is one that is far more tangible than this one you have here.”

Kate recoiled and fixed her dress. She looked down at her leg in horror; Mr. Townley had seen something impure; something no one there was supposed to see. She frowned and stood up, addressing the older woman at the end of the table. “It has been lovely, Marjorie, but I must retire for the night.” She left abruptly, dragging the back of her sparkling blue dress with her, and took the elevator alone to the lobby.

The elevator dinged. The doors opened and Mr. Townley’s velvet silhouette stood in front of the opening. “How did…? What?” She shook her head and sighed, brushing past the man. Nothing about this evening had made the slightest bit of sense to her.

“You did not give yourself a chance to understand, dear girl. We are what you have been looking for,” said Mr. Townley as he followed and walked alongside her.

“…What? What do you want?”

“You’re afraid, but not of me. Not really. You’re afraid of what this alluring life is going to turn you into.” He pointed at Kate’s leg. “You’re retreating to a world of your own because this one is not all you thought it was. But it could be.”

“I don’t understand. I don’t know you.”

“It is in my line of work to see people as they really are. Often, they themselves cannot see, but we do. Many of those who sit around you, wearing thousand-cap suits and masking themselves in glamor, are the ones who need it most,” said Mr. Townley. “And I see it in you, too. I can see longing beyond your face; I see a girl who is disillusioned with the empty glamor of high society.”

“How do you…nevermind. Your little church just [i]FIXES[/i] these people?” asked Kate.

“We give them what they need to fix themselves. The Church of the Starry Glory is not about me. It is not about our prioress. It is about something far greater.” He gave an affirming nod and a bone-chilling smile. His expression then transformed into a far more stoic one. “You can find our home in South Vegas. It is hard to miss. You will be welcome there. [i]All[/i] are welcome.”

“I don’t know…”

[i]“Think about it.” [/i]


[color=2e3192][center][h2]New Vegas, Lucky 38 Casino & Hotel
Mr. House & “The King”[/h2][/center][/color]

[i]“I, Caesar Lucius, Imperator of The Legion invite you to a meeting of delegates in the Legion’s capital of Santa Fe to determine the future of the West Coast and of our respective nations. Safe passage is guaranteed throughout Legion territory to all those that bear Caesar's mark.”  [/i]

The King sat down in his plush checkered chair—astonishingly lacking his usual accompanying drink—and slowly nodded as Mr. House finished reading the Legion’s letter. “So…now we’re partying with Caesar?”

“Perhaps. For now. This summit will not resemble the parlay we orchestrated in the Ultra-Luxe. I will be utterly shocked and impressed if the topic is anything other than the Cult from the East.”

“So, we’re going?”

“[i]You[/i] are going.”

“Oh. Okay, boss. Why me? You saw what happened last time you left me alone with those cats,” said The King with a defeated sigh.

“You won’t be dealing with the NCR. You will be dealing with Caesar. He is far more logical. Perhaps less [i]predictable[/i], but nonetheless, you will do well...I must channel my attention to Big Mountain. Project Aries has begun, and if it sees the light, then the human military I have crafted will be an anthill compared to what’s next.”

“What’s ‘Project Aries’, boss? This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“As of now, it is only an endless, shapeless vortex of numbers. But soon, it will be real. And then it will be worth talking about.”