Nevada: High Roller (Fallout New Vegas)

Chapter 23: Maria And The Open Arms-Race

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Waking up to the smell of bacon crackling away from the kitchen, my body, driven by my stomach, must have reacted before my brain did. 

Hunger put me on autopilot, driving me up and out of the thick, cozy sheets of my bed to pull each item of my clothing on one by one until my spurred boots began to sound their trudging jingle-jangle throughout the entry hall as I paced towards the kitchen.

Leaning over the stove, half-turned away from me, was Boone. He bustled away over the stove, paying no mind to the spattering salty bacon in the pan. Those shades he constantly wore seemed to be some kind of windshield to the spattering oil that flecked on his arms like he didn't even feel it.

               Either he simply didn't care, or he was more focused on getting breakfast on a plate to give a damn about a bit of hot oil.

"Philippe, eat your heart out." I thought in dark mocking, nearly cracking a smile at the mere memory of what that gourmet's face had looked like after I'd dunked the fucker in the deep fryer.

My spurs jingled along like a welcome bell, sounding my arrival through the doorway of the kitchen. I leaned up against the doorframe, staring longingly into the pan lined with sizzling strips of delicious-looking bacon, wafting up a mouth-watering aroma into the air that made my stomach rumble. 

I gulped down the saliva that flooded my mouth, face growing warm at the slightly embarrassment at the noise my stomach had made, and slunk into the room.

"Morning, Nevada." Boone greeted coolly in his way, not turning his head away from the pan in front of him.

He seemed focused, probably just ensuring he didn't overcook the stuff and burn it. I was curious how he'd learned to use pre-war stoves, whether it was some form of training that the NCR happened to give to their soldiers and he'd picked it up during his enrollment, or maybe whether Carla had taught him, seeing as how they'd met in the city of New Vegas and she likely would have learned how to use stoves like that if she'd lived in city suites like the one that we were residing in.

          For the latter reason, I didn't ask -- didn't think Boone needed to be woken up with that particular stinging memory, especially when he was being nice enough to make breakfast for the both of us.

"Mornin', Boone." I replied with a slight rasp in my voice that I shook off by clearing my throat, wandering across to the nearby fridge and removing two bottles of Nuka Cola from the inside shelves, chilled and delicious. 

I carried them across to the long, stretching dining table, taking a seat at the head of the table. 

"Breakfast smells good."

Boone grunted in an acknowledgement of my comment, and I looked back over my shoulder to see his back towards me, the sound of the gas stove-top turning off, and Boone placing the strips of bacon onto two matching plates that he set aside momentarily on the counter to his right.