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“Should probably do something 'bout it,” said Courier. “You’re no good if you can’t talk.”
“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said that,” mumbled Arcade, his voice muffled by the bag of ice pressed to his cheek. “Normally it’s all Arcade, be quiet. Arcade, stop making smart comments when we’re sneaking. Arcade, stop talking in your sleep.”
“Thstop making thsmart commenth when we’re thsneaking,’” Courier mimicked back. “I got errands to run and I need you talking, hoss, not be drooling yerself. Are you sure there ain't someone down at the Followers who can yank your tooth?”
Arcade shook his head. Thankfully Veronica cut in before he could talk, smooth as you please. “I was down there yesterday and asked Julie about it. David Wolfram normally does their teeth and he’s back in California getting new equipment made. It’ll be weeks before he’s back to experience the delights of putting his whole hand into Arcade’s mouth.” She smiled serenely at the filthy look he gave her. “Dr Usanagi said she could do it, but it’s going to be 200 caps even with Follower discount.”
“Don’t think a tooth is worth quite that much scratch. I don’t think Arcade is worth 200 caps,” said Courier. They may or may not have smiled faintly when Arcade spluttered at the indignity of the comment. “What about McCarran?”
“McCarran moved their medical staff over to Forlorn Hope.” That came from Boone. “No one but pill slingers there now. Picked up my pension last week and bought some supplies at the infirmary. Place is a ghost town.”
“Much as I hate to send business towards those rolled-gold assholes over at Crimson, they’ve probably got a vet on hand who could do it.” Cass tilted her hat back a little. “Any country cowfucker probably could yank a tooth out, but...”
Every eye in the room turned to Boone, although one pair showed more blind terror than the rest.
“Your parents live on a Brahmin ranch, right?” said Courier speculatively.
“Yeah,” said Boone, looking nonplussed. “They’re over the I-15 pass though. Don’t think they’d appreciate the visitors.”
“Hmm.” Courier’s speculative look morphed into the look of someone who realised that they could save quite a bit of money. “Strong hands too. Lots of good practical experience. ”
Arcade hissed 'you are full of goddamn Brahmin shit' right as Boone said 'why not get Raul to do it?'
“'Cause Raul's off hiding in his shack and I don’t want to waste boot leather. Y'all all piss and moan if I send you on an errand and Arcade will probably top himself in a fit of pique.”
Arcade frowned at this harsh yet fair assassination of his character. “Listen,” he protested. “It’s fine. It’s just broken. The abscess isn’t something to worry about until I actually get blood poisoning. I can… I can take Med-X until Wolfram gets back. I'm a big guy, I can dose well. Wolfram owes me money anyway.”
“You’re drooling,” Cass pointed out helpfully. "Like, right now. It's staining your shirt."
“Yes, thank you.” If the look she’d received was any icier she’d be able to chill a beer in it. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”
Courier shook their head. A definite no.
“Think of it as being for your comfort and wellbeing,” said Courier breezily, already keen to leave for the afternoon and get some more work done. “Tell Boone what you need. Get it out before I get back tonight.”
Boone pulled off his sunglasses and shook his head. “I think I just got volunteered into something,” he said.
Cass just clapped him on the shoulder and said that she knew where Courier kept a medicinal stash of vodka hidden away for just such emergencies. “Just think, buddy. You’ll be able penetrate Arcade. You can open him wide and fill him with tools.”
There was a long, uncomfortable pause, and she waved her hand in disgust. “You fucks haven’t got a sense of humour. Call me when you need a nurse.”
“I just want you to know that this is a terrible idea and I don’t want any part of it.” His mouth throbbed as a reminder of the broken pre-molar beginning to rot in his jaw. Arcade ignored it. It was easier to be self-righteous when he pretended that it didn’t feel like half his jaw was dissolving.
Cass tucked a raggedy old t-shirt into his collar and patted him on the cheek. “Don’t you worry those pretty little baby blues about it, Doc. It’ll be over in a jiffy.”
He sat up a little and stared daggers at Boone who, in turn, was staring at the tray of vodka-covered tools with a look of calm confidence.
“Listen, you rube.” He knew probably shouldn’t be quite so rude to someone who was about to put pliers in his mouth, but oh well. “Just… be steady, and patient, and don’t rush it. I’m not a mangy half-dead cow-“
“Bull,” Cass said.
Arcade ignored her. “-and I’d rather not be spitting out bits of broken tooth for the next week.”
“Not my first time at the rodeo,” Boone said levelly. “Wasn't planning on rushing it.” He looked around the brightly lit cocktail lounge of the Lucky 38 and, after deciding that everything was to his liking, nodded to Cass.
Later on when Arcade had stopped feeling like he was going to be sick every time he even thought of the heavy crunch of his tooth being pulled out of its socket, he marvelled at the way Boone and Cass had worked as a frighteningly efficient team. Maybe there was some kind of zen skill learned when you worked with cattle. He’d never really given them much thought beyond picturing them as mobile steaks that could carry… you know, stuff, but if the way those two had pinned him down with such ruthless efficiency – and with barely any words spoken! – was any indication, there must be some kind of tribal shaman-esque magic to Brahmin cattle.
Cass had made him wash his mouth out with vodka, watched him inject a generous dose of Med-X deep between his gum and cheek, then pulled his head between her thighs and held him there with the kind of muscular force that was both impressive and terrifying. He’d made some weak off-colour joke about powerful thighs and been immediately silenced. The muffled quiet caused by her jeans pressing tightly against his ears was pleasant though. He almost wanted to ask if he could sleep like this every night just so he didn’t have to listen to Veronica snore.
He’d never liked visiting the base dentist when he’d been just old enough to remember Navarro, and the travelling doctors/barbers/tooth-pullers when they’d been displaced were even worse. As an adult he’d done everything possible to avoid mandatory Follower-dictated visits to the dentist, and he certainly didn’t like having a killing machine and Cass sniggering as he blanched white and almost passed out when Boone held up a pair of pliers. That he had their fingers and a 250 year-old part from a Girls First Electro-Engineering Tool Kit jammed into his mouth was just the icing on the indignity cake.
He’d tuned out most of the next ten minutes. The weight of Boone sitting astride his stomach, a knee on either side of his ribs. The feeling of his mouth being uncomfortably full, of saliva pooling in the back of his throat and Boone making a disgusted sound when Arcade nearly swallowed his fingers. Of his tooth being rocked in its socket until there was the sound of Cass saying just give it a twist, it’ll come right out now and then – god, oh god – the series of cracks as his tooth came free. All of it completely wiped out of his memory. Gone, erased, vanished, even as his tongue automatically sought out the fresh torn gap in his gum.
The clinking sound his tooth made when Boone dropped it onto the tray was rather nice though.
Arcade irritably batted Boone off his stomach and made a rather nasty fat joke to hide the fact that he was still as white as a sheet and on the very edge of passing out. Cass, in a rare moment of tenderness, stroked his hair for a moment.
“Good as new, hot stuff. You’ll be back smiling at the boys in no time." She smoothed back his hair and helped him get up, giving him a flick on the ear for good measure. "I mean, unless you’re going to be perpetually turned on by the thought of Boone advancing on you with needle-nosed pliers in hand, in which case you’re gonna be fucked up and celibate forever.”
Arcade didn’t reply. He was more distracted by the smeared bloody handprint on the dinette chair, like something from a horror holotape. He slowly turned to stare at Boone, standing by the counter and wiping his blood-covered hands clean on a damp rag.
‘What,” said Boone defensively. “You shoulda said you bleed like a stuck hog.”
Arcade had to lie down for a few moments after that, only half-complaining when Cass pulled his head back onto her lap and resumed stroking his hair. After a moment or two he realised that this was how she patted Rex, but never mind that. He closed his eyes and willed the colour to return to his face.
“…that’s the thing about cattle,” Boone was saying to Cass. “They don’t faint.”
“I didn’t faint,” Arcade mumbled.
Cass just kept stroking his hair. “Don’t faint and they don’t talk back. What do you think, Arcade? Worth 200 caps?”
Arcade opened one eye and squinted at Boone. “Remind me to buy you both a drink as a thank you.”
Boone shrugged and threw the blood-stained rag onto the table. “For sitting on that soft gut and shoving my hands in your mouth? You owe us both dinner."
"Two courses," added Cass. "At a minimum."