whatever you say, whatever they say. i donāt give an uhh.
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@neogun
whatever you say, whatever they say. i donāt give an uhh.

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respect.
@neosaeyi during phase one of the power outage, in a vr pocket somewhereĀ
gun is an old soul. at least, in the way that he believes in writing things down with pen and paper, old wooden furniture passed down tens of generations with a story hidden in the scuffed varnish, andĀ face-to-face interaction. itās hard for his charm to permeate through pixelated text and virtual worlds, after all. and so, he doesnāt indulge in the wonders of tech for personal pleasure, but he appreciates its importance in modern culture, in the way everyone uses it to escape. he appreciates, also, the logistics behind it. creating with it. using it to keep everyone in the palm of his calloused hand.Ā
this is why heās at a vr cafĆ© near absolution the night of the power outage. research for his latest idea towards expansion. an improved, more immersive way for the depraved to view the more... self-indulgent memories he sells in hushed transactions. a way to make it feel like theyāre really there, as if itās their memory to keep. the odyssey has that way about it,Ā the perfect research subject, the epitome of escapism by living another life. and gunās in the middle of silently observing other avatars interacting with the environment, the npcās, when the facade of a fantasy world starts to break down around them. pixels breaking until thereās nothing but black for a split second, then a clearing. a blue sky and sun so bright he, or rather his spitting image of an avatar form, squints at the sudden emergence.Ā
itās eerily quiet after the previous bustle of a fantasy city, a few birds chirping and the rustle of leaves in wind the only sounds he hears. that is, until he hears footsteps behind him and he turns quick, alert, confused. when his eyes land on an unfamiliar but unassuming avatar, he breathes, shoulders relaxing.Ā āso, what is this, some sort of weird boss fight? i donāt play this game very often,ā he says by way of greeting, half joking, a grin growing on his lips as he tacks on, ābut if youāre the type of boss that shows up, maybe i should log on more.āĀ
trigger.
rua --Ā
āwell hurry up,ā she tells him, gestures him inside and closes the door behind him. it whirs, beeps. the urge to Ā hide her face is there, but he knows. he always does. more than she herself, perhaps. every secret and sin sheās every wanted washed away - a burden heās carried for her. āyou picked a strange day to stop by. or do you really love the look of acne scars and eye bags?ā she teases, laugh lines scrunching at the sides of her eyes as she takes down two glasses. a strange normalcy in the middle of this maelstrom.
rua is, in so many ways, different from his usual clientele. thereās the status, of course, and everything that comes with it. the fact that he has taesun usually keeping an eye out for any strange visitors trying to drop in while sheās down. the extra deadbolt lock he installed in the absolution room to silently reassure her. small courtesies he doesnāt bother to extend to most others. perhaps thatās why. she isnāt his other clientele. she doesnāt build him up as a figurehead, she doesnāt buy into the absolving of sins narrative. she sees it for what it is. a way to forget. a way to keep going.
it makes it easier to be just gun with her, build a real relationship not baked in niceties or words put on a pedestal, because heās not a god to rua. she canāt even look at him, sometimes, while others have adoration in their eyes. like theyād follow him off a cliff if he said thatād release them from their sins. thatās why he tells her to take it easy, to not immediately drink. she knows how he works much like he knows all her secrets, her burdens, her sins, and the way she looks, feels even, when she takes that mask off.Ā
so, he brings her a drink because he knows. a whole bottle of his finest wine he swiped many years ago. and maybe for the first time in a while, their eyes meet. he smiles back, and follows after her. briefly turning to glance back at the lock despite the whirring confirmation. he makes himself at home, setting the bottle down on the table before sinking into the plush cushions of her couch for a moment. after countless hours sitting tense in absolution, itās comforting. the tease in her voice is, too. he snorts, leaning forward to pick up the bottle and pop the cork off,Ā āyou caught me, thatās just my type. itās the only reason i let you come in so often.āĀ
he avoids acknowledging why heās there now at such an odd time, nodding a small thanks instead when she hands him a glass. āhave you seen how crazy itās gotten out there?ā he asks (means, āhave you left your house at all after mods went down?ā), pouring deep red liquid into her cup before his own.Ā
haven.
yani --
ājust the same as ever,ā she admits, biting at her lip, as a worry grows in the back of her mind, twisting and twining like vines between her ribs. āworried about my plants though,ā she adds helpfully, a frown on her lips. āhow does your operation manage without power. are you going to lose data?ā
half of him is relieved when she flicks his forehead like nothingās changed. the other half twinges with old regret resurfacing. maybe he should listen to taesun, he considers briefly, maybe then he can fix everything with even more lies. for now, he tosses that thought to the side, and his relief settles in. slows the beat of his heart, quells the panic in his mind. pulls a grin that matches hers on his lips as he jests (lies), ādonāt flatter yourself too much, i wanted to see if it broke and iād be able to finally mine all of jinsolās secrets out of there.ā he snorts, and it seems like everythingās fine. she doesnāt remember, and thatās good, he reminds himself, itās better this way. his shoulders relax, and then she continues.
in all his worry about yani, he hadnāt thought about that. his data. his mind picks up again, cogs turning at rapid speeds trying to recall the blueprints for his devices. had he put a failsafe on them? would it even matter if he did? the cause of the outage reads like more than just a system failure, and rather like an attack that gun canāt quite figure out the logistics of just yet. so, truthfully, he doesnāt have an answer. only more questions for himself, like what if his database, his machine were the targets all along? or would it be so bad if all the memories heās taken from yani and sungki and taesun and rua be wiped from existence entirely? and --
he shrugs, betraying none of those thoughts to her, even as they continue to shoot off in his mind.Ā āi shouldnāt, but even if i do it doesnāt matter. itās only been a few hours and i already have people asking for appointments the moment power turns back on. so, iāll just get new data and build it up again,ā he answers instead, the only truth heās sure of,Ā āanything important from the old data has already been seen by those who need it anyway, or iāve written them down- see, it pays to be āantiquatedā sometimes.ā his grin slants as he finishes, stepping forward to look closer at the hybrid plant sheād been sketching.Ā
āyou might want to try it yourself if your setup doesnāt start back up soon, you know, watering and caring for the plants individually?ā he teases, a useless suggestion while his finger idly traces the edge of a leaf.
trigger.
@neooruaĀ on the last day of the system failure, just before the city comes back to life
by tuesday night, gun almost thinks he can get used to this. the absence of technology. funny, because his livelihood is so reliant on it and customers have already run around to find him, frantic, wanting to book the first appointment available when the power comes back to erase the trauma theyāve suffered over the outage. and, unsurprisingly, heās obliged happily. spoke them off the ledge, so to speak, when some asked him if the power would even come back at all, looking up at him like he would know. would have the answers. of course, heād say. voice soothing, smile gentle, your sins will be forgiven soon.Ā and that was that. another week, month even, booked.Ā
sometimes, it almost frightens him how easily it happens.Ā
other times, he drinks to that. like tonight. amber liquid filled a little too high in his glass as he sits in the darkness of absolution. with his detonators offline and cctvās out of commission, heās babysat the machine and his database for a better part of the blackout. paranoid as ever that someone might take this chance to riot, to loot, to destroy everything heās clawed his way out of the gutter for. but after the umpteenth customer coming in frantically with scars evident on their face, no longer hidden by the magic of tech, his mind wanders to a different one.Ā
a face framed with dusty blue locks and tired, dark eyes.Ā
a face used to looking brighter, reliant on it.Ā
idly, he wonders how sheās handling it. then he wonders why heās wondering. then he looks at the glass in his hands. then at a full bottle of wine in his glass cabinet.Ā
half an hour later, heās at her door with that bottle in his hand.Ā
this is just a courtesy visit, he convinces himself. itās how he built up his original clientele, charming them until they couldnāt resist. and itās how heās kept them to this day, rapport. building a sense that he cares about them, looks out for them when really, theyāre just another name in his books. oh rua isnāt just a name, though, but he pretends she is. he compartmentalizes the same way he does when some pervert asks for the latest.Ā
and he does so now, shutting that part of him out, the businessman. knocking at her door as just gun. smiling something small when she answers warily, eyes avoiding his like theyāre back at absolution and no amount of hot water can wash her regret away quite like gun can. still, he tries to get their attention, holds the wine bottle up close to his face and gives it a little wave.Ā āi owe you a drink,ā he says by way of greeting,Ā āfor all those times i denied you one. itās been quite a few days since your last wipe, so iām sure itās safe to drink now.āĀ

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haven.
yani --
the green house is quiet. she doesnāt really have anything to do, and she canāt really tell, when the final phase sets in. thereās nothign to give her a clue that the world has been plunged further into chaos. lacking in modifications herself, sheās wrapped up rather peacefully in botanical sketches of the latest hybrid plant sheās bred into existence, has been carefully nurturing. it sits in front of her, with curling leaves and a fuzzed stem, and is the object of her entire focus when gun comes crashing into the room like a man possessed, grabs her by the shoulders and yanks her around on top of her stool to face him. she blinks up at him skeptical and owlish. ācan i fucking help you, weirdo?ā
this is the thing about relying so heavily on technology, it can shut down at any moment. gun could get up on his high horse and say this is why he lacks in modifications, or why the ones he does have are all non-essential. but that would be willfully ignoring absolution. the way he makes a living. the reason anyone in this selfish city cares about him at all. isnāt that, in its own way, an augmentation? itās this line of thinking that prompts gun to run out of afterlife, nimbly slipping through the bodies of people the moment cybernetics shut down. he gives theo the excuse that absolution and his machine are left unguarded, and maybe thatās true, but his mind wanders elsewhere and his feet follow until the greenhouse comes into view.Ā
memories can be erased, but how permanent is it?Ā
they can be implanted, too, but how sturdy are they in a system failure?Ā
these are things gun never thought to test, and as he slams the door open, breath heavy, mind frantic and overloaded trying to think two, three, a hundred steps ahead, heās worried to find out. and as heās met with puzzled eyes and an ambiguous greeting, his heart fails to slow, every beat louder in the quiet of the greenhouse. her question goes ignored while his grip tightens and his eyes stare, trying to find any signs of contempt in hers, any signs of remembering. when he finds nothing, he catches his breath and releases it with relief. loosens his grip and manages a rasp,Ā āyeah.ā a beat passes, and another, and heās uncharacteristically speechless. great.Ā
he clears his throat, letting go of her completely to swipe a finger underneath his nose and jam his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie.Ā āeveryones crazy rubbed off on me on my way here,ā he starts again with a half-assed grin, an attempt to explain away his behavior,Ā ācybernetics went down too, and some people just donāt know how to function.āĀ
his eyes stay trained on hers, still searching, half hoping for any semblance of what used to be there before the indifference he inflicted on himself. nothing there, of course. but he fishes anyway, questions casually, ābut i guess you donāt feel any different, huh?āĀ
RECONFIGURE
taesun --
his armās jerked up, like thereās too much energy buzzing underneath his skin. the drink sloshes, nearly crashes over the edge. he takes another sip before sliding it noisily onto the table. āitās not like youāre doing anything all that meaningful right now anyway.ā as far as taesunās aware, itās most of the same old. given enough time, and taesun gets bored. āiāll even let you test it on me, a willing guinea pig.ā he smiles, and itās the picture of charismatic.
taesun is, to put it frankly, annoying. irritating. aggravating. and all synonyms in between. at least to gun. who has, for reasons unknown to even himself, known him for far too many years. maybe that feeds into it too, the years between them, that fostered sense of brotherhood making him feel like the annoying sibling he never asked for. and despite his gripes, it works, they work. he appreciates taesunās presence (most of the time) and the business he brings into absolution. they know each other well enough that gun can sense his 'suggestionāĀ coming as he holds his empty glass out. gun obliges silently, bottle clinking against the cup as he moves to pour, then he braces himself. takes a sip from his own glass and stares down at the liquid swirling as he turns his glass absently.Ā
his first answer is a groan the moment taesun starts his pitch. gunās been running out of ways to beat around the bush, to lie himself out of why he refuses.Ā āweāve already been over this taesun,ā he mutters uselessly while the other continues rattling on. his grip around his glass tightens, memories flooding back the more taesun speaks. old prototypes gone terribly, terribly wrong. he could just tell him the truth, and he has considered this. telling him just to rid himself of the burden, then knocking him out, making him forget right after.Ā
but, he resists. and he does so tonight, too, grip loosening, eyes finding taesunās curiously when his snap fills the room. he grins back despite himself, and snorts, leaning forward to set his elbow down on the table.Ā āalright, alright, iāll humor you,ā as gun always does to begin with, pointing his glass towards taesun, āletās say i do it, yeah? i make the prototype, i test it out on my willing guinea pig, it works and you now think i saved your life. iām now your hero and savior. cool.ā he holds his hand up before taesun can protest and takes another sip before setting his glass down, lips straightening as he shifts.Ā
ābut how exactly do you propose we implant fake memories into every single government worker? we canāt just do it to one or two or a few, theyāll catch on or it just causes more issues and that memory becomes useless,ā he finishes, excuses pulled from thin air, but good enough.Ā
āand i donāt want to give them any ideas, what happens if they turn around and do the same to us? itās dangerous tech, tae, more harmful than good.āĀ
black magic.
neojinsol --
jinsol blinks slow, and his eyes sting from the smoke. it reminds him to take another drag. āany exciting new clients?ā jinsol asks around an exhale. because while heās protective of his own memories, he doesnāt have the same consideration for others. has his own techniques to squirrel out truths from brains, even if he canāt rob someone of them completely. but gun doesnāt know that. jinsol doesnāt think he needs to know it. heās interested though, in other peoples secrets. mostly just to keep in mind for his own self-interest.
the afterlife is like home. for many in elysium, sure, but especially for someone like gun. itās fitting, heās sure many would say, for a demon like him. the haze of smoke, the stench of alcohol, how itās the perfect breeding ground for sin that begs to be forgotten as the sun comes up. itās comforting in a way that it almost shouldnāt be, like the bitter taste he sips from his glass, fire coating the back of his throat. heās grown immune to the taste, to the loud thumping of bass ā and to jinsolās eyes on him, friendly enough but guarded, even after years of friendship, years of scratching each otherās back when it benefits themselves. symbiotic, simple. he appreciates jinsol in that way, but even gun thinks twice before popping anything concoted by him into his mouth.
he dodges his question too, like gun does. by shrugging and blowing out his own cloud of smoke, one long exhale before he jests,Ā āoh yeah, very exciting. got another small wave of scorned lovers and some guy wanting to forget his addiction to some drug.āĀ he snorts, picking up his glass and swirling it for no good reason but to have something to do with his hands, adding flatly, ādidnāt have the heart to tell him thatās not exactly how it works.āĀ
a beat passes between his non-answer and him shifting, sitting up, leaning forward to rest crossed arms on the dirty wooden table.Ā āyou know who would be an actual interesting client, though?ā he starts again, grin tilted and telling. heās sure jinsol knows before gun even gestures his cigarette towards him, answering his own question, āyou would.ā theyāve gone down this road many times now, and the end never changes. jinsolās as guarded, paranoid, stubborn as he is -- and, still, he always asks, if only to annoy for entertainment.Ā
tonight, he asks for fun of it, for that look on jinsolās features (and maybe more importantly, for the opportunity to steer the conversation elsewhere). so he retreats quick, leaning back in his chair with a grin still on his face. waving his hand dismissively towards the blonde head of hair before him, āi know, i know what youāre gonna say, but ām just saying. iām sure thereās some stuff in that tortured head of yours you want to forget. everyoneās got something.ā
spotless mind.
neoorua --
ādonāt scold me, i know,ā she grumbles, easily dismissing his standard patter, āyour bedside manner is terrible. you should at least give me a cool cloth or something.ā she complains for the sake of filling an uncomfortable silence that prompts her heart to a rapid fire. swallows hard against the threat of a scream. she canāt place itās origin but it lingers in her throat, like sheād been pulled out of a nightmare abruptly. āis this ever going to get easier?ā
gun doesnāt do pity.Ā
heās not accepting of it towards him from others, nor doling it out for anyone else. itās a useless feeling, not worth the energy it takes. not in elysium where everyone has a sob story and pieces that need mending or are sold off for a semblance of bliss.Ā
but thereās something about oh rua.Ā
both different and all too common, familiar. in his business, heās no stranger to dim eyes and lost voices, but ruaās strikes harder. vibrant blue hues fading to nothing, eyes losing their shine the moment he seeās them. he knows oh rua in ways many can only dream of, human, vulnerable, desperate to forget. itās then when pity nags in the far corners of his mind, makes him wonder, reconsider.
but in the end, his lips curve. a small, professional smile before he counts her down, watches as her eyes shut and body stills.Ā
because gun doesnāt do pity, he does business. and no subtle guilt tugging at his chest will stop him from selling her memories to his most depraved customers. she doesnāt want them anyway. is all too willing to let them go and pretend, so what does it matter? he smiles again as she wakes, but itās crooked, comfortable, easy while he answers, āno.āĀ he waves her hands away, pulling the remaining sensors off her temples as he starts with his standard reply, banter theyāve gone over time and again,Ā ābut hey, be my guest, anything in my cupboardās open to you if you really want to thro--ā she cuts him off just as heās gesturing towards his office, stepping back to give her room to leave.Ā
when she doesnāt move, he snorts, dismissing her just as easy while he flicks a switch to straighten the chair,Ā āyeah, yeah, itās coming. didnāt realize i wiped all your patience, too.ā he turns toward the metal cabinets behind her, grabbing a cloth and running it under cool water, lips straightening now out of her view. wringing the cloth, water drips into the metal sink, filling a quick beat of silence.Ā āi donāt know,ā he answers, more truthfully than normal. turns to dab the cloth on her forehead a few times before handing it to her.
ābut it probably doesnāt help that itās your, what, third, fourth? time here this week alone,ā he adds, voice a little too easy, too light for the heavy implications behind his words. his eyes land on hers, lingering, and still she avoids him. he breathes out slow, arms crossing when he leans back against the counter, āyou know iāll do it regardless, but iāve told you before to take some breaks in betweenā (a warning he hasnāt extended to any other frequent patrons).Ā
oneiric
neoyani --
the interior is dimly lit, in a way that speaks of smoke and quiet, cloaks him in a strange haze. like sheās looking at him through tinted, clouded glass. Ā it has you wanting to look closer, deeper. or at least, thatās the way it seems to go for her. she taps her fingers against the top of her leg, glancing askance at him, shifting to slouch against to his chair, slumping down against the plush fabric, āyouāre a terrible host, anyway, you should offer me a drink or something.ā she instructs, brows arching as she tacks on a quick, āi know youāve got booze in here.ā
lee yani rises something out of him that gun canāt quite put his finger on. or perhaps he can, but tries not to. itās how he operates, after all, the avoidance of inconvenient truths. purposeful ignorance like the faux salvation he offers in this hazy room.Ā
it started with the rosiness of her cheeks when they first met, that something, and he pushed it away in favor of teaching her how to bait with tears, how to swipe undetected, how to hide in plain sight. you canāt taint the already tainted anyway, he remembered then, and remembers now. even when he still seeās it in her eyes as she barges into his office and all he does is raise an eyebrow at her. unsurprised, unbothered. seemingly. āhe has my number, he can tell me himself,ā he counters jokingly, closing the notebook heād been writing in beforehand and slipping it into a locked drawer. itās an old practice of days past, fitting with the archaic decor of his own office, but gun knows better than most not to trust any technology with valuable information.
āyou know you donāt need to lie if you just wanted to see my face,ā he teases, a tilted grin growing on his lips, pen flipping between his fingers ādoorās always open for you.ā and maybe that partās not just a joke, but no one would know it by the way he clicks his pen instead of his tongue and throws her a playful wink. he follows with an airy snort and sets the pen down onto his desk, wooden, dark mahogany, before pushing away from it and standing.Ā ābut sure, iāll reach out to him later,ā he adds like an afterthought, heading over to the liquor cabinet standing tall behind his desk. itās the same finish as his desk, dark wood that speaks of older times, holding liquor just as old from whiskey to cognac to rum to beer to a variation of wine and more.Ā
a collection heās gathered over the years and keeps more for show, but gestures towards now as he turns to face her, answers, tone light despite the deep of his voice, āiām not a host, you invited yourself.ā and, still, he opens the cabinet and reaches for two empty glasses, exaggerates, ābut i insist, pick your poison.āĀ

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hey hey! iām super excited so let me just jump right into it and give you a quick rundown on gun: heās hermes aka the sin eater aka the absolver aka probably many other names iām sure. he does have a bit of magic that just makes him appear like absurdly charismatic regardless of what he says while youāre in his presence. so, ykno. thatās fun. itās certainly helped him con his way through life anyway, and definitely helps him sell his memory erasing (and sorta kinda stealing and selling, but thatās neither here nor there) business for the past 2 years. if thereās anything your muse has ever wanted to forget, thereās a very good chance theyāve come across him, or if thereās any.. information your muse was willing to pay for, thereās also a very good chance heās told you about his little side gig. so, yeah. thatās him in a nutshell.Ā
i donāt have many open plots, but i did put up the three potential connections i wrote for the app on my connections page! while those were written with specific canons in mind, we can definitely adjust them to fit your muse better if youāre interested in a plot. additionally, if your canon is on there and you donāt like the idea or had something else in mind, donāt worry, we 100% donāt need to use mine! letās just chat and plot and have some fun!!Ā
anyway, that got longer than intended so iām gonna stop here and just leave links below. please hit the like button if you wanna plot and iāll hit you up! canāt wait to get things started with yallllĀ
-- profile / bio / connections
My eyes are like his / watching the night bleedā¦
Ocean Vuong, fromĀ āMy Father Writes From Prisonā, Night Sky With Exit Wounds
Hermes: Iāll admit Iāve done a lot of things in my life that Iām not proud of. No, no, thatās not true, Iām proud of most of them.