#5urvive

It'd been all over the news. From her disappearance to her body being found just yesterday, the whole situation hadn't been something anyone could really ignore. But while the police presence had died down, the media surrounding him was crowding him similarly to when Johnny had died.

And through it all, he'd been alone.

Sana was with her family, now probably arranging the funeral, while Zohrin was having to take care of Kelvy while grieving. He wasn't looking forward to facing either of them, not with the guilt and dread already weighing heavily on his chest.

When Rogue finally ended up calling, he didn't know what he'd been expecting. Whatever he had been, though, it hadn't been the pathetic display that he'd had to listen to. Part of him really had just wanted to hang up. Telling her to fuck off didn't even seem right. He just wanted nothing to do with her in that moment, and yet he sat there and listened with his head in his hand, phone out in front of him on speaker.

That snarky remark had come out without him even having to think about it, and then came the silence. A long silence that he was just about ready to hang up from when Rogue finally spoke up again. It was pathetic. That urge to end the call came around once again, but instead now she was met with the uncomfortable silence. What could he even fucking say to that?

Night City is a shit hole- but it's far from the only shit hole he's spent some time in. It's been awhile since he's set foot in the NUSA at all- a decade, at least, maybe longer. The years start to run together at some point, once the decades blur into centuries.

“What's she drink?” He gestures towards the private booth across the bar, presumably not referring to the security guy standing guard at its doorway.

“Rogue? Buddy, Rogue's not gonna let you buy her a drink.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Seriously, what's she drink? Just give me the bottle.”

Claire rolls her eyes, but humors him with a sealed bottle of top shelf tequila placed on the bar. She sets two empty shot glasses beside it as she informs him, “If you open it, it's yours. So, I'd suggest waiting until after you get rejected.”

“Yeah, noted. Not gonna be a problem.”

He picks up his bottle and both glasses and approaches the guard with unwavering confidence despite being roughly a foot shorter than him. The scent of cigar smoke and booze no doubt precedes him, even before he starts causing a scene.

"The planets haven't ever quite aligned right for it to happen."

She's out and about today - a rare departure form sitting in the store, or in the apartment. Jupiter's holed up in her memory chip and won't come out for hours, so Callisto figures she's got a little bit of time to do something that skews a little more normal.

Or what she thinks normal is supposed to be, given her lack of experience.

So here she sits, nursing a drink while this woman comments on her resting bitch face.

(Maybe leaving the store was a bad idea).

Morgan had been more than a little sure that when Rogue accepted the idea that he'd make - and give - her the flower, she'd also pretty immediately written it off.

Which, of course, had made it all the more important that he doubled down and actually do what he said he was going to do.

He's vindicated in the shock on her face, and the compliments that fall out of her mouth make him smile. The thankyou is secondary, because he's kind of already gotten what he wanted, hasn't he?

@5urvive

BLOOD AND BROKEN GLASS littered the floor and corner booth. Patrons poured out of every available exit. Revenant preferred the quiet. After the blood and fighting and public panic, it was nice to have a moment alone with his target.

In this case, ARON FASH, who had gotten his hands on more Hammond files than he probably knew what to do with. Netrunners and fixers alike were getting wise that scraping certain types of Hammond data had become a risk for more than one reason. Hammond worked closely with the Syndicate, and pissing off the Syndicate frequently led to getting DISAPPEARED, but that was a risk that was to be expected.

Somebody else was hunting Hammond data, and teaching Night City that there were worse fates than disappearing.

vi, internally:

little china seems muted in a late-night fog draped across it like satin, its chilled hand a light, cool touch. a handful of people have passed by; none have looked at them. still, kerry fiddles with the arm of the sunglasses he insists on wearing. even here, in the night, at a no-name noodle stand between a laundromat and an apartment building where no one is giving them a second thought.

rogue had picked this spot for its anonymity. he'd swayed toward caution anyway, though his incognito clothes are lazy: dark-wash jeans, the sunglasses, and a nondescript pull-over with its hood up. he doesn't want to talk to anyone, or have anyone talk to him.

she's different though. maybe because it's rogue, or because she'd reached out to him for this. whatever this is. he has a feeling. it's making him squirm.

"I always knew you were a fountain of wisdom."

Billie's tone is a touch dry, but there's no animosity there - especially after their last conversation. She's sitting at the bar of the Afterlife, sipping on a pretty pink drink someone's made her, smiling at the elder woman who has seen fit to insert herself into Billie's space yet again.

Refraining from the next argument-inducing thing she could say (good thing Trace isn't a broke bitch for all the pussy he gets), and instead decides to ask a more direct question.