𝐕

* 𝖕𝖎𝖓𝒌 𝖉𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓 ;   ───  a  selective  /  private  roleplay & writing blog for protagonist , streetkid “ 𝐕 ” from cyberpunk 2077 .  written by aurora 25 + ,  she  /  her .

              STATS  /  HEADCANONS  /  TRACKER  /  PINTEREST  

❛❛   eddies ya want? no problem.   ❜❜          she’ll just turn right around and go hunt down the bastard and get those eddies right back   …   and then some. this dance is getting exhausting, trying not to get shot, get killed. all for some job. truth be told, she doesn’t need her client, just trying to build a little more rep, get a little more experience under her belt. the lifestyle of some street hustler is new to veda and normally she has her partner in crime here with her. figures she’d find herself in some shit without the jackster around. dangerous situations and veda aren’t strangers at all, her parents  ( and the corp )  put her in those from the time she was young. only now she finds herself facing it alone. no jackie, no arasaka, just her and her thoughts and this gun in her face. chest rises and falls as steady as she can get her breath to come, yellow eyes glowing faintly atop flush cheeks. pride won’t allow her to simply crawl away with her tail between her legs, but she ain’t trying to be blown away, either.

❛❛   take whatever it’s worth to you as long as it prevents a bullet from having my name on it. you don’t need to know me like anythin’ to get paid.   ❜❜          air softly passes through her nostrils but she’s releasing a pent up sigh. it’s not like her to feel so panicked, usually good in high - stress situations, a part of it is feeling flustered because she was caught with her hand right inside the metaphorical cookie jar and there’s no denying what she was doing. mercy is rare and hard to come by in night city. veda doesn’t think she could really blame the gal if she ended up putting one right between her eyes.

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            THE SHARP STEEL TOE OF HEELED BOOT STOMPS on the tarp while her pistol remains raised, slides it back with fabric caught underneath to rip the veil away from obscuring the state-of-the-art tech on wheels.  for all of its described chrome glory, it is actually underwhelming in design.  it appears boxier than the common make, lacks the necessary fenders, but possesses multiple delineations, suggesting that there slots for IMPLEMENTS to retract from. keeps an eye on the young solo as she states her case.  valheri doesn’t entertain most of it.

one-handedly hovers left cyberarm over where the DASHBOARD & speedometer should be & opens palms for a protocol to work.  the gen-keys provided by the client pierces through the ICE to encrypt its datafortress in a matter of seconds.  following a jingling chime, what was once a smooth surface with no viable display in sight begins to illuminate digitally atop with a timer.  a click.

❛ does strike me a little shady that—— ❜ 

abruptly, she turns her head to pass a ONCE-OVER at it.  a pinprick of something nefarious grips her with a chill.  { 10...09...08...07...06... } innards are fast filling with a gelid sense of urgency.  discomfort.  something’s wrong.  

❛  ——bail! ❜ 

Levels is putting it politely. Brianne is a woman marked for death as she is marked for disappointment, especially when it comes to love. That she continues to find camaraderie among someone so her opposite is refreshing. Completely different backgrounds and lifestyles, but experiences are akin. 

Pale fingers interlace, elbows prop on the glossy table, and chin leans on the back side of her one hand. Full attention honed on the quick one set to prove her reasons.

And with it, empathy finds her first. Black-lined eyes softening; powdered brow tightening with concern. Heartstrings are thoroughly tugged despite amusement wrought by V’s characteristic response. The man deserved it and perhaps worse if he went on to continue his charade with others while skirting his responsibilities. 

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            KINDRED SPIRITS ARE HARD TO FIND.  nobody in her immediate circle understands where she comes from.  those who show an ounce of resentment post-involvement are branded as weak or bitter ( nevermind the strongest of women are forged by the sting of being accosted simply for existing, to be designated as second class, but people often tend to forget those little details & prop them up as harpies & witches! ) the city no longer operates as it did in the old era, the world of bloodlines & birthrights.  𝐕 has forced herself, cut her way into the CENTER STAGE as a viable contender in the gritty underworld of mercenaries.

valheri velvet aleida rosario-cruz.  the pink daemon.  the wrath of heywood & the scourge in a SINGULAR woman.

it isn’t difficult to tell which directions both DEVIATED as a result of their collective experiences.  one has internalized it & has become ivory-coated steel & the other, a conductor of deadly electricity.  a small, unreadable SMILE momentarily touches her lips.

❛ ——monumental fuckup, you & i.  but you live & you learn.  at the end of the day, we all hafta’ play the cards we’ve been dealt, ❜ she nods firm for EMPHASIS then shakes the glass before setting it aside for a sip of water to chase away the buzz.  ❛ ——or repeat the same mistakes like a gonk, ❜

as time wears on, however, pressing THE SUBJECT further sets a tiny sense of...unease to tingle the white hairs on the back of her neck.  ( an internalized defense mechanism that has never quite been corrected! )  it is largely one of the primary reasons she doesn’t like to talk.  there are far too many stakes involved in these probing conversations.  it’s a game of 4d chess.

it grows quiet.  awkwardly so, by fault of the netrunner ; letting in the sound of JAZZ MUSIC penetrate their realm & airwaves along the sound of chatter from the place’s patrons.  fill the gap.

the netrunner-solo takes a small tablet from pants’ pocket, the thing is likely no larger than a modern day handheld smartphone, something far more compact than the standard wide-screen of its model & make.  inserts a small datashard into the port, the encrypted data begins to decode & display itself for 𝐕’s reading.  some pertinent information for future reference & among some other VARIABLES mined from the deepest reaches of the net requiring the adequate amount of chipware to obtain & to access.  giant pale coral irises aglow a touch of seafoam blue with a buffering whirlpool of data frosting its edges.  & judging by her BODY LANGUAGE, that segment of the conversation is over.

with a touch of finality, focuses gaze on brianne with a PLOT flickering in her expression.

❛ ——ever been to a gun range? ❜

     Misty puts down her utensils in favour of the mug. It’s nothing like the ceramic kind of which she feels lucky to have not one, but two, but it serves its purpose. She’s not hung up on the luxury of the finer product per se, but the comfort she associates with tea doesn’t generally pair well with the harsh coldness of metal — such as the kind this mug’s made of. Much more important than the cool clatter of the material under her nails. They’re nowhere near as long as V’s, but prominent enough to allow her a short burst of idle but rhythmic tapping along the exterior of the mug. The majority of it sits neatly between her palms as they hold it in place below her nose, though.

      The scent puts her in a bubble isolated from everything around her — or around the booth she and V find themselves in, at least. The cleaner’s harsh chemicals and the synth-bacon sizzling in the kitchen would’ve ceased to exist entirely if not for the visual cues surrounding her. They fail to distract her fully, however. The moment she notices her gaze lingering away from V longer than intended, she relinquishes the whim telling her to look around. It’s not ignored, but left to float off in favour of engaging with the here and now — with emphasis on the former.

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              & SHE QUIETLY MARVELS AT THE WOMAN who presents herself so gracefully as though it is bone-deep.  there’s a careless showmanship in the way she leans forward with the mug between her slender, hugging fingers.  (  such is the presentation of a girl who has surpassed her human capabilities & takes up the mantle of a medium between this world & the great void ! ) she has a sense of making one feel as though they are the only person in the room, an attentive listener, an EMPATH.  there is no doubt in her mind that it is of her many qualities which drew in an equally eccentric individual like jackie welles.  

𝐕 sits in an existence that will never see ‘the quiet life’, an existence that will never PHASE out peacefully.  ( she is a dying, decaying husk in her own fast descent to technological ruin —— wrapped in a cocoa-colored suit of pretty skin! ) the shock of has all but subsided & yet, there is not a speck of self-deprecation in those sharp & giant coral-colored irises.  time comes to a crawl as she reads misty’s slight TREPIDATION in body language she uses while gesticulating her point.  serenity & neutrality settling into the netrunner’s characteristics.  curious.

spears another small subsection of omelet & quietly chews.  it must be TAXING for those with the gift, to possess eyes that line an infinite mind, to examine the entire world around them in all its gravity & roundness in the void.  to see beyond one’s own human capabilities are a striking horror to behold ; beautiful & unsettling.  it drove her to punch through the bubble of their neon-lit realm to seek answers that she was meant to find here all along.  a path that demands she OPERATES through her humble esoterica.  𝐕 does not shy away from the arcane or scoff in the face of it, for her upbringing was largely surrounded in mysticism through osmosis.

❛ ——an interestin’ leap from nc to nepal, ❜ she says into a CARAMEL-COATED sip,  ❛ hard to quit the city.  personal testimonial, ❜  

meticulously, mixing the liquid as the question arises, JARRING SOUND of ice scraping against plastic & one another like shaking a bag of dominoes.  a soft, slow blink.  

❛ nah, 's always been my mom’s & sister’s thing.  never really got deep into it like they did.  nevertheless, i still find it pretty dope, ❜ flicks the straw,  ❛ grew up with it, so it’s not a foreign concept to me.  well, maybe your brand is.  speaking of —— anyone else in your family into the mystics or just you? ❜

GEAR

     he should have given more thought before he spoke, or been more tuned in to the work she is devoting to reconnaissance. it almost visible, how she must draw back to herself, to disengage from the scouting drone she has sent far from where they stand hidden by the broken-down jut of an abandoned building. but the darkness has made him thoughtful, just as much as her company has, as if self-reflection comes to him naturally. he knows she will listen, and will grant him in an answer without mincing it into an unrecognizable, palatable heap of dishonesty.

     “ violence, then, to draw attention. or the threat of it, if that is enough. ”

     the answer is obvious. danger is an exceptional motivator; pain even moreso. but is there not a point before that where he will be listened to? or considered, at the very least, in the decisions that are made about him and for him?

     “ many decisions are made for me without my input. they are often not in line with what i would choose. ” his gaze tilts away, moves down until it lands on machinery drawn quiet by the loss of power. parallel to him; similar but never touching. “ blood is not a viable option for me. it would start a war that i could not finish. ”

              IN THE LOW-LIGHT, her once strange irises aglow indicating remote control of the device through its angry red oculi, plotting a viable course for their departure from this precarious steel labyrinth, dims to a flickering hue that of a white dwarf star.  one blink & it completely FADES into the void of cold, biting & maddening darkness.  ( by this late hour, they have adjusted to it, perceiving or-10n’s mechanized shape ! )  her brain still processes the data transmitted her up to the point of his inquiry, calculating the equidistance of a well-timed leap to the adjacent platform based solely on memory. 

elbows are fastened over the ice cold titanium railing as he speaks as though to dissuade her dogma.  one that she’s sunken her razor-sharp claw FINGERNAILS into long ago, from the moment the first bit of metal & technology slid beneath the surface of her disgustingly organic skin.  it was a baptism in fire & blood that’s made an entity of 𝐕’s caliber something harder & STRONGER than steel.  for him to ask of her to suggest peace of she —— a woman, whose entire career is predicated on the very diametrically opposite of it, is like coaxing blood from a stone.  improbable.

❛ ——not that hard to draw attention in this town, ❜ a defined, dyed brow raises before a more stoic EXPRESSION washes over her features, ❛ & in this town? peace ain’t an option ; nobody respects it.  power only respects power, ❜

she’s wound tight for no particular reason.  violet gets restless easily and it’s evident in the way she starts to fidget and pace and etch lines in the dirt with the heel of her boot.  she’s eager to get this over with just so she can move on to whatever other bullshit she has on the docket for today.  time’s a tickin’ after all!  there’s only so much trouble a girl can get into when her brain’s turning into mush with every passing second!  

“ how’s about a little demo? “  violet asks, head canting in curiosity.  she’s done dozens of deals just like this one, but the singular difference is that back then, she had araska backing—  if anyone was going to try and burn her, they’d have to answer to the powers that be.  it was a lot simpler knowing that she could just take the tech and go.  nowadays, the responsibility of ensure the integrity of the goods also fell on her.   “ just to make sure everything’s up to snuff? “    // @valheri​

             HER PRESENCE IS GARGANTUAN, a woman who towers over most with a gall to wear razor-sharp stiletto heels that can conduct red hot & slice metal & man in one swift kick.  she is there in this dusty old warehouse, the entity in the galactic core of a business transaction as a liaison ( today, her role permits her to be nothing more than a stand-in to verify that the product & service touches the buyer’s hand at the behest of a well-paying client with no attachment to it all! ).  per the seller, the trade was already talked through with this CORPO-WOMAN, all else is extracurricular.

she looks at the stranger with dead marbles for ENLARGED IRISES & wordlessly gestures toward the weaponized drone.  there’s an arctic, gelid & reserved nature about the netrunner-solo.

in similar fashion, valheri doesn’t have time for the platitudes or to entertain the niceties of corporate exchanges.  the clock ticked & she beat HER WINGS to the rhythm of the clock.  lets fingers tipped with those clawed pink nails curve over the casing of cyberdeck strapped to thigh, then past that in favor of a cigarette & a lighter.  beside her hovers the piece of technology in question ; slick black in design & as wide as a present-day briefcase yet bulky with junctures for surveillance camera lens & a hermetically sealed slot securing BARREL for projectiles.  a combat drone.

grabs the warming cylinder by it’s metal top & it hums while turning the cap, FIZZLES out into dark. the red light vanishes & so does the warmth. the only form of warmth ever presented in this exchange thus far & it’s external.  chemical.   

❛ ——one milisec, ❜ comes her raspy voice, SKIMMING the other with eyes ringed of a cerulean glow & tiny, unintelligible numbers & coding scrolling them to transfer authorization for her to wield the weaponized done, ❛ program sent. ❜