* 𝘔𝘜𝘓𝘛𝘐-𝘌𝘠𝘌𝘋 !

RULES.          /            ABOUT.            /            VERSES (tba).

oh, you feel it. 

the way she smiles, the way her eyes glint.  she’s magic.  but not the kind of magic that’ll sweep you off your feet and plant a clement little kiss atop smiling cheek.  not the kind that’ll wave a little pixie wand and vanish your worldly woes.  no, this magic is dangerous.  betwixt those lips lay teeth, ready to gnash and bite and rend flesh to silken, bloodied ribbons.  beneath mature, worn skin lay stripes.

oh, she’s a tiger.

Word took flight around Night City quickly. The Tyger Claw had lost a piece of their turf to a gang that all but came out of the WOODWORK. And they weren’t happy. But they weren’t in a position to do anything about it in the moment. That would be HIS BAD. The Sons of Drakon were thriving, their reputation growing, as well as their enemies. Jakša was out to make impressions among the other gangs. The Tyger Claw would have felt their bite sooner or later.

The solo also knew of the affiliation the Fixer had with the Tyger Claws. She was ranked high within them ( how high though, he wasn’t so sure ). But he respected the woman. It was her who put the most trust in him upon his entry into Night City. Gave him work. A good name among other fixers. If it weren’t for her, he’d still be skimming by, he’s sure. And he rather be the one to admit to his actions then her find out by some other goon.

He was forced to sneak his way around Japantown to her office. Doing well to avoid any Tygers he saw stalking about along the way. Her office was empty— but he knew where else to seek her company. So he made his way outside. The solo carries himself like a SCOLDED child almost. ( He was surely about to be, after all . ) Its out of respect that he waits briefly for the man that accompanied her in her nook to silently wrap up their conversation. Watching the pink-haired figure disappear. One of her sons— if he was to guess.

Carefully Jakša approached. He doesn’t move to hastily and he makes sure not to get too close. He cracked a small smile down at her, “Wakako.”

“Mhm. My roots in NC lead back to you, always. And… hmmm at least not with holes you can see.” There was a slight chuckle at his words. He gave a small bow to her. His following words were spoken in a softer tone. Unusual for him. “またお目にかかれて、うれしく思います. I— I wanted to speak with you. Ispričavati.”

That smile remained stilly etched—spurring crows’ feet, laugh lines to divot mature skin—even as he approached. It was the way he spoke in her native tongue, the way he dipped his head, crooked his spine in a bow, his tone uttered as soft as a feather … 

… He respected her. That much was clear. Though, she didn’t need this once-off to know that. Jakša, despite his formidable height and daunting impression, had treated her with much grander respect than many of the little bugs in NC’s solo scene. Not many would come crawling back to that whom rooted them into their career in this shitshow of a metropolis—not unless they wanted something that only her spidery fingers could pluck free.

But, an apology? Consider her interest promptly piqued.

“Let’s get you inside,” she said simply. What could be seen as a paradoxical acknowledgement yet dismissal wrapped into one tight little package was far from unintentional—as, if one were to peel away the layers, beneath it would loom some semblance of protectiveness. After all, if she wanted to gun him down, she would’ve. Or, better yet, speak loud enough to attract the attention of nearby Tyger Claws.

But she didn’t.

There was a beat of a pause, eyes locked, before she wove herself around him and back towards the office tucked neatly away in her parlour. A few security bypasses later and she entered, leaving the door agape in her wake. If he knew what was good for him, he’d close it after.

In the hearts of many, Japantown was the entertainment district of Night City. Little else could compare; the pulsations, light and quick much like a butterfly’s beating wings—beautiful but desperate for that release, however short and however sweet. And much like a Venus flytrap, you’d flutter inside its aromatic maw, patient and waiting … and it would snap shut. Those aromas, wafting from upscale restaurants and street-food vans alike, filled your thoughts even when the jaws of urban delirium coursed freely through veins. 

Japantown; it was disorientating, if you weren’t careful enough. With a click of finger and thumb, just like that, you’d lose track of the passage of time—and the amount of eddies tumbling out of your bank account. Treading too carelessly under the gaze of night, too, could land you in the lap of a particularly antsy Tyger Claw.

This time, however, it wasn’t just one; many Tyger Claws were antsy. They’d recently had a portion of their turf torn from their talons and so throngs of their members roamed the district, itching to blow off steam. Wakako knew that an antsy Tyger Claw was a dangerous one; they were reckless, impulsive, stupid. 

So, rather than dilly-dally in her office, she’d taken to a little nook next to her parlour. It was small, but undoubtedly hers—only the dullest tourist would think it a ripe spot to linger. She and a taller individual were caught in a conversation; the latter sporting a bob of wavy pink tresses, framing a face striped with gold. The chatter was loose, casual; far from her usual formalities. 

Just as an airy chuckle bubbled free, she caught sight of an approaching figure. No words, only a sideward flash of eyes. The pink-headed man dared not quip nor even stare at that which broke them apart; instead, he simply turned heel, hands jammed into pockets, and left the two by their lonesome. 

Wakako let Jakša encroach on her space. It was polite, formal—he knew well enough not to get too up close and personal. She didn’t wield this crown by being soft.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑.