[ Sharon is struggling, and even though she tries to keep her emotions from bleeding through the connection, it's impossible to hold them completely in check. They flare like red sprites dancing across the mesosphere, flashes of violent grief tangled with bitter anger. Pain she keeps trying to force back into line, only for it to slip through the cracks anyway. ]
Hey, Johnny, you know anything about arcade cabinets? [ She doesn't bother saying who it is, diving straight to the point instead. It's not as though they haven't talked over the Murmur before. ] I've got a couple I'm trying to get working. Ms. Pac-Man keeps dying on me, and I'm about ready to drag her up to the roof and shove her off.
[ Never mind that there's no chance a girl her size could actually move a machine like that. She struggles enough just wrestling it around the building with a damn dolly. ]
[The response comes about two hours after she sends hers. Before he can get any words out, a sensation comes like a glass of ice water thrown directly to the chest; bolts of white and sky-blue like icicles lobbed like imprecise missiles at Sharon's red-hot sprites, but with miserable precision.
But it's not from Johnny's mentality. It's from his physicality.]
Ar-arcade cabinets?
[His teeth are chattering. Sure, it's cold outside, but unless he's been out there naked for several hours, it's not this cold.]
Pac-man. Jesus, haven't heard that n-name in ages...
[Which is to say he knows of arcade cabinets. He wrestles around in a warm towel for a second, trying to warm himself up.]
[ The sensation that accompanies his response catches her off guard, drawing an involuntary shiver down her spine before she pushes it aside. A moment later, she sends him a mental snapshot of the location, though a sense of concern colors the imagery. It's south of the Nest. The sign in the window reads Barcade. A handful of the cabinets were working when she first discovered the place, and she's managed to coax several more back to life with the help of dusty, yellowed repair manuals she found tucked away in the back. Plenty of others, though, still sit dark, waiting for someone who knows more than she does. ]
I've been fixing the place up. Kinda into all the lights and the noise. [ It makes the place feel alive, like people could wander through the front door at any moment to play a few games and grab a drink at the bar, as though the world outside hasn't already ended.
But first—Johnny is dealing with something. ] You freezing or sick? [ Either way, he sounds rough. ]
[Shit, he can relate to that. It makes his skin crawl whenever he's out in the city streets and there's just so much...nothing happening, and it's only partially because the silence really twists the dial on his tinnitus.]
Freezin'. Got a project goin' that requires a c-cold enviro.
[This is
not a lie, but vague enough that it might as well be.
"Barcade", huh. He's familiar with the place, already has it as a waypoint in his HUD. After a beat, there's some distinct squirming as he peels himself out of what he's wearing. If she's ever worn a wet suit, she might recognize the awkward contortions of getting out of something so skin-tight that the clinging-wet sensation makes it even harder.]
Give me a few minutes to warm back up, and I'll head over.
[ While Jaskier's getting to know enough people at the Devil's Nest to visit often, he doesn't live there. His own place is less than half an hour's walk away, after all. It's hardly an inconvenience. And while Johnny might have control over his emotions enough to not let them bleed through, he's not the only one who's soul speaks in constant music. Jaskier knows his often reflects his own heart. So mid checking some chords on his lute while lying back on his cot he sits straight up, eyes narrowing, focusing, grabbing the filigree mask he wears. ]
[He's half tempted to ask "why do you ask" but, let's be real, he doesn't want to beg the question. He also doesn't want to say "I'm fine," because it's not true.]
I don't want to talk ab-- ["--can't get rid of me without giving me an answer--"] FUCK.
[Johnny curls up on himself, mashing his hands into his face in lieu of having anything around he cares to smash to pieces.]
Let someone get too close. Again. I fucked up. Again. That's it. That's fucking it. No one's dead, or dying, or whatever-the-fuck. It's nothing. I'll get over it.
[Manhattan is still a big place if you're getting around on foot; and Palamedes has very poor feet to be getting around with. And, legs, and hips, and also lungs, and so on and so on. He has enough of a map to make his way to the Devil's Nest, but he takes his time; without Camilla, he's forced to be in charge of his own limits. That, and... he, really has little idea on proper social etiquette in this situation. but he shows up at Johnny's unit as promised, with a quick message over the murmur, and a knock on his door.
He's a lot different than he looked in the other reality, or even in his own mind's eye; his skin is ashier, his face is thinner. Despite that, he somehow looks much younger. His eyes look like they're made of some kind of glass, and he's covered in a web of strange material that look like it's holding together his skin and bones. His glasses are cracked, and he's wearing robes that look a size too big. But, when he speaks, his identity is obvious.]
Palamedes Sextus, Master Warden of the Library. [The introduction is practically a formal recitation, though he remembers his awkwardness a moment later, even as he offers his hand.] Realized I never got to actually introduce himself outside of the other life. Though the kids here might laugh a little less if I kept using 'Saverem.'
['Kids' as though they were barely a few years younger than him.]
[As Palamedes makes his first steps out of the elevator and onto Johnny's floor, a dog barks. But only once. An alert that he's got guests arriving. Johnny's already up before Palamedes actually knocks, which leaves an eerily short gap of time between Palamedes knocking and Johnny actually opening the door.
At the very least, Johnny is used to a completely different social etiquette than almost everyone else in Manhattan uses. Even after being here for almost half a year, he still finds himself vexed when he's being Night City Polite (economical with word count, blunt, calling out bullshit, and a few overt or subtle death threats, depending on your style) and it going over even worse than when he's being Johnny Silverhand Rude (crass, ridiculing, and angry). To this day, he still tries to adapt, even if it makes him feel like he's walking on egg shells half the time.
Like offering the full legal name and job titles, apparently.]
Johnny Silverhand. Rockerboy, artificer, netrunner, mercenary.
[Christ that list is starting to get long.
Johnny looks almost exactly like he did in the old Manhattan, except this time, Silverhand is in reference to his other arm, made of chrome, synthetic muscle, and wires. And while the old Manhattan's Silverhand typically clothed himself in nondescript but well-manufactured streetclothes, this Johnny is a little more fashion-forward. He's wearing a rib-knit tank that looks like it once had bleach splattered across the side, leaving rust-colored patterns across his right side, closest to his hip, and a pair of black-and-white tartan-print sarouel-style pants.
Johnny steps to the side to let Palamedes into his apartment.]
Make yourself at home. Looks like you need something to eat.
[Look, we never said how successful he was at walking on those egg shells. For what it's worth, it seems like the "laugh a little less" comment goes completely over Johnny's head, because Sextus barely registers to him as any kind of a strange name. It's Latin for six. Big fucking deal. In fact, he thinks Palamedes is just talking about how everyone's sore about the old Manhattan and would prefer to not be reminded of it.]
[The dog is a bit of a surprise-- he's still not entirely used to the whole, animals being like... around? Thing? The Hosts were almost more believable, with their similarity to Resurrection Beasts. But he only starts a little bit.
And listen, cut him some slack, he was technically a political scion from a highly rigid and hierarchical society. He'd feel weird not dropping the whole title. ]
Artificer! So am I. [He chimes, surprisingly upbeat as he walks into the apartment. It's surprisingly cozy, from what he's seen of the rest of Manhattan-- but maybe a part of him actually misses those tight, closed in and cluttered spaces from the station.]
Lots of people tell me that-- the eating thing, I mean. Wouldn't say no, obviously, but the nature of necromancy means my body's always a bit sickly from all the thanergetic reactions. Chief reason why I'm a bit disappointed they gave me my old one back. [His own lack of social skills also means he's absolutely not offended about haggard he looks. But he also has no idea how to 'make himself at home,' so he mostly stands around a bit idly, taking in the appearance of the apartment.]
Passion, an all-black Malinois with a chrome snout and four bright red eyes, trots over to Palamedes, seemingly unaware (or at least uncaring) about what his personal space bubble might be as he sniffs at Palamedes' knees and legs, tail wagging. Despite his complete disregard for personal space, he is at least polite in not jumping at him, the only touch a brief ghosting of a cold metal nose.
Vigilance, similarly all-black and four-eyed Akita, has a chrome forehead and ears instead of her snout. Far more polite, she sits some feet away from Palamedes, ears up and alert as she watches him, her tail wagging in time with Passion's.]
Should compare notes, then. Would invite you on a tour to see my projects, but you're already surrounded by them.
[Johnny goes to his kitchenette and pulls out a giant tub of chocolate-flavored pea protein mix. Fine dining at the end of the world. He drops a scoop into a glass, and fills it with a half-cup of water, mixing it into a paste.]
Yeah. [What's the point in lying, in a place like this?] Pickin' at five different threads tangled around each other in one giant mass, fucked ten ways from Tuesday and back. Been workin' on it.
[It's not something that can resolve overnight. It's not something that can resolve in even a week. It's only something he can work out among himself, over a long period of time, several sessions slung over the railing of his balcony with a cigarette and no distractions. If only he didn't have to take breaks from his soul-searching, he could be done reframing his narrative already.
After the powder and water has been mixed into a consistent sludge, he fills the glass the rest of the way, finishes mixing in the new water, and leaves the kitchenette to hand the result to Palamedes. Johnny leaves for the listening room, the only place where there are proper chairs other than the one in front of his desk. He has his own glass of protein mix, with only a third of it actually gone so far. Passion and Vigilance are too interested in Palamedes to follow Johnny right now.]
When you started goin' on about souls, I realized that the multiverse is as infinite as it is suffocatingly small. Thought that it was a freak accident that I'd ran into someone who had experienced somethin' like what I did. Something that should have been impossible...in my own world. Now it's happening a second time. And it sounds like it became an entire science in yours.
[Johnny turns to look at Palamedes over his shoulder. There's a dark shadow of regret, or at least sad recall, across his eyes.]
'Cept the guy I ended up getting stuck in was built like a fucking truck.
Edited (forgot. to mention vigilance's breed.) 2026-08-02 06:10 (UTC)
[Immediately following his conversation with Jinx, Ekko walks away feeling like his head's going to burst and his chest is going to cave in. The only thing he can think to do as he turns a corner down a more secluded and dimly lit hallway is focus all of his energy on the distant sound of music at the back of his mind, accessing his tether with Johnny.]
Fuck, manβ you there?
[His voice cracks with a pained whimper, on the verge of tears, as their connection floods with his feelings of betrayal, confusion, and anger.]
I could really use some of that Silverhand advice right now, dude... I really fucked up.
[Damn, dude. When it rains, it pours. Unfortunately, Johnny has not, and probably will never learn, the lesson of "you can't pour from an empty cup". Thankfully, Johnny much prefers having his brain steeping in someone else's problems instead of his own. Frankly, it might be a nice escape.
Ekko gets Johnny's attention, and in response, the music gets more tangible. It's almost a physical sensation: the way his fingers grip his guitar pick, the way it snaps over his strings. The music tunes in -- louder, more vivid. He's playing it in real, physical space.
...I told her. [Ekko startsβfocusing on the picking of guitar strings, remembering the feeling of rhythmic shocksβand steadies his breathing to speak around the emotions.] I told Jinx I loved her.
[And now he's swimming in regret.]
I was just trying to ask her why she didn't tell me about her and Sharon herself, and how I didn't think it was unimportant the same was she did. Iβ I knew she was aware of my feelin's and just ignoring them. Murmur makes it impossible not to notice...
[A beat.]
She freaked out on me. Askin' why I cared so much... So, I confessedβ and it went fucking awful, dude. But what was I supposed to do? I didn't expect anything to come out of it! I just couldn't keep fucking lying to her...
[Oh, good Lord. There's a pang of exasperation from Johnny's end, but it's directed at himself, too. What the fuck are any of them doing, getting themselves tied into knots about romantic entanglements? Fuck, dude, the world is dying and it's not like they're able to repopulate it, even if they wanted to.]
If you didn't expect anything to come out of it, then why the fuck did you do it?
[Johnny's method of sitting in silence, stewing in his own misery while he kept it to himself, didn't exactly yield great results either. Yet another state of the human condition in which there are no winning moves.]
Just speakin' your truth for truth's sake? You're lyin' to yourself, choom.
[ she did get settled at Columbia, first. it meant something to herβto both of themβto settle back into the place Megumi had called home for so long. to have a place to call home, with the Blue Note...
she's trying not to think about that place, now void of the bugs that had long protected it, its never-completed fortifications abandoned. empty of all she'd loved.
but Columbia has that which she loves. and so, too, does The Devil's Nest. and it will be nice, she thinks, to have a way to be close to Sharon and Jinx without having to constantly make the long way down from John Jay Hall.
a lot of her personal items remain at Columbia, but larger things are what she brings to the Nest, things that won't fit into a single small dorm room. her painting easel and a few canvases. some small items of furniture she grew attached to. bedroom items that Megumi's dorm already has. enough to make this new apartment feel a little more like a home.
it's time consuming moving these things back and forth, though. she has to pause in a hallway to set down the hefty basket she's carrying, wanting to rest her arms for a moment, when she spotsβ
ah. how strange to see him for ... what is, technically, the "first" time. at least, in this world. in this Manhattan. ]
Johnny. [ her eyes search him, for a moment, before their shape softens into the suggestion of a smile. ]
He's first visible down the hallway, but he could be anyone standing on a ladder with his top half shoved up the hole of a ventilation shaft, wearing a figure-hugging full-length bodysuit that makes wetsuits look comparably modest. His boots clatter against the rungs of the ladder as he crawls his way down, and he's far too preoccupied with what he's working on to notice Lortel there. People have been moving about his construction for at least a week now, so he's acclimated to it.
His hair is up in a bun to keep it out of his face, but this also means that his deep dive port is exposed, too. Between all of this and his cyberarm, it might be near-impossible to clock from a distance as the same guy...if only he didn't wear his face exactly the same way.
He looks over his shoulder to look at Lortel when she calls out for him.]
Lortel.
[He turns around on the spot on the ladder, parking his ass on a rung.]
Security upgrades. [Among others, but that's between him and the requesters.] Nothin' that exciting.
What brings you to our neck of the concrete jungle?
[It's not that weird for non-residents to congregate in the bar, but on the residence levels? Usually, if someone has a guest, they tend to stick together with whoever's hosting them.]
it reminds her rather a lot of something similar Arthur once told her he had. but Johnny's not an artificer, is he? or, if he was, he wouldn't be showing signs of physical transformation so soon. it's much slower and rarer for tokens...
there's the arm, too. she considers him thoughtfully, no real surprise or curiosity registering on her expression. ]
"Security upgrades"? Such as?
[ the question is what wins a little smile. ]
I live here, now. Well, I will at least part of the time. I've a right to be curious, hm?
[ she'll prop a hand on her hip, chin dipping as she thinks; her expression softens, slightly. ]
... Greed offered me a place here. I wasn't going to say no.
[She says she lives here now -- and Johnny gives her a smile that is equal parts warm as it is exasperated.]
You know he does that to everyone, right?
[Oh well. No reason to keep it a secret, since she's moving in.]
Automated doors with guest detection, security cameras, turrets and traps in case of Host breakout, comms localnet. Among other special requests our different tenants have made. [He pauses, and his mouth downturns in a thoughtful frown.] Since you're moving in now, you're a few weeks late for my survey for special requests, but anything on that list is still fair game for anyone who asks.
[Seems to be quite a bit of that "he does that to everyone" going around...]
[When Sirius first started seeing echoes of people from the past he tried to ignore them. He didn't hold any anger for that other life, quite the opposite, but he couldn't let himself get lost in those happier memories. He hadn't been human like that since that part of him died years ago. His memories of that time already felt like sand slipping through his fingers without another life's worth of memories making them harder to hold onto.
Still, he couldn't bring himself to stay away, especially when he recognized some of the echoes of the souls he had eaten. He didn't need to sleep, so he went down to the bar while everyone slept to watch the echoes. His nightmare Mara, a shadowy wolf with silver glowing eyes and a mirage of starry wings if you see them out of the corner of your eye, sat next to him. His eyes narrowed with a melancholy smile as he pet her. His hands slowed as he quietly voiced his feelings out loud.]
Is it wrong that a part of me misses it?
[It would have been safer to simply talk to Mara in his mind, but even that felt a bit foreign now.]
[Johnny is not a stranger to losing track of time, even with it constantly in his peripheral vision, while working on projects. Suffice to say, with how he's been burning the candle at both ends right now, it's been happening a lot more than usual lately.
So he's heading downstairs to the bar to make himself "dinner" at one in the morning, fully prepared to just collapse into bed once he gets something in his stomach. He's not expecting to hear a voice as he turns the corner into the communal kitchen -- and the only evidence that he's been startled is the pound of his palm against the wall as he braces himself against it. He wasn't expecting anyone else to be down here, at this hour, on a Monday, but he recognizes the voice.]
Sirius?
[Passion, the all-black, four-red-eyed Malinois with a chrome snout, rounds the corner. He spots Mara, and his tail starts wagging as he approaches, giving the fellow Nightmare a very polite sniff to the ass in greeting, as dogs are wont to do.
Vigilance, the all-black, four-red-eyed Akita with a chrome forehead and ears, heels to Johnny as he approaches the bar from the tender's side.]
Only if you say it too loudly.
[Having not seen where Sirius's attention was when he spoke, Johnny can only assume the question was thrown out into the air on a whim, to be answered by anyone who cared to.]
[Sirius didn't need to sleep as a wraith, except after he ate dreams, so he was usually up at this hour. Other than Greed he rarely saw anyone else though. He felt safe at the Nest, yet he still couldn't help the startled flicker of fear at the sudden sound and the black bandages around his arms quickly unraveled before he recognized Johnny's voice.]
Johnny?
[Mara mirrored Sirius's unease and her ears folded back with a quiet growl, but she slowly relaxed when Passion greeted her and she politely did the same.
One of the echoes was behind the bar when Johnny joined them and Sirius's gaze flitted back and forth between the two, caught between the past and present. The question was asked on a whim, with no expectation of an answer. Now that Johnny had however, he couldn't help wanting to talk about it and he hesitantly offered.]
I've noticed it's not a popular opinion about that past.
Fucking understatement of the year. Did you feel how irate everyone was over the Murmur when we got back? Christ, and I thought I had anger issues.
[Johnny is about to say something else, but he interrupts himself before the next syllable gets out and holds up a finger into the air.]
Hold that thought. Need to get dinner before it gets any later.
[He's going to dip into the kitchen for a few minutes before bringing back a hot bowl of grits that is currently trying to melt off the stiffness of a generous handful of jerky, and a glass of ice water. While he's gone, Passion starts kneeling down and popping up in front of Mara, tail going a million wags a minute, trying to goad her into playing with him.
When he gets back, Johnny takes a seat a couple spots down from Sirius. He blows on a spoonful of grits as Vigilance curls around the foot of the bar stool.]
Been keepin' my fuckin' trap shut about it. Barely phases me. Already had someone go in and make fake memories to convince me I was a worthless piece of shit, a entire set of memories from another man's life -- what's a third crop of 'em? Shit, some of them are even nice.
[Why would he open up about something so personal so quickly? Well, the metal panel in the back of his head probably begs several questions, and a lot of them are answered with exactly that information. It's just pragmatic to open up about it at this point.]
[ It takes her another day or two to reach out across the Murmur, the weapon serving as a souring reminder of what he'd said—of how easily, how nonchalantly, he'd pressed against a wound that was still far too tender just to make his point. Any other example, and she might've swallowed it. Hell, she might've even apologized for her facetiousness. But he hadn't chosen another example, and she couldn't bring herself to let it go. ]
You're such an asshole. [ She says it like a simple fact, as though someone could open a dictionary, flip through the A's, and find Johnny's picture pasted neatly beside the word asshole (see also: prick, douchebag, and dickhole). ] You're lucky I like weapons, and I don't mind you. Most of the time, anyway.
[ He's got some things to work on. Then again, so does she. ] But seriously? A party? That was the second time around. [ If you're gonna use her pain to make a point, the least you can do is get your damn examples right, okay? ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
early july | pre-au
Hey, Johnny, you know anything about arcade cabinets? [ She doesn't bother saying who it is, diving straight to the point instead. It's not as though they haven't talked over the Murmur before. ] I've got a couple I'm trying to get working. Ms. Pac-Man keeps dying on me, and I'm about ready to drag her up to the roof and shove her off.
[ Never mind that there's no chance a girl her size could actually move a machine like that. She struggles enough just wrestling it around the building with a damn dolly. ]
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But it's not from Johnny's mentality. It's from his physicality.]
Ar-arcade cabinets?
[His teeth are chattering. Sure, it's cold outside, but unless he's been out there naked for several hours, it's not this cold.]
Pac-man. Jesus, haven't heard that n-name in ages...
[Which is to say he knows of arcade cabinets. He wrestles around in a warm towel for a second, trying to warm himself up.]
snff-hnghh. Yeah, I can take a look. Where at?
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I've been fixing the place up. Kinda into all the lights and the noise. [ It makes the place feel alive, like people could wander through the front door at any moment to play a few games and grab a drink at the bar, as though the world outside hasn't already ended.
But first—Johnny is dealing with something. ] You freezing or sick? [ Either way, he sounds rough. ]
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Freezin'. Got a project goin' that requires a c-cold enviro.
[This is
not a lie, but vague enough that it might as well be.
"Barcade", huh. He's familiar with the place, already has it as a waypoint in his HUD. After a beat, there's some distinct squirming as he peels himself out of what he's wearing. If she's ever worn a wet suit, she might recognize the awkward contortions of getting out of something so skin-tight that the clinging-wet sensation makes it even harder.]
Give me a few minutes to warm back up, and I'll head over.
cw: drug use
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cw: grief. good grief there is just a lot of grief in here.
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CW: ending spoilers for star/sun c77 endings
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CW: vague acts of terrorism
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Murmur/Tether Ping w/e it's called.
[ While Jaskier's getting to know enough people at the Devil's Nest to visit often, he doesn't live there. His own place is less than half an hour's walk away, after all. It's hardly an inconvenience. And while Johnny might have control over his emotions enough to not let them bleed through, he's not the only one who's soul speaks in constant music. Jaskier knows his often reflects his own heart. So mid checking some chords on his lute while lying back on his cot he sits straight up, eyes narrowing, focusing, grabbing the filigree mask he wears. ]
What the fuck. Did someone die?
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No.
[He's half tempted to ask "why do you ask" but, let's be real, he doesn't want to beg the question. He also doesn't want to say "I'm fine," because it's not true.]
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[ It's not exactly that, but Jaskier's never been one to let complete honesty get in the way of a lovely turn of phrase. ]
If not that, than what? And - we can just cut to the chase and save us both some time here, no you can't get rid of me without giving me an answer.
[ Do you regret tethering with this guy yet Johnny? Was the sex and the guitar worth it? ]
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[Johnny curls up on himself, mashing his hands into his face in lieu of having anything around he cares to smash to pieces.]
Let someone get too close. Again. I fucked up. Again. That's it. That's fucking it. No one's dead, or dying, or whatever-the-fuck. It's nothing. I'll get over it.
[He has no choice but to get over it.]
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cw: alcohol abuse (as a topic)
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-> in person
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cw: cyberpunk's dystopia
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cw: vulgar
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like a day or two after johnny's murmur post
He's a lot different than he looked in the other reality, or even in his own mind's eye; his skin is ashier, his face is thinner. Despite that, he somehow looks much younger. His eyes look like they're made of some kind of glass, and he's covered in a web of strange material that look like it's holding together his skin and bones. His glasses are cracked, and he's wearing robes that look a size too big. But, when he speaks, his identity is obvious.]
Palamedes Sextus, Master Warden of the Library. [The introduction is practically a formal recitation, though he remembers his awkwardness a moment later, even as he offers his hand.] Realized I never got to actually introduce himself outside of the other life. Though the kids here might laugh a little less if I kept using 'Saverem.'
['Kids' as though they were barely a few years younger than him.]
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At the very least, Johnny is used to a completely different social etiquette than almost everyone else in Manhattan uses. Even after being here for almost half a year, he still finds himself vexed when he's being Night City Polite (economical with word count, blunt, calling out bullshit, and a few overt or subtle death threats, depending on your style) and it going over even worse than when he's being Johnny Silverhand Rude (crass, ridiculing, and angry). To this day, he still tries to adapt, even if it makes him feel like he's walking on egg shells half the time.
Like offering the full legal name and job titles, apparently.]
Johnny Silverhand. Rockerboy, artificer, netrunner, mercenary.
[Christ that list is starting to get long.
Johnny looks almost exactly like he did in the old Manhattan, except this time, Silverhand is in reference to his other arm, made of chrome, synthetic muscle, and wires. And while the old Manhattan's Silverhand typically clothed himself in nondescript but well-manufactured streetclothes, this Johnny is a little more fashion-forward. He's wearing a rib-knit tank that looks like it once had bleach splattered across the side, leaving rust-colored patterns across his right side, closest to his hip, and a pair of black-and-white tartan-print sarouel-style pants.
Johnny steps to the side to let Palamedes into his apartment.]
Make yourself at home. Looks like you need something to eat.
[Look, we never said how successful he was at walking on those egg shells. For what it's worth, it seems like the "laugh a little less" comment goes completely over Johnny's head, because Sextus barely registers to him as any kind of a strange name. It's Latin for six. Big fucking deal. In fact, he thinks Palamedes is just talking about how everyone's sore about the old Manhattan and would prefer to not be reminded of it.]
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And listen, cut him some slack, he was technically a political scion from a highly rigid and hierarchical society. He'd feel weird not dropping the whole title. ]
Artificer! So am I. [He chimes, surprisingly upbeat as he walks into the apartment. It's surprisingly cozy, from what he's seen of the rest of Manhattan-- but maybe a part of him actually misses those tight, closed in and cluttered spaces from the station.]
Lots of people tell me that-- the eating thing, I mean. Wouldn't say no, obviously, but the nature of necromancy means my body's always a bit sickly from all the thanergetic reactions. Chief reason why I'm a bit disappointed they gave me my old one back. [His own lack of social skills also means he's absolutely not offended about haggard he looks. But he also has no idea how to 'make himself at home,' so he mostly stands around a bit idly, taking in the appearance of the apartment.]
How are you feeling? Still shit?
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[Not just one dog, but two.
Passion, an all-black Malinois with a chrome snout and four bright red eyes, trots over to Palamedes, seemingly unaware (or at least uncaring) about what his personal space bubble might be as he sniffs at Palamedes' knees and legs, tail wagging. Despite his complete disregard for personal space, he is at least polite in not jumping at him, the only touch a brief ghosting of a cold metal nose.
Vigilance, similarly all-black and four-eyed Akita, has a chrome forehead and ears instead of her snout. Far more polite, she sits some feet away from Palamedes, ears up and alert as she watches him, her tail wagging in time with Passion's.]
Should compare notes, then. Would invite you on a tour to see my projects, but you're already surrounded by them.
[Johnny goes to his kitchenette and pulls out a giant tub of chocolate-flavored pea protein mix. Fine dining at the end of the world. He drops a scoop into a glass, and fills it with a half-cup of water, mixing it into a paste.]
Yeah. [What's the point in lying, in a place like this?] Pickin' at five different threads tangled around each other in one giant mass, fucked ten ways from Tuesday and back. Been workin' on it.
[It's not something that can resolve overnight. It's not something that can resolve in even a week. It's only something he can work out among himself, over a long period of time, several sessions slung over the railing of his balcony with a cigarette and no distractions. If only he didn't have to take breaks from his soul-searching, he could be done reframing his narrative already.
After the powder and water has been mixed into a consistent sludge, he fills the glass the rest of the way, finishes mixing in the new water, and leaves the kitchenette to hand the result to Palamedes. Johnny leaves for the listening room, the only place where there are proper chairs other than the one in front of his desk. He has his own glass of protein mix, with only a third of it actually gone so far. Passion and Vigilance are too interested in Palamedes to follow Johnny right now.]
When you started goin' on about souls, I realized that the multiverse is as infinite as it is suffocatingly small. Thought that it was a freak accident that I'd ran into someone who had experienced somethin' like what I did. Something that should have been impossible...in my own world. Now it's happening a second time. And it sounds like it became an entire science in yours.
[Johnny turns to look at Palamedes over his shoulder. There's a dark shadow of regret, or at least sad recall, across his eyes.]
'Cept the guy I ended up getting stuck in was built like a fucking truck.
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cw: cancer/chronic illiness mention
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Late July β After they've already tethered.
Fuck, manβ you there?
[His voice cracks with a pained whimper, on the verge of tears, as their connection floods with his feelings of betrayal, confusion, and anger.]
I could really use some of that Silverhand advice right now, dude... I really fucked up.
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Ekko gets Johnny's attention, and in response, the music gets more tangible. It's almost a physical sensation: the way his fingers grip his guitar pick, the way it snaps over his strings. The music tunes in -- louder, more vivid. He's playing it in real, physical space.
He's fine, he's just working through it.]
Talk to me.
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[And now he's swimming in regret.]
I was just trying to ask her why she didn't tell me about her and Sharon herself, and how I didn't think it was unimportant the same was she did. Iβ I knew she was aware of my feelin's and just ignoring them. Murmur makes it impossible not to notice...
[A beat.]
She freaked out on me. Askin' why I cared so much... So, I confessedβ and it went fucking awful, dude. But what was I supposed to do? I didn't expect anything to come out of it! I just couldn't keep fucking lying to her...
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If you didn't expect anything to come out of it, then why the fuck did you do it?
[Johnny's method of sitting in silence, stewing in his own misery while he kept it to himself, didn't exactly yield great results either. Yet another state of the human condition in which there are no winning moves.]
Just speakin' your truth for truth's sake? You're lyin' to yourself, choom.
cw: attempted suicide mentions
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cw: vulgar
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cw: suicide mention
1/2
2/2 on the Murmur;
cw: slightly nsfw language
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early August, pre-ritual
she's trying not to think about that place, now void of the bugs that had long protected it, its never-completed fortifications abandoned. empty of all she'd loved.
but Columbia has that which she loves. and so, too, does The Devil's Nest. and it will be nice, she thinks, to have a way to be close to Sharon and Jinx without having to constantly make the long way down from John Jay Hall.
a lot of her personal items remain at Columbia, but larger things are what she brings to the Nest, things that won't fit into a single small dorm room. her painting easel and a few canvases. some small items of furniture she grew attached to. bedroom items that Megumi's dorm already has. enough to make this new apartment feel a little more like a home.
it's time consuming moving these things back and forth, though. she has to pause in a hallway to set down the hefty basket she's carrying, wanting to rest her arms for a moment, when she spotsβ
ah. how strange to see him for ... what is, technically, the "first" time. at least, in this world. in this Manhattan. ]
Johnny. [ her eyes search him, for a moment, before their shape softens into the suggestion of a smile. ]
It's good to see you again.
[ ... more curiously: ]
What are you working on?
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He's first visible down the hallway, but he could be anyone standing on a ladder with his top half shoved up the hole of a ventilation shaft, wearing a figure-hugging full-length bodysuit that makes wetsuits look comparably modest. His boots clatter against the rungs of the ladder as he crawls his way down, and he's far too preoccupied with what he's working on to notice Lortel there. People have been moving about his construction for at least a week now, so he's acclimated to it.
His hair is up in a bun to keep it out of his face, but this also means that his deep dive port is exposed, too. Between all of this and his cyberarm, it might be near-impossible to clock from a distance as the same guy...if only he didn't wear his face exactly the same way.
He looks over his shoulder to look at Lortel when she calls out for him.]
Lortel.
[He turns around on the spot on the ladder, parking his ass on a rung.]
Security upgrades. [Among others, but that's between him and the requesters.] Nothin' that exciting.
What brings you to our neck of the concrete jungle?
[It's not that weird for non-residents to congregate in the bar, but on the residence levels? Usually, if someone has a guest, they tend to stick together with whoever's hosting them.]
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it reminds her rather a lot of something similar Arthur once told her he had. but Johnny's not an artificer, is he? or, if he was, he wouldn't be showing signs of physical transformation so soon. it's much slower and rarer for tokens...
there's the arm, too. she considers him thoughtfully, no real surprise or curiosity registering on her expression. ]
"Security upgrades"? Such as?
[ the question is what wins a little smile. ]
I live here, now. Well, I will at least part of the time. I've a right to be curious, hm?
[ she'll prop a hand on her hip, chin dipping as she thinks; her expression softens, slightly. ]
... Greed offered me a place here. I wasn't going to say no.
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You know he does that to everyone, right?
[Oh well. No reason to keep it a secret, since she's moving in.]
Automated doors with guest detection, security cameras, turrets and traps in case of Host breakout, comms localnet. Among other special requests our different tenants have made. [He pauses, and his mouth downturns in a thoughtful frown.] Since you're moving in now, you're a few weeks late for my survey for special requests, but anything on that list is still fair game for anyone who asks.
[Seems to be quite a bit of that "he does that to everyone" going around...]
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early blood sport event (cw: mention of soul eating)
Still, he couldn't bring himself to stay away, especially when he recognized some of the echoes of the souls he had eaten. He didn't need to sleep, so he went down to the bar while everyone slept to watch the echoes. His nightmare Mara, a shadowy wolf with silver glowing eyes and a mirage of starry wings if you see them out of the corner of your eye, sat next to him. His eyes narrowed with a melancholy smile as he pet her. His hands slowed as he quietly voiced his feelings out loud.]
Is it wrong that a part of me misses it?
[It would have been safer to simply talk to Mara in his mind, but even that felt a bit foreign now.]
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So he's heading downstairs to the bar to make himself "dinner" at one in the morning, fully prepared to just collapse into bed once he gets something in his stomach. He's not expecting to hear a voice as he turns the corner into the communal kitchen -- and the only evidence that he's been startled is the pound of his palm against the wall as he braces himself against it. He wasn't expecting anyone else to be down here, at this hour, on a Monday, but he recognizes the voice.]
Sirius?
[Passion, the all-black, four-red-eyed Malinois with a chrome snout, rounds the corner. He spots Mara, and his tail starts wagging as he approaches, giving the fellow Nightmare a very polite sniff to the ass in greeting, as dogs are wont to do.
Vigilance, the all-black, four-red-eyed Akita with a chrome forehead and ears, heels to Johnny as he approaches the bar from the tender's side.]
Only if you say it too loudly.
[Having not seen where Sirius's attention was when he spoke, Johnny can only assume the question was thrown out into the air on a whim, to be answered by anyone who cared to.]
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Johnny?
[Mara mirrored Sirius's unease and her ears folded back with a quiet growl, but she slowly relaxed when Passion greeted her and she politely did the same.
One of the echoes was behind the bar when Johnny joined them and Sirius's gaze flitted back and forth between the two, caught between the past and present. The question was asked on a whim, with no expectation of an answer. Now that Johnny had however, he couldn't help wanting to talk about it and he hesitantly offered.]
I've noticed it's not a popular opinion about that past.
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[Johnny is about to say something else, but he interrupts himself before the next syllable gets out and holds up a finger into the air.]
Hold that thought. Need to get dinner before it gets any later.
[He's going to dip into the kitchen for a few minutes before bringing back a hot bowl of grits that is currently trying to melt off the stiffness of a generous handful of jerky, and a glass of ice water. While he's gone, Passion starts kneeling down and popping up in front of Mara, tail going a million wags a minute, trying to goad her into playing with him.
When he gets back, Johnny takes a seat a couple spots down from Sirius. He blows on a spoonful of grits as Vigilance curls around the foot of the bar stool.]
Been keepin' my fuckin' trap shut about it. Barely phases me. Already had someone go in and make fake memories to convince me I was a worthless piece of shit, a entire set of memories from another man's life -- what's a third crop of 'em? Shit, some of them are even nice.
[Why would he open up about something so personal so quickly? Well, the metal panel in the back of his head probably begs several questions, and a lot of them are answered with exactly that information. It's just pragmatic to open up about it at this point.]
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after he's delivered the weapon
You're such an asshole. [ She says it like a simple fact, as though someone could open a dictionary, flip through the A's, and find Johnny's picture pasted neatly beside the word asshole (see also: prick, douchebag, and dickhole). ] You're lucky I like weapons, and I don't mind you. Most of the time, anyway.
[ He's got some things to work on. Then again, so does she. ] But seriously? A party? That was the second time around. [ If you're gonna use her pain to make a point, the least you can do is get your damn examples right, okay? ]