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[bodyoftheseus]

« notanetrunner » TEXT ✧ AUDIO ✧ VIDEO ✧ ACTION V ✦ Cyberpunk 2077
RESIDENCE ✦ Emerald District, alone w/2 cats
GEMBOND ✦ Ruby
It's V; you know what to do.

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[bodyoftheseus]

"Gettin' real sick 'n tired'f that spoiled fuckin' brat." This he muttered with a small shake of his head as the nomad spoke, mostly a comment to himself than anything. He fell silent as the nomad continued, his face the hard to read mask of his usual resting bitch face. There was no indication of how he felt while the nomad spoke, and even after he finished he was still met with the same hard expression and a long pause.

Eventually the streetkid shook his head a little and waved one hand in a dismissive way.

"Don't worry 'bout it. 'Specially if Malachite pulled some bullshit 'cause they were bored." A shrug. "I picked a fight where there wasn't one, said some shit that was completely gonk." Nevermind it was some of his innermost guilt, some of his innermost resentments that he'd packed away elsewhere. His feelings had been hyperbolized to the point he was ready to fight, but none of what he said was completely untrue.

"If I didn't have it in me we wouldn't be here. Woulda blocked ya." The general comfort and almost-but-not-quite warmth that the nomad often found with the streetkid was completely gone. Everything was delivered with a careful neutrality and evenness that was devoid of any emotion that strayed outside of a carefully curated cold boredom. He had one hell of a fucking poker face: clearly there was something he was trying to brush off and ignore from this entire fiasco that he'd rather not be brought up in one form or another and he was completely unwilling to let the nomad grow privy to what that was.

[disrupts]

Expression twisting into one of shared bemusement, Malachite's involvement never spells out good things. The fact they're some shifting, mercurial image of a kid just makes it all the more weird. But he hears what V's saying, understands and slots the words into the missing pieces of this tragedy he wants to turn into something else.

"It's uh... it's just important to me that... I respect your experience. Know it makes ya who you are, just like mine makes me who I am."

Going into a conversation about Kerry - about how the Kerry here's not the Kerry the streetkid's experiences are built with - isn't something he's going to touch. What it feels like is that this is a delicate, newly taped up friendship. And he doesn't have the inclination to poke and prod, to start testing those newly mended cracks.

"'ppreciate ya not blockin' me. Kept thinkin' I oughta come see ya but... time 'n a place, or somethin'."

[bodyoftheseus]

The streetkid's expression remained very much icy and cold until the nomad admitted that each of their experiences were varied and they were the sum of those experiences. His expression softened a little and some of the tension in him rolled away. It wasn't all gone, but he was sitting a little more easily. It was a bit contrived, maybe, but it was clear that the streetkid was trying.

"Glad to hear hear you say that now." There's no sharpness to this. "Feel like we all been goin' on like you 'n I're the same person 'n we just aren't." A pause, then a reassurance. "Which I like." The streetkid didn't particularly like who he was and he was pretty sure he wouldn't get along with himself.

"Eh, worst case you show up 'n say hi to Jackie." Which is to say he would have seen the nomad, and the worst case was he would have shown up while the streetkid was out. "Wouldn't turn ya out if ya had, though can't make coffee as good as here."

V hesitated for a moment as his eyebrows knotted together. He seemed to debate with himself whether he should open his mouth or not, but he ultimately decided to do so.

"There's somethin' I said that stuck with me. The thing I said about you 'n Johnny." He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze falling to the table between them as he frowned. "It was somethin' I said jus' to be mean 'cause I know whenever I mention Johnny you tend to get riled up 'n when I'm angry I tend to try to provoke someone to a fight." He didn't like being honest about his own bad habits, but because the streetkid didn't believe in the word sorry he felt a small explanation was in order. Didn't excuse it, but would set a future expectation.

"I shouldn't've said it. Was inappropriate."

[disrupts]

There's relief in hearing he's not the only one of the two of them whose feelings seem to chalk up the same way. Knowing and accepting that there's alternative versions of himself - or the person who walks a roughly similar path post Konpeki Plaza - has been a trip. Fun, interesting, curiosity-spiking. But there's also a vulnerability that's there too. A real existential question that's been rattling around every now and then.

He'd say as much, share that thought, but then the other man's switching up the subject and V's a bit blindsided by it. Truth is, he'd had dreams he's never had before after that comment, like the streetkid jammed a key forcefully in a lock and twisted. Even with the door only just cracked it had left the nomad feeling confused.

"Both've us said shit..." he starts and shifts where he's sat, expression uncharacteristically tight, body language stiff and unnaturally unsure.

"I uh... what you said... kinda opened my eyes a bit. Maybe."

[bodyoftheseus]

It wasn't very often that the streetkid felt bad for saying something in the heat of the moment: he often meant what he said, even if it was maybe something that was better left unsaid. He genuinely did feel bad about the Johnny comment to the nomad. He hadn't deserved it - it was a mixture of his own complex feelings towards Johnny and a dig to try and get under nomad's skin.

He wasn't a fan of the way the nomad shifted, the way the nomad was as tense as he normally was. It was wrong. This wasn't how it should be. The nomad should be the one leaning back, relatively relaxed, and the streetkid should be the one wound up like a spring. What the nomad said didn't quite click with the streetkid immediately and the nomad was met with a look of confusion.

"Opened your eyes? What do you me-"

And the realization hit him. He wanted to be surprised, but he wasn't. Not really. The way the nomad got defensive when it came to Johnny had struck the streetkid as a bit strange, but this made sense.

"Oh."

It was soft, an uncertain gentleness to it. He wasn't sure what more to say. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing he shed light on this, or if it was something that would make the nomad's life more difficult. He certainly hoped for the former, but expected the latter.

[disrupts]

There's a rawness that sits uncovered inside of the nomad that he doesn't rush to hide. Thing is, Kerry aside, the streetkid's the only person who can really understand how complicated this is. Probably better than anybody else. So while he's feeling vulnerable and unsure about this particular part of him that's been accidentally uncovered, he's not trying to pretend like it doesn't exist.

It comes down to trust. He trusts V with that information, even if he himself isn't completely sure what it means or what to do about it.

"It's fucked up. Know it is."

Fucked up because of the fact that it feels like it should feel more complicated. But in the nomad's dreams, there's nothing complicated about it at all. It is what it is. And then the waking world catches up with him and he's back to sitting with that information on his own. Until now.

"I don't know 'zactly what uh-- guess ya gave me a lot to think about."

He finally relaxes fractionally, shakes his head and finds some level of humor to grasp on to.

"Usually when I'm sweet on somebody I'm not the best at not just sayin' so. Get ahead of myself. Know it's a lot to deal with sometimes."

[bodyoftheseus]

For once the streetkid sits quiet and still, in no rush to respond. He has no quick remarks or smart cracks to throw at the nomad. He had no desire to pick at ths vulnerability and while streetkid knew that the nomad was handing him a smoking gun he - for perhaps the first time - had no intention on ever using it. This wasn't information to be weaponized, it was simply one friend talking to another with no expectation in the space between them.

V smiled slightly at nomad's comment on his transparency with such things but the smile didn't begin to touch the seriousness in his tone.

"Johnny makes everythin' complicated even when he doesn't know he does. 'N the situation wasn't exactly your typical date."

A tiny attempt to return even a little humor, though who knew if it'd land. He was just trying to tread carefully. It was apparent to the streetkid that he and nomad felt rather differently when it came to Johnny. Where nomad may be prone to arguments with Johnny, it was streetkid's impression that he was also rather sweet - as nomad put it - on Johnny. Streetkid had a lot of built up anger - justified or not - and resentment (again, justified or not) towards his own Johnny. Even with all of that, though, some part of the streetkid had a deep respect for Johnny and might even have his own kind of love for the gonkbrained rockerboy. It wasn't the kind nomad was feeling - at least, streetkid didn't think it was, anyway - but there was at the very minimum an admiration with deep roots.

And, like, who wouldn't want to fuck Johnny Silverhand? Even if it was just to say they had, he was still pretty hot. 9/10 on a scale of 'some hobo on the street' to 'Kerry Eurodyne.' ;)

"Might be complicated but don't think it's fucked up. There's an intimacy there that's hard to find." He shrugged. "Think it's hard to sort those feelin's. Came a point was hard to tell where he stopped 'n you began."

And how could anyone realistically sort through that? The fact that nomad didn't recognize what the feelings were was maybe to be expected given the circumstance of it all. Streetkid certainly couldn't blame him: he had a hard enough time sorting his own feelings about Johnny out.

[disrupts]

The attempt at humor lands, and for a second the nomad's expression lightens up from deeply concerned to amused in passing. If that ain't true, though, he doesn't know what is. Hardly like he and Johnny ever talked about it beyond Johnny off-handedly saying V's not his type. What happens when two people are one in the most neurological sense? Fuck, V's tempted to call it a spiritual experience too. But as far as the nomad understands it, to outsiders Johnny may seem exactly like Johnny's own type. It's so fucking complicated and it's not going to get any more untangled the longer he's keeping it to himself.

He's close to actually joking about that in return, but the way the streetkid's so perfectly summing up the unique kind of connection they have, it forces him to pause and let that sink in. This is beyond the value of their friendship; somebody who understands what it was like sharing a brain with somebody else.

Somewhere in all that self-reflection is the thought that he didn't come here to make this about him. Or Johnny. The appreciation in his expression is clear though; he has no idea who else to talk to about this short of Johnny himself. And, honestly, right now the nomad doesn't know if he's got it in him to work through the blowback, the rejection.

"Point is... don't know what the point is 'cept you weren't 'zactly off the mark. So... look, I just-- I like you. If we were at home 'n it was possible, we'd be chooms there too. Know it like I know our name's Vincent. Just 'cause we talked smack at each other doesn't mean I'm goin' anywhere. Stuck with me now."

[bodyoftheseus]

V's quiet as the nomad stops to consider what he'd said. This wasn't the type of thing that could be hurried and it was the kind of thing he just wouldn't joke on. He knew that nomad was sharing a vulnerability with him and it was something the streetkid took very seriously. He knew that he was one of two people that nomad could speak to about this, and he imagined that Johnny wasn't the one he wanted to have this conversation with quite yet.

Streetkid really didn't mind that the conversation seemed to have shifted to this topic of nomad and Johnny, and he was content to stay there if nomad wanted. When nomad did change the subject, though, streetkid didn't push the conversation back to it. The nomad could bring things up if he wanted to talk about them. He hoped he'd handled things well enough that nomad felt he could come to him with this kind of talk. Having friends was something that streetkid was not very in practice with.

He did smile slightly when nomad said that he was stuck with him.

"Guess I can imagine things worse'n bein' stuck with ya. But only one one'r two things." He winked to his friend. "Think you're alright too. Certainly wish we could've been friends. Maybe havin' a friend who thinks a dumb joke 'bout a stick's funny woulda made things turn out a bit different for me."

Maybe things would have turned out better, maybe he wouldn't have gone with Alt, maybe a team of three wouldn't have had the job go tits up... Infinitey maybes, ultimately nothing more than mental masturbation to really consider it. It would have just been nice to have had someone good like nomad in his life far sooner. Maybe he himself would be a little bit softer, a little less on edge all the time. Who knows.

[disrupts]

The maybes are running through the nomad's mind too, but his attention is drawn back to the other man quicker. He watches his expression, soaks it up and enjoys it for what it is. And that wink? Digs in deep to a place where he understands there's comradery between them, a bright spark of hope that maybe their friendship is weathering the effects of powder. Of Malachite. V wants nothing more.

"That joke's gotten me into and outta more trouble than I can explain. Gonk but effective."

And then there's the passages of literature he shared which he has exactly zero shame over. Growing up with a mobile fucking library has gifted him the skill of being not just literate but vaguely literary too. There's part of him that enjoys surprising people with it; people who might otherwise make assumptions about him based on what he is and his appearance.

"You got a friend who'll tell you gonk jokes all day 'n night, if ya need 'im to."

[bodyoftheseus]

Honestly? The moment V agreed to show up and sit down with the nomad he had already decided that their friendship was owrth keeping and getting past the stupid powder situation. He was already over it when he decided to show up at all - the hard part (as far as he was concerned) would be making sure things were smooth enough with the nomad that things would end up okay. Clearly this was something he shouldn't have even considered worrying about. (The 37 or whatever texts demanding his attention should have really signalled this, but he'd had clients be that needy about bullshit jobs? So take it with a grain of salt.)

"Don't wanna believe you on that, but you don't strike me the lyin' type."

And it's true. He doesn't think the nomad's lying to him about it. But he genuinely doesn't want to think that joke's gotten him out of fuck-all. If stupid jokes could get V out of any situation it would honestly save him so much trouble. ...He was never going to try it.

"Also don't think I need any those gonk jokes you got." A hard pause. "But, I mean, can't unread 'em once they're in my brain, either." The tone of voice, the smile, the body language - it all was playful, a suggestion that maybe he did want to hear them, even if he didn't want to admit it right out.

V had no comment for the literary comments, the books and literature. V didn't learn to read very well until he was older, taught by someone who knew it was important. He wasn't surrounded by books as a kid, didn't have the money for them until he was an adult, and in Night City he mostly kept manuals. Most of his reading were digital copies of technical manuals, coding books, screamsheets, the government wanted boards. He didn't start reading for pleasure until here, and it took quite a bit of boredom mixed with curiosity about the history of this place for him to even start that. There's a quiet jealousy there, but there was a quiet jealousy the streetkid held for many of the things he'd come to learn (or assume) about the nomad.

"Really should stop drinkin' coffee in the evenin' if it's keepin' ya up though. 'Specially if you're endin' up on your front porch." That is, the nomad shouldn't be up all hours of the night tellin' jokes.

[disrupts]

Part of the nomad wants to explain what he means; that it depends on if people got a sense of humor or not. Of course, some people just flat out take a swing at him anyway, and those're the people who definitely don't got a sense of humor. But the streetkid's already moving the conversation on and V has the good grace to look vaguely abashed. A new look on him as far as their friendship to date, one that doesn't appear on his features all too often. Maybe sometimes he's too honest at the expense of any semblance of cool. Truth is, those texts are a story of how gonk he is sometimes, especially when he's committed to something.

"How'm I s'posed to stop drinkin' it if I don't got a choom to smack it outta my hand?"

A comment on his willpower which is good in places and not in others. Coffee for him's not just caffeine addiction. It's something he'd gotten used to sharing with the other man, a weekly check-in sponsored by caffeine.

"'member I said I got ya somethin'?"

Tugging a book from the confines of his inside jacket pocket, his fingers skirt the edges fondly before he's holding it out to the other man. The book itself doesn't exactly look like it's the newest, pages dog-eared and front cover faded.

"Reminds me of a story I read when I was a kid. Not gonna spoil it for ya, but if you read it let me know what you think." In broad strokes, it seems to be a similar story to Lord of the Rings, from this world. Nomad's a nerd, it turns out, but any story about friends journeying to fight evil and underdogs always captures his imagination.

[bodyoftheseus]

Streetkid was maybe a little amused at the abashed expression. Did he not expect V to tease him about the things he said? His transparency was maybe a little endearing - it was so far away from and so foreign to the streetkid that there was a certain charm about it. The response that the nomad gave him, too, was funny, and he chuckled.

"You're talkin' to the wrong choom if y'think I'll do shit outside'f encourage your vices."

Which was more or less true. Streetkid was a a man made of vices and all he ever did (and all he ever wanted to do) was feed them. He encouraged the vices of others to avoid ever having to better himself and stop his own bad habits, and it had generally been the case that nobody bothered to stick around long enough to call him out on his worst habits. That V was willing to push back a little during streetkid's irrational anger meant a lot: it garnered respect from streetkid, and also would likely cause trouble between them in the future. But streetkid would, as his choom suggsted, face it with an open mind.

"I - yes, I remember. Really shouldn't have."

He took the book from the other man regardless, fingers brushing against V's for just a moment as he took the book from him. He folded into himself as he skimmed the back of the book, opened it and flipped through it, examined it and felt the weight of the gift. There was a softness on the streetkid's face that was a rarity, a heaviness to his movements that suggested that it was very likely this was the first gift he'd ever received, or damn fucking near enough to it.

"Don't really know what to say... I, um." He looked back up to V. "Thank you. I'll read it 'n let you know what I think."

[disrupts]

There's the briefest hint of mischief that flashes across the nomad's features. Everybody's got vices and while his might not match up perfectly to the streetkid's, he's hardly taking offense right now. People're going to enjoy what they're going to enjoy, and as long as it doesn't involve hurting other people, who gives a shit?

"Wanted to. Maybe don't thank me 'til you read it through."

He's hoping the man enjoys the book as much as he did, but it doesn't matter if he doesn't. People got different tastes, and either way V's not going to take it personal if the book's not quite hitting the mark.

Settling back into his seat, he crosses his legs at the ankle and enjoys their surroundings. Eventually they'll part ways, but for now he's content to just talk. To make amends in whatever way he can.