Boro by day // Bork at night // Sometimes Dork // 30 // wom/bat // Humble Bundle // CEO of Simping GmbH // Creator of the Raven-Shaped Bully Bot™ // Thirst Trap Generator // Whip War '24 Veteran // Restrained Madman // Spotify Scavenger // Professional Purchasing Unit // Mapa of Vlad
And for a momentit doesn't matter… that the rhythm of the music is completely different from our own. Or that the people around us are jumping and screaming.
Repost and fill in the words you most associate with your character.
Tagged by @olath124 <3 thaaanks!
AON
Animal: Lynx - because protective badass cat with big paws *pow pow*
Month: The winter months
Song: Half Alligator - Shefound. Don't think there are a lot Alligators in Siberia, but the lyrics match her personality very well.
Number: 0 fucks given, no idea lol
Day or Night: Both
Plant: Driftwood
Smell: Pinewood forest and cold cigarette smoke
Season: Winter
Food: Pelmeni with jam Blini with a sweet toping
Astrological sign: Capricorn (I think)
Element: Think the last time I filled this up for her I said fire. Now I would say water because it fits better all the metaphors and stuff I came up for in the story. Maybe a mix of both. She's a hot tub.
Drink: Black Coffee
VLAD
Animal: Fox, specifically one that is living in a rural part of a big city.
Month: October, because it's his birthday month.
Song: To Ashes and Blood - Woodkid (Arcane Season 2 Soundtrack).
It's a bit meh that it's a song from another fandom but the overall mood and lyrics fit him very well. One thing that nags me are the chants that are some language from the Runeterra lore so it makes no sense to match it with a Cyberpunk OC. But I can be delulu as much as a want and the translation of it could be seen as something shippy so yea. It's a great song.
Number: ehhhh... 3
Day or Night: The Day is my Enemy.
Plant: A dead one I forgot to water Wolfsbane
Smell: Cedar and Saffron
Season: Autumn. Personally he likes the summer most, at least for the longest part of his life, but Autumn has more symbolic power for transition, death, change and all that stuff.
Food: Appelstrudel. Homemade and warm. No one makes a better one than Mama.
Astrological sign: Scorpio (technically it could he something else as his real birthday might not be in late october - but I care way to less for astrology to dive deeper into it and it fits his character traits good enough)
Element: Plastic Fire. Because everything he touches turns to shit.
The things he lost, the things he gave up, the things he had to sacrifice.
And the things they could have been…
They all linger in the moment.
Dogtown, March 2079
“Oh, you're here…” Vlad stops abruptly, in the warm, humid air of Dogtown
The familiar silhouette blends with the dark blue sky, speckled with few, weak stars. The noise and music is distant, and Vlad didn't expect to find someone this far from the pulsating heath of the party.
Violet turns to give him a look, at first lazily dragging a smoke from a half finished cigarette as she leans against the handrail, then she straightens up, narrowing her eyes:
“Vladimir, I…” she lowers her eyes to his consumed leather jacket, which contrasts with the elegant shirt and pants. Even if they don't hang on him as smoothly as they used to. “I just needed a breather.”
Vlad clears his throat, clumsily hiding a bottle behind his back.
She follows his movements with a neutral expression, then gives him her shoulders and leans forward, on the handrail:
“Good. Well…” he slowly gets closer, lowering his gaze on the glistering lights of Night City. “I needed a breather too.”
“Really?” The quick smile she gives him is nervous. “You used to be all in for every party and social gathering.”
Vlad blinks quickly, avoiding her gaze, and slouches over the handrail, the bottle he's grabbing by its neck now in plain sight:
“Not really. Not anymore.”
The moments he spent at parties, playing the intricate game of corporate ties, are just a distant, confused fog:
“I used to be the shy one,” Violet comments, placing her cheek against her closed fist to gaze at the sky, where a few stars manage to overcome the lights of the city. “The one who stayed on the side, waiting for it to end so she could get home.”
“Until Elroy, or I dragged you to meet someone,” he smiles, recollecting the memories of the parties they attended together when they were much, much younger.
“Or to dance. That was even more embarrassing,” she chuckles, turning to look at him. The quiet, slightly crooked smile on his face makes her widen her own.
Violet turns to look at the city, taking a last drag from her cigarette, before dropping it on the floor, to put it off with the point of her shoe.
“Counting the steps while you were learning,” he adds, “and stomping on my feet at every chance.”
“Not everyone has always been as perfect as you, Mr Volkov!”
His family name on her lips feels hurtful. He went by Alexander for years. Then just simply by Vlad. But Violet was entangled with Vladimir Volkov, not only for the good little memories they still shared from their childhood, but also for the foggy, dark pit of happenings in the years they spent together while he was working for SovOil.
And by the information he had recollected from his recordings, “Mr Volkov” was brutal.
He didn't like the idea of being “Mr Volkov”.
Especially in Violet's eyes.
“It must have been quite hard to love him…”
Violet narrows her eyes, accentuating the lines between her eyebrows:
“It has always been a bit too easy for me,” she raises her shoulders. “Loving him, you, that was the easy part.”
“I'm not him,” he opens the bottle, to take a long sip.
“He would have never drunk a cheap Bumelant, straight from the bottle, while hiding from a party, I'll give you that.”
Vlad gives Violet a quick look. She feels relaxed, her cheek still resting against her open hand, and a little, sarcastic smile lingering on her lips.
What that man did to so easily make her fall for him, how he made her forgive every single one of his cruel and atrocious actions, is still a mystery for Vlad. As if there’s still a small glimpse of love in her heart for who he was, and who he is now.
“What…” another quick sip. “What would he have done?”
Violet’s eyelids flutter quickly. Then she straightens up and grabs the bottle from his hands. Simply turning it over the handrail, she lets the alcoholic liquid drop down for the nighty-nine floors of the Black Sapphire.
“A Barghest pup will get a shower…” Vlad chuckles.
“I suppose they might like it, and especially need it,” Violet leaves the empty bottle on the floor.
They face each other, while their low laughs die slowly.
It's Violet the one who interrupts the silence:
“He would have asked me to dance.”
Vlad gives her a small, embarrassed smile:
“Do you want to go… back in?”
“Not really.”
“It's been… a long time…” he shrugs his shoulders. “And there's no music here, anyway…”
“You're right,” she lowers her hands on the handrail, tightening her fingers until the knuckles turn white. “It was just a silly, nostalgic idea…”
Vlad gives a long glance at the empty bottle, allowing the uncomfortable feeling to settle in:
“Will you stomp on my feet?”
Violet turns to look at him: the nervous, crooked smile that doesn't reach his eyes, his hand , raised towards her in a silent offer.
“Maybe,” she places her fingers on the palm of his hand. “Or maybe you will, given that you're out of practice.”
He laughs, accentuating the wrinkles around his eyes, and takes a few steps back on the balcony.
She surrounds his shoulder in an embrace as he lightly places his hand on her waist.
Without music, they start to repeat the same steps they've done a thousand of times.
The uncertainty and embarrassment they both felt as children don't fade away. They don't turn into the confidence and self-satisfaction Vlad had as an adult man.
Not even when Violet rests her head against his chest, simply enjoying the warmth of his core, while she starts to mumble under her breath an old tune they've danced to a lifetime ago.
No.
All of this feels new to Vlad.
But about one thing she's right.
It's nostalgic.
The things he lost, the things he gave up, the things he had to sacrifice.
And the things they could have been…
They all linger in the moment.
And when she takes a step back, letting her arms fall to her sides, and raises her glossy eyes to look at him, he understands she's feeling the same.
For a moment Vlad asks himself if he could just embrace her, and kiss her, and just, simply, go back. And for a moment, it feels right. It feels like there will truly be the chance to simply be what they were.
He just needs to find the courage to take her shoulders and lean forward: she would kiss him. She always did.
“Thank you,” but her voice is broken. And there is pain in her face, marked by years. “It was a nice trip down memory lane…”
He can just stare at her, while she makes a nervous smile and tries to discretely dry her eyes with the point of her fingers.
I'm a bit lazy with the writing part of their story and vp doesn't give much happiness anymore, at this point... But drawing is always nice! And they are always my silly guilty pleasure...
Poses from this pack! And below the cut... the delirious text that inspired this pose in particular (that's the reason they are always this specific!)
The woman in the well lighted mirror stares back at me.
A stern gaze.
Straight and confident posture.
An elegant black taffeta dress.
Classic.
Feminine but not provocative.
Something fitting for the role I soon will have.
And I know it won't be handed to me on a silver platter, Elroy made it plenty clear. People die in the streets and in corporate hallways both, here in Night City, and I know already there are plenty of people who want me dead.
“Très bien, ma petite princesse,” Elroy's voice is calm and contempt. “Violet, you look marvelous.”
I turn to give him a look, and I can see in the quick twist of his expression, how he easily managed to see through my carefully crafted facade.
I'm scared, terrified of what is to come, and he can clearly read it.
But he quickly recovers his control, leaning against the wall of my bedroom.
Painted in light blue.
To remind me of home.
Elroy moves away from the doorframe, and takes the few steps that separate us.
The warm touch of his hand is welcomed, and I lean my cheek against it, as he fixes my hair behind my ear:
“Everything will be fine, my dear,” he smiles, without looking me in the eyes. “You're way stronger than what everyone may think.”
And I believe him.
I might have grown as a coddled little princess for part of my life… but I'm not just that.
“They might think you weak, and sheltered… but let them believe it. You and I know what you went through. You and I know that you survived.”
Except… that alone I wouldn't have. Alone I would have ended as a lifeless body, next to my parents' ten years ago.
He takes my hands, spreading my arms to lower his eyes on my dress:
“You will fuck them all up, mon coeur.”
I smile back at him.
In the end he's right.
Even if I probably would have died long ago, now I know better. And if there's something I know now, is how to survive, and how to fight back.
Elroy made sure of it.
So I shrug off all the fears and the doubts, and bury them deep.
I smile, and take his arm in my hands:
“Shall we go, Roro?”
“Sure, dear,” he gives me a calm side look.
“Let's fuck them up.”
The chandeliers give a golden reflection on the black marble of the establishment Elroy rented for the evening.
An infinite, chaotic party to show the whole world that his nephew is still alive, and a celebration of my twenty-fifth birthday.
I've been at parties like this, but it feels like a lifetime ago.
Waiters, sliding through the crowd, carrying golden trays filled with champagne glasses and hors d'oeuvres.
The light noise of laughs and chatter from the small groups of people, lavishly clothed, according to the last trends.
I'm out of place, in my dress that looks outdated, in a fashion that resembles what my mother used to wear.
But Elroy is here, a calm and solid guidance in the turmoil of the corporate world.
And he taught me how to behave properly, how to understand the people around me.
In the end it boiled down to a simple rule: don't trust anyone.
He knows well enough. The death of my parents hit him hard, almost as it hit me.
And he made sure that I won't end up like them.
So I dance from one guest to the other, with a fake smile and polite chatters, giving my inputs on things when I'm sure it would highlight my intelligence or my competence.
Still under the alias he gave me, still protected by the role he made up for me.
He wants a big revelation when every guest will arrive.
Elroy always had a flavor for drama.
The night simply goes on, and it actually starts to feel… like I'm managing.
Laughing at jokes I don't care much about becomes easier, and the tension slides down my shoulders, like a heavy blanket.
It's sudden, though.
A tingling sensation on the back of my neck, the skin on my arms lifting into goosebumps, and an invisible pull that forces me to turn my head.
Our eyes meet.
You haven't changed at all, even after all these years, Vlad.
Standing tall a few steps behind an extremely frail old woman I recognize as my grandmother, Clémence, with an immobile composure that almost feels inhuman.
Because you are not human. Not in the truer sense of the word.
And after a moment of complete, perfect stillness, I can feel the blood rushing to my head, and my heart resonating furiously in my ears.
I'd run to hug you, if I didn't know better.
But Elroy's hand, placed carefully on my shoulder, brings me back:
“I figured that you would have needed some protection, from now on.”
I nod rigidly, and give just a quick glance to Elroy, before coming back to watch you.
But you already averted your gaze, slowly shifting your attention on the people around you.
I won't bend my mind over you. I need to stay sharp, so I turn to Elroy and give him a calm smile:
“I suppose everyone is here, am I right?”
“You're right, indeed,” Elroy smiles, giving a long glance to the room. “We shall be seated, mon coeur… time for dinner.”
I sit between Elroy, at the head of the table, and another man, roughly around my age, not a member of our family.
Elroy doesn't want to put me under too much pressure, and I appreciate the kindness.
The first, initial uneasiness, caused by your presence has settled down.
My mind runs back to my childhood, and I ask myself if I ever felt this way in your presence, when I was a kid.
Probably yes. I was just more used to it. And maybe it was the reason why I sneaked to find you, despite my mother's protests.
That, and your stories.
The memories bring a small, but extremely real, smile on my face.
Despite what my mother, the servants, and everyone else has always been saying, the last time I truly felt safe was with you.
The dinner goes on without many worries, though, spent with light chatters with the man at my side. Another corporate heir, like me, even if his family is elbow deep in a communication company.
But we don't talk about that.
And for a moment I almost forget about it all. The family, the corporation I'm supposed to prove myself worthy of ruling, the expectations and the fears.
At least until Elroy stands up, a big smile on his face, as he raises a champagne glass, delicately clinching a fork against the crystal.
The guests turn to look at him, as the buzz of the conversation slowly dies.
“There are many reasons why I've requested your presence here tonight, family, associates and friends,” a calm, sardonic smile on his long, feline face. “But the one that outweighs them all is a birthday celebration…” The waiters bring in a cake, lavishly decorated, with golden swirls on the white buttercream, and twenty-five candles that illuminate the suddenly darker room.
“Sacrebleu, Elroy! Fais preuve de respect,” the old woman’s, mamie’s voice is cracking, but still commands the attention she always had in her life.
“Oh, no, my dear maman, on the contrary…” Elroy's smile widens as he offers me a hand. “I'm extremely glad to announce to you, and to all our guests, that your granddaughter is alive and well.”
I take his hand and slowly stand up, feeling on my skin every single one of their stares. Disbelief, skepticism, recognition, as the stir of the crowd raises, once again.
“Violette,” he raises his voice over them all. “Your Violette. I found her.”
I straighten myself, despite them all, hardening my gaze. I can't show them any cracks. The first sign of weakness would be my end.
“And how are we supposed to believe that a random girl with a slight resemblance with Liliane, found by you, out of everyone…” My older uncle's tone is sarcastic, but his nervousness is betrayed by the rigidity of his forced smile. “Is the one who should inherit all of Jacques’s wealth?” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Pardon my disbelief, but I find it… oddly convenient.”
“Oh, dear brother…” Elroy keeps up his unshakeable smile. “You can believe me, or not. But...”
Elroy gets interrupted by the sound of a chair abruptly pulled back. Clémence stands up, and you follow her movements rapidly, even if way more silently than her, offering her one arm in an outdated but pointless gesture.
She refuses, taking the steps that separate us, with a deliberate calm, her gnarled hands grabbing the backrest of every chair as she gets closer.
I am a bit taller than her, now, and when she reaches me, she grabs my face in her hands, pulling me closer:
“Vivi?” she whispers, her pale eyes turned glossy by a veil of tears.
“Mamie…” I mutter, trying with all myself to keep up what remains of a resemblance of self control.
Elroy, who followed our interaction carefully, turns to his brother:
“Blood don't lie,” he says theatrically. “And, well… in this particular case, I have plenty of DNA tests that prove her legitimacy.”
“There won't be need for those,” your voice echoes in the room with a gravitas that attracts the other guests’ attention. Even my grandmother turns to look at you, as I do.
“Blood don't lie, as our graceful host stated,” you raise one hand with a theatrical gesture toward Elroy, the sharp point of your nails, more akin to claws, gives away your true nature.
“And I know.”
Elroy’s smirk clearly shows how he easily predicted all of this.
Clémence turns to watch me with her light blue eyes, keeping my face in her trembling fingers:
“I never doubted it, mon coeur. Since the first moment…”
That's it.
I envelop her in a tight hug, and the familiar fragrance of her perfume, powdery and clean, envelops me.
It brings me back.
Memories of home: playing around in the kitchen while she was cooking, and stealing hot cookies or bread with some scorching sauce, as she pretended not to notice me. Her telling me old stories, their roots running deep in our family tree and mixing with legends, or her singing to me old lullabies as I drifted off to sleep.
It's hard to fight back the tears, and as she frees me, and I take a step back, my eyes are glossy, small drops collecting on my eyelashes.
And tears run on her cheeks too, following the lines on her face.
I missed family.
The silence that fell on the hall, gets interrupted by the sound of agitated chatter.
The doubts and the skepticism have not been blown off by my grandmother’s acceptance, instead the other guests start asking themself the real question: what will happen now that I am allegedly back?
And suddenly I'm here, under everyone's doubtful and critical gaze, but at the same time I'm not, as everyone turns to each other. Questions, protests and complaints, not even addressed to me, but to Elroy, who fights it all back with the nonchalance of a seasoned duelist.
I take a slow step back. Then another.
And for someone who's supposed to be at the centre of everyone's attention, I don't even get noticed, as I slip out, on a balcony that oversees the chaotic buzzing of Night City.
I take a deep, raspy breath, as I grip the cold, metallic handrail that separates me from a 300 meters fall.
“It's a storm you'll need to learn how to navigate.”
I give a quick glance behind me, your silhouette a dark shadow against the hall’s light.
The only discernible thing is the golden reflection in your eyes.
“Vladdy…” I mutter, shaking my head. “...Mir.”
A low chuckle accompanies your movements, as you lean against the handrail, slowly gazing at the colorful and blinking lights of the city:
“It has been a while since I last heard that epithet, I must say.”
I turn to stare at you. An elegant dress, with dark red accents, the metal that envelops your neck, and a sarcastic and condescending half smile on your face:
“Are you…” I stumble, struggling to find the words, in this uncanny moment of calm. “Well fed?”
“Oh, I can't complain. As usual, your family isn't lenient about my… customs,” you tap your nail against the metal handrail. “But I had a certain degree of liberty in the last ten years.”
“Good, that's good…” I give a glance inside the hall, the voices barely reaching for us. “Will you… come back? To France?”
“With you, do you mean?”
“Yes, with me.”
“That's what my bond commands, so yes, I will come with you,” you answer with a nonchalant coldness.
“That's good. Too,” I lower my eyes on your hand, relaxed against the handrail. “I need help, navigating this…” a light, warm touch on the point of your fingers. A nervous smile. “... Storm.”
You simply nod, with a careless calm that slightly upsets me.
My reaction surprises me at first. The light touch turns stronger, as I press the point of my finger against your nail.
I raise my head to meet your gaze.
There's an unexpected twist in your face, when the sharpness of your claw breaks the thin layer of my skin.
But you manage to cover it quickly.
You haven't been part of a thousand courts and intrigues without learning to mask your instincts and feelings.
“It seems like… you've learned how to command attention,” you give me your enigmatic half smile, as you take my hand in yours, lowering your eyes on the drop of blood forming on the point of my finger. “At least from me.”
“It seems a pretty easy thing to do, with you.”
You give me a low chuckle raising my hand, as someone else would do with a glass of wine for a toast, then touch the point of my finger with your lips, the bolting of your cold tongue that collects the drop of blood.
I tear my hand out of your loose grip:
“Just a taste," I whisper.
At least, with this, I am in control.
I turn to the room filled with people.
“For now?”
“Maybe…” I take a deep breath. “If I don't get killed in the next month.”
“It appears I must make sure you won't, then…”
“It appears you must.”
I take a step.
Then another.
And another.
The light of the hall shines on me, and the eyes of the guests focus again on my person.
But I know that you're right behind me, still in the shadows.
Maybe I have, maybe I haven't... But here there are a bunch of (reaaaaally old) sketches and little drawings about the kindergarten when they were at kindergarten age.
Vio still had her natural hair color, Roy was already a little rascal, Vlad was a good boi™ (poor guy, as a kid he must have had the patience of a saint. Only with them, at least)
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