TRUTH IS NOT ADVERTISED.

ankha snorted, his question apparently bringing her great amusement. she gave him a look, all mirth and faint condescension as she explained, " horses and cars did both exist at the same time, you know. it wasn't, like, sudden. " and while ankha certainly had her preferences, she wasn't actively resistant to new technology. she liked to learn. " lotta the people i lived with started using cars or quads to get around. so i learned to work with them. how to fix the basics. mostly just the basics until i got one of my own. "

she shrugged, nodded. " i've been a mercenary for a long time. i usually end up involved sooner or later. " her hands were pretty much constantly dirty, if she thought about. it was rather the nature of things. " mostly it just depends who decides they want me first. got nothing against the other guys, but it's the job. i'm sure i've worked for just about everyone by now."

#wrestling with a possible new url do not be alarmed #unlore

there came a time in just about every conversation trace chose to take part in where he had to decide if judgment was on the menu. by nature mercenaries were a group lacking almost completely when it came to loyalty -- but there was something to be said about how it sounded different when laid out in plain language. no right, no wrong, no morality to get in the way ; it all came down to who claimed her services first.

members of his own family were the same way. that's how the job went, so it wasn't as though this information was new or shocking ... but being old news hardly did much to make it any more pleasant. ( and in a way - a small, misguided / misinformed way - trace liked to believe that when it came to his own family, no matter who hired them first, what they chose to do after would come down to what was RIGHT to do. it was a nice way to think of them, even if it was a version of his people which he'd made up entirely within his own head. )

" and when you wound up here? who did you find yourself working for -- and before you say ' it wasn't just one person or group,' duh, i know that. but i'm talking about the first time. who did you have to thank for your first night city payday ... "

i'm so happy to finally have all of trace's bio and stuff done, but I can't link to his new carrd until the new url is decided on and it's GRINDING my ASS.

it would be in her best interest to nip the whole discussion in the bud, really. the last thing she wanted was to have to genuinely explain - partly because he would never believe her, and partly because rogue would probably kill her if she didn't get to know first. ankha was, however, a little taken in by his poor, boredom-tormented little lamb act, she would have to admit.

she could indulge him just a little bit, so long as he knew he wasn't getting the whole shebang out of her, right? " i dunno. last ten years i've been doing a lot of wandering about. messing about with cars instead of horses. pimping out my ride. " that was a thing that a person could say, and she had certainly just said it. " met a whole load of different groups of nomads across the country. they're always waging their little wars, you know. good eating for a merc. "

yuck. why did she say that?

" alright, well, how did you go from horses to cars? and by that i mean; who taught you? that can't have been a natural switch to make, someone had to be around to teach you the difference between a hoof and a tire, so ... who was it?" it would be an ok start, far from gripping material but at least she was willing to offer him a crumb or two.

" i'd also like to hear more about these 'little wars' -- " because that wasn't an incredibly patronizing way to have put it. wow. "or i guess about your part in them. did you do more than just know about what was going on? ever get your hands dirty? " the two may have had long standing beef, some real bloodlines shit, without trace even knowing bout it. wouldn't that be silly ?

i did one of these for rogue so you KNOW the The Boy™ gets one too. 2045 sourcebook info-dump. let's go.

1. someone explain to me why he calls valentina his niece, but then calls the people around her "her family?" wouldn't they be his family, too? "the genesis of this guide lies with my niece. I was spending time with her family..." "i shared breakfast with my niece and her family," where's the disconnect there, babe? one of those people would be his sibling so liiike why are they just HER family? 2. not only does he work through leak news, but he's running it. I KNOW THAT'S RIGHT ♡ 3. his little resume, i'm cryin'. fruit farms outside of mexico city, welding in san francisco, caravan guard on runs to vancouver. that's what we call well rounded !!!!! 4. the camp / city at the base of the coronado dam being "the closest thing the aldecaldos have to a homeland – a 'capital city' run by them and for them." truly the least nomad of all nomads, bless'em. it's crazy how they had such sway and then 2077 rolls around and : / a tragic fall from grace. 5. so, for "three consecutive two-year terms," whoever the nomads (mostly aldecaldos, it would seem) backed won the city manager seat for santo domingo ; and then they lost because someone ran on the message of "a santo domingo for all people… not just the nomads." so what I'M hearing is that this is when the district started going to shit. serves you right, besties. 6. we get a district map. we get locations ON the map. we get a direct mention of trace's lil crew spot ... but that's not one of the places marked on the map? cruel of them.

i YEARN for more and will be obsessing over the way he conveys information for the next two years, thanks.

she had been assuming he was joking, of course. why would she assume anything else? especially with the smile in place, with the trend of conversations between them leaning heavily in that direction, with ... well, all the other shit. it dawned on her slowly, however, looking at trace as he shrugged, that he might not be joking at all. which was ... well.

ankhirmaa waved a hand, dismissive. " aw, c'mon. i'm just not that interesting, kid. " that wasn't, strictly speaking, true. but it was certainly an easier explanation than the truth. hell, pretty much anything she could make up was an easier sell than the truth, which put her in a tricky position. she squinted at trace, giving him a harder, more calculating look, the grin from the start of this proposition mostly faded. " AND i'm not that self-obsessed. sorry. "

that was a lie, too. it probably counted as highly self obsessed to have old notebooks full of facts about yourself and your life, to pore over your own stories like she does. but it was, you know. special circumstances.

" anyway, i have the crappiest memory for most of it. you don't wanna hear me tell you about some thing i saw on a wotsit some i-don't-know how many years ago, huh? " there was another smile, but somehow, her heart wasn't really in it. talking about this just brought up ... well, it brought up the whole tragedy of it all, really. the void of loss that trailed out behind her and she tried not to think about. " you'll have me sounding like a real old woman. it ain't flattering. "

an interesting reaction for someone who ( allegedly ) wasn't interesting in their own right. if she wasn't interested in whatever it was he was offering, ankhirmaa would have been better off going along with it for a while. maybe offering up a few mind numbing stories, or being SO OFF THE WALL that even trace wouldn't be willing to believe the nonsensical bullshit she'd come up with. but to suddenly become something close to bashful? bad choice.

with a shrug and a nod of understanding, palms would be held up in near-defeat as he spoke, " i'm very patient. willing to put up with things, ready to hear about wotsits, and years are much less important than you may think. what if you set the timeline? the past ten years, maybe? no need to dig into your childhood if that's what you're looking to avoid ... can you tell how hard up i am for something to do ... ? "

cross would have given him more details, had he asked. they weren't the most evocative speaker, perhaps, but they could give him quite a considered answer nonetheless. perhaps it would come up again. ( and then they could tell him all about the crunch of breaking bone as the back of their eye socket shattered, pushing shards into the soft grey matter of their brain. )

when he puts it like that, though, it seems fine to them. it was just another version of dreaming about the everyday, right? or it was a consideration of something you might legitimately have to deal with. or whatever. cross shrugged. " i don't know. what is normal to dream about? how are you supposed to know? " it wasn't like most people would just tell you their dreams for no reason. which made it hard to judge. " i just know lots of things i feel or think or whatever aren't normal. so i thought this might be one of those. "

" a long time ago, before even i was born, if you can believe it ─ " pause for laughter, haha, he's old, etc. " this guy had a tv show. allegedly he was a doctor but there was some pushback on that, which isn't important right now but still feels like something you should know. so this guy used to say that 'normal' is any behavior or thought process that doesn't directly interfere with healthy functioning, goal pursuit, or relationships. " it was a broad statement, overly generous and probably not accurate ; but that was the leeway you bought yourself when you had the balls to pretend to be a medical professional.

" so out of all your dreams, and all of those things you think or feel, which ones are legitimately 'not normal' if we take his word for it? " from the outside looking in? cross was functioning ... well enough, and well enough was nothing to sneeze at.

#real.#ㅤ<user.leaknews.mkdir> ㅤ🌐 ㅤ( LAN ) ㅤ𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚕.𝚎𝚡𝚎ㅤ ˖ㅤㅤabt.

my-dailydreams

2077smerc

V huffs a quiet, incredulous laugh at that, eyes dragging over him like she’s deciding whether he’s worth the effort. “‘just an observation,’ huh?” brows lifting, unimpressed even as he closes the distance, her gaze flicking down to the hand on his chest before snapping right back up to his face. “so you do have a sense of humor under all that attitude. thought it was just factory defects and bad decisions.” she drawls, voice edged with amusement. she doesn’t step back. If anything, she leans in just enough to match his space, eyes narrowing. “and trust me, I don’t need a reason to be a little shit. I do that for free.” a smirk tugs at the corner of her lips. she shifts her weight. then drawls mischievously, “—so… gonna write another piece about how the big scary merc hurt your feelings?”

#the very THOUGHT of ncpd trace is my sleep paralysis demon.#<user.leaknews.mkdir> ㅤ🌐 ㅤ( LAN ) ㅤ𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚕.𝚎𝚡𝚎ㅤ ˖ ㅤㅤimg.

he was in fact ALL sense of humor ; to a fault, most would say. lacking in substance. unable to find a balance between completely unserious and as serious as a heart attack. flippant 99% of the time. it just so happened that his brand of humor™ was on the sardonic side, and for most people that was hard to fully appreciate.

oh well !

the temptation to keep going with their accidental game of chicken was there in spades ; she'd come closer and he followed along ... only to have the other lean in even more, leaving no real room to do the same without risking a nose-to-nose ordeal. it was a game he'd have to lose in order to keep things comfortable, which was a damn shame.

to begin, there was a sigh. a huff of air as trace offered a thoughtful, " let's see ... " before the hand on his heart was removed, the whirring digits now needed to count off his many grievances.

" unfounded attacks on my character, workplace hostility, refusal to respect physical space and emotional boundaries, general vibe-disruption ── i'd say that's piece worthy, wouldn't you? "

#2077smerc

mcgregor

BEN BARNES as TIM JAMIESON The Institute • 1.01 "The Boy"

realizing that i was a single DAY off from making his birthday april fools'. i've made a terrible mistake.

#he's a fucking joke it would have been perfect.#<user.leaknews.mkdir> ㅤ🌐 ㅤ( LAN ) ㅤ𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚕.𝚎𝚡𝚎ㅤ ˖ ㅤㅤooc.

FILE : CONTINUE ... ? // @2077smerc

instinct, that initial rush, was one of trace realizing that perhaps he had chosen the wrong mood on the wrong day ... though first instincts were rarely worth trusting, and once they were forgotten and brushed aside the truth of the matter was clear. it wasn't the mood, nor the day that was the problem ; he'd been too abrasive, too harsh, plenty of room to say nothing at all where instead he'd decided to say something less than kind all for the sake of getting a reaction ─ mystery solved. ( and if he could go back? he's say it again. after all, an undoubtably interesting reaction was better than no reaction at all. )

gaze came to rest on the other will full attention instead of the fleeting disinterest which he'd offered only seconds before, that small space between them crossed with only a half step. where v managed to avoid crowing, clearly he had no such qualms. ( personal space? never heard of her. ) " yelling into the void, huh? " v's own words would be repeated with a near smile, an expression close to pride almost shining through. for all of his faults, and there were plenty, it could never be said that trace couldn't take an insult or two, especially in the moments when he'd been the one to kick things off on the wrong foot. " i hardly think the punishment fits the crime here. all i did was make an observation, you're just being a little shit for no reason. "

a pause then, as zetatech metal hand came to rest upon his heart. " i do appreciate the wealth of material you've given me though. i'll be screaming into that void again in no time. "

#i'm trying to collect the things i missed over here during my accidental hiatus - and as far as i can tell i never replied to this?#so i hope it's alright that i'm doing so now - BUT of course feel free to ignore this completely!#2077smerc

good question! cross answered unflinchingly, nodded, watching trace with her customary dark-eyed intensity. " i have dreams about it. " whatever cross' brain was doing, it was not blocking out the experience. then again, there was very literally something wrong with her brain, so she had an excuse. " but it's not like the brain has any nociceptors. you can't feel that part. i think the eye part is worse. " they pause. " squishy. "

it didn't occur to cross that maybe trace wasn't in this for the gory details, but then again - he was the one who had asked. he would get what he got. " i dream about getting hurt a lot. " they consider for a second, frown creasing between their brows in their customary way. " is that normal? " well, maybe it wasn't normal for someone else, but cross did get injured abnormally often. spend enough time doing something and it was only natural that it would leak into your subconscious.

S Q U I S H Y. how ... descriptive. though not descriptive enough to drain trace of curiosity. it wasn't' worth questioning further, since there was only so much one could learn from the description of a squish they themselves hadn't experienced ... but the curiosity was still there. ( was it a soft squish? a crunchy squish? a squish that gave way quickly, or a squish that required force? not knowing would surely keep him up at night.)

" i think it can be normal. for someone who doesn't get hurt often it would be a normal thing to stress about, all the what-if's, focusing in on something you're worried about happening to the point where it's all you can think of even while asleep. and for people who DO get hurt i'd say it's even more normal, because you're dreaming about what you know. why do you think it wouldn't be normal? "

now, ankha's general lack of speaking other languages around trace might, just possibly, have something to do with the fact she assumed he wouldn't understand those languages. what with him being some kid living in night city, america, possibly having never left said country, it seemed like a pretty safe bet. maybe she should start using other languages just to confuse him. that might be fun, actually. she would get on it.

still, he DID make her laugh. giggle, actually. mister sir writer man had that effect. not that ankha actually had anything against writers and the people who documented the world for a living. she actually thought it was a valuable and useful craft that took skill and integrity to be any good at, but that wasn't likely to get a laugh out of anyone, was it? besides, trace didn't seem much like he would like to hear it, that tone in his voice ... the kind of embarrassed self-deprecation people fell into when they were good at something they still had some weird little hang-up about. another time, maybe, when they were being serious, ( though when was ankha ever being serious ) she might pull him up on that one.

" ok, yeah. you can write my LIFE STORY. " she grinned at the joke: that, actually, it would be a pretty great, if unbelievable story. one that would never be told. " you'll love it. mysteries, murders, intrigues. it'll all be in there. "

#hmmmm the notes saying i never responded to this?#seems like a lie if you ask me.#unlore

ankha may have been grinning, and trace may have been following along ( as it was the polite thing to do ) but beneath that reciprocated expression was a very serious offer. while he wan't one to believe that everyone deserved to have their story told, and knew that most stories would send the public into a boredom coma, ankha was just strange enough to have him believing that she was worth a chapter or two.

maybe as part of a larger project? a collection of short stories focused around the theme of those not from the city, but living with the repercussions of a life having taken root there. ' IMPLANTS. ' the cover was coming into focus already though it would take some convincing, because what he wanted was deeply personal. finger prints, iris scans, chip IDs. something to prove that the people within, once individuals with rights of their own, were now property of the city they'd foolishly chosen.

and if they chose, as they should, not to have such private information plastered on the cover of a book? well, that was the point. the moment they'd crossed the boarder, be it for life or for a quick hour trip, the right to privacy had been sold. it was all out there now, free for the public, you only needed to know where to look.

smile still in place, trace would shrug. " i'm being serious. don't you think it would be nice, at least somewhat? getting to talk about yourself until you're blue in the face? relive old memories, control the narrative ... ? "

graveflwers

' what can i say, ' he replies stiffly. bringing his family into the mix might be a shitty play, but it’s a fair one; he'd laid the ground work for it himself, paved the way with rogue-shaped stepping stones. what's a son to his mother? what's a father to his sons? apparently, different questions lead to similar answers, such as: hey, don't worry about it! and even potentially nothing much! ' i love my job. '

as in: he's had to pick between santo domingo and his family once before. anyway, he's divorced now—

' you're makin' it sound like this is all some kinda temp-o-rary setback. ' trace had always had a way with words, which was probably why he was the writer, while muamar—whose words tended to have their way with others—was the fast-talker. and also a bad listener, no matter how precise and persuasive trace could be. is being. ' i lay low for a couple of weeks and this whole thing just ... works itself out, like the fuckin' stomach flu. yeah. like if we all just sit around shitting the bed for long enough, it’ll run its course. '

he slouches into the chair, resting his hands on his midriff, fingers knit loosely together. one leg bobs up and down to the beat of an unheard, persistent rhythm. he shakes his head. ' nah. '

his kind of gambling involves running the odds—and rigging them, when he has to. he only leaves things to chance when the chances are that he's leaving with a win. right now, he's reasonably certain that throwing in his chips and stepping away from the table might lose him his seat forever.

' cut to the chase, trace. ' he flashes a lopsided demi-smile, as out of place as everything else in the building. ' what's the old girl want? what's it gonna take to get you the fuck out of my house and back onto the open road? '

#reappearing for the birthday boy and then running into the shadow again? maybe.#graveflwers

a version of events existed in which trace had entered the room, found himself dealing with someone far more reasonable, and the whole thing finished in a handful of minutes / with a pleasant handshake. he longed to live in that world, but would also admit that it was a selfish longing ; as dealing with that specific version of circumstances would also have meant that santo domingo was being run by a fool ... which still may have been true, but it was a different kind of foolish ── the kind that wouldn't be pushed out of the way. and unfortunately for trace, that was best for the district, and for his people.

cut to the chase, trace ─── and for that a smile was earned, because if they couldn't enjoy a little rhyme between friends ( ? ) why even continue living? " if i had to guess, " he would offer after a moment of silent thought, his guess more or less a sure thing given that mommy had said as much. " - i'd say she wants you to learn how to shut up, and ... is this a safe space? because if it is, and i'll hand it to you it sure feels like one, this feels like a good time to point out how we'd all love that, actually. "

easier said than done for most, but for muamar? impossible, now that trace had said it out loud. maybe it would have happened naturally without the anything-but-subtle request, but for all of their differences trace and the man before him appeared to have at least one thing in common ; if they were told to do something, it became the very last thing on their to-do list. ( maybe it was the santo domingo in them. a little shared hometown charm. )

" no one - not her, not me, and certainly not all those people out there who can't zoom away in a fancy little car, want things to kick off in the city again. and for whatever reason she thinks that kicking things off is EXACTLY what you feel is necessary. this is about not making things worse than they already are, that's all. it isn't a personal attack ... you just so happen to be the issue. so what it'll take to get me out of here is you proving that you're willing to be a team player. " and that, apparently, was a message that could only be received by leaving said team ( against his will ) for an undisclosed amount of time.

please, not papa santiago having his own lil mural in santo domingo. i fear you're never getting that shit back, muamar @graveflwers

#trace: we just have to let this play out.#also trace: *grinch smile*

it wasn't a subject that cross shied away from - but only in the way they didn't shy away from any subject. they could be perfectly straightforward about it. it was just that ... with this one, there were certain awkward details that people tended to really react to. cross knew why. some of it was ... BAD. that didn't stop her from sharing as though it was all perfectly straightforward.

" i got stabbed through the eye. " cross made the gesture of a sharp upward thrust at a slight angle, a neat little demonstration. unflinchingly factual. " the knife went through my eye socket and into my brain. with shards of bone and stuff. they had to do an operation to remove my eye and get the bits out and everything. " the trauma had been significant, but they had been lucky. relatively speaking. as lucky as one can be counted after a still-severe brain injury that changed oh-so-many things in their life. but that was all a matter of comparison.

as for the why of it all ... that was where it really got sticky. " my father did it. i had done something bad. he was very angry. " some part of cross still felt as though it was reasonable. as though she had deserved the punishment, as though it had been in any way proportionate to the crime. she had been told so many, many times, after all. it was all her own fault.

' VERY ANGRY ' felt ... not as strong as it could have been. not as strong as it needed to be, in trace's opinion, but he hadn't been there to see it all go down so what did he know? maybe father gabe had been just that ; ' VERY ANGRY. ' and there was nothing else to it as far as emotions went. the fact that he'd seen it fit to commit such an act in the first place was a different topic altogether, one which trace couldn't help but to assume cross wouldn't want to discuss with him -- or at all.

" do you remember what it felt like? " would be his next question. avoiding one sector of rudeness omly to dive headfirst into another. " seems like the sort of thing you'd block out, or that your brain would force you to block out, i should say. " but if not? damn, what a memory to be stuck with. there were plenty of things the human body and mind shouldn't have to deal with, and knowing the feeling of one's own bone shards pushing through one's own brain was at the very top of the list.