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@silverhanged
The Hanged Man represents a state of surrender, sacrifice, and letting go, often signifying the need to change perspective or embrace a new viewpoint by releasing attachments to the ego
a private and extremely selective Johnny Silverhand RP
[sideblog, follows back from @voyeuriistic ]
EXCLUSIVE WITH @neonfool 's V
Rose. 30.
[Rules / Verses / Prompts]
He watches with skeptical amusement as Rogue and his lighter retreat. He knows there's no real trick, that she's improvising something as he watches to justify the stealing of the lighter.
It's not a bad trick, considering. A little impromptu property damage always spices up a night. As much as they bicker, they tend to be on the same page on one thing: leaving a mark on the world. He takes the opportunity to gulp from the nearby bottle of tequila before he can start sobering up too much, returns to his comfortable spot lounging by the time she's done showing off.
She thinks she's going to be able to distract him from the lighter issue by turning his mind to the thought of sex in motel rooms. She's right, to a degree- he picks his priorities, allows her to shift the conversation. But, the lighter isn't forgotten. It's going to be easier to steal back once she lets her guard down- and it's something he can leverage later, when she decides to act like he's never done anything charitable for her.
“Today? 892,” he answers with total confidence, despite the number being pulled out of his ass.
“By tomorrow?” The first grin he's given her all evening, “894."
and had it not been the first grin he'd given her, the first moment of something even close to kindness ( no matter how skeevy ) maybe it would have gotten him somewhere ── but as things stood, johnny, along with any and all of his chosen facial expressions, could fuck off. maybe he would make it to 894 before the night was through, rogue just wouldn't be part of it.
" that's pretty specific. " she would say, skipping over the latter portion of his comment with practiced ease, a change of position as propped elbow was released and her back was once again awarded the honor of most comfortable position. " i would guess way more. maybe in the high eight-hundreds if we count couple-sex, or even friend-sex. but when you add in the stuff that's been paid for? we're talkin' astronomical figures. even your nasty little mind would be blown. " that ... may not have been true, as rogue was certain it would take something truly horrifying to even be a blip on johnny's radar, let alone blow his mind. but fuck it - clearly they were both just saying shit now.
from her spot on the bed with gaze trained upwards straying digits would, through fabric, begin to mess with the lighter safely within in her possession. getting it had been fun and all ( in a way ) but now the stupid thing was like a little grenade of anxiety just waiting to go off. lighting the curtains ablaze and calling it quits altogether was starting to feel like the only option with a desirable outcome.
speaking of murder ; " how'about deaths? i'd guess ... eleven actual bodybag cart-outs, with a few close call ODs they managed to bring back. "
He's unsurprised by the way she glosses over his pick up line. He wasn't really expecting it to get him anywhere. Worth a shot. She wouldn't like him so damn much if he wasn't flirty- doesn't mean it always works.
He glosses over it just as easily as she does, continues to push forward with the discussion at hand by rolling his eyes at her immediate refutation of his claim. She's always gotta one up him, like she's a historian and her area of expertise is shitty motels.
She acts like knows the exact year this shithole was built, like she did the math in her head in record time. This room could've been shut down for months from a bad bedbug infestation for all she knows. They've got the exact same information and she's still eager to insist that he's irrefutably wrong. What a bitch.
He watches her from where he lounges, stares her down as she speaks. He's trying to figure out what's going on in her head- something that's consistently a mystery to him, despite how easily his questions could be answered by simply listening to her.
“Nah. Way too low. Gotta be at least twenty.” If she wants to shut down his guess, he can play the same game.
“Sure, you got ODs, but think about the suicides. The drunken fights. Drug deals gone wrong. Cheating spouses caught in the act. Didn't think you were so sheltered.”
Game night
WHAT KIND OF HERB ARE YOU?
BASIL
You wear a thousand masks and you claim them all. You say they are all you, all parts of you but some of them you picked up when you needed to be brave, some you picked up when you failed because you were yourself, some of them you picked up because you needed to be stronger for someone smaller, better for someone bigger, useful for someone crueler, and you can't help but desperately scramble for first place, for usefulness, to prove you're worth keeping around, to prove you're the best, to prove you're good enough, valuable, enough. You just want someone to tell you you're enough.
You strive for success, to be a role model, to take the lead, to be someone everyone loves, someone who can't fall, someone who can't be hurt the way you were once, the way you're running from even now. Sometimes you just want someone to hold your hand and let you spill all your broken fragments outward but you know you could never let it go.
The only thing holding you together some days is the image of perfection and success and security and the worst part is that everyone else needs you to never falter either because you so often are the one holding everyone together too. You can't help but wonder if your emotions are ever your own, if you are just an actor in a life that's not your own, if you were cursed to be a mannequin, a doll, from the moment you were born and placed into a life where you were a child meant to be seen, not heard, to perform, not live, and the jealousy the injustice or the pain is fueled into masks as you take the world by storm.
[stolen from @5urvive
tagging all of you]
[Sorry ive been m.i.a. ive been actually deep cleaning my apartment for once when I have free time and I also got back on studying (learning a second language) after like 6 months of not studying lol
As far as I'm aware, I owe replies to Rogue (twice,) Eris, Trace, and one discord thing for V. If I owe you and you're not one of those people, nudge me because something got lost]
@silverhanged
Vik kept casting Johnny nervous glances throughout the examination, who was doing nothing to help his concern by standing there glowering at Vik with a possessive hand on V at all times. Still, he let Vik, the only ripperdoc V was comfortable with, do his job and run various scans and tests, quiet and focused all the while.
Finally, Vik leaned back, ran his hands through his hair.
“I-I didn't think it was possible, but… you're out of the red zone, kid. You might just make it.”
“W-what?” V was so surprised he couldn't even react. He had been expecting to hear he was on the brink of death, barely holding on. He has been braced for the worst possible news. “Seriously?”
“When you filtered Silverhand through the chip and into his own body, it must have tricked the chip’s programming into letting up on you. Enough for you to squeak by, at least.”
“That's… that's amazing.” V looked at Johnny in disbelief, then back at Vik. “That wasn't even the goal. It was an accident.”
“Just remember, you're gonna have to be smart about this, V. You're still going to have attacks, and they're still gonna be dangerous. You've got to be extra careful with yourself from now on.”
Hearing that he was never going to completely get better was a little disappointing, but only slightly, when the news could have been so much worse. “Bein’ sick is better’n bein’ dead,” he said with a grin. He stood up and hugged Vik tight. “Thanks, Vik. Johnny and I should go celebrate the good news.”
“Right,” said Vik, eyeing Johnny. “You and your tumor-turned-boyfriend.”
V took his hand and led him up the stairs before Johnny could start a fight. He didn't think he could process the news fully until they were alone. “Love ya, Vik. Let Misty tell everyone so I don't have to.”
It did make V laugh, and it did make him a little motion sick, but one cancelled out the other and when Johnny set him in the hood of the car he looped his arms around Johnny's shoulders, popping up to give him a quick kiss before letting himself fall back to the hood of the car.
"Mm," he tilted his head as he thought about it, "I wanna go someplace new. Somewhere they don't know us, so it can be just us. We have new lives. I wanna be a new V tonight."
Fuck- he can't even give him a second to savor this. It comes crashing down already at the thought of a ‘new V.’ Maybe V hasn't figured it out yet, but Johnny has. Dying with someone is easy; living with them is harder.
When you're dying, you take comfort in the familiar- and there's no one more familiar than the guy who lives in your head. With a whole life stretched out in front of V, familiar isn't enough. He has the time to be picky, to meet new people, to not settle for some mean old asshole just because he's in arms reach.
Insecurity creeps in. But, he doesn't let it drag him down into buried bad habits. Today should be the best day of V's life- he's not going to cause a scene turning his own problems into everyone else's problems.
“Let's drive all the way out to the edge of the city, see what they got out there.”
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@stcclcdhonor
[continued from here]
Despite Goro's absolute best efforts to remain stoic, Johnny can see that he's irritating him already. Good. He doesn't trust the guy, not fully. He wouldn't be satisfied if the tension was one sided.
Truth be told, his main objection to the plan is who came up with it. He's pretty sure Goro is well aware of that. Still, he's not above nitpicking. The goal is, as always, to be irritating, to feel like he isn't just submitting without a fight- but, he knows there's a practicality to it, as well.
It's always best to have a second set of eyes on a plan- especially someone who's dedicated to picking apart every little way it could fail, no benefit of the doubt given. This plan has to work- if they get caught, they're fucked.
“Plan's got no failsafe. Shift change makes the whole thing unpredictable-” it's still the best time to move, an advantage over anything else, but… best to be prepared for the downside, too.
“Jimmy eats a petrified burrito for lunch, takes a trip to the first floor shitter at the end of his shift, comes out when we're expecting the area to be empty, next thing you know bullets are flying. People make pit stops. Vending machine. Personal call. Risk of a guard being somewhere other than their stations goes up.”
“Needs either a distraction,” which will ruin this lovely idea of doing the whole thing stealth, “or a plan for when we get caught other than blasting holes in all your Saka buddies.”
Is he going to offer a plan B or a conceptual distraction? No. That would make Goro's side of things easier, and he's not in the mood to be helpful.
So we all know about this tattoo representing The Tower; how it’s meant for an outside viewer to see upright, depicting a time of chaos and change, while Johnny sees it as inverted, depicting a fear of change. But you want to know another heartbreaking detail I just noticed?
While most people will immediately recognize justice as the woman in the picture, there are two different tarot cards hidden in this image (maybe three?).
The first is the three of swords (seen at the bottom of his tattoo, close to the heart-like shape just below the text).
You have two souls within you - one wants to fight, the other is afraid.
@neur0cursed
[continued from here]
It isn't that he doesn't appreciate what she's done for him and V- It's that no one in Night City is running a charity. You don't risk your own ass to save someone else's life unless you've got something to gain from it. So, the question remains, what is she expecting to gain?
“Fair enough.”
Maybe he's paranoid. He's been accused of it before. Still… he'd like to get to know the woman who fished him out of Mikoshi. That's why he's here. Either she's a powerful ally or a dangerous enemy- best to stay familiar either way.
“Could've fried your brain trying to get me here, though. Line between ambitious and stupid is mighty thin.”
He takes a drag of his cigarette while he rolls around the words in his head. She strikes him as the type to appreciate bluntness. “What'd you get out of it?”
"It's more than thin, it's like walking on a slack line, only the line is a fucking string of floss." Eris, too, took a long drag of her cigarette, the smoke mixing together to create a thin sort of haze, though hardly lasting. "Goes doubly in the net. But... I had a job to do, and in a way, it's one point in my favor for sticking it to Arasaka." She flicked her cigarette far, the name of that corporation leaving her lips with venom.
Though Eris had to think about how to answer that, at least without revealing too much about herself, if the simple fact that she succeeded didn't say more than enough and then some. "I just... Sympathized with V." A simple answer, and partly the truth. When in reality, the prospect was exciting from the start, gave her quite the rush altogether. "Guess you could say I like walking that slack line too."
Eris planned on taking a break from deep net jobs for a while after this, though. She didn't want to garner any attention, and taking dives close to The Blackwall was always risky, and left her tired for several days. Not to mention, it always got her AI guest excited, causing her to experience a few physical drawbacks.
"I think it's surprising for everyone involved. Never expected to see myself bringing back the dead. But really, did you ever truly feel dead?" Looking up at Johnny from her seated position only allowed reality to set in. She brought back a well known figure of history, in a way. She should be happy for herself. But she felt a little guilty. Contributing to an unnatural way of being and dying.
“Used to. That's the funny thing. Spent most of my life feeling like I was already dead.” The majority of his life he'd been a ghost, one foot in the grave, fueled by hate and rage alone. It felt like if he stopped being pissed off for one minute, he'd cease to exist altogether, like it was the only thing keeping his blood pumping and his lungs sucking in air.
“Then I died, and shit got real.” Living in V’s brain was like being on a choke chain. Fight or flight stopped being an option; no more throwing a punch first, thinking later. All he could do was think. Not to mention the mingling of emotions; it was harder to be a dick when he could feel the way V's stomach dropped every time he said something a little too mean.
“I'm trying to make it count this time around.”
im still awake if anyone wants to argue
[I want to piece together more details of Johnny's childhood, but doesn't the fact that he was sold off for a pack of cigarettes at the age of 4 and then joined the military at 15 explain enough?]
Johnny: What did I achieve, shouting "Chippin' In" to a bunch of angry, pimply kids? V: Ya gave those kids hope. That the suits couldn't buy everything.
Her caution is a learned reaction; she knows him all too well. He offered up the lighter so that she could light something on it, still in his possession, not so that she could light something, stick it in her pocket, and leave him asking around for a light next time. If she'd tried to grab and burnt her hand on it, it would've been her own damn fault for moving the goal posts and trying to take control of the situation away from him.
But, he's just about pushed his luck as far as it's going to go. This isn't the hill he feels like dying on, when he's sure a better hill will come up at any moment.
He takes his thumb off the button, dangles it in front of her as though he might yank it away if she reaches for it. (He doesn't- but the possibility is there.)
“Since you asked so nice.”
movements slow, lazy. sure that if he were to snatch it away without a second thought she wouldn't be left looking like a fool. instead the preconceived plan was that, in the event of the lighter being pulled away once more, rogue would have rolled her eyes, slow moving hand making a quick switch at PLAN B ── arms stretching above her head as if she hadn't really wanted the lighter in the first place.
suspicion only grew once he actually let the damn thing go, but fine. she would go along with it. something she would pay for later. somehow, some way. " thanks. "
on and off, on and off, flick flick flick. eventually rogue, lighter in hand, would bounce her way towards the headboard, lighter flicked on as she allowed the flame to scorch one corner of the bedside table. hardly noticeable, easy enough for staff to maybe see and possibly assume without question that an accident had occurred - but really, it was the marking of territory. a love note left behind for all others who would come after them.
we were here, fuckers. enjoy the now-slightly-shittier room.
with a job well done the lighter would be shoved without thought ( allegedly ) into rogue's front pocket as she scooched her way back to johnny's side, resting on her elbow as to mirror his body language. " if you had to put a number to it, how many people d'you think've screwed in here? "
He watches with skeptical amusement as Rogue and his lighter retreat. He knows there's no real trick, that she's improvising something as he watches to justify the stealing of the lighter.
It's not a bad trick, considering. A little impromptu property damage always spices up a night. As much as they bicker, they tend to be on the same page on one thing: leaving a mark on the world. He takes the opportunity to gulp from the nearby bottle of tequila before he can start sobering up too much, returns to his comfortable spot lounging by the time she's done showing off.
She thinks she's going to be able to distract him from the lighter issue by turning his mind to the thought of sex in motel rooms. She's right, to a degree- he picks his priorities, allows her to shift the conversation. But, the lighter isn't forgotten. It's going to be easier to steal back once she lets her guard down- and it's something he can leverage later, when she decides to act like he's never done anything charitable for her.
“Today? 892,” he answers with total confidence, despite the number being pulled out of his ass.
“By tomorrow?” The first grin he's given her all evening, “894."
