#alphaternal

[valheri-a]

»  9:30 PM : SAN AMARO ST SANTO DOMINGO – RANCHO CORONADO

            THE FINE LINE BETWEEN THE SHARP KNIFE’S EDGE OF NIGHT CITY & the bandlands. here lies a vast storage yard collecting dust & rust beneath an elevated highway overpass for vehicles zipping by this shoddy backdrop, on a pathway to a myriad of sights that are lot less sandy drab & more neon kitsch.  this place has seen better days. RIBBED METAL CRATE stacked upon crate, vast in size & volume, reign dominant over the location.  among the unmarked or lesser known brands, some of these containers are labeled with the infamous militech logo —— its ivory paint fading away with time. unattended material.  metal cranes & automated pulley devices in which to transport & lift them also seem inoperable & if 𝐕 is to posit?  nothing electrical here has been powered on for quite some time, not even the haphazard metal gate leading into the yard remaining perpetually ajar.  behind that, a factory of some sort.  polluted DARK STEAM whistling through a metallic, cylindrical spout & other implements keeping the place going.

& it is here, the solo waits, propped up with legs crossed against her MOTORBIKE, menthol cigarette sitting between lips & thumbs aimlessly cycling through her phone:  a picture that has been plastered on every big ‘mill paper’ nationwide.  sixteen political disappearances ended with sixteen black bags somehow ending up on the doorstep of the president & ceo of kang tao.  xu’s under heavy fire.  first, the conspiracy of qiant intentionally allowing defective zetatech to ‘fall’ into the black market, ( correlating to some recent, uptick in cyberpsychosis cases!! ) & then, in contrast, mlitech’s stocks increase in value? a CONSPIRACY.  a mess.

( ‘corpo-cunts will be corpo-cunts,’ johnny says, pacing the ground in front of her in all of his intermittently glitching glory before stopping to point with a ringed index, ‘look alive. gearhead contact’s on your six.’ )

thinks about the nature of the gig,  some corporate hotshot from IGEN called a few days ago through a secure & untraceable codec frequency.  called herself “dierdre”.  buttered her all the way up with platitudes about her being recommended by another associate, for 𝐕’s discreetness, professionalism & ability to carry out A CLEAN JOB.  once they were past that, she’d been talked through the trade & the more was said, the more vague the job became.  the price tag it came with, however, was too good to pass up.  & that price tag ( the metaphorical carrot on a stick, ) was enough to keep her pressing questions at bay.  & somehow, now, something tells her there is MORE to the job than “dierdre” let on.

a few minutes later, 𝐕 lifts her chin from the illuminated smartphone & turns head toward the figure approaching.  straightens & pockets the thing.  she is prefaced by a multitude of RED, circular lights in the form of lenses aglow.  strange device fitted over her face that makes her appear more cyborg than human.  ( a black widow spider with reflective eyes in the dead of night. )  gives the contact a onceover.  tall, aged, strong features, bulky.  doesn’t dress for the city & she knows a nomad when she sees one.  NODS.

❛ not gonna’ bother with intros, ❜ she sighs.  long BLACK FINGERNAILS swipe the cigarette from mouth after exhaling a cascade of smoke through nostrils.

❛ pick-up time’s 12:45AM.  got an hour & ten now.  should prolly head out.  unless you got any questions. ❜ 

                                                        @alphaternal​​  ⮕  plotted starter

[synthtics]

@alphaternal​ :  ‘you point and i’ll shoot. pretty simple arrangement.’ meme

❝  you sure you don’t want me shooting with you?  ❞

𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝙽 𝙷𝙰𝙿𝙿𝚈 𝚃𝙾 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝙻𝚈 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙴𝚇 𝙶𝚄𝙽𝙽𝙴𝚁, but he wanted to offer his assistance in a way that would provide the most efficiency.  at least in his eyes it’d be more efficient to have them both shooting, rather than just the one.         ❝  i’m a pretty good shot.  ❞        hawkins wasn’t being defensive, but rather attempting to convince the other he was capable.  

the synth sighed lightly, hands resting on his hips.  a small nod bobs his head.         ❝  if you think it’d be best that way, i’m all for it.  but to me?  it’d make sense to have more firepower.  ❞

[shepcwer]

▌█ ∵   🌹   ∵ █ ▌   She loves it here, her second home. The bakery filled with the warmth of what she wanted her house to smell like constantly, the beauty of everything she got to decorate. And the people she got to see enjoy everything she made. But there is one in particular becoming a morning regular that she had yet to really speak to. Hands carefully holding out the usual order he got before raising an eyebrow. ❝ You've been coming here pretty frequently must be doing something right huh. ❞ She chuckled before Ringing him up for inventory sake but then pressing a button for a discount. ❝ Consider this one compensated for helping out a family business. I appreciate it when we get regulars. Not to mention whatever it is you do looks like it is fun but harder than hell, you deserve a break. ❞

                                @alphaternal​   ♥’d sc for charlotte 

[axeattitude]

@alphaternal : are you actually pouting? / the devil in silver.

kerry doesn’t pout so much as he stares down at his many-ringed hands with a frown and a not-so-startling reluctance to listen much to owen much like a pout. the nomad cares about him, both because it’s partially is job and partially because kerry’s semi-confident enough to tentatively call him a friend. still, that doesn’t mean kerry always has to particularly like it, and right now, he doesn’t.

“no.” kerry grits, though he might as well be shouting yeah, i am! also, it doesn’t help that he won’t really look at owen either. “what are you doin’ back inside, anyway? weren’t you gonna go, like, whisper sweet nothings to your car or somethin’?” the way kerry asks it is bit petulant, at that.

he most definitely is pouting. he just won’t admit it.

[axeattitude]

> @alphaternal: “what’s it like to be you?" owen's mild, genuine curiosity belies a deeper confusion, alienated by a world that stays completely still, and just rots. to owen, movement meant life. this static city feels irrational. but not eurodyne, surprisingly. owen recognizes a survivalist, even in this urban jungle. / what could possibly go wrong?

what’s it like to be you?, owen asks, and kerry’s chest tightens with something very much like dread at the prospect of seriously considering that question. he knows he could lie and tell owen something falsely bright and flawless on the surface, a look at his life through rose-colored glasses, but he doesn’t want to. owen is genuine in his curiosity, and that curiosity seems harmless, and honesty is the least he can give him. 

still. it’s a thought kerry typically avoids, all the same. his neatly packaged and well-remembered answers he would give media who ask that same question won’t work here. trying would just make him feel like a gonk at best, a fucking dick at worst. owen deserves more than that. even just the thought of being honest makes kerry feel a little queasy, though, but that’s not the nomad’s fault.

“it’s, uh...” kerry sighs and drags a thumbnail over one of his bracelets, a common tic. for once, he doesn’t bother to hide it from view. he swallows hard, and he doesn’t look at owen. what’s it like to be you? has many potential answers, but the rockerboy only chooses one, one of his oldest, most familiar struggles, raw and real and spoken so softly it almost doesn’t seem like it comes from him at all: “...it’s lonely. really fuckin’ lonely.”

[axeattitude]

> @alphaternal: ☁ = being caught in the middle a storm with them. / send for kerry’s reaction to your muse. 

kerry sits discontentedly in the passenger seat of a vehicle driven by owen, his clothes plastered wetly to him like a second skin. he drips and drops, a puddle formed uncomfortably beneath him in his seat. he sits hunched forward, his elbows on his thighs, avoiding the backrest - the leather upholstery is grossly damp, and his shirt sticks to it every time he touches it. 

he hadn’t expected him and owen to get caught in a torrential downpour (the forecast had been clear, checked and double checked), and it shows in the irritation that twists the rockerboy’s expression into something sour. owen doesn’t seem half as irritated and kerry doesn’t know if he should be embarrassed by that or not. 

kerry growls under his breath as he grabs his shirt by the bottom hem and tugs it out to stare down at the wet fabric, a deep frown curved across his face. it’s the only thing he can do anything about - his pants are hopeless, but his shirt... maybe he can luck out and owen might have a spare in the bag on the back seat. long shot, but better than nothing.

“owen.” kerry releases his shirt. it fwaps very quietly back against his torso. “do you have a shirt i can change into? don’t give a fuck if it fits or not, i just wanna get outta this wet shit as quick as i can.”

[axeattitude]

> @alphaternal: “ where are they? ” / short and sweet prompts.

anger simmers in the stiff set of kerry’s shoulders and squared jaw. he clenches a slightly dampened red bandana in his fist, tugged from where it had been fashionably tied around his bicep, and his eyes are set on the bandana rather than owen or anyone around them. he can still feel the wet, lingering remnants of spit on his cheek - a present from an angry fan, livid he'd declined to take a picture with them after he’d autographed a shirt they bought earlier. 

fucking gonk. he’s done with this shit for today. kerry’s patience, dangerously low, has ran dry. he’d sooner rip someone’s head off and shit down their neck than suffer another fool tonight. 

“someone else got 'em,” he spits, short and clipped, as if the words have to wriggle free through the miniscule spaces between clenched teeth. “walk me to the av? done with this shit tonight.”

though he doesn’t say it, kerry stuffs the bandana into the pocket, shakes the stiffness from his shoulders, and offers owen a brief, flash expression that says thank you for asking anyway. 

[axeattitude]

> @alphaternal: will i ever stop being surprised at the ways people make hell? / the answers, pt 1.

when kerry was younger, he had more hope than he does now. a quiet optimism had lived within him, always there: that people would eventually prove to be better than they seem, better than others think. sometimes that proved true, but not enough. that hope is quieter and more guarded now, the optimism dimmed - kerry has seen, heard, and experienced too much for anything else.

still, even he himself is surprised sometimes. by the way people make hell, by the way people hand-manufacture suffering.  

“probably not,” kerry answers quietly with a small what can you do? shake of his head. the rockerboy wishes he could say otherwise, but lying to owen would feel worse than telling the truth. in his time knowing the nomad - both professionally and personally to an extent, from the tour the gradys were hired to run additional security for onwards - he has rarely lied to him. he doesn’t want to start now. “but if i can give a bit of advice? don’t focus too much on that hell. look towards making a difference, balancing out that bad. you got you, your clan.” he smiles. he means every word. “i’m sure you can figure somethin’ out. you’re fuckin’ smart, owen. put that to use.”