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“I love the kind of woman that can kick my ass...”

MEME. MEME TAG. INBOX. ALWAYS ACCEPTING !

his eyes travel between clara and the woman across the hotel bar. clara. the woman. he looks her over like he looks over one of ctOS’ shiny new toys: a system to be analyzed and picked apart.

and what he finds is underwhelming.

“eyes on the prize, badboy,” he murmurs, nudging her. “she’s drinking bacardi. not your type.”

#b4dboy17 #[ — MEME FILL; ]#[ — IN CHARACTER; ]#PRECIPICE [ — VERSE \ WATCH_DOGS; ]#james vc: no one is good enough for you. stop trying

:// ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪɴɢ… → ᴄʟᴀʀᴀ ʟɪʟʟᴇ // @b4dboy17

“...You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” They’ve got a little time to kill until he has to put in an appearance at the auction --- he keeps catching himself starting to tap his foot a little where he sits. It’s a gamble, hoping no one notices the mess he made of the real Crispin. In and out, don’t draw any attention. So he talks, distracts himself. He’s not even sure Clara is listening where she sits. “When you asked to meet me. You didn’t tell me who to look for --- you did that on purpose.”

#b4dboy17 #main verse. → ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴄᴀʟʟᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍsᴇʟꜰ ᴀ ʜᴇʀᴏ #here have aiden referencing my favorite fucking thing about wd1 #SHRUGS lmk if you'd rather have something else!!!!

It's been a while since he'd looked looked through her files, afterall, he might as well have every word and bit of code memorized by now. But something about today was different. An anniversary? A memory? Either way, here he was again. A lost text, unsent: I messed up. I messed up big time, and I know it's not enough, but I'm sorry... I'd like to think I taught you better; be safe out there. If things go the way I expect...well...I love you and take care of yourself.

LOCAL MAN MOURNS PUNK ROCKER

clara lille still lives on in dedsec’s toolkits, her memory etched into PCBs and embodied forever in the comments of scripts that sit at the heart of their ctOS exploits. pieces of her work have been pillages, re-written, borrowed, referenced, and taken for scraps until badboy17 has dissipated through their systems entirely, as ubiquitous in death as she was in life. there’s something oddly right about it, he thinks; james derives at least some small comfort from knowing that, at least behind her handle, clara lives on.

the rest of her files— the personal ones— live on in triple-redundant platters kept under lock and key. james insists it’s a matter of pragmatism, what with clara being the trapdoor spider of dedsec chicago, and like evidence at a crime scene each and every one of her personal, digital belongings had been carefully catalogued and taken by james for… analysis? protection? mementos? at the time he told himself it was because he didn’t know what he might need of her. would never know when her info might come in handy. and tonight is one of those nights: flipping through file systems looking for this and that, images of computers, old messages on backups of phones.

he’s looking for something on the club, of course. his fingers pluck through another subdirectory, scanning line after line of text, ignoring the pit that grows in his stomach as the dates begin to approach that date.

his fingers stop. his breathing stops. hell, he thinks his heart stops. between clipped gallows humour shot back and forth— the last messages he’ll ever send her— is a paragraph that makes his stomach twist into knots.

he hangs there for a moment, fingers hovering, and delicately taps something in return.

[ NOVEMBER 8, 2013, 2:01:15 AM (DRAFT) ] well…I love you and take care of yourself.

[ MAY 12, 2019, 4:44:32 AM ] I love you, too.

NUMBER NO LONGER IN SERVICE.

#b4dboy17 #[ — IN CHARACTER; ]#ROOT [ — VERSE \ MAIN; ]#i promised myself i'd do one thing today and this is it /

Happy Birthday James! A kiss on his cheek and an expensive bottle later, she'd fight DedSec and 0sec, he was hers tonight.

IT’S STILL HIS BIRTHDAY IN MY HEART.

like there was ever any question.

dedsec may be his child and its members might be his family, but clara has been his family for longer. clara has seen him through things he never speaks of to anyone, things both of them are better off forgetting. dedsec new york doesn’t exist without clara. he doubts he would have lasted this long without her, either.

“well, when you put it that way,” he teases her, already working top off the bottle. “we never finished the last season of mst3k. you in?”

#b4dboy17 #[ — ANSWERS; ]#[ — IN CHARACTER; ]#ROOT [ — VERSE \ MAIN; ]

@b4dboy17 [x]

Functions input into each compartmentalized train of thought, running each simulation with uncanny precision and she’s left momentarily staring at Riley… Brows finally quirking, painted pink lips parting in a cocktail of bewildermentand suspicion.

“I…understand what it is you’re saying,” speaking softly, s l o w l y, “But, I also don’t have to tell you it’s like talking about Old Yellow Top or Le Loup-Garou.”

“Don’t know about any yellow tops,” in fact, what had sprung to mind was some sort of sinister spinning top that the Quebecois held an innate blood-rivalry with, “but werewolves, yeah. Got a friend in New Orleans that took me in for a few months when I–” Well, that wasn’t important. No need to go into ‘she’s also a mafioso, I think?’ on top of how weird pack dynamics got. “–took a vacation.” She offered a grim, thin smile.

Riley didn’t want to open Clara’s world. Much better to let her live in her own world of techno-intrigue; frankly, she had enough on her plate to worry about. Too many distractions, too many avenues of pursuit lead to sensory overload, and choice paralysis. From an objective point of view, it’d be better to jut in with ‘just kidding!,’ pull off her tail to reveal it as paper mache, and prove that the camera footage of a humble accountant phasing out of sight to avoid a knife-strike was nothing more than CGI and good acting. Clara could do better for the world, that way.

“Told James, but I’d hoped he’d be able to keep it on the DL. Information wants to be free, right?” A sigh. “I’ll put it to you like this. You tell me this isn’t real, and I’ll accept that. No judgment.” God knew Riley wished she had that opportunity. “Won’t hear a peep outta me. Or. Y’know. I Morpheus you, and I’ll show you what you saw was real.”

#b4dboy17

"So, if I was electrocuted and touched you, would you get the charge or would I?" Eloquent motions and stable posture aside, she may or may not have had a bit too much to drink.

[ϟ] “You’ll get it double charged.Wanna see how that works?“

#b4dboy17

@b4dboy17

“Nice studs,” Desmond starts, tapping his own cheek in lieu of where the strangers piercings lie, hand dropping back to his pocket a moment later. “Did that--you know, hurt more than the average piercing?” It had been a quick pain, when he got his ears done, a whim. A lot like the tattoo, and most of the time he too just had little studs he kept in his ears, to keep them from healing and closing.

“Chin had to fuckin’ hurt, at least a little.”