#stcclcdhonor

[gamerigged]

@stcclcdhonor asked: ❝ ever so stubborn, aren’t you? ❞

takemura's words make v's lips curl into a small smirk, gaze shifting from the skyline that she'd previously been staring at to look at goro. her body shifts, turning towards him to show that she was listening, paying attention to what he says. "what an astute observation," she remarks, tone dry but with an echo of amusement.

cybernetic fingers pick absently at the vest that she was wearing for a moment before she speaks again. "kinda had no choice, not if i wanted to survive." clawing her way up the ranks at arasaka, fighting tooth and nail for a spot in counterintelligence, surviving being let go from the company she'd dedicated so much of her life to, it all took some kind of stubborness. and now? now with a terrorist in her head? she's relying on every ounce of her stubbornness in order to survive.

"you're pretty stubborn yourself, y'know," she remarks idly. "you wouldn't be here now if you weren't."

[axeattitude]

@stcclcdhonor: "you're a terrible flirt you know."

over the years, kery has flirted with an incalculable number of people. some he felt genuine emotion for, others were just for for fun, or to fulfill the near pathological desire for connection and attention if only for the briefest of moments, or for no reason at all. there are reasons more still, beyond those.

kerry throws his head back and laughs and then grins at goro, all slick amusement and the spark of what might be delight. it's not the first time he's heard that, and it's very likely it won't be the last.

he can't help it, kerry thinks in his defense: he's a chronic flirt. usually it's well received. he can't tell which way goro is leaning with it, which is unusual enough in and of itself that it carries a small thrill of novelty.

"i've been called worse things." kerry says, and he sounds so genuinely pleased it'd be a little charming to most anyone.

[axeattitude]

@stcclcdhonor: "all this anger and hate, it's not good for you."

there could have been a time once when kerry may have considered the truth in what goro has to say. khian would probably agree with him, then proceed to tell kerry any number of things meant to council him, and kerry knows that they'd both be right. it isn't good for him.

as it stands though, he doesn't want to consider the truth. he doesn't really want to consider much anything at all.

kerry paces in a short line, taking only a few steps before he turns on a tight pivot. he's doing so only a few feet from goro, so occasionally his eyes flick towards the other man of their own accord—to gauge his expression, though it doesn't give much, which is no surprise—before looking forward again, a series of files and texts pulled up on his optics hud.

ideally, kerry should delete all of these, every trace or reminder of kovachek he has. backed up elsewhere in case they're ever needed, but removed from his immediate access. dwelling on his former manager could never be good. he knows he should move onwards and upwards, so on and so forth, but he's always been someone who can linger and dwell, and when something angers him, he likes to stay good and fucking angry for a while about it—in the background or the forefront of his mind, either or—until he finally lets the fires he expertly stokes die down to mostly coals.

"fuck that, i wanna stay angry. i find it relaxes me." he nips out, though it's a lie because it doesn't relax him at all and instead only serves to wind him tighter, like a steel cable with enough tension torqued its strands have started to fray, or shift him closer to the few drifting embers it takes to start the inferno that he can be.

[stormwept]

@stcclcdhonor

Sweat seemed to pulsate at the sides of his head. Thick, beads of hydration that was hot to the touch. His mind was racing with adrenaline that pumped through his core and through his chrome. Chrome... it's such an odd word for a 12 year old to use. Then again, he's spent the last few months having to fight for his life against Militech's illegal trafficking market for test subjects to make weapons out of. Drake was one of these 'products'.

Three goddamn years of being in and out of facilities. Three goddamn years of being treated LESSER than human. Three years of having to bide his time... finding the right moment to escape. Having to fall into the shadows of the crowd around him. The only thing noticeable about him? Is those vented shoulders and hands covered in dotted yet sizeable tips of jet streams connected to his arm.

The only reason why his arms and shoulders had vents was to adjust the temperature to avoid getting himself cooked alive by the heat and for his arms to not fall off from the tubes inside of him adjusting the waters size. He didn't know jack shit about ripperdocs or how chrome worked. Everything was forced onto him. Drake's legs seemed to buckle and tremble. Murder was not on his mind today.

The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself. They found him regardless. With the right money, (or the rather intimidation ) anyone could be found. Drake included on this list of suspects that apparently he 'robbed' from Militech. And now? He's in the shitter. The only saving grace that he's been given is that Militech was cocky enough to think that all they had to do was send canon fodder for Drake to be captured by. Muscular men and armed guns did wonders for the normal person.

Not him. Not when he had NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE. Drake's vents hissing lightly through the fabrics of his shirt and sleeves. Droplets of condensation seemed to fall onto the ground. Blood pooling at the ground around him. Limbs and internal bits seemed to be exposed releasing a gastly and vomit inducing smell. They were torn apart by the pure razor edge pressure blasters of his water vents.

He's not faster than a bullet, but he wasn't going to give them reason to start loading onto him. Ask questions later. His legs stumbled forward. His blood pressure shaky as all hell with the adrenaline rush seeming to simmer down bit by little bit. His eyes catch of a man who had stood in the way of him. His glaring eyes stern and yet... held one of stoicism. A look Drake seemed to already hate.

"Th'fuck you want? You wanna end up like em'?!" His breath purely uneven. Breath staggered to find a rhythm. If he didn't compose himself he'd just buckle onto the ground in a pitiful heap. Drake had to get away from this scene. NCPD would be here any moment and the last thing Drake needed is to answer questions. DRK-3 is nothing more than a weapon. One to kill people. They got what they deserved in his mind. He would NEVER go back to that damned place. He would NEVER let another adult step over him again.

[dreamrcven]

@stcclcdhonor asked: you  shouldn't  have  to  see  me  like  this.

Where It Hurts || Accepting !!

❝ I've seen worse, don't worry about what I have to see. ❞

Masuyo knew it came from a place of pride, it often did when it came to these situations & not the concern for others, not that she minded. She was no Medtech, however knew basic first aid, it was the least the solo could do for him, while most would leave him in the trash to lick his wounds or die from them.

Her hands worked delicately to clean his wounds, alongside any blood that may stain his skin & cyberware, an Airhypo on stand-by just in case he needed an extra boost afterwards.

Normally, she would save these for herself. But he needed them more than she did.

❝ Just don't fuss. Though, I have a feeling that won't be a problem. ❞

[5urvive]

THERE IS NO DESTINY. NO BORN HEROES. @stcclcdhonor

every person had at least one thing which could always be expected of them ; claire, rogue's long suffering barmaid, would always be on time and more than capable of keeping things under control while still maintaining a pleasant demeanor. nix, her in-house ( and equally long-suffering ) runner would without fail put in hours of good work, any and all needed information dredged from the net and brought the surface in no time at all and with no complaints. and someone like takemura ... well. someone like takemura could, of course, be expected to spread joy and cheer, good spirit and lighthearted comments following him wherever he went.

there is no destiny. no horn heroes. ─── HA HA HA , that was so like him. what a funny guy !

glossy strands would twirl their way across and around painted nails, eyes rolling before rogue offered the other a smile that was so painfully genuine that it was obviously fake. " i can't get over how fun you are to be around. every statement is more carefree than the last. tell me - have you ever had a serious thought, or is it all rainbows and puffy clouds rolling around in that head of yours? "

[silverhanged]

@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.

[2077smerc]

@stcclcdhonor continued.

𝗩͟ blinked at him. Then let out a laughter—far too loud for the eerily quiet aftermath of a firefight. She slung her pistol back into its holster with practiced ease and swaggered a few steps closer, arms crossed loosely as she tipped her head, eyes bright with mischief.

"Nanofiber blend," she echoed, mock awe dripping from her voice. "Wow. That’s even worse. You’re not just a suit, you’re a self-maintaining suit." She gestured to his posture, 𝗣𝗥𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗘 𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗡 𝗔𝗙𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗚𝗘. Her mouth curled, crooked grin in place as she propped her boot on a bit of debris. "Have you ever even relaxed, Goro? Like, in your life? Worn mismatched socks? Skipped a morning routine? Eaten leftover pizza outta the box while half-naked on a couch that isn’t regulation-straight? That's chilling, wrinkle-free warrior. Foreplay for your soul." There was a glint in her eyes — amused, maybe just a little fond. "And for your record—if you try to press my jacket, I'm calling the Trauma Team. That’s some corporate horror story shit." 𝗩͟ let out a sharp laugh — it scraped her throat raw after everything they’ve just been through. Her clothes were a mess: the once-dark tank top clung to her in places, splashes of someone else’s blood, turned rusty-brown under the city’s dim light. a rip rode the side of her pants, one knee scuffed raw. Her jacket hung crooked, the zipper caught on something mid-fight, now half-dragging off one shoulder. her lower lip was split and a crust of dried blood traced down from her brow to her cheek, hair stuck to her face in places, damp and tangled from adrenaline and heat. Still, 𝗩͟ was grinning. "gonna need you to chill with the poetic threats before I start catching feelings." she quipped. Her boots crunched over glass and some fried circuitry that used to be a drone as she approached him, flicking his lapel playfully. then she sighed, swaying slightly where she stood. the crash was coming—𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗣𝗢𝗦𝗧-𝗝𝗢𝗕 𝗛𝗜𝗚𝗛 𝗙𝗔𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗢 𝗕𝗢𝗡𝗘-𝗗𝗘𝗘𝗣 𝗙𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗚𝗨𝗘. V tilted her head, scanning the street with narrowed eyes before glancing back at him. "look, we either hole up somewhere real quiet... or we find the first bar that won’t kick me out for looking like I crawled outta a scrapyard. Either way, I need to sit down before I pass out."