Levels is putting it politely. Brianne is a woman marked for death as she is marked for disappointment, especially when it comes to love. That she continues to find camaraderie among someone so her opposite is refreshing. Completely different backgrounds and lifestyles, but experiences are akin.
Pale fingers interlace, elbows prop on the glossy table, and chin leans on the back side of her one hand. Full attention honed on the quick one set to prove her reasons.
And with it, empathy finds her first. Black-lined eyes softening; powdered brow tightening with concern. Heartstrings are thoroughly tugged despite amusement wrought by V’s characteristic response. The man deserved it and perhaps worse if he went on to continue his charade with others while skirting his responsibilities.
CLIPPED POST - CONTINUED HERE.
KINDRED SPIRITS ARE HARD TO FIND. nobody in her immediate circle understands where she comes from. those who show an ounce of resentment post-involvement are branded as weak or bitter ( nevermind the strongest of women are forged by the sting of being accosted simply for existing, to be designated as second class, but people often tend to forget those little details & prop them up as harpies & witches! ) the city no longer operates as it did in the old era, the world of bloodlines & birthrights. 𝐕 has forced herself, cut her way into the CENTER STAGE as a viable contender in the gritty underworld of mercenaries.
valheri velvet aleida rosario-cruz. the pink daemon. the wrath of heywood & the scourge in a SINGULAR woman.
it isn’t difficult to tell which directions both DEVIATED as a result of their collective experiences. one has internalized it & has become ivory-coated steel & the other, a conductor of deadly electricity. a small, unreadable SMILE momentarily touches her lips.
❛ ——monumental fuckup, you & i. but you live & you learn. at the end of the day, we all hafta’ play the cards we’ve been dealt, ❜ she nods firm for EMPHASIS then shakes the glass before setting it aside for a sip of water to chase away the buzz. ❛ ——or repeat the same mistakes like a gonk, ❜
as time wears on, however, pressing THE SUBJECT further sets a tiny sense of...unease to tingle the white hairs on the back of her neck. ( an internalized defense mechanism that has never quite been corrected! ) it is largely one of the primary reasons she doesn’t like to talk. there are far too many stakes involved in these probing conversations. it’s a game of 4d chess.
it grows quiet. awkwardly so, by fault of the netrunner ; letting in the sound of JAZZ MUSIC penetrate their realm & airwaves along the sound of chatter from the place’s patrons. fill the gap.
the netrunner-solo takes a small tablet from pants’ pocket, the thing is likely no larger than a modern day handheld smartphone, something far more compact than the standard wide-screen of its model & make. inserts a small datashard into the port, the encrypted data begins to decode & display itself for 𝐕’s reading. some pertinent information for future reference & among some other VARIABLES mined from the deepest reaches of the net requiring the adequate amount of chipware to obtain & to access. giant pale coral irises aglow a touch of seafoam blue with a buffering whirlpool of data frosting its edges. & judging by her BODY LANGUAGE, that segment of the conversation is over.
with a touch of finality, focuses gaze on brianne with a PLOT flickering in her expression.
❛ ——ever been to a gun range? ❜
changes the subject outright.
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