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[ It's possible given Johnny taking over sole cat parent duties while V was off on his 'don't give a fuck' adventure. Maybe cats have long memories - and hold grudges. Probably.

Gaze sliding back to the upside-down cat in momentary contemplation, V's brows quirk upward briefly before inviting himself in by crossing the threshold into the room proper.

Thing is, nothing's changed where it comes to his feelings, just how openly he's allowed to express them. He's still trying to figure out when the other man's likely to bat him away or not, but for this moment in particular he approaches the rockerboy crammed against the desk and peers down at his handiwork curiously. ]

Maybe just knows his kind. Antisocial asshole.

[Johnny rolls his eyes, then tilts his head over at Nibbles.]

Hey, you hear that? He called you an asshole.

[The rockerboy looks up at V, unaffected. Nibbles, on the other hand, merely twitches the tip of his tail. Also can’t be bothered to care.]

He takes offense. No wonder he’s sleepin’ on my bed and not yours. Then again, usually the more popular spot.

[His grin goes a little lopsided. At any rate, Johnny wiggles his fingers at V, nails newly painted, not caring that the merc’s drawn so close quite yet. That’s nothing particularly new between them.]

Like what you see?

[ Uh-huh, sure. V's expression looks doubtful, and there's no mistake in who he was looking for the reaction from. But Johnny's grin - the memory of what exactly the two of them did on that bed - drags out a snort of amusement, and eventually V's focused on the nails being waggled in front of him. Now'd probably be the time to mention he's never actually painted his nails with anything more than a black marker pen, and even then it wasn't him doing it.

Reaching out to hold the older man's hand still, he pulls a face that's classic 'if you like 'em I do too', but what's in the undercurrent of the Synchrony that flourishes just as immediately at the touch is curiosity. Not that his gaze stops there. He makes a real obvious show of checking out Johnny all over, not just stopping with his nails. ]

Usually.

[Hand caught in V's curious grip, Johnny stills his fingers for a moment to humor him. It gives him just enough time to take in their connection, that Synchrony blooming in a familiar way between the two men, catching all sense of interest and (how he decides to interpret it, anyway) clear appreciation.]

Stop lyin'. I know you mean always.

[His ego dictates it, though something about his tone implies that this is more joke than an instance of Johnny's big head inflating his pride. But the rockerboy is only patient enough to let V hold onto him a moment or two more, before his twists his wrist to grasp ahold of V’s hand, inspecting his nails in turn.]

Yours could use some help, and I'm bored. [A leg kicks out to hook a neighboring chair (one that doesn't match the desk -- where did it come from? Again, who knows in this room.) with his boot, and Johnny drags it just close enough for V to sit.] Sit down.

[ Some help? Of course V's first instinct is to frown down at his own nails. They could be better by a long stretch, but considering his average day it's a wonder he's actually got all of them. If he's not screwing around working on his bike, tuning it up, he's finding some other way to put his hands to good use. Building the firepit had left the nails on his organic hand ragged at best and he'd never really gotten around to do much beyond chewing off the sharpest edges.

It's a bad habit. ]

You... wanna fix my nails?

[ Boredom blows, but either Johnny's not mentioned how much he enjoys doing this or V has seriously underestimated the rockerboy's ability to entertain himself with anything else.

So, eventually, V sits and tries to piece this new snippet of information into the overall mosaic that is Johnny Silverhand. ]

You like doin' this?

[Johnny hikes up a brow as V sits down. What's up with that surprised tone, huh?]

Don't ask me like I'm about to give you a full-blown manicure. It's just a little bit of color, and it'd do you some good.

[Sorry to break it to you, V, but your nails are terrible. Johnny's are far from perfect -- guitar-playing and running odd-jobs here and there guarantee that they'll never be -- but it's nothing like the merc's. At least his don't look like they best care they've seen is being bitten off.]

And I told you, don't got nothin' better to do right now. [And-] Plus, it's kinda mindless, kinda zen. Better than sittin' around, spewin' mumbo jumbo with some monk askin' you for eddies across the city. [You know what he's talking about, V.

Johnny opens up the desk drawer, the sound of nail polish bottles rolling around within.]

What color you want? Got wasted one night, ended up buyin' more than I need. ‘Least that’s my best guess.

[ It'd be a low blow if V hadn't forced Johnny along with him; hardly a choice when they'd been joined at the brain. He does have the grace to at least look vaguely apologetic. Less said about it the better.

But since Johnny's already pushing on, the bottles of polish giving away their number just from the sound alone, V leans forward to peer into the drawer. He just couldn't have guessed at the contents of that desk even if he tried. ]

Whatever one you want to.

[ Aka he's not really putting any thought into how it'd look, is more interested in the process than anything. And, realistically, watching Johnny as he works. ]

Whatever color reminds ya of me.

[What's done is done. V can't un-waste his time suffering through a few weird-ass nature BDs, and so Johnny won't dwell on it -- his point is made, anyhow.

He peeks into the drawer, eyebrows cinching.]

Ain't got a color like that. You're not just one, you're-

[He doesn't finish his statement, dipping into the drawer to fish around for something suitable. But what's implied shouldn't be hard to parse: to Johnny, V is a kaleidoscope, an arrangement of experiences that turn inward on each other, reflected in him, too, and not to be generalized with one swath of color. He's the other half of his soul; picking for him is like picking for himself, but even that isn't right. Doesn't exactly feel accurate.

So, he'll just focus on one aspect instead, one collection of images in the thousands -- a nomad on his bike, kicking up dirt in the badlands against the tangerine-rust light of a setting sun. He plucks a bottle out, holds it up: a burnt orange that shimmers. The name is fitting: Valley of Fire.]

Got a winner.

Edited 2021-07-20 16:10 (UTC)

[ Approval arrives in a soft hum, and V slides the bottle out of Johnny's fingers to take a closer look. Even holds it up to look at it with the light from the window shining through. It's a weird consistency, could almost be metallic enough for a paint job. ]

Why this color?

[ He'd know if they were sharing a neural network, but right now he's still filled with curiosity that's never far from brimming. Returning the bottle to Johnny's hand, V looks down at his nails again, like he's trying to imagine the color on them. They really are a state.

Flattening his palm out on the flat surface of the desk, he has no idea what the easiest way for Johnny to do this is. ]

[The angle’s a little awkward since they’re not sitting directly opposite of each other, but Johnny can make it work. He scoots closer, shaking the little bottle.]

Reminds me of you tearin’ through the badlands, flyin’ over a fucking hill like it was the last one on Earth. When the sun was goin’ down, I remember always seein’ a color like this through your eyes.

[He uncaps the polish, and begins to work on V’s first nail. Slow and methodically; unlike his usual mannerisms.]

On the horizon, reflecting off the metal of your ride, or even across your fingers, clutchin’ the handlebars.

Fire and light. That’s you, V.

[ There's a twist of something bittersweet at that. Johnny's not far off poetic, V thinks, but those memories... yeah, he remembers those. The Badlands are a harsh, unforgiving place in a slightly different way to Night City, but fuck if he doesn't miss it at times.

Living in a townhouse like this is easier after having his own apartment in NC, but the urge to put pedal to metal and aim for the horizon is such an integral part of him that it flares brightly in their connection. A deep, aching longing for the open road and no particular destination in mind. ]

For a while, thought I was gonna move on from the city. Never meant to stay as long as I did.

Not 'zactly built for cities.

[A longing that’s always been clear to Johnny, ringing through their connection like a bell. Even before this place.]

Guess wanderlust is just part of bein’ a nomad.

[One coat, and the color already shimmers. Johnny moves on to the next, eyes fixed on his task.]

No one’s built for Night City, kid. It’s a monster with a thousand rottin’, neon teeth lookin’ to swallow everyone whole. Even if you do manage to get out, it sticks to you like tar.

Not that you got a reason to hightail it outta there. Might as well bask in that rep of yours while you can, watch the eddies roll in.

[ Quiet for a long few moments, V watches the brush strokes, the way his painted nail is already shimmering. He watches Johnny's concentration and the effort it looks like he's putting into being neat.

At this point both of them have seen weirder, but it still gives him pause. ]

Eddies are preem when ya got 'em, but...

[ Not really what he wants. Yeah, it makes a change having money for once, and being the top dog versus the scruffy nomad underdog. But it still doesn't compare to feeling free. ]

Mostly I was just lookin' for a way to live.

[ Huffing out a mix between incredulity and frustration, his eyes settle on Johnny's profile as he works. The thrill of what he's about to say, the memory of it, runs down his spine like electricity. ]

Was in space when I got pulled here. You believe that? Halfway to the Crystal Palace, in space.

[ 'course, where they are now, the number of times V's been back to Nova Station, maybe that takes the novelty out of it. But being in space at home? That'd been something. ]

[He scoffs, amused.]

Well, you lookin' for a way to live is just assumed on my part by now. You give up from that, I'll materialize from the Net myself just to kick your ass.

[This time, he does glance up at V, sparked with interest.]

Crystal Palace, huh? Christ, that really is the big leagues. Remember seein' the ads, though, "The Las Vegas of Space". Makes me puke just thinkin' about it. Sure you would've had a grand ol' time with a bunch of rich fucks up there.

Yeah. Was countin' on it.

[ Probably an understatement, but V's thoughts have already veered off in another direction, Johnny's words his compass.

All the weird things that work here, the fact Johnny's here at all, pulled from the Net like that digital barrier didn't mean a thing...

The fact that they have magic.

It's not really a purposeful thing, but the liquid in the tiny bottle separates until it's clear at the bottom and dark orange at the top. Whoops. ]

Was thinkin' 'bout ya while I was up there. Almost missed the Silverhand special commentary.

[ The dark orange pigment starts to draw down in a tiny whirlpool until it looks more like a miniature tornado in a bottle. Even when he's not touching things V's apparently incapable of not messing with them. ]

[Even though he's here and present in this world, a part of Johnny still pangs with a dull ache, knowing that they've split elsewhere. That reality, unkind and irreversible, still looming like a shadow, one that even Johnny's rebel spirit can't disperse. Even so, it's good to hear V doing well -- taking risks, really living in order to live. If that's how it's got to play out, then he supposes he wouldn't change a thing; other than maybe twisting the arm of fate to guarantee the man's success.]

Hell, I can give you that commentary right here if you want. Already got my mind made up about the kind of place it is, the kind of people who feel the need to lease their space in space. Frivolous showboating. Might as well just set fire to a few billion eddies, it'd be the same thing.

[Offended by the very thought, Johnny tries to dip the little brush back in the polish bottle, but it looks like solution's separated -- not only that, but twirling.]

What the fuck... V- [Johnny kicks his ankle with his boot.] Stop messin' around.

[ A dull ache that's not his own but he feels it too. Might as well be his because he knows that ache intimately. The commentary is appreciated, even if it is belated. Better late than never, and that's something he has to mentally step back from because it's a slippery slope.

The kick at ankle provides the kind of relief he needs, a sharp punch of pain piercing what could otherwise be an ocean of anguish.

The polish at least stops its storm in a bottle routine, though it'll probably need shaking again to blend it back to how it was. ]

Eat the rich.

[ Or something. ]

You think people're ever gonna escape that? Don't gotta go far in Night City to find the other end of the scale.

[He doesn't enjoy feeling like he's standing on the precipice of something that feels like sorrow, borrowed from V, highlighted by himself. He doesn't want to spend anytime wallowing in regret, not with him, and he's glad to redirect the conversation elsewhere.

Capping the bottle and giving it a shake like it's the most exasperating thing to do in the world, he reflects the question back.]

‘When people shall have nothing more to eat…’

[Or something, indeed. He scoffs.]

What do you think?

[He's curious, wondering just how departed V's own take is from his own cynical beliefs.]

I don't know.

[ Which isn't a full answer by any means, but V's watching Johnny shake that bottle like he's preparing a cocktail, and it gives him enough time to think it through.

He leans back in the mismatched chair, palm sliding away from Johnny but his leg stretching out. The side of his boot ends up rested lightly against one of the rockerboy's calves; touch for the sake of it. ]

I hope so.

[ Hope, he's still got that. Certainly flickered a lot more from the constant flame it was since he arrived in Night City, but it's still there ]

We took down Arasaka. Smokin' pile of megacorp 'fore I left for the Crystal Palace. Not impossible, guess a lot's ridin' on people believin' that.

Maybe more do now than before.

[Johnny takes a moment before replying, seemingly distracted by the little bottle, undoing all remnants of the storm within. The reality is something different, though, just the rockerboy taking his time with that shred of hope presented to him by V. Optimistic and fragile, like holding a baby bird in a pair of hands that only know how to break and sunder.

He doesn’t want to break this, not really. For all his cynicism, the years that have dragged their claws across his mind and soul, he wouldn’t keep rebelling if he didn’t believe there was hope. If there wasn’t some glimmer of the promise of change, if he could just yell into the mic loud enough, if he could just wake the whole world up, if he could just make a statement.

V’s right. A smoldering Arasaka building was a hell of a statement — but people’s memories are short. Transient. Diluted with time and convenience.]

Tell you what I think.

[Not that he ever needs an invite.]

Things’ll change if one of two things happen. One: Arasaka and all the big corpo machines suddenly grow a set of morals, basic human decency, and ease their grip on everyone and everything below them. But the sun’s gonna eat the Earth before that happens, so I’m not holdin’ my breath.

Two: people do more than just see a statement—that big middle finger to Arasaka, for instance—and go, ‘Hey, maybe someone else will make things better for me’. Do more than just sit around and wait for something to change. That whole damn city’s gotta wake up and stop rolling over to the corps just because it‘s easy. And pullin’ people away from things that are easy is probably the hardest fucking part of all.

So yeah, it was a step in the right direction. Makin’ people believe. But Arasaka’s got deep pockets and society’s got a short memory. Don’t need to remind you that’s not the only time that place got wrecked to hell, and decades later, it’s like nothin’ changed. Just got worse.

[ Aware of Johnny's cynicism intimately - how can he not be? - V appreciates the answer. It's not that all he's hearing is doom and gloom, that anybody outside the 1% always opts for easy even if that keeps them under the thumb of the corpo machine, ready to get ground up to dust. What he's hearing is realism, and though it's not exactly a shining beacon of hope, it's not Johnny calling it impossible either.

A part of Johnny still believes, and that in itself is more than enough for V to turn over in his head inspecting it like a jewel found in the harsh climate of the desert. It's enough. ]

Not the only time. But that's twice now. Two times Arasaka got beat down.

Not gonna make it easy for 'em to rebuild.

[ Maybe that sounds like V's overestimating his own power in the city, but he doesn't mean it like he's got armies of people ready to deploy. What he has are contacts, though. And whatever favors he needs to pull in, whatever he's got to do to make an Arasaka return difficult, he'll do it. ]

'sides, I got a particular skill for stickin' to what I want.

[ He's not even going to pretend like he's not talking about the two of them. ]

Somethin' worth fightin' for's worth all of me.

[Johnny nearly shakes his head, amused despite the subject matter that always turns him bitter. If anything else, V’s always been a man of his word; stubborn as hell, too. He has no doubt he’ll follow through with making life a pain in the ass for Arasaka and all the big corps.]

Got no doubt about that. Give ‘em hell twice over for me whenever we get back home.

[He points at the flat surface of the desk again.]

Put your hand back down. Not even close to finished yet.

[ The real miracle here is that, somehow, V hasn't smudged the coat Johnny's already painted on. Impressive, really, considering his penchant for being unable to sit still for any length of time. Not that he really sees it for what it is; he's not all that familiar with how frustrating it is smudging nail polish.

Hand flattening out again on the desk top, as though he's about to let Johnny play Five Finger Fillet with his 'ganic hand, he scoots closer so he can rest his forearm on cluttered surface too. ]

'course. Even let 'em know who it's on behalf of.

[ With his optics pulled back towards his own hand, and what Johnny's doing with his nails, his mind drifts pleasantly this time. ]

Been thinkin' 'bout bein' here. What I'm doin' with this time.

[ Borrowed time, maybe. Relative to both his own longevity, and being able to spend time with Johnny, Jackie, Vincent... people he knows won't be there if they get sent home. Honestly, he's thought a lot about wanting to stay. He knows Kerry doesn't want to, but fuck, it's difficult to want to leave this place, even with all its problems. ]

Wanna have fun. And I want to make a difference.

[Johnny uncaps the bottle again, the copper-y rust color shining on the brush. He works on an unpainted nail of V’s with the same steadiness as before, though he does lean an elbow onto the desk, reflective of the merc’s own body language.]

So what’s that mean, then?

[Curious, it’s a simple question. Having fun and wanting to make a difference are both generalizations in their own way, could swing towards either side of the spectrum. Johnny isn’t surprised that V’s time here has him wanting to make the best of an unusual situation, surrounded by people he’d not normally get to spend time with.]

The havin’ fun part’s easy. But making a difference? That mean more than just runnin’ gigs and workin’ on your bike?

[ Humming an agreement - the kind that betrays he's not sure what it looks like yet - his eyes lift again to watch Johnny's expression as he concentrates. It's not passed him by that things between them feel more relaxed than they have before. Solid, stable.

Either way, he can't deny the urge to want to do more here. ]

Been back to the sky station couple times to help.

[ Admittedly at least one of those times was solely to avoid Johnny. But it doesn't change the fact he went and helped rescue people. ]

Just feel like while 'm here, and I don't gotta worry 'bout shit at home... could do more. Don't just wanna run gigs for Red.

[ Whenever the opportunity's presented, he helps Kerry with his music shit. Whatever that looks like, from being security at the showcase to helping him make merch. What he wants is to be involved in a way that helps. ]

Wanna go see more. Trippy shit, and the shit we don't get to see at home. Past month's been messed up but I learned from it. Keep forgettin' to stop 'n just... taste the fruit, or somethin'. Smell the flowers.

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