disrupts | NOCTIUM IC INBOX

[He’s curious about the details, but if it’s something V got that worked up over and he’s not offering them himself, he’s got a feeling he’s not going to get them, either. So Robert just nods, and follows through with the directions that eventually deposit them in front of the music shop.

He kills the engine, toes the kickstand, and takes in the sight of the storefront. It’s big, with yawning glass windows that allow a peek of the neon signage strung up inside. Looks like any ol’ music shop off of Earth, which is kinda weird if he thinks about it — also is kinda preem in its own way.]

Well, we’re not stealin’ anything today, but we probably aren’t payin’ customers, either. [lol Robert has nooo moneyyyy] So let’s just pretend we are so we still don’t get kicked out, huh? Nothin’ a shop like this hates more than kids manhandling their merch with no intent to buy.

[He might have inadvertently called himself a kid but that’s not the point.]

[ Sliding off the back of the bike with the kind of grace that'd betray his experience if that wasn't already clear, V glances up at the store front, too. It's been a little while since he swung by here to legitimately buy Johnny a guitar. Maybe they'll half remember him, who knows.

At Robert's reference to being a kid, V snorts. ]

Speak for yourself. Been a decade since I was your age.

[ Eighteen was fun though, he remembers that much. ]

Not bad at actin' like a payin' customer.

[ Which is when he extends his hand towards the door; after you, kid. ]

[At that, he has to roll his eyes. Hopping off the bike—]

Uh-huh.

[That’s probably a bit like the Johnny that V knows, a little dismissive gesture to boot. But he still sounds amused.]

Sure, whatever. You actually know how to play anything in there?

[He doesn’t wait for an answer before he moves to the shop, opening up the door to enter. It looks bigger on the inside than the outside, all manner of guitars lined up along the walls, amplifiers neighboring them. Racks of sheet music in the back, where it looks like the keyboards live. A smaller, darker-lit room farther down with the glow of screens emanating from where Robert can see. Probably some karaoke or some shit, he figures.]

Ah, preem. [Predictably… straight to the wall of guitars he goes.] Look at this collection, they sell that many here?

[ Following Robert inside feels just as weird, even with that familiar tone, the gesture. It's like sometimes he can see the origin of some of Johnny's mannerisms now, but then Robert opens his mouth and laughs, or says something that doesn't come close to the heavy dose of cynicism V's used to. It's a trip. ]

Learned a bit recently. Can play a few chords.

How 'bout you? You any good?

[ Of course, V knows how good Johnny is. He just doesn't know how young that talent started. ]

‘A few chords’ and you can probably play fifty percent of the most popular tunes out there. Not a bad place to start.

[It’s muttered half-distractedly as he plucks a shiny black and sleek-looking electric guitar off of the rack. It absolutely glistens.]

I’d say I know what I’m doin’. A place like this? [He gestures to their surroundings. At the distant counter, the shopkeep can’t even be bothered to look at them — looks like they aren’t really all that concerned with these two coming in to take a look.] I lived in a place like this, literally. First floor was the shop, second floor was the livin’ space. You pick up a few musical skills in a situation like that, you know.

[ He's heard that before; from the same mouth, technically. There's a slight hesitation in his step as he turns that over, and then all the information that Johnny's never told him. It's like opening up a book and finding a bunch of pages were stuck together. There's a whole part of the story he's missed. ]

Yeah? You spent a lot of time there learnin' to play?

[ Shoulder to shoulder with Robert as they look up at the rows of guitars, V's trying hard not to ask too many prying questions. Thing is, he's pretty sure Johnny wouldn't supply shit like this even if he asked. Doesn't mean he's not curious as hell. ]

Learnin’ to play in order to sell shit.

[Maybe this puts a new spin in the fact that Johnny and V had broken into a music shop to nab a guitar — an ironic one. But for now, Robert has no qualms about sharing. Why would he? It’s no grand secret, no big bombastic origin story.]

My gramps owned the shop. Even when I was little, I was expected to pull my weight if I was gonna live there. So that meant learnin’ music so I knew what I was talkin’ about when all the dumb college kids showed up.

[He’s bringing the guitar over to an amp, where a bunch of wires already lay ready to be plugged in.]

Know a bunch of records by heart, too, whether or not I liked it. [He sounds a little exasperated by that.] 60s, 70s, 80s. If it was popular from back then, then I probably can at least sing it back to you.

That doesn’t mean I’m gonna, though, so don’t get any ideas.

[ Realistically, V knows Johnny would've had family when he was growing up, but he had no grasp of any kind of detail at all. Johnny's memories were very selective, only showing V the shit from his Samurai days. Nothing before that. A grandpa? That he hadn't seen coming, and why Robert lived with him instead of with his mom or dad... not his place to ask, but the younger guy doesn't seem to mind talking about it. ]

You 'n your gramps close?

[ A question that would probably make Johnny shoot him a real specific look, but V's just following the thread of the conversation. ]

[Johnny might still shoot him a very specific look when it’s all said and done. There’s a reason the older man doesn’t share, because he likes to keep this part of his life blocked off, like it was someone else altogether. The memories and experiences of a stranger that aren’t allowed to bleed into the existence of Silverhand’s, only float around on the background of its canvas like a ghostly, watercolor stain. Easier to deal with, easier to not talk about.

Even so, there exist fragments of Johnny’s propensity to clam up; Robert does it now, just a little, the way he keeps his gaze focused on slotting the cords into the amp, messing with the knobs on the front.]

Sure, yeah. Were, anyway.

[Feedback rings out. He makes an adjustment.]

Don’t matter if I’m here now, right?

[ Keyed in enough to Johnny's habit of brushing off any questions like this, V just nods, sits his ass down on the arm of what looks like a synleather couch - surely not real leather - and slides the sole of his boot up until it's resting comfortably.

He waits for Robert to finish up fiddling with the guitar, the amp, whatever he needs to before he picks up where they left off. ]

What makes ya think it doesn't? People like that - people we care about - shape us. Good or bad... people from the past always gonna leave some impression on ya.

[Fiddling with the gear can only buy so much time; he’s done this so many times he could do it in his sleep. It doesn’t take long just to set up one guitar and one amp that’s already been plugged in.

When he’s done, guitar slung over his shoulder, he considers what V’s said with a twist to his mouth.]

Yeah, ‘specially the people from the past who saddle you with debt after they die.

[And that’s the most Johnny thing he’s said, as if the rockerboy had taken hold of that one line just so he could speak it himself. The ghost of him fades when Robert shrugs, though.]

I meant that it doesn’t matter because all that’s gone now. State took what was due, and left me with pennies on the dollar. [To use an old phrase.] I think that bein’ shunted away to a planet where I can survive just by touchin’ people’s an upgrade, don’t you?

[ The words, the expression that deals the sentence out onto the table, it's so acutely Johnny that for a second V actually looks away. Like he's been caught asking too many questions and the older man's hijacked himself to slap them away. But eventually the explanation comes and it's so multifaceted that V's brain supplies about ten different thoughts based on that alone.

How Johnny got here'd probably blow Robert's mind, but honestly? It's all relative. V at least knows something about having shit taken from you by bigger, badder bullies who don't give a shit they're taking away your only means to survive. His heritage is awash with that, so when he looks back his brows are pinched together. Yeah, it fuckin' blows. ]

Place ain't all rainbows 'n walks in the park but... yeah. That's rough. Didn't have anybody else who had ya back?

Nope. [A strum of the guitar, a messy chord. It wails appropriately.] Was just me and gramps against the world. Then it was just me, and I realized I was outnumbered.

[It’s like was a wall holding the tide back. And for so long, he never knew what was being kept at bay until that wall fell — in came the debt, in came the people looking to collect. Shitty thing is that part of that debt had to be chalked up to taking care of him, and the guilt still prods at Robert sometimes, like needles against the heart.]

It’s why I’m jealous of you — a nomad’s got a whole clan for a family. Lose one member, always got another to rotate out.

[He regrets it the moment it leaves his mouth, sounding a little too bitter, a little too condescending.]

Sorry, I don’t mean it like that.

[ Raising a hand - he's not offended - V can at least understand the sentiment. It's not the first time he's been told he's lucky to have had a family, and he doesn't disagree. Life as a nomad's hardly a life of luxury, or comfort, but Robert's not wrong. Your clan's there for you, as long as it's not falling apart. As long as you don't leave it behind. ]

Don't gotta apologize. Know 'm lucky to've been with my clan for as long as I was. And when I got to Night City, 'fore I even crossed the border... started buildin' my own clan. Family I found.

[ That's what feels normal to V, the only way that life makes a lick of sense. ]

Look, I know this is gonna sound like 'm just handin' out platitudes, or that 'm just payin' lip service but... you're not on your own anymore. Whether you wanna be or not, for whatever reason-- I'm just tellin' ya... you're not.

[ And then V does the only thing he can think of to try preserve some part of what he can imagine is Johnny's tattered dignity; he nods down at the guitar. ]

Dunno if I believe you're any good, though. How'm I s'posed to know if ya don't give me a demo? What was that song called? Helter Skelter, right?

[He finds his look wandering to a nondescript part of the shop when V gives his reassurances. Not because he’s dismissing any of it, but because even now, sometimes this is hard to listen to. Acknowledging that he’s been on his own should be easy since it’s been so obvious for the past year or so, but there’s something about hearing it spoken aloud by someone else that puts a painful spin on it.]

…Thanks. Just got here, but I’m gonna have to take your word for it. If nothin’ else, prospects are better now.

[But thank god for salvaging his dignity; maybe both Johnny and Robert’s. The enthusiasm bleeds back into him, now that the subject is switching lanes to music, and him playing some of that music. He looks at V with renewed interest.]

Told you I’m good, and I meant it. [His hand slides up to the right frets without even looking, without any pause. ] Helter Skelter, from ‘68. Straight off of ‘The Fuck is the White Album’, as you’d put it.

[A smirk, and that’s really the only preamble he needs. He’s not shy about performing, that’s for sure, having some experience doing this countless times, and Robert launches straight into a one-man rendition of the song, amp blaring and guitar strings sounding brightly.

It’s a chaotic piece for the day. Probably one whose vocals require a bit more yelling than singing for the Beatles, at least, and that seems to suit Johnny well. He thinks the lyrics are amusing, too, in a destructive way — clever, though he’s got no time to make commentary when he’s singing it word for word, beat for beat.

He manages to turn even the shopkeep’s head, at least, and a few costumers milling about. It’d be more flattering if he wasn’t already kind of used to it.]

[ V hadn't thought in earnest that Robert was going to suck at this. True to form, he doesn't. Maybe the song does sound familiar, but V's not really paying attention for similarities. He's just listening, enjoying the song in a way that's more interested in Robert's voice than the lyrics he's singing. The way he's playing that guitar like it's just an extension of him.

Somewhere during the song his fingers start drumming at his thigh, mostly to the beat but he's no musician. The only beat he knows much about is the kind that has two fists and a problem with nomads.

So, when Robert's finishing up, the attention of most of the shop at this point focused in their direction, V only just manages to not applaud with everybody else. It really was preem. ]

Yeah. Okay. Pretty good.

[Just like V knew he was good at riding a bike through the city, Robert knows he can play. The attention foisted onto him when he’s done isn’t surprising, but it’s always appreciated. The teen seems to preen in it — but what young man wouldn’t?]

‘Pretty good’? That’s it?

[—he asks V after the applauding and compliments have dispersed, giving him leeway to plop down on the other side of that sofa.]

You’re not an easy guy to impress, Mr. Big Time Merc. Next time I’ll do it standing’ on one leg.

[ It's a funny thing; knowing he's heard better, but the better is an older version of the kid who's just finished playing. Strikes V as something to chuckle at, so he does, the smile curving the corners of his lips upward way softer than the situation really calls for. ]

Okay, it was preem. Was just tryin' to make sure we can get back outta here. Door's only so big.

[ He trails off, something about the size of Robert's head is left unsaid. But, really, that's more the vibe he's got with Johnny. So he rethinks, rephrases. ]

Gotta give myself some kinda edge keepin' all your adoring fans off of ya.

[ It's casual chatter for the sake of it, a depth of calm that he hasn't felt for a while. This is nice; pleasant and fun. And, weirdly, like some strange kind of nostalgia from a time he can't claim as his own. By the time he and Johnny met, that time was long gone, a personality already jaded. But maybe in another life they'd be chooms from the start. ]

Would ya actually play on one leg to prove a point?

[ A grin. A dumb one. ]

[Robert's ego isn't nearly as overinflated as Johnny's, but it still exists in a smaller segment, like a seed that hasn't germinated yet. A compliment from V is enough to feed it for now, and his grin widens at the edges. He plucks idly at a metal string with calloused fingers.]

Yeah, all five of those adoring fans in this shop. Maybe one day I can find a place to play a real gig and walk away with fifty instead.

[That'd be something, he thinks. Robert had always been told he has the talent for it, could probably pull in a crowd if he put his mind to it -- and if he put any effort into writing songs, not just covering what bands of old before him have already etched into the annals of music history.

As for that question, though... it sounds stupid but also... Robert's the kind of person who doesn't mind drilling a point home as much as Johnny does.]

What, you think I couldn't do it?

[ Presented with an option to play into this semi-dare, V doesn't answer. He's still thinking over what Robert's said. It doesn't feel comfortable knowing the way things turn out for both the better and the worse. Robert - Johnny by that point - draws in more than 50 people by such a massive number that hyperbole wouldn't be hyperbole at all. But that discomfort, the feeling like he's holding too many of the cards and he wants to share some, is something he knows he has to sit with.

In the end, he physically shifts on that couch to jolt himself out of that avenue of thought. He's keeping that shit to himself because nobody needs to know about things that haven't happened yet. Things they haven't done yet. It's not for him to share. Given the option to spare this kid the knowledge of that future? V'll pick relative peace for Robert every time. ]

Don't doubt you at all.

[ There's no trace of sarcasm to be found, just a man who knows determination when he sees it. ]

But if you're offerin' to prove it and stand on one leg like a gonk, not gonna stop ya.

[Well, V, as tempting as that is, Robert doesn't go out of his way to act like a gonk unless ~~it's to impress someone hot~~ there's a little something to be gained.]

And what's in it for me? Gotta have a better incentive to act like a fool in front of people other than provin' I can do something you already know I can do.

The everlastin' answer to the question: can you play on one leg.

[ V's lifting an arm, palm raised upward towards the ceiling and brows lifted as if implying that might be something anybody actually wants the answer to. ]

Thinkin' 'bout it... prob'ly would take somebody up on that if they asked me to prove I could ride a certain way. Or hit a target standin' on one leg. ...with a sniper rifle.

[ It's probably clear at this point that V's imagining how that'd go. The recoil alone would make it comical. Huffing out an amused breath, he shakes his head. ]

Even if ya did, wouldn't be the most gonk thing I ever saw.

So for the hell of it.

[Good enough of a reason? Debatable. Though the fact that V says that he’d be prone to do stupid shit automatically makes Robert more inclined… a little.]

Christ, a sniper rifle… how ‘bout you tell me about the most gonk thing you’ve ever seen on a job, and I might be willing to look like an idiot, playin’ guitar.

Yeah. Sometimes just 'cause.

[ Though at the question, V actually laughs. Night City's full of gonks, all different types. There's more than a few he's come across on the most basic gigs.

But there's one that comes to mind pretty easily. ]

Cyberware's not just for mercs. Like most places, anythin' that's got value... always gonna be a black market undercutting. Lotta people don't got the eddies to go to legit ripperdocs, so there's chop shops all over.

Thing is... get what ya pay for, right? And the people runnin' these chop shops don't 'zactly got much concern for their 'clients'.

So, this one night 'm drivin' back to my apartment and get waved down by this choom. And this guy's... he was almost bent in half. Somethin' was wrong with this guy, but I couldn't figure out what the fuck was goin' on 'til I stepped outta the car. Guy asks me to take 'im to a ripperdoc. A legit one. Says somethin' went wrong 'n he's gotta get to one 'cause he's in agony. So I agree, and there's... so many fuckin' holdups. NCPD closin' streets off. Traffic. Anythin' that coulda got in the way did. All the while got this dude ridin' shotgun groanin' in pain.

Turns out what was wrong was whoever he saw to get his dick enhanced with chrome... didn't do the best job. Gonk let some backalley punk fuck with his junk. No idea what happened after I took 'im to the ripperdoc. But I got no doubt there's a moral in that story somewhere.

[Robert barely can fathom cyberware as advanced as what V’s sporting, much less a cultural zeitgeist that makes going to a chop shop to enhance one’s dick the norm. But maybe it isn’t; from what he’s hearing, doing that kind of shady “upgrade” is still considered far from sensible.

There’s hope for humanity yet, he thinks, in this Night City.]

The moral of the story is don’t let strangers fuck with your dick.

[There’s an “unless…” joke that Robert sidesteps here, since flirting is off the table.]

People lookin’ for shortcuts to improve themselves, always just makin’ things worse. Wonder if the doc could save his junk.

[Mysteries of the universe.]

NOCTIUM IC INBOX

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)