disrupts | NOCTIUM IC INBOX

[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.]

Maybe. Prob'ly paid more to get it fixed than it woulda cost to get it done right in the first place.

[ Morals aside, that's one of the stories he doesn't mind sharing. It's one of the lighter ones thinking about all the gigs he did in Night City. Especially when it comes to the real horrors of chop shops. ]

That gonk enough for ya?

[ He's not really expecting Robert to follow through, not when there really is nothing to prove. ]

[That eyebrow goes up again, as if Robert can hear V’s dubiousness regarding a follow through. There’s something about him that’s tempted to do it on that alone—never mind the gonk story or otherwise—probably chalked up to his inherent rebel spirit that hasn’t quite had its flame stoked just yet.

And so, with an almost-shrug of his shoulders, he’s standing again. The guitar hangs comfortably around him as before.]

Guess so. You can’t fuckin’ laugh at this, all right?

[Fine, he’s gonna stand on one leg like he’s a flamingo or something. He can do it easily enough without playing… sort of. The rest is the hard part.]

Got any requests? What kind of music you listen to?

[ Johnny'd be more likely to get his ass up just to spin round and flip him off. Robert's not doing that and V's bordering on astonished that he's seeing what he's seeing. Kid really is standing there on one leg waiting for a song request.

'course, in theory not laughing is something way, way different to practice. Something that V struggles with, fights to try and keep the corners of his mouth neutral and the tickle in his throat contained. ]

Uh.

[ Even that one sound's got the telltale signs of somebody trying not to laugh, the pitch wrong and delivery an inconsistent wobble. He's trying, okay? ]

Prob'ly nothin' that you heard of.

[ Side-stepping that time-breaking question to ask one in its place: ]

What's ya favorite song to play? Play that.

[He can see that barely tamped down laughter as clear as day, and Robert holds onto the neck of the guitar with one hand to keep balanced while he points accusingly at V with the other.]

I see you tryin’ not to laugh! I swear to god if you do I’m not doin’ this any—

[Here, he wobbles.]

Ah, crap.

[No time like the present, then. Before he falls flat on his face, he might as well pick out another of his faves from the year before he was born. A lot more modern to him than Helter Skelter, if not way more of a pain in the ass to sing, too. But he revs up the intro a little faster than usual, and gets to playing.

Hell, this is a song that could be about Night City if he knew anything about the place other than what V’s told him. But Robert just plays furiously on one leg, singing the lyrics about as ravaged as they are in the original cut, and—

Well, he manages until he gets to about the last wailing guitar solo, when his center of gravity just can’t quite hold steady, and his fingers press into the strings for dear life as he keens a little precariously to the side.]

Fuck, if you saw this actually performed you’d know it’s hard as shit!

[ Resorting to clamping down on his bottom lip with his teeth, V's cheeks are taut with humor. Whatever struggle he's experiencing, it becomes infinitely easier when Robert actually gets down to playing. Doesn't mean it's not ridiculous, pretty gonk, but also cool in a way that V can't really explain. Not every 18 year old wants to put themselves out there like this, taking up the challenge of playing on one leg in the middle of a store.

This time the lyrics get attention, the way Robert's really injected his own energy into them. The parallels to Night City aren't lost on V.

It's not until Robert's balance looks almost shot that V finally sits forward on the couch, expression very clearly impressed. Not that he really had any doubt about the teen pulling it off anyway. ]

Made it look easy, choom. That was preem.

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