Johnny always liked that turn of phrase, the kind of line you read in a book with dog-eared pages and a crease down the cover. A halo; a transcendent mystique that trailed the silhouetted form of a client framed in the doorway. A dame with a cigarette hanging from painted lips, filmed in black and white. Really set the scene, he thought, really piqued interest.
‘Course, he wasn’t about to fool himself thinking the same ever applied in reality. The scent of cigarette smoke clings to Johnny like tar, the smog lumbering after him like a dull creature, giving up and dissipating halfway. Its orange tip burns bright as he swings open the office door—private investigator, if he’s got the address right—and the little glow reflects off of dark aviators worn even at night.
There’s not much in the way of a greeting. The heel of his leather boot—dark, like the rest of his clothes, save the silvery glint of his prosthetic metal arm—kicks the edge of the door closed when it swings back. A second to take stock of the place, another second to breathe out a huff of smoke like he were a dragon just having crawled out of his den, balancing the cigarette between two fingers of his organic hand.
[ Of all people, V should probably be more used to feeling like his mind's been rattled around inside of his skull. Shaken up like soda and ready to explode; a fountain of foamy thoughts like sludge through a stickily saturated neural network. It's not that he's in a worse position than when he left this world. If anything, his brain's a lot better.
He's just no better off.
People he's already lost once he's lost again. Kerry's nowhere to be found. Johnny might be back in the Net but the merc has no way to know, really. He could still be with Kerry, or maybe he got kicked off to another world too. He's trying to not let how unknown all of this is trip him up, but that first day back it's hard to simply put one foot in front of the other.
It's a lonely existence and that's hitting him hard already by the end of day one. Making his way to Afterlife is all he's got in him, the only autopilot he can really bear to just let run. Truth is it's going to take him time to work everything that's happened through in his head, no less because everybody here's acting like he'd never gone anywhere. Like he hasn't been missing for months and months.
Top dog's back on his patch, apparently, and he's different. And maybe Claire keeps looking at him like she's sorta noticing that, but V's making it hard to really tell. He's never been good at just sitting pretty in some VIP area, so any chance he gets to head on up to the private rooftop landing pad he does.
It's where he can be found for anybody looking for him provided they can bypass security and work out how to make the private elevator go up. ]
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finalflight2021-08-03 07:16 pm
@gunmettle.
Johnny always liked that turn of phrase, the kind of line you read in a book with dog-eared pages and a crease down the cover. A halo; a transcendent mystique that trailed the silhouetted form of a client framed in the doorway. A dame with a cigarette hanging from painted lips, filmed in black and white. Really set the scene, he thought, really piqued interest.
‘Course, he wasn’t about to fool himself thinking the same ever applied in reality. The scent of cigarette smoke clings to Johnny like tar, the smog lumbering after him like a dull creature, giving up and dissipating halfway. Its orange tip burns bright as he swings open the office door—private investigator, if he’s got the address right—and the little glow reflects off of dark aviators worn even at night.
There’s not much in the way of a greeting. The heel of his leather boot—dark, like the rest of his clothes, save the silvery glint of his prosthetic metal arm—kicks the edge of the door closed when it swings back. A second to take stock of the place, another second to breathe out a huff of smoke like he were a dragon just having crawled out of his den, balancing the cigarette between two fingers of his organic hand.
And then—]
What a dump.
[Yeah, hi.]
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Noct CRAU Shenans!
He's just no better off.
People he's already lost once he's lost again. Kerry's nowhere to be found. Johnny might be back in the Net but the merc has no way to know, really. He could still be with Kerry, or maybe he got kicked off to another world too. He's trying to not let how unknown all of this is trip him up, but that first day back it's hard to simply put one foot in front of the other.
It's a lonely existence and that's hitting him hard already by the end of day one. Making his way to Afterlife is all he's got in him, the only autopilot he can really bear to just let run. Truth is it's going to take him time to work everything that's happened through in his head, no less because everybody here's acting like he'd never gone anywhere. Like he hasn't been missing for months and months.
Top dog's back on his patch, apparently, and he's different. And maybe Claire keeps looking at him like she's sorta noticing that, but V's making it hard to really tell. He's never been good at just sitting pretty in some VIP area, so any chance he gets to head on up to the private rooftop landing pad he does.
It's where he can be found for anybody looking for him provided they can bypass security and work out how to make the private elevator go up. ]