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Neon Hearts in Derelict Futures [Briar & AlrunaRose]

🎼 Lorn - Sega Sunset

It'd been a long time since she'd driven long and hard. Fast happened often, with and without cause, but the other two were more for jobs or 'other' occasions. Like this one. By the time she'd gotten the stability and money to afford her bike, her days of brutal recklessness had passed into the sunset behind her. Sometimes she'd felt the urge poke up again to venture out of Night City and try her luck with whatever threats came her way. The thought of actually flatlining to something so pointlessly gonk held her back, though. Just as it did now.

Skewing between a death wish of violence and a death wish of pain was a learned skill, but it took healing to pull her out of both. And now I'm heading right back into that territory. Between the choices of pursuing vengeance and not, she knew which of the two she could live with, and playing it safe wasn't going to get her the head she wanted to savagely tear from its owner. Playing it smart was a different story; still, there was no such thing as guarantees of survival when it came to fighting your way up the Syndicate chain. It would inevitably end up being brutal and messy, and planning and preparation would at best let her choose when and where that became the case.

None of this was easy to think about, and not because she was driving from one end of the city to the next and then the next. Beyond a few hours of time, everything the dancer had brought into her life ended up adding pain. The bruiser was plenty willing to take bullets for cause, but that didn't mean she was a martyr. Even if I did skew that way, how would this be worth it?

Her eyes briefly strayed toward the messaging section of her data feed. A ping to 9 and she could have her stop the decryption work she was shelling out eddies for. A couple of gestures and the number she'd drummed up for her could be deleted and forgotten. The marks on her body had already faded, and even if she struggled to separate out memories from physical objects for awhile, if she never returned, the ghosts of that night would eventually disappear.

Or so a soothing fairy tale might go.

Therrye had never been able to exorcise the physical memories Mirri had left in her place. In the end, she'd had to move out of that apartment and into her current one. With Tharaday, it wasn't so easy; she could still see imagined glints of pain haunting his face. Somehow it was even worse when he smiled, and that made it hurt most of all. Maybe you need some actual fucking therapy. At that, the Liandri laughed, the first bit of true humor that'd struck her the entire day. It wasn't an absurd thought. That it was so mundane and normal was what made it feel so incongruous. Especially with what this week had shaped into. Thoughts turning to how much Aolieon likely needed such weren't so amusing.

You should stop caring before you make a mistake you can't recover from.

There'd been a loosening in the ribbons that tugged on her, reducing the full-chested feeling into something more half-sided and wobbly. Was it possible to actually, for once, unravel things before it was too late? Before she couldn't stop herself from caring? Maybe was the most hopeful answer she could give, and not much of her believed it was even half true. That, in turn, only made her angrier again. After the smokescreening bullshit, she'd fed her lines about not wanting her to follow the same path and end up with the same results. A privilege of the older, certainly, to try and dissuade those younger from following in their bitter footsteps.

Beneath that wisdom was plenty of still-burning trash, by her reckoning. Aolieon had lived and lost, but she'd also given up on that being alive part. Meaning and purpose were something one had to fight for, had to keep choosing, even when everything looked dark. Therrye'd read some of her tragedies in the patterns etched on her flesh and the icy madness in her dance, and she still doubted she knew the half of it. She couldn't blame or even judge her for choosing the path of fading embers that led only to lonely ash; loss could hollow one out as surely as augments or depravity, and leave hope a smoking hulk in the rear view mirror.

Standing from that road and telling her to get out of town or shut her eyes and mouth and listen up, however? No. Fuck that. Therrye didn't have to take the same path. She'd done enough by now to keep others at a distance already - enough to buy her space for what came next. Even if, in some vidtripping fantasy, Aolieon had wanted her in her life and to pull back from everything she needed to finish, would she? Could she? Another Maybe tuned the anger to boiling. That was a dream that didn't exist in this derelict future, and it was pure dredged shit to even imagine it. More than that, she hated that she'd found that intensity of feeling for a woman who'd likely rather die than admit life might actually be worth living.

In the end, if she was still breathing by the time Balgur was flatlined? Hell fucking yes she'd be gunning for a happier future. She knew the odds weren't high, and so much uncertainty still lay afield of her, but she'd decided long ago that she'd spite the fuckers through choosing life every time. Every. Time. No matter what is lost along the way. It had been hard to reconcile that with keeping others distant - she still wasn't sure she had, in fact - yet that was the easiest way to balance it. Even if vanishingly few people were truly numbered among her chooms, she'd still give everything she could of herself and take home memories of the smiles she saw others wear. Those in her life were close enough. Life wasn't less worthwhile, despite being dimmer, and there'd at least be something to return to after the fires of repercussion did their best to sweep so much to dust.

She didn't have to give up everyone and everything in order to pursue her vengeance.

Keeping people at a distance was for their benefit, anyhow, and the samurai was right in that, even if she took it to a greater extreme. If others couldn't become leverage or vulnerabilities on her, they wouldn't be in the crosshairs of her enemies. She wanted every barrel and blade pointed at her, where they belonged, and right where she'd earned them. On that, she suspected, the two Liandri very likely agreed.

Between that life and the one Aolieon seemed to be living, she'd repeat her choice again and again. Even if Mirri or Tharaday had died. Especially if Mirri or Tharaday had died. Falling into the shadows of self-immolation wouldn't honor their ghosts, and it couldn't avenge their loss. Part of her well understood that the types of suffering she'd endured made this more possible for her than it was for others. The rest wondered if she'd truly have found less determination for living. She'd nearly died in the dungeons, repeatedly, purely out of spiteful rebellion. They'd starved her, lashed her, broken her bones, severed nerves, denied her sleep, isolated her, sensory depped her, waterboarded her, teased her ego and chipped it back down; they set her up to die in the cage again and again, refusing to ever give her the dignity of a bullet to the dome, and yet - throughout it all - her spirit had never broken. It'd taken nothing less than a guaranteed kill trigger in her chest to keep her compliant. No reward ever quelled her defiance and no reprieve ever lured her into amenability. Even when she did choose to follow along, regaining measures of health and strength, she bitterly repaid any confidence they'd mustered in the belief they'd finally cowed her.

If she hadn't made them so much money, they undoubtedly would have given her lead to the head instead of a bomb next to her heart. They wanted a weapon in her and they'd gotten one, but the handle on her wasn't long enough to escape being cut by what they'd wrought. She'd fully expected to end up a bloody mess of so much shredded tissue after getting the perfect opportunity to wreck havoc on her captors, too. Therrye escaping was the real fluke. Since she'd gotten the chance to actually live, she did not want to go back to living solely for that death wish. She could not waste such fortune in something so hollow.

The losses that separated her path from Aolieon's weren't well known to her, and she could trace only meager outlines of what might have led her down her road. Would Therrye have felt and thought any differently about her, or herself, if they were known?

Realizing that she was thinking so hard through these lines of history because of the dancer's words snarled her insides. She wanted to thrash and buck off that influence, to be free again to not worry what was happening the next day and the next, because her own survival was the only life she needed to keep in view and intact. Instead, part of her kept running back all of the depressingly sweet words Aolieon had uttered after she'd nearly concussed her and pointed a gun at her head.

All of this felt like her fault, ultimately. Warning signs blared at her aplenty in the first few minutes of meeting the Liandri. She didn't have to get drawn in. She could have said 'no, thank you' at Neon Hearts, or after. She could have held back the feelings from becoming words that poked through her distance to wriggle onto the surface. She didn't have to make the call, make the offer, speak of the singular places resonating in her.

In the end, she had chosen to pursue these desires and to throw caution behind her. She fucked around and found out, and was left with what for the trouble? She should not care for the jagged ruins of that path. She needed to not care if she was going to keep a cool head while torching Balgur's dominion to the ground.

And yet. And yet.

If events had gone differently, she could have faced that future with someone who pulled things out of her she hadn't realized were there before, side by side versus impossible odds and burning with that vivid intimacy she so assiduously avoided. But that wasn't what Aolieon wanted.

If I can't cut these ribbons out of my heart, came the eventual thought, maybe they can remind me what I stand to lose if I hone hatred and fury too far. That was an easy future to imagine, and one she never wanted to find herself falling into. Though they were now distant or gone, memories of Mirri and Tharaday were treasures, shining among the many others who gave warmth to the life she'd chosen. Adding those of Aolieon, however few and bittersweet, at least felt right.

Sometimes that was the most closure one could ever hope to get.


🎼 Forest Swords - The Weight of Gold

Eddies transferred and ringed hands pushed the edgerunner jacket across the counter toward the bruiser. Faded synth material, black, three-quarters sleeves, entropism style, bereft of decoration beyond some plainly patched bullet holes, and, most importantly, internally layered with a bulletproof triweave. It would do nicely.

Pulling the new jacket on, Therrye gestured in thanks and parting as she walked out, old jacket trailing over her right shoulder. At her bike, she stowed it before hopping on.

Above her local gun range of choice was, predictably, an arms vendor. Therrye unhurriedly paced the walls, considering her options while pop-up displays on her feed listed out synopses and details on each firearm. The bruiser's muscle weave 'ware gave her an edge in everything melee oriented, and her lifetime of experience had primed her for dominating in close range combat. Long range engagements with minimal cover were her worst case scenario, and no amount of bulletproofed armor short of higher-end borging or exoskeletal platforms would drop their risk profile to negligible.

She'd started training harder with her Ajax, and she was making strides, but her acceptance of half measures was at an end. It was time to commit to something that would make every shot count and force her to double down on accuracy.

After a couple questions, she went down with the owner to the gun range with a box of ammo and a Rostović Kolac. The kick after the first trigger pull grounded her in a way similar to trading punches at the gym. Grinning, she sent three more rounds downrange before lowering the weapon and nodding to the man.

An hour of fire practice and another batch of eddies transferred later, she left with a couple ammo boxes, two extra mags, the firearm and a baker's dozen of grenades split between Techtronika frags and Militech smokes.

Dawn bloomed on the horizon where it wasn't obscured by towers of concrete and plasteel. It was a sight she'd reveled in so many times now. This morning, she only gave it a pause of attention, barely more than acknowledgment. Still not quite ready to yield to sleep, Therrye took off to spend an hour or two in the gym and bleed off the rest of her energy and tension. 'Move until you can't anymore.' Words spoken to her many times in her first decade of life, forever etched into muscle memory by what accompanied them each time. What else could she do but make that legacy count?


Eyes opened, dilating into violet rings. Murky fragments of dream came apart with the push toward waking. She'd sweated out during those hours of daylight rest, despite the AC and blackened window. Not in the mood to shower both before and after sleep, she gave herself a quick wipe of a damp hand towel and retired to her chair to review her feed. She noted she had an hour or so before her meetup.

Finding nothing of interest, she brought up her contacts and rolled down most of them with a swipe, past the one she wanted. As she nudged it back up, her gaze lingered on one name in particular before she resumed and got to the one she'd wanted. Last time she'd asked Joi for jobs, she got an earful of detes about some of the goings on of current Syndicate patterns and politics. While her interest at the time had been middling, some key details had stood out to her, one of which she now acted on.

I want in on any and all Khan jobs going into Balgur's dominion.
Loud and clear. I'll check in with you later, k?
Got it.

Sliding out of the chair, she popped a Nutriblast and took a pull before getting dressed. Should I check in with 9 now? Thoughts turned. She took another pull and went to the window, swiping the open control to peer out into the evening light. Nah. Let's get 'ket's opinions first. Leaning on the window sill, she splayed out her arms and rested her chin on one, can held next to her with the other. Her focus drifted, different little details close and far drawing fleeting attention while nothing concrete flicked into mind.

Until the errant thought of, I wonder how Liliya's doing. She looked then toward the horizon, watching the slow crawl of the sun into darkness. How long has it been? Year or two, now? A finger pushed into the window, rubbing the pad across its surface. Hm. The faintest of shrugs later, she stood back up and drank most of the rest of the can.

It wouldn't be until many weeks later that the Liandri realized why this line of interest spiraled out the way it would.


🎼 Futurescapes - Sci-Fi Ambience

While she wasn't a total deadfoot on the dance floor, there was only one sort of partner dance Therrye excelled in. Dodges and blocks wove with blows and swept back and forth between the Liandri and the Human, chrome impacting hard every time it connected with 'ganic flesh. On that side of things, Bethsket held the clear advantage, and would undoubtedly leave a collage of bruises on violet skin. It did leave her a little slower, though, and the rough diamond of the bruiser's talent had long been honed into a glimmering jewel of skill.

Neither disrespected the other so much as to not give it serious effort. "S'fucking preem that you don't give me any of that sissy shit." "I'd never." "That's why I love you, bitch."

Every block was an opportunity for a grapple, every shift in distance a chance for a kick or a retreat, every dodge an opening for a counter. Much could be said for how Therrye spent her time in the gym, yet the more relaxed fights there did not compare to fighting in a world that wanted you dead. The bruiser could expect Bethsket to come at her with strikes that could concuss her or worse, and while not every attack was an attempt to incapacitate or maim, plenty were. For her part, she gave the same, and it hadn't taken long for her knuckles to become bloody and torn against the metal of the merciless brawler's arms.

"Still get hot seeing that blue blood of yours." "Gonna have to step it up if you want to see more." "Bet."

Early on in the Human's journey out of the haze of slavery, she'd become concerned over how quick the woman to chromed up. They both had been there during the cyberpsychosis incident of 2117 in one of the Bloodbath Brawlhalla's precursors, leading to the temporary closure of the cage circuits by the dominion lords. The augment killswitch installed in that near-borg had failed, catastrophically, and the audience had included a coterie of prominent Corpos. Reparations had to be made amidst the rest of the bloody fallout, and leashing methods of the fight slaves were ramped up.

Neither of them cared about the dead left in the crowd, though. It was some of the psycho's fellow fighters they got to see torn limb from bloody limb that stuck with them. Locked up as they were, they would have met the same fate if the armed response reinforcements hadn't arrived as soon as they did.

All of which, understandably, made Therrye nervous that Bethsket might go out the same way. Fortunately, she didn't go much further than replacing her arms, her neck, and some headware. It was still a risky holding pattern, all told, but the Liandri had played a personal hand in keeping that needle from going any farther over the line.

The next cross of blows was a near thing for the bruiser. Bethsket aimed for a head-on collision of fists at strength, and without her breakers, she'd risk a blowout of muscle weave and reinforced bone. Opening her hand with a fractional amount of clearance, she snared her elbow instead and turned into a throw. The brawler still clipped her shoulder, tearing gouges into it, before she was sent careening down the slope of the dry channel where they fought. Flopping to the bottom, she landed on her back and stared up at Therrye with a blink of surprise.

Then she started laughing her ass off. "Fucking got you!" Glancing over at the wet heat of blood running easily from rent flesh, the bruiser shook her head and chuckled. Should have left the jacket on, she mused without ire.

When it first happened, it had felt like a little miracle. Raised as they were in violence and suffering, rage was all she'd known in battle for decades. It was Bethsket who'd suggested they fight not for training or regulation, but for fun. Gonk of a thought as it seemed at the time, the brawler's carefree attitude, making little games of each bout, made it all click into place. Therrye'd laughed for once in the midst of a match and she still struggled to fully wrap her head around it. The cheeky Human always made it work, though.

Walking down the channel, she met up with her as she stood up, and the two shared a fist bump. Bethsket raised both brows and waggled them, grinning. "Wanna go again?" It wasn't quite as infectious as Brahms, but it got close. "Yeah."

As always, there was no real tallying of wins or losses. They could each count aplenty the number of blows that would have sent each other to a ripperdoc; it was the ad hoc, whimsical goals that sprung up in the midst of their bouts that were the take-homes. Therrye could always count on 'blood' being one of Bethsket's, and the brawler in turn expected her to try to get her into a headlock at least once.

Bruised, gouged, and definitely banged up, the two sat comfortably side by side at the end of it. "One of these days you're gonna have to use those breakers on me." "That'd make it too easy." "Oh, you bitch." The brawler pushed her shoulder, though it lacked the force of their earlier aggressions. Therrye laughed easily, the tension of the past week forgotten for a little while, and looked over at Bethsket with a relaxed smile. "I missed you." The Human gave her a cheeky wink. "Back at you." A nod toward the road. "Burgers?" "Hell yeah."

They didn't exactly race each other all the way to Jerry's, but they definitely pushed one another to go faster, weave through cars, and cut turns. Together, they were a bit of a menace, and that rarely seemed to bother the Liandri. It was kind of impossible for her not to loosen up around her, and she accepted - or forgave - most of her flagrant disregard for 'stilted ways of living'.

"Yoooo, Jerry! How's biz?" "Hey, long time no see Beths. Same old, same old, you know." "I try not to, but I getcha." "Watcha hungry for?" "Double Double, Friez and a Workz my man." "You're eating all that?" "Girl, you're helping." More laughter and easy smiles. Moments like these were the little treasures she happily hoarded. They weren't enough all on their own to stand against the gnawing dark inside - but they made her days so much brighter.

"Still drowning all that in white sauce?" "Like there's a better option." "Squirt in the red!" "Then it feels less fatty!" "You're such a leadhead sometimes." "Uh huh, miss metal arms." "Yehhhh, das what the ladies call me." While the brawler posed, Therrye cracked up again. Even though she wasn't 10 meters from the spot where she'd shared a late night meal with Aolieon less than a week ago, there was enough grit in her bond with Bethsket to keep from falling into that hole for now.

For as well as they got on, the brawler was one of the few femmes in her life without even a crackle of flirtatious tension. Intuition told her that if they went there and it went bad, the volatility in both of them would eventually sour their relationship with toxicity. Bethsket was a true choom, no matter how long they went without seeing each other, and they vibed in a way she never quite sparked with anyone else. It just wasn't worth the risk for her.

Once they finished, and binned the greasy paper, they were back to sitting together against a wall. How many times have we been like this in the past 7 years? Memories fluttered by, a vibrant stream of color in her mind's eye. Not as many as I'd have liked. A small frown crossed her expression; she swept it and the accompanying emotion away.

"So Ther. What's this mystery biz you mentioned?" The bruiser turned to look at her with a smile bordering on lurid. "I wanna bag Balgur." "No shit!" Bethsket exclaimed, delight and surprise intertwining. "Fuck yeah, I'm game." A beat. "You got some plan though, right? 'cause, like..." She could tell the woman was remembering what happened last time they descended into that pit. Therrye nodded resolutely. "... you ask Tharaday?" Her glance aside said it all. "He has a right to this fight." An unenthusiastic nod. "So you gonna ask him?" The Liandri gave a deep exhale and ran fingers through her hair. "Yeah, just... not yet." Bethsket shrugged. "Long as you do, yeah. I'm in." Her smile was decidedly less enthusiastic now, but still appreciative. "Thanks, 'ket." "Oh, I'm totes gonna ride your ass 'til it all sounds legit." She laughed, inevitably. "Good. I wanted your eyes on it anyhow." The brawler gave her a hearty pat on the shoulder and pulled her in for a sideways hug. "I gotchu, girl."


Back at her bike, Therrye saw Joi's notification pop up and opened it immediately.

Hey, 'Rye; can you come to the bar? There's someone here you should see.
Alright. Got some jobs lined up?
Yeah, it ties into that.
Preem.

Smiling with some eagerness - it's not like Joi would set her up, after all - she headed for 🔺❌⭕.


It was still early for the joint, but it was open nonetheless. Rather than her favorite fixer at the bar, she saw Rhys there getting ready. The Human nodded toward the office. "She's in the back." "Thanks," she smiled, more genuinely than polite, and didn't need to even avoid anyone on the path back there.

Opening the door, she'd half-stepped in before freezing up. Standing in the midst of - really, just taking up the majority of the room - was a Goethe chromed to the teeth. Her eyes narrowed into violet orbs as she dropped into combat stance. Without her breakers, she didn't think she'd stand much of a chance, but if Joi was in danger -

Glancing toward Joi and her consternation, it took only a moment to see that, of the three of them, the Goethe seemed the least likely to be ready for a fight, his hands held up in a placating gesture. "I'm not here to throw down." Gaze sliding back and forth, Therrye remained wary, but eased up. "Joi?" "Close the door and come sit." There was a pause before the last word, yet a chair could still be squeezed into past the prodigiously large fighter.

She couldn't help but feel his curious stare on her the entire time. It made more sense once he finally spoke. "That's not her." Joi didn't look surprised at that conclusion. Therrye glanced back to Joi, ready for the explanation. "Spinebreaker, meet Therrye. Therrye, Spinebreaker." Vague recollections pinged in the back of her mind, and the name lent itself to the sort of dramatic flair she'd experienced plenty of in her past. A fighter? A more thorough assessment of the Goethe, then, who, for the moment, was wearing what appeared to be two jackets and two shorts torn at the sides and stitched together to fit him. More relevantly was the nature of the augments he was sporting. Yeah. Seems like it.

"Spinebreaker, huh?" Therrye offered her hand first in greeting, and the Goethe shook it with a surprising gentleness. He looked sheepish at her words, so she followed up with her guess, "Yeah, it took me awhile to pick a name for myself. I get it." It didn't take long for the giant to intuit Therrye's meaning and his eyes widened with the realization. His posture didn't shift much, but it was clear the energy between them had changed. "Sorry, I was looking for another Liandri. But it's nice to meet you, Therrye."

"This gentle giant is trying to find his brother," Joi explained, "since he was freed by another Liandri who also freed his brother." The bruiser was split between raising her brows and narrowing her eyes. Seriously? Urges to shoot off an angry-snarky text to the only other blue devil she knew were pushed to the side, for now. "Hn," she intoned at first, then reluctantly continued. "I might know who you're talking about." "Really?" "Yeah, I'll shoot her a message to see if she knows you. Mind if I take a pic?" The giant shook his head and she stood, backing up as much as she could, before snapping one with her eyeware. "Glad to hear that, 'Rye. That wasn't the only reason I wanted you two to meet, though." Both of the fighters turned to the fixer, then. "I think you two might have some convergent interests when it comes to work. And Spinebreaker over here could certainly use the eddies." Joi glanced back at the poor accommodations in threads he was currently wearing. "I should be hearing back about your new wardrobe tonight, by the way," she added apologetically. Spinebreaker just shrugged and smiled appreciatively. "You're being so kind to me." She gestured dismissively. "Don't worry about it. Anyway, you two should talk."

While Joi was talking, Therrye had pulled up Aolieon's number with a weight in her chest. Pushing through it, she quickly typed out her message, added the snap of Spinebreaker, and sent it off.

Says you know where his brother is.

Then she returned her attention to the Goethe. "Yeah, I'm down. So I'm actually gunning for Derek Khan's jobs lately - seems he's got his sights on Balgur's territory. Know the guy?" she asked, with only a glimmer of malicious intent in her half-smirk.
 
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The Goethe formerly known as Spinebreaker listened intently to Therrye, but seemed to avert his gaze at the mention of Balgur & Khan. He looked down into the mug he was holding lamentingly. "Khan, Balgur... same thing, really. Met Balgur; from what i could tell, he took a liking to me," he lightly snorted. "Thing is, if nothing had happened last night, my life would have been put on the line against a Borg that Khan was sponsoring; tonight, no less might have been my death... the "Restless Destroyer", they called him." he commented, letting his eyes drift off into space. "Certified flatliner in the ring, far as I had known -- and yet she freed him too; insisted that his fate be the same as mine. Dropped him off at some derelict factory; "All Foods" or something like that -- said he'd have friends there..." The Goethe huffed, just as Joi furrowed her eyebrows. "Maelstrom," she uttered. "Sounds like your friend had a decent grasp on everything; if the Restless Destroyer was a Borg's borg as you say he might be, then he'd certainly find good company in those psychos..." the Goethe nodded, taking another sip of the Ab-synth cocktail, bleating and shaking his head feverishly again, as if he was still trying to wrap his head around what the drink was all about. "When you get to have been as famous as I was becoming -- you start to realize there's not really a difference between who that is which owns what or who, and where the money is coming from -- at the end of the day, there's gonna be someone chaining up your life and gambling with it. The other lady... somehow I felt like she understood that. Don't ask me why... it just felt that way," he took another sip and shuddered visibly again. "This thing is tasty, and yet it riles feelings in me. I've seen so many in the stands partake in stuff like this, but I never was allowed. It's strange... but I think I like it." He looked up at Therrye and offered the tankard. "Have you tried something like this? It's quite remarkable..." after a handful of moments, the tankard would sink as he stared hard at Therrye... it would take a moment for her to realize that he wasn't being weird intentionally -- he was just staring at her implants. He regarded them pensively, as if trying to clean whatever information he could from how she looked. His lips parted as he searched for words, then he spoke. "I won't deny that there are many who deserve a chance at this new lease on life I've been given. Seems selfish, even trying to muse upon it right now," he resumed -- at this point, every time he took a sip, he was shuddering, but he didn't seem to mind. "But as I sit here, actually thinking about it? I realize this is the first time I'm making a decision for myself -- taking something and trying it," he chuckled to himself, trying to take a bigger sip but letting it touch his tongue which made him groan and wince, but still he stomached it. "... I haven't gotten a chance to enjoy life before the cage; so many things to try, things to see, things to learn about the world... I think I'd like to spend some time doing that -- you know, once I know whether or not my brother is doing the same," The Goethe looked head-on with Therrye, his expression softening into one of wonder and partial pity. "I hope you understand where I'm coming from. But I promise you -- once I've gotten a grasp on how things are; I'm happy to lend you my strength."

Just then, a message would pop up on Therrye's phone, in reply to the message she had sent her -- a set of lat-long coordinates and five words:
32.794773, -116.962524
Don't tell her I'm alive.
The coordinates themselves pointed not to a super-accurate venue within Night City... They pointed well into the Nomad lands, 17 miles east of Night City -- plugging them into a map would reveal nothing but dilapidated ruins of an old town, which if known more than a hundred years back, may have been called El Cajon. Of course, in such ancient history long forgotten by the tides of this dystopian era; back then, Night City was still referred to as San Diego. Still, the information passed on generated more questions than answers, and it truly seemed like the mystery that surrounded the blue temptress had thickened, in spite of everything seeming to pull further away from her, at this point in time...
One thing's for sure; if the Spinebreaker were to find his brother -- if his brother was even still alive, after crossing so much ground -- he was going to need some outside assistance, whether he realized it yet or not...



Aolieon had been sitting in the shower, just on her ass and letting cold water flow over her form. While she had mopingly taken the time to doctor up her feet while in the shower and actually rinse off her extremities, she was now just unable to find the will to move. Fuck, I hate being home... Often she needed to be alone and appreciated the opportunity, but here it was just too much. Too many old memories revisited that would continue to otherwise mean nothing, until such a time as when she would finally be able to vindicate all of the losses of her past... all of her losses. It was just a slog; she could have washed her hands of it, but to do so would essentially be a death of the soul -- an invalidation of everything that had ever made her happy. Whatever the case, she just couldn't bear to stay much longer here... just have to find a reason to leave...

Eventually, such a thing offered itself, or so it seemed. Her datapad clinged. She looked up just enough to cut her eyes at the bathroom sink where she left it before hanging her head, shaking it in denial. No doubt some follow-up text from Kaede, badgering me to get moving on prep for this job. Aolieon groaned audibly with reluctance, finally picking herself up off the shower floor and consulting the damn thing she had now believed herself a gonk for investing all of her technological interactions with. But what was found wasn't a communique from Kaede -- it was from Therrye.
[Photo] Says you know where his brother is.
A lump jumped up in Aolieon's throat, as she slowly meandered over to her little dining table, sitting down and gripping the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. She had quietly been loathing this particular inevitability, and now it was here -- she wouldn't admit it, but she actually felt a little remorse for how she had handled Therrye. But she was trying to be honest with her, and now she had been basically caught in the middle of her chaotic dealings of passion. She sighed, thinking back to what she said... "I can smell bullshit, and I know you're not prepared to deal straight with me," ... Aolieon chuffed, shaking her head, as if that was out of the question. It really hasn't been a day, and that hunk's already looking for me? What a loser... What's more that was troubling, is how he managed to run into Therrye first in hunting her down. Her thoughts drifted to the errant symbolism of her nightmare; how she had managed in spite of only one night's proving grounds of revelry and combat to prove that she was another brave warrior, prepared to leave her behind in her own pursuits. What could possibly be known didn't need to be everything... just a little bit of the truth. A passing gift to help her along the way... a bridge for her to follow, her inner memories seemed to have changed their tune. She elected to quickly and dismissively text her back before she changed her mind...
32.794773, -116.962524
Don't tell her I'm alive.

There were clearly some hard truths of her own that she had to reconcile sooner rather than later; some old habits that needed to be reclaimed, made progress into with earnest -- Kaede was right about vetting her own crew for this next mission, but beyond that there were damning facts about this whole situation that made her grimace with hatred. Some forces at work were clearly trying to pull her back into the saddle... She looked up and snarled with resentful malice. There's nothing for me, or ANYONE, down that road. We fought and fought, and yet their madness never ceased -- now, people just want me to start working again, pretending like nothing ever happened; and for what? so they don't have to die, to lose everything themselves?! She stood up, grabbing a kitchen knife off the table and angrily throwing it to embed itself in a wall as she balled her fists and glared at the bassinette. This world will burn, before anything ever changes for the better... Aolieon tried to sit down and curb her unnecessary anger... So burn it then, an intrusive thought echoed. There were many people she once knew who ran at life with chaotic abandon, simply because that was the dogma they followed in place of theirs... Aolieon shook her head, her eyes sharpening into a dark ambergris void. I can't do that.... Not alone, the thoughts suggested. Her eyes were caught by the visage of neon lights out the corner of her eye -- her Armory had somehow flipped open in her sleep. Her eyes stopped on the sight of two T-shaped weapons crossed over one another. You can't exactly do this job alone, either...
She groaned with a heavy reluctance towards thinking this way. She needed to clear her thoughts; set her priorities straight and figure out what needed to be done. That being said, she didn't want to meditate, so she decided to do the next best thing. "Workshop mode," she blurted out, and a workbench emerged from the wall as drawers emerged with various keen tools and other things being placed upon it by mechanical arms that extended from the ceiling. She walked over (still naked, mind you) and pulled up one of her dining table chairs up to the bench as she began to muck together some armament and other item components and began constructing various gadgets and gizmos. She pulled various weapons off the wall and fine-tuned them -- engrossing herself in the only thing that seemed to constitute a hobby for her. Even as her headache persisted; continuing to drink from her new case of vodka, she mellowed out her faculties and just immersed herself in the progress of making things from scratch and performing adjustments on various items and equipment. She would proceed to do this for the next handful of hours, and amidst it all... she slowly ironed out her feelings and thoughts on many a different thing, allowing the backdrop of ingenuity and cleverness to prevent her from altogether being overwhelmed by her own thoughts.
 
Therrye certainly gave the fighter her attention. It wasn't the easiest to listen to everything he had to say, especially where Aolieon was concerned, but she listened all the same and nodded on occasion. Must have had a reason for separating them, she mused. Cleary there was a plan in what she did, though, and that irked her. Accusing her of hopping and skipping down a scop road when she'd done far more than just kill some Syndicate slavers after she'd left her apartment - Therrye exhaled before she got too far down those lines of thought. Keep it to the relevant details, she silently muttered to herself. Something was clear, though: much as she tried to deny it, the dancer still had some heart to her.

Ten years removed from where Spinebreaker had just recently been, and of course, few likely knew her fighter name anymore. Even fewer would care, and they wouldn't have wanted to spread talk of a fighter who'd escaped anyhow. The Goethe was right about the wealthy claiming and playing with the lives of everyone beneath them. But the people in charge had names. They were not faceless entities of an endless chain stretching into the heavens. Each tower had its suite levels, the elite offices, and so on, all the way down to the critical foundations that kept it up.

Dismantling an organization was rarely so easy as building demolition, but everything had weak points and vectors for utter destruction. And, worst case, you could break it down to just killing enough of the right people.

Was taking out Balgur enough to do that on a wide level of scale? No. There were many Dominions and the Syndicate stretched across the globe. The same could be said for the Corps. But that didn't make it pointless or impossible, far as she reckoned.

Offering a smile at the Slave Formerly Known As Spinebreaker, she nodded at the tankard. "I go in for the cheap beers when I feel like it. Other joys speak to me more, but I'm glad you're finding a taste for something." One of the beautiful things she got to witness after she jailbroke an entire convoy of slaves was how they blossomed into themselves with time. It resonated with her own experience, though she had no one shepherding her through most of the sunrise days. That, at least, she'd decided to change for those she freed. Not that all of them went in on it, but she wasn't going to challenge that, either.

Her smile grew softer. "You've got your first taste of freedom. There's no need to go right back into the grinder - or ever, if you so decide." Idly, she cracked her knuckles then, though it ended up having somatic resonance anyway. "I've gone back and forth on it, myself, and I wouldn't suggest anything less than taking all the time you want figuring out where you want your steps to take you." A beat. "But I have unfinished business, and I won't pretend otherwise any longer. If you still find you want to fight with me down the line, I'll gladly have you."

At the message, her gaze shifted to the side to read it on her data feed, a shadow of annoyance briefly appearing. "Looks like we have somewhere to go for your brother and it's not in Night City." She looked back to Joi, then. "Let's get these two reunited."

A message was pinged shortly back at Aolieon, making a reasonable deduction to point out something.

Do you think the Goethe haven't and won't?

A lot of her felt like asking for the whys, whats and whos of the sitch. A lot of her also didn't want anything to do with the blue devil anymore. Whatever she was referring to, she'd place that needle where it felt right when the time came.


Finding suitable transportation took some research, math and guesswork to determine an option that wouldn't cave inward under the bulk of the fighter. Since they were taking it into Nomad territory as well, getting the cheapest option wasn't exactly wise, either, in case they ran into trouble. Therrye considered calling Sid about the matter, but that would have been way too soon. In the end, she cashed in one of her favors with Joi to get a military transport on loan. The thing was used and scuffed, so at least it wouldn't be a beacon of a target compared to a shiny new Corpo asset.

She would have stretched an arm out for the Goethe regardless, but the incentive to not have to deal with any trailing ribbons for longer than she needed to was plenty strong on its own.

Driving down the highway, she glanced at the rearview cameras. Luck was on their side... at least when it came to armed trouble stopping them. She just hoped they'd find the fighter's brother at the end of the journey, and that he'd still be alive.


Converging on the location, the bruiser saw the decrepit wooden bar up ahead, and a difficult to read sign presenting its name. Not wanting to immediately send its occupants into a tizzy, she eyed a spot on the opposite side of the road with enough clearance for the vehicle and slowly pulled it in to park.

Hopping out of the vehicle - she didn't come armed with gun or her breakers, though she'd started wondering if that was the right call halfway through the journey - she shut the door and went to meet the Slave Formerly Known As Spinebreaker as he got out the back. "Ready, big guy?" she smiled, hopefully, for herself as well as the fighter.

Together, they took a casual walk across the road and toward the old bar. Therrye kept her hands plenty visible the entire way.
 
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I'm not ready to talk to her. They don't know me enough -- You do.

The Goethe sort've awkwardly angled himself out of the transport, and faintly closed the door, not wanting to damage the loaner. "You really think my brother actually made it out this far??" the Goethe replied, looking quite apprehensive at this. "You're not trying to get rid of me, are you?"
Before that notion could be replied to, a bald man with a majestic ginger beard stood up from a rocking chair on the bar's porch, shotgun in hand. He had watched them approach and keep their distance, but he still didn't like the look of things. He rapped on the bar door just for good measure, but didnt level the shotgun or get immediately hostile -- just like Ma told him to.
"Welcome to the Twisted Throttle -- you here for a drink, some help or some problems??" He didn't square up, but he was quick to follow up on his question as people began to trickle out of the bar. "Answer quickly -- outsiders are usually trouble, and we ain't got much help to offer."

🎶 Garry Schyman & Nathan Grigg -- "Main Menu" (Shadow of War) 🎶
... Just then, another Goethe squeezed himself out the doorframe, which had already been lightly damaged from his wider frame. This Goethe looked more considerably patched up -- wearing a biker's vest and some leather chaps that had been piecemeal-stitched together to fit him. He snorted out a breath of air, remembering something he'd been told, then he froze as he saw the other Goethe. The Slave Formerly known as Spinebreaker froze as well.
"Dusty?!"
"TICO!" The Spinebreaker exclaimed.
To the surprise of everyone, the two broke in a full sprint towards one another -- the bikers clamored, and some got real tense real fast. One called out, "Atlas!" and some of them reached for weapons -- they were immediately caught off-guard when a loud thud clashed between the two and they suddenly were hugging it out for a second. They parted ways after a bit, then they clasped their hands in a brotherly, arm wrestling handshake. "Thought you were dead," Spinebreaker uttered. "Heh... ain't no one been able to put us down in the ring -- the sun ain't no match for me, either," he grinned stupidly, as they both chuckled heartily and just reveled in the moment.
The biker's moved to approach, with a few surrounding and looking up at the newer Goethe -- this one was about the same size, but more chromed up and developed in his musculature. They were mildly intimidated, some curious and others eyeing Therrye suspiciously -- she didn't look the part of someone who hung out with the Goethe.

Finally, a fearless looking grizzled old woman with strawberry blonde hair appeared between them. Sporting a pair of leather slim-fit pants, and orange leather Edgerunner's jacket and a denim biker's jacket adorned in so many pins, medals, patches and whistles that one could tell she had been practically 'round the world, knee-high rider's boots and a nasty gash of a scar both across the right cheek and even the throat -- this woman's aura screamed Road Warrior, Veteran and certified badass. "Friend of yours?" a southern voice sweet as honey and stoic as stone resonated from this razorwoman, as she looked back at the biker Goethe. Then she cut a few glances back and forth, her loosely clenched fist coming up to her chin. "Wait a minute -- don't answer that. I can see the resemblance," Settle down boys; someone bring out a case of beer -- looks like we got us a family reunion on our hands!" All of the bikers suddenly dropped their guard and huddled around the two Goethes.
"Heh-yeah, alright!"
"This that shit I live for!"
"Well, fuck..." even the bearded man with a shotgun stowed his weapon and gave a hearty pat on the back to Spinebreaker. "Any brother of Atlas is a brother of mine! C'mon, you giant, you; come meet the family!"
The old lady let them all hustle and bustle around one another while they escorted them to the porch -- one meeker looking biker came out with a crate of beer as they all sat round on rocking chairs and motorcycles, merry-making and showering Spinebreaker in a warm welcome -- other Xenos of a type; even a borg or two came out also wearing biker's gear and they huddled around the two Goethes, rejoicing and looking warmer for the exchange. One could tell that a few of the others among these Xenos were also definitely fighters, and they treated Atlas like the leader, and Spinebreaker like an uncle. For a moment, everyone was happy.

🎶 Joel J. Richard & Tyler Bates -- "Excommunicado" 🎶

"... come with me,"
The woman spoke calmly and coolly, walking slowly and taking her time -- even turning her back to Therrye as they walked towards the bar, allowing the symbol of a six-winged black bird flying from an open cage under-fire from a bulletstorm (almost like someone's iconic tattoo, but not quite) and the blackfire-burning letters "SABLE SERAPHS" to be made clear upon the back of her denim jacket. She pulled her inner wrist up to her hand just for a moment. "Hm?" a beat. "Mm." She seemed nonchalant and unassuming in her body language, but she cut her eyes as at someone as she took her first steps up the porch, just out of sight of Therrye -- that person's warm and jubilant demeanor dropped like a sack of hot potatoes, and he was now staring at Therrye with serious apprehension, but a note of what might have been detected as respect. "Let's get you a drink. Family Meeting, children," she opened the screen door and then the main door. "Adults only. Keep our guests in fine company," She pulled a couple of beers from the crate on her way in, then walked into the large open bar.
Inside seemed like a very large and developed saloon of sorts; neon signs and graffiti all over the walls. If there wasn't some sort of stolen street signs or other quirky decorum covering the walls, the rest of the space on the walls was littered with weapons that were clearly loaded. Hard Rock music started blasting from subwoofers above the bar -- a Samurai classic, and without another second, the charging handles of at least a dozen or more weapons rang out through the air, as what appeared to be some 30-odd bikers of the Sable Seraphs to train weapons on Therrye. Two seriously high-caliber gatling guns whirred up, each in a corner pointing away from the door. There were even a couple of anti-material rifles with bipods placed on railings and pointed downwards.

SABLE SERAPHS
Fallen Nomad Tribe
Reputation:  Paranoid

"I'm not the kind of girl to stick a gun in the mouth of a kind stranger -- you really did something wonderful back there, and for that I'm truly sorry, darlin'," The razorwoman's words were calm, absent even the slightest tinge of derision or malice -- rather, her words echoed with a somber note of promised honesty. She sat at a table in the middle of the entire saloon and popped both beers open with her teeth. She slid one across from her and proceeded to pull out a pack of cigarettes and light one, using what appeared to be an electronic lighter in-built into her left ring finger, which had been chopped off halfway. Cigarette lit and remaining in her mouth, she gestured confidently to the chair, "But there's a million and one people who wouldn't be happy to see me, and I need to be sure your star-crossed arrival on my doorstep isn't the calm before some storm that'll put my family back in the ground," she exhaled a puff of her cigarette and stared into the eyes of Therrye with an expression of heartfelt pity, with notes of perennial wisdom -- as if she wanted nothing else but to believe had truly come here to reunite the Goethe brothers out of the kindness of her heart, but she knew better than to take that chance.
"I know you got heart, girl; I can see it in your eyes... but a Corpo would just as easily feign such a thing, if it meant a chance to get to me. Tico was spoken for, but that friend you just brought? I know he might not even have a clue as to why you really came out here... So, enjoy the beer -- have a smoke. Come to me as I came to you a minute ago... let my son do what he needs to, and I swear to you on everything I hold dear... it'll be over before ya know it, and after that; we can come together as God intended, darling. I promise,"
A man walked up to the bar; a skinnier looking dude wearing a biker's vest and a netrunner suit. He grabbed Therrye's arm and jacked into it, his eyes flaring with red scanware as he made intense direct eye contact with her -- UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS.
"Let's start with the elephant in the room -- you ain't got no one trailin' you, do ya gal? No one gonna come into my yard, guns blazing? You ain't got no trackers that are gonna see Aerodynes swooping in?" A beat, then the meek man spoke. "She's bugged, Ma." The razorwoman they referred to as 'Ma' exhaled her cigarette and smirked negatively at Therrye. "Tell me what I wanna know," A beat as his scanware intensified, and his eyes immediately widened, his jaw lightly agape. "Low grade xenotic ICE, with Space Invaders -- just like Tico," ... Ma turned her head to the side, narrowing her eyes amusingly at Therrye. "... is that right?" Ma took a swig of her beer and then used her cigarette hand to push the beer closer to Therrye. "Maybe you have more in common with Tico than I thought..." the meek man spoke again. "It's partially decrypted, that's..." he immediately stopped scanning Therrye and cut his eyes seriously at Ma. "That's FU intel."
The room fell silent.

🎶 Tyler Bates -- "John Mourns" 🎶

Ma's expression dropped into something hollow with a tinge of remorse. The tension in the room peaked so thickly that you could cut it with a knife.
"... cut her loose."
"Ma, I haven't done a full scan yet, and you haven't even--"
"She's got a Story to tell, and I wanna hear this one more."

Ma threw her hand to the side lackadaisically -- all the guns trained on Therrye immediately stood down.
"Leave us."
The majority of the bikers left, except for the netrunner, the bearded man with the shotgun and one man who held an anti-material rifle -- now a few if them were looking at her as if they had just seen a ghost. As the one with the anti-material rifle strolled down the stairs, he met eyes with Therrye and crossed his arms in front of him like an X, as if he was about to hug himself or do something strange. Ma cut her eyes at him, and he dropped his arms almost immediately.
"You don't think..." the netrunner began, looking at Ma and then at Therrye as he pulled his jack out of her arm.
"Mm, doubt it. Also, are yall deaf?" she commented, finishing her cigarette and extinguishing it in an ashtray, pursing her lips and looking impatiently at the other three. "I said, leave us," the three begrudgingly looked at Ma with a forlorn and worried look. "But Ma..." one of them began -- Ma was staring directly into Therrye's eyes with her cigarette by her ear, shaking her head. Without another word, they moped on outside, with the bearded man with the shotgun trying to watch from outside. Ma now cut her eyes sharply at him, and he bowed his head, rejoining all the talks outside.

She sighed exasperatedly and then managed a warm smile at Therrye, cracking an eyebrow. "Dumb kids... can't read a room to save their lives." she stood up from the table, walking behind the bar and beginning to make a heavy cocktail with fast hands -- a keen mind with an acute intellect would notice that it looked quite similar to one that was made very recently, but half the bottles that were necessary to complete the cocktail weren't able to be discerned from the position from where she poured them. "Well, you just became a helluva lot more interesting." she met Therrye's eyes with a warm and sad look in her eyes, pulling another cigarette and lighting it with her ring finger device before resuming the creation of the cocktail. She took a swig of it and winced; clearly betraying that this was not her kind of drink, but certainly a heavy one. Perhaps a drink made in preparation to deal with some heavy thoughts? Unknown -- clearly this razorwoman was playing a lot of her own knowledge close to the chest.
"So, let's start off on the right foot. They call me Big Mama -- I'm no preem mixologist, but i can try to make your fancy; ya need only ask... so, I'll ask plainly and honestly -- who are you, and what do you know?"
 
I'm not ready to talk to her. They don't know me enough -- You do.

Unsurprisingly, that felt like a gut punch.

Therrye shrugged at the fighter's first question, not really sure herself which ending to consider more likely, and not wanting to think that hard about it, either. His second question drew a look, but then there was the man with a shotgun, and then a barreling duo of Goethe. The Liandri smiled rather broadly watching the two of them and chuckled at the joy of it.

Shouldn't she be the one getting to enjoy this sight? An exhale later, and the bruiser's smile had been cut in half. There was still beauty in what she was witnessing, though, and it nevertheless touched her heart. If she knew them better, she might have shed a tear. And while it wasn't that she completely failed to notice how the bikers were looking at her - they just... weren't that important compared to what this moment was for the Goethe.

For ones like them, this was unbelievable joy and hope. An unthinkable turn of fortune and paths to lives new and all their own. It reminded her of so much; it made her want so much more.

When the commanding presence of the older blonde arrived, she looked over, appreciating the tone with which she approached the situation. While she could hardly divine the futures of the two brothers, the hope in it was worlds better than most got. Seeing something like this felt right in a way that was hard to describe beyond 'life-affirming'.

The bruiser was plenty happy to just watch. She had little credit to take in any of this, anyhow - just the final leg of a long road assisted. At first, she wasn't sure if she should even stay, but the old Human seemed to have business with her, so she shrugged and followed after. Unarmed beyond her internal augments' boosting to her body's ability to be a lethal weapon all on its own, she didn't really consider herself a threat in this moment, but Nomads had plenty of reason to be cagey. Even if this was a bit extra in the mileage on that road.

Therrye was looking around at the bar's interior when the clamor of weapons ready and waiting to turn the Liandri into pasted meat came. Understandably, she stopped in her tracks and held her arms up slowly. Glancing around before returning her eyes to the razorwoman, she slowly walked to the chair at her gesture, taking that as the only permission to move. "I get it. Not much reason to believe in serendipity in a world like ours." She sat down unhurriedly, focusing on the leader here. Even if she'd wanted to do something about the situation, she'd make it maybe a foot or two before getting flatlined ten times over.

Nodding to her, she didn't resist as the man took her arm, looking to him with a level calmness that stood in contrast to the situation. It wasn't that she held no anxiety here - there was just nothing to be gained by leaning into it, and holding calm amidst the storm was something she had spent a great deal of time mastering.

At least when it didn't come to certain blue-skinned samurai.

She was about to speak when the man said she was bugged. That caused Therrye to look at him, then, as the most surprised person in the room to hear that, which in turn made her tense - Damn it, Aolieon - that dramatically increased the chance of her trail ending here. Her gaze shifted back and forth between them, knowing that she was definitely missing pieces of what was going on and filing away the phrase 'FU intel' for later.

Then the tension of the moment subsided with the sound of so many guns standing down. The bruiser exhaled her held breath. What the fuck just happened? She didn't miss the strange gesture, either; the dark she was in was growing deeper by the second. Hopefully she'd get a chance to change that around.

Ma's intent gaze drew her attention back to her, and the measures of curiosity in her own were plenty visible. Therrye hadn't arrived to hide who she was or what her intents were here, and that hadn't changed, despite the 'warm' welcome. At her tension breaker, she chuffed, finally, the emotions of the situation shifting rapidly across unseen bends. "Thanks," she murmured uncertainly, not sure where to take 'interesting' as a compliment - but she wasn't feeling unfriendly about it, either, in light of the trust she'd extended to the bruiser. Some notice of the cocktail was inevitably taken, though the details of it were fuzzy in her memory. "Therrye," she replied, gesturing to herself, "and beer's actually my fancy, thank you." A smile accompanied the words, since she didn't want to seem like she was being rude about what was honestly the truth for her.

"I'm an ex-fighter, not that unlike the gentle giant - just a decade removed and a lot less chromed." Not having had to fight him made her glad, in that moment. "More of an edgerunner now, though I have a ways to go before that title feels right," she offered earnestly, more a self-admission than anything.

She considered the question for a moment; it was a loaded one, and Therrye felt unarmed in the face of it. "As to what I know... not enough, that's crystal." She shook her head a bit, remembering Aolieon's message to her. Sable Seraphs... no, they didn't ring a bell. The bruiser was surrounded by shadows, here. Sighing, she relaxed more into her chair with an internal shrug. What point hiding the obvious?

"I met the gentle giant through my fixer, but he was at a loss for where to go until I messaged the woman who busted him out... who was the same one that tore a bloody path through the Bloodbath Brawlhalla." There was a ruefulness in her words that she couldn't quite keep out of them. It was still too fresh - or, well, would that have even mattered? With how much Tharaday's name still affected her -

"I'm in the dark about how you connect to her. She didn't want me to tell you anything, but it'd be gonk to pretend I'm entirely clueless since you found the bug she apparently put in my system." Therrye surprised herself with the amount of ire that touched those words. Apparently she hadn't entirely forgiven her for that, though perhaps that was mostly about their more recent interactions.

With what she could say, all of it felt like the whims of fortune so far. Luck upon luck. Another flicker of annoyance, remembering her flat denials. "I appreciate you not flatlining me for dragging the big guy out here," she began, "and I'm not really in a position to ask you for anything..." Why are you trying to stick your fingers into the mess of her? "... if you're willing to enlighten me though, I'd much rather be seeing some of this in 20/20."
 
🎶 Various Composers (Starcraft II) -- "Public Enemy" 🎶

Big Mama listened intently, although she was keeping her hands busy and it seemed she was half intent. Her hand came up to her lips again as she held up one finger with a warm curt expression, as if to quietly say Hold on, I gotta take this. "Hm? Mm," a beat. "Mmm... show me," that last humming note was one of discerning intrigue. Her eyes flared up with blue scanware as she seemed to have been sent something. Her eyebrow hiked up suspiciously at what she saw -- without missing a beat, her expression softened and she gestured for Therrye to continue. "Hm, well don't let me stop you. You haven't even touched the beer I gave you -- enjoy it; we pull that out for happier times," she nodded over to the table where she had been sitting previous, and then allowed Therrye to continue sharing. "By the way, that's a sweet name -- it wouldn't happen to be a reference to 'Catcher in the Rye' would it?" she narrowed her eyes, smirking a little bit but intuiting that if the answer was yes, it would give her some answers as to how this new aspiring Edgerunner saw herself. Nevertheless, she allowed Therrye to keep musing upon things thus far -- keeping in mind what she had just seen in the back of her mind.

When Therrye mentioned she didn't know much, Ma was polishing a glass and sipping on her strong cocktail and trying to stomach it down. She furrowed her eyebrow hard mid-sip when she mentioned she didn't know much -- an outlier, certainly, but not worth comment at this point in time. She nodded curtly as she listened intently, taking note of 'Bloodbath Brawlhalla' and that she had at least established contact with this woman of mystery who had now been revealed to have busted both Goethes out of the cages. She blinked as she finished her tirade with a question, processing the information -- then she turned her head to the side, narrowing her eyes as she seemed to believe she had initially misread something Therrye had said. Then, her mouth opened as if about to say something, and she scoffed, looking head-on with Therrye, "You don't... know this person?" she blinked twice, licking her lips and tilting her head pensively. She looked away for a second at a large plastering of graffiti on the wall -- one that had gone unnoticed for awhile, but was actually the symbol matching the cute little pin that Therrye found in her old jacket (that she had since abandoned for newer threads) "... and yet, you were given a SERE package. Curious," she muttered this phrase underneath her breath and into the confines of the tankard that carried the seemingly hostile cocktail. She took another sip of it, wincing and looking up into the rafters of the second story of the bar, as if trying to pull thoughts from the air. She seemed lost in thought, stealing glances at Therrye intermittently for awhile, before she began to speak again.
"Well... I appreciate your upfront honesty, darling," Another sip, and then a slam down of the tankard as she postured her hands up on the bar and leaned inwards with imposing stoicism. She tilted her head and seemed to glare a bit at Therrye, but it didn't have a threatening tone much as it did a grim tone of seriousness to it. "I get the feeling there's something you're not telling me, though." she declared, walking in front of her with her drink and stirring it with a spoon. She nonchalantly grabbed a bottle of synthetic juice and started pouring it into the drink to dilute it -- as if she was seriously not caring much for its downright toxic taste and really just wanting to make sure she consumed its worth in eddies. "Allow me to share with you my perspective,"

She walked around the bar and chose a barstool to sit next to Therrye upon, sipping at the now more bearable drink as she began to muse from the outside looking in.
"So, me and my sons and daughters are all minding our business, and we get approached rather urgently by a crew of wasteland survivors. They're all malnourished, dehydrated, with malfunctioning cyberware and a handful of bullet holes, cuts and scrapes. My boys do a terrible job in shooing these grifters, but they insist that they were sent here. The first Goethe is among them, insisting that I see something -- I look at it; it's GPS directions, encrypted for personal use, but it carries some old symbols and callsigns I used to know. So, naturally I have no choice but to at least take them in and clean them up; hear what they have to say," she takes a sip, and pauses for a moment, musing upon them with a warm motherly smile. "Such sweet creatures I found them to be -- they were like disenfranchised masses, with the dreams of children of hope and freedom..." she turned to look at Therrye, her smile getting warmer. "I mean, have you seen how Atlas smiles? Who could turn such a face away..." her smile melted, but the motherly look of kindness and serenity in her eyes didn't fade -- not until she started glossing over more serious details.

"We gave him that name -- he loved it; can't wait for you to hear from him why it is we named him that... Anyways, just as they're getting patched up by my Doc; hungrily devouring some leftover scop-broth I had and guzzling H2O like they hadn't seen it in days -- Atlas tells me this horror story of an event. Talks about this whirlwind that just cuts through the crowd; screaming savage bloodlust, throwing furniture and eviscerating everyone in its path. He couldn't see who it was, only that guards with so many guns couldn't stop it. Tells me his handler drags him off-stage, hops him up on combat stims and takes him to the cages to avoid dying... Atlas says the sight of that 'blue devil' all covered in blood walking towards him still makes his skin crawl..." she sipped at the drink, lighting another cigarette -- Ma didnt look at all the image of stressed, but the fact she was chain-smoking was the only tell-tale sign. "I don't know anyone who would just go out and do that. But then he tells me the blue devil told him to rip out his destructive implants or die -- made him choose between Death and Freedom on the spot." She looked at Therrye, showing a lamenting glance. "I... knew someone who might do that,"
She looked away, puffing her cigarette for a long drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke. She thought about the flash drive -- what had been attached which revealed to her the first sign it might be... her. She decided to neglect giving that detail, until she got what she wanted far as information from Therrye. "Obviously, Atlas chose freedom -- it hurt him a lot ripping those things out, and he lost a lot of blood. But that hunk of muscle stole some last-minute supplies and held onto consciousness for the others -- the ones he said were blown out of their cages and given a chance to follow the wayward directions he had been given via malware. Such will... made it 20 miles with his people on foot; didn't care who they were, or how bad off they were.... he didnt pass out until he knew they were in good hands. What a trooper," she smiled warmly again, but this time it was a bold and sharp smile. "Then there was the malware itself... instructions on how to sneak past the Black Walls, and how to navigate the wasteland all the way to me -- low-grade xenotic ICE, with Space Invaders the primary killer construct," she smirked pensively, taking a sip of her drink. "I knew someone who made ICE like that -- where the more you cleared it out, the more haywire and aggressive the rest of the ICE got, until the last few viruses were trying to tear you apart..." she turned around in her chair.
"Then theres you, Therrye."

She looked her up and down, almost as if quietly admiring her form, but not showing any signs of anything salacious. "You come along -- you bring his brother. But he doesn't look like he ripped out any implants; he looks like he was seen by a ripperdoc to have his implants removed. At first, I thought it was you who busted him out... Now, you're telling me it might be the same person -- doesn't fit the same MO, now does it?" she puffed her cigarette, exhaling in her face for a spell. "You're not one of them -- a recently freed fighter, I mean. You've been out of that scene for a decade; that tells me why you look better off, so that handful of questions are answered." she tilts her head, puckering her lips capriciously, seeming to indicate a noted apprehension. "You're supposedly in contact with this woman -- but you don't know her. But you know she freed them, and you are clearly in contact with her enough to be upfront and tell me she wanted to remain anonymous with me..." She leaned in, giving Therrye a sort of 'mom glare' with an eyebrow. "Now, I'ma be real serious with you -- I'm pretty sure I already know who it is. Because as fate would have it; it would appear that in her fit of blind rage at this so-called 'Bloodbath Brawlhalla' -- she was stupid enough to leave the malware in Atlas with her old calling card..."

She reached into her jacket and produced a flash drive, laying it on the bar. Wrapped around it in spirals was an unmistakable 5-foot long lock of aluminum hair strands -- dried blood, largely dark crimson and with other splotches of navy blue were laden into the strands.
She let Therrye examine it, but Ma did not let up on her serious stare. "You see what I'm having to put together, here? ... The girl you're supposedly referring to -- she died three years ago, in a blaze of glory that got her a place in the Afterlife." she pulled a kabar from her jacket and delicately placed it on the bar, without any aggression, but quietly announcing how upset this whole whirlwind of information was leaving her beside herself.
"I don't know if who we're talking about is the same person -- it could just be some obsessive fan of hers, trying to emulate her work. I don't really care about that, right now" She lightly tapped Therrye's thigh, finishing her drink and placing it on the counter. "What is really important to me right now... is figuring out how you factor into all of this." she tilted her head, her expression now looking icy but also earnest and still mildly trusting. She leaned in a little more seriously, folding her arms on the table.

"... If there's something you're electing to not tell me about how you got wrapped up in all this mess -- it'd be best to come clean, dear."
 
Therrye took a drink, then, having gotten a little busy with the conversation to focus on it. At the question, she furrowed her brows mildly and shrugged. "'Catcher in the Rye'? Can't say I'm familiar. Thanks, though." The memories of choosing her name made her smile a little, but she didn't dwell on those connections at the moment.

"Mmm. It's a little complicated." Following her gaze, she raised a brow at the graffiti symbol that matched the pin she'd found in her jacket, then narrowed her eyes a little. There was a connection there, with the dancer almost certainly at the center of it, but there were still clues of context missing for now. Before she tried to find the words to explain the nature of her relationship with Aolieon, she let Big Mama talk without interruption.

She couldn't not smile at her descriptions of the freed fighters - especially the bit about Atlas' smile. It was hard not to take an instant liking for her from it. Not too recently she'd let her feelings plow well ahead of her judgment, though, and she was hesitant to make that mistake again. Nodding along, the words "blue devil" clicked along some teeth, and led her to looking back at the graffiti again a couple moments later. The bruiser didn't look particularly pleased at the mention of ripping out implants or 'dying' - Would she have killed him if he hadn't? the question twisted some inside her, and she rather hoped the answer was no. It was cause to drink more, regardless.

Therrye smiled again at the description of Atlas' determination and empathy, though she was somewhat distracted now. Long after she'd found freedom, she eventually learned more about the Goethe, and how horrific a fit they were for the fighting rings beyond their imposing size. Another reason added to the pile for murdering Balgur. 'Xenotic ICE' - what the 'runner had mentioned was inside the malware she'd been given. Yeah. I didn't doubt it, but there's no way it couldn't be her.

A faint chuff of sardonic amusement at best. No, it doesn't fit the same MO. And yet. Holding her gaze evenly, she nodded mildly. Big Mama wasn't being unfair with her... there were just matters of complication. Matters she didn't want to talk about. She'd have to thread the needle in some fashion, though.

The question that lingered foremost in her was Why? Though she could connect the dots between Aolieon's blips through space and time since she met her, that wasn't ever answered, and she'd become mostly convinced that the dancer didn't even know herself.

A mild look of concern at the hair and blood; she didn't reach out to touch it. Therrye wondered what it cost her to complete her 'bloodbath' and free all of those slaves. It clearly hadn't been enough to stop her from continuing some sort of streak of jobs and death, though. Another blip of dropping sickness, the sort that had churned in her and pushed her to call Aolieon out of the blue. And I can't even stop worrying about you.

Her gaze noted the appearance of the kabar, but she didn't seem otherwise put off by it. It wasn't unfair of her, and she'd already shared plenty more than she needed to at this point. Nodding softly, her violets returned to meet Big Mama's. A certain pain lingered in the stillness she cleaved to, unable to be completely rid of it. "You'll have to tell me if she is, or isn't; she didn't give a name for you, though it seems obvious you're the one she didn't want me to talk to." A piece of her felt guilt for betraying Aolieon's wishes on that, but she hadn't left her with a terrible amount of choice in the matter. "I didn't know she existed a week ago." Stars above, this has been a long week in the making. "... we met on a job. Crashed a Geraldi black site, jacked a black box, and leveled the building. She was a femme fatale in every sense, though I made her work to outdo me in our respective body counts." She wasn't smiling about any of this. "'Bringing out the best in people,'" she murmured in memory, shaking her head, taking a beat before continuing. "Later, she said her name was Aolieon." A curl at the edge of her lips. "I find it hard to say that I 'know' her," Therrye did her best not to grind any teeth, "because she's made it clear there's a great deal she'll lie about." There was the time factor besides, of course, but that seemed to matter less at the moment.

"I don't see any reason to believe she wasn't the one who sprung the two brothers, though," despite the batshit differences in her approach. Realizing the tension she'd been holding, Therrye let out a deep sigh, nudged the beer, and then drank more. It didn't bring relief; not really. "I doubt I'll ever forget that hair of hers." The bruiser seemed tired. There was an impulse to slide into self-pity. Now wasn't the time, though, if there'd ever be time for that again. Too much to do and too many debts to repay in blood.

Therrye drained the rest of the beer.
 
"Hm, that's a shame; its a good read," she commented at Therrye not knowing the book. "Ironically, has a ponderable outlook on life, considering the world we live in. You should give it a try," she added, cracking her open a beer in anticipation for how quickly she began downing it. Big Mama explained herself and mused, but in reality -- not a single hint of Therrye's body language was escaping her. It was Big Mama's job to know things, and part of her training to do so. She may have been old bones, staring down the barrel of 70 and not looking a day over 40, but everything she learned still applied in this day and age -- which included advanced interrogation techniques. Quietly, Therrye was eating out of the palm in her hand -- which unwittingly gave her more credit to her own involvement than was due. She could tell something of the heart was stirring underneath that polite and cordial exterior... but she let it be for the moment.
Her eyebrows raised nonchalantly for a second as Therrye declared that she'd have to say whether or not this allusion to Aurielle was the real deal or not -- that's not my call to make; if it IS her, then it's hers alone... she mused to herself quietly. She still had stock in the theory that it was an imitation serial killer, until Therrye said something out of the ordinary.
"Bringing out the best in people..."

🎶 Ludvig Forssell -- "Behind the Mirror" 🎶

Big Mama's eyes slowly raised to look up into Therrye's, "...especially the ones that hate you."

There was a pregnant pause after Big Mama's interjection -- Words exchanged in private over a lesson on how to wrestle a rifle from an opponent's hands; how to take people bigger than oneself and dispatch them using the surrounding terrain -- the only thing that betrayed any familiarity was a light scoff from Big Mama, and she looked back down at her near-empty tankard. "Aolieon, huh?" she narrowed her eyes, unfamiliar with the name. She rolled it around in her mouth. "Ay-ohh-lee-on..." she did this a few times, and then seemed to mouth it one more time -- in reality, she had minorly swapped a consonant for a vowel, and mouthed the words Aoi Oni; the name that Arasaka had given her... too soon to tell if it was actually her, but the striking resemblances were too uncanny where they really had no right to be, for an imposter...

Big Mama shook her head lightly. "Can't say I'm familiar with that name, no..."
She did chuckle at the part where she commented on how much Aurielle would lie, and the line about her hair... Big Mama smirked, and returned a warm intuitive glance towards her. "It was more than just a job... wasnt it?" she looked into her eyes, calling out that storm of emotions eating away at Therrye, gently placing her hand on her shoulder in the process. "I won't pry, though, darling. Seems like that's more of a personal quarrel with you. I'd understand if you hate her, though..." Big Mama sighed, and shrugged. "I dunno if I can help you, darling. Too much seems off from what I used to know. But people do change with time, despite what people like to think..." she mused openly, letting her gaze fall over her bar. She took the last swig of her cocktail drink, wincing as it went down -- the synth-juice didn't really help it. "It's quite possible you've got quite the convincing imposter on your hands. But if she were the real deal, having somehow come back from the dead..." she turned to Therrye with that motherly look and smile. "I'd tell you that she's got a million reasons to lie. A woman like that has a world of secrets to take to her grave... and a lot of promises unfulfilled, at that." she sighed, looking down for a bit, her smile melting into a grim expression of hurt before coming back into a look of warm positivity. "I'd say take her bullshit on faith for awhile -- see how far the rabbit hole goes, and if you get a chance... then bring her to me, if you can get her to trust you." She pat Therrye's back lightly and stood up from her barstool to walk back behind the bar. "Then, we might be able to tell what's real and what's not, neh?"

She began making a drink for herself again. "But you and I have been shooting the breeze about what ifs and maybes for too long, now. Why don't you go join the others? See how your new friend is faring, and rejoin the merriment of seeing two brothers reunited. I'll be out there shortly, ok? Take a beer on the house with ya. Hell, a few beers, if ya don't mind; I imagine the boys done finished the whole crate by now..."

When left all by her lonesome, Big Mama would finish making the Afterlife "Nephilim" recipe -- tequila & ab-synth with a Sakura cherry and blue raspberry liquer with two pennies for the ferryman and lit on fire prior to the first sip -- and she'd sip it in silence, as her thoughts ran with so many emotions. The only words that quietly passed her lips -- "So, the prodigal daughter returns..."
So many more questions rose within her. What happened? Where has she been? Why did she clearly go through all the effort to track her down to this new bar she had established barely a year after the end of the Fallen Uprising -- only to never come back to contact her? ... Why now, was she trying to crawl out of the mud?
Big Mama's eyes cut back in the direction of the door, hearing so much jeering and laughter, while someone played guitar. She looked back to the graffiti symbol of the blue skull with horns and black feathered wings -- the crest of the Fallen. She grimaced, partly in resentment and partly in heartfelt motherly pity for Aurielle. Having also been a mother who had to bury all of her sons after that conflict, she knew... and she perfectly understood why she might have waited this long. If Big Mama had actually been a stranger to war and death, she also might have suck-started her own sidearm. She glared back up at the crest. If that Samurai walks into my bar, I'm gonna kick her ass up one end of this highway and back. She deserved it for waiting this long to let her know she was alive and kicking... and never letting her know she was okay. But she sipped the drink heavily, knowing that last bit was probably the reason why -- Aurielle wasn't okay. Why else would she come out swinging for the fences, slaughtering anyone she could? If the pain wasn't enough to take her own life, then the rage was enough to burn this world...
She debated sending the call through the ancient channels; that "A has come to" -- she decided not to. No way of knowing who might be listening, now. After all, this could be some sick 'Saka play in an attempt to hunt the last of them to extinction... or she crawled out of the dirt first chance she got, and has been lost since. That girl making merry with the Goethe brothers out there... she had found her. Somehow. Now, all there was left to do was bide her time, count her assets... and wait for the Call.

She picked up the kabar and flinging it across the room -- it spun elegantly and nailed the bullseye on a dartboard, splitting it in half. She was likely trying to make this war alone... but Aurielle's heart wouldn't be the only one to bleed. Big Mama decided on that herself... hopefully this Therrye would have the will and light within to bring her eldest daughter back to her. All that was left... was hope.

She stood up, getting ready to join them outside. But she paused to finish her drink in honor of the Fallen Angel & Blue Devil... and regain her composure before she came out there and brought a dour to the mood.
 
"I'll look it up, then," she offered mildly, as one would regard a curio they did not yet know what to do with. Perhaps it would be relevant; finding time to actually read or listen to a spoken book was going to be the trickier part.

Big Mama completing the line for her certainly got Therrye's attention. Another click of teeth, sliding into place, even if the name didn't get an affirmative from the leader. The bruiser's expression betrayed plenty. She was never that good at lying, and hadn't ever leaned into it. At her best, she could be stone cold fury, and brook nothing else - but the dancer had carved a path beneath all of that, and it was impossible to shake off something already under your skin. A faint tug of her lips responded to the hand on her shoulder. "I don't hate her," she said quietly, and meant it.

What Therrye felt was bereft. Something she hadn't been looking for and hadn't wanted had found her and gotten past her guard, and now... it felt wholly out of reach, beyond anything she could do. Exhaling through her nose, she circled fingers around the unopened beer more as a meditative action than anything else. "I don't doubt that... and she doesn't owe me anything, besides." Making peace with the state of things might be impossible; she'd put her gaze to where it needed to be and keep walking, though. She shrugged a little, the motion filled with a defensiveness that was entirely inwardly directed. Annoyed, she shook it off with a tightening and a release of a fist. "... I'm not holding my breath on seeing her again." A pause of quiet. "But if the chance arrives, I'll see what I can do." Shifting her focus back to the woman, she stacked other emotions on top of the ones burdening her to bury them at least a little. "Thank you. For taking in those fighters." A half-frown, half-smile lingered on her lips. "We rarely get anyone looking out for us." She raised the beer in front of her in a gesture of respect, and it was all sincerity.

The bruiser didn't want to be around anyone right now, really, but she obliged the request and brought fresh refreshments to those outside.

Coming here was supposed to be about the brothers, and nothing had changed her happiness in that - her conversation with Big Mama had just dropped a wreath of unpleasantness around it. Briefly, she felt a yearning for that cold sense of ice that Aolieon seemed to so casually entomb herself within. But Therrye could see the melting cracks of it and the unsteady land it was on, even if she didn't know the shape of the terrain.

That was never going to be her own path or her own cope. Eying the single beer she'd left for herself, she cracked it open -
A moment of silence for the lost.
- brought it to her lips -
A breath of respect for those who paved the way.
- began drinking -
A cheer of kinship for the ones who yet live.
- and drinking -
A tale of memories for every victory.
- until there was none left. She left the last of the verse unthought.

Crushing the can in her hand, she tossed it wherever the empties were ending up. It wasn't okay, but the world was never okay. One had to take hold of happiness where they could find it. And, above her own troubles, these ex-slaves deserved real joy. Even if she couldn't take them on like she'd done with those she'd liberated before - too much of her was going into this streak for vengeance to set everything aside for them - she could at least give them the open heart of one who'd been so very much in their shoes.

That, Therrye knew, she was good at.
 
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"... The guy wanted me to sign his metal arm, but there ain't no pens I can hold in these big meaty hands, so I just huffed at him angrily -- he dropped his whole arm and he was never seen again!" the whole bunch of people laughed raucously, some slapping their knees, and Atlas just grinning from ear-to-ear having been the one who told the joke. "Ahh, those poor pathetic sods," Dusty/Spinebreaker began, shaking his head. "Tell ya what; I won't miss them. Such idolatry, but not really giving a scop about us." A handful nodded reverently. A gaudily chromed up Maglubiyan -- short little goblinoid creature with four arms and reptilian scales seemed to snicker towards that. "Everyone ask; 'who next fighter?' But no one ask, 'HOW next fighter'..." he chuckled in his little yappy voice, but it faltered rather quickly as he lowered his head, realizing how sad his joke sounded. A human biker gently patted his back -- by now, it was easy to tell who were long-term bikers here and who were new arrivals as fighters, even though all but Dusty/Spinebreaker and Therrye herself were wearing Sable Seraph vests or jackets of syn-leather or syn-denim. "That's okay, Salamander. The worst is behind yall now..." Some smiled warmly; others nodded vehemently in the easing of forlorn tensions. Dusty/Spinebreaker turned to look at Atlas, formerly known as Tico and even once the Raging Bull.

🎶 Bear McCreary -- "Muspelheim & Niflheim" 🎶
"So... Atlas, huh?... aint that the one dude who held up the world on his shoulders?" Dusty/Spinebreaker mused. Atlas chugged the rest of his beer and grinned again from ear-to-ear. "I know, right? Its so cool..." he gestured towards the door, from which Big Mama came out with a weak yet managed smile -- what came from Atlas next made her beam a lot brighter. "Big Mama picked the name out... wanna know how I got it?" Dusty/Spinebreaker swigged his beer, seemingly a tad reviled at the taste, but seeming to get the hang of how to consume it. A human-looking Borg, female by appearance also smiled real big at this. "We wouldn't have made it out here, were it not for your brother." Atlas waved his hand dismissively, wiggling his head as if he was trying to prevent a blush. "Ahh, Maybelle c'mon -- my name, my story, yeah?" he smiled and nodded at Maybelle, as if to say thanks but then he began again. "After that whole fiasco at Bloodbath Brawlhalla went down; that crazy lady said the NCPD would be there in seconds, minutes if we were lucky. I ripped out a cooler full of boosters and just booked it, telling everybody to follow me. It weren't easy, but turns out there was this BIG sewer tunnel that crossed the abyss leading out to the Black Wall -- like we were running for the hills, Dusty! Dodging lights, running fast across heavy traffic and narrowly avoiding ongoing shootouts... it was like one of them Midnight Runs from them cheap action BDs," he pulled another beer, pausing to concentrate to try and use one of his claws to delicately pull the top, but ended up plucking the pull tab clean off. He frowned a little awkwardly and handed it to one of the older bikers, who chuckled heartily, taking the beer from him and pulling out a kabar to stab the top and twist to open it for him. Having had the beer handed back to him, he nodded in warm thanks, taking a quick sip before he continued. "My neck was hurting something fierce! Salamander begged me to slow down cuz apparently i was bleeding a lot. But like, I couldn't stop, man... I didn't know where we were going, I just knew we needed to get there," he swigged his beer and looked down at it, the memories coming back. "There were weird drones, savages with cleavers, other rogue Nomads trying to shoot at us -- we had to just run, and if we couldnt run I had to end fights quickly, man. Part of me was scared, but really I just wanted to see the end of the road. And eventually, we got there, and the nap I took after we made it here safe? Fucking preem," Salamander cackled while Maybelle just stared at Atlas, mouth agape with derision. "You skipped over the best parts, Atlas!" Salamander nodded, eyes darting between Dusty and Therrye. "He yell at us a lot; was so bossy, but we learn quick -- no questioning it. He ran? we ran. He jump? We jump. He fought; stop Nomads from shooting us? We fight, TOO! And he always stop to make sure we actually okay, even if we got the hurts on us!" Maybelle chuckled with sounds of camaraderie and perhaps even love in her voice. "This big lug wasn't just holding up our world; he held our hopes, dreams and even took our survival in his own hands. We didn't even ask, but he got us here..."

Atlas's hackles flared and fluttered like plastic in the wind; basically the Goethe version of blushing, as he chugged his beer and vibrated. "That's why Ma named me Atlas -- cuz for two whole days I held the world up. And I'ma do it for the Seraphs, too! ... Ma willing, of course," he practically shouted his intentions out of excitement, but curbed it when Big Mama put her hands on her hips and gave that bold motherly smile at him with an eyebrow -- causing the last part of his statement to be a little more reasonable in tone. Big Mama shook her head, clicking her tongue. "I know them britches be big on you, but dont get cocky, Atlas. You got lucky a few times, charging into gunfire like that. You nearly flatlined when Doc tried to give you a transfusion," she shook her head more, pointing idly at him while meeting eyes with Therrye. "If ya couldn't have guessed, we don't just have Goethe blood hanging outback; we had to give him IV proteins and pray he just recovered from blood loss. Heart of gold this one -- but the brain of a total gonk," Big Mama shook her head like she honestly couldn't believe the balls on this one -- Dusty immediately punched his brother in the shoulder, illiciting a surprised "Ow!" from Atlas, as his older brother snorted. "Pops always said I was the smarter one," he retorted with an indignant expression and a snort of disapproval after hearing Atlas's crazy story. His expression quickly softened with one of brotherly love shortly thereafter, though. "... But one of the few things he grilled into our heads before the gangers got him, was that you never turn your back on Family," Dusty/Spinebreaker added, placing his hand on his brother's shoulder and shaking him lightly. "I'm glad you remembered that, after everything you've been through..." Big Mama's eyebrows furrowed in a doting bittersweet smile, moving her cigarette hand in front of her lips as if she wanted to bite on her knuckle -- that was so sweet to her. Atlas ccouldn't help but look down and snort before looking at his brother with a sweet smile of his own. "Yeah... likewise, bro. Likewise..." a moment of silence settled between the group of people, just letting that revelation about the brothers fill everyone's hearts with warmth and wisdom...

🎶 Tyler Bates -- "Baba Yaga" 🎶

Eventually the silence was broken by Atlas, who narrowed his eyes and snorted in reminiscence. "That crazy lady, though..." he mused -- the ex-fighters looks dropped into something taken aback. "Scaree," Salamander uttered. Atlas leaned forwards, crushing the empty can in his hand and tossing it. "You said she freed you too?" Dusty looked off into the distance and then down. "Yeah... but the story you told me is far different from mine," he began. He folded his hands together, looking down his beer bottle. He locked eyes with his brother. "They had told me... that she killed you," Dusty shook his head, as if disturbed by the whole ordeal. "... I woke up two nights ago, and she was already in my trailer... she had the van rigged to blow. I look out the window, and everyone was gone..." Atlas snorted, furrowing his eyebrows at his brother. "No bodies, no blood?" Dusty shook his head again. "No. Everyone was gone, as if spirited away by some ghost... they had tightened security recently too, in light of what happened to you... They never left me without an entourage of guards," Maybelle leaned forwards, a look of fear and concern in her eyes. "Did you fight her?" Once more, Dusty shook his head. "The moment I mentioned you, Tico -- she got inside my head..." he took a swig of his beer, and he grimaced lightly, as if he was now realizing how surreal it was. "It was like talking to Death itself. She mocked me for believing everything they said -- told me they never found your body, and that she knew I had no reason to believe her. But then she said that I was getting cut loose; that I could seek Death by going back to the cage... or look for you myself," Dusty blinked, seeming to snap out of a haunting dream. "So, I decided to humor her -- she had me tear Little Thaddy to shreds, and she even whisked away the opponent I was gonna be fighting the next day, unconscious on my trailer floor -- the Restless Destroyer,"
Salamander's eyes widened in fear; Maybelle stood up from the crate she was sitting on. "No way!" "The Night City CHAMPION?!" Even Atlas was looking at Dusty with a note of bewildered concern. "You could have died," ... Dusty nodded. "I was prepared to tear her limb from limb in a blaze of glory, on the off-chance that they were right... but the moment I saw that Borgbeast dropped in front of my bed like a sack of scop -- I knew I wasn't dealing with any meager Assassin," ... a moment of silence fell over the group, with some of the Sable Seraphs casting knowing glances at Big Mama -- who herself was mildly glowering at the story being told to her.

The ex-fighters seemed completely enraptured by this Story, looking off to the side and at each other. Atlas looked down. "She could have killed us all..." Salamander nodded, his buggy eyes fixed on Atlas with a forlorn look of fear. "How we even get here alive?"
Finally, Big Mama spoke -- her words cutting the tension like a knife.
"You made it here, because in a way -- she was like you once," she pulled a beer bottle from the now half-empty second crate. "Only she wasn't bred to be a fighter -- she was bred to be a joytoy," They all looked at her as she cracked open the beer. "I thought she had left hunting slavers behind, but it looks like she might still have an axe to grind..." Salamander and Maybelle seemed awed by what Big Mama said. "So, it really IS her..." Big Mama shook her head, crossing her arms. "I dont know, really. The more I hear; sometimes it sounds like her..." she pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "... and sometimes it doesn't."

Atlas nodded, and then spoke to his brother again. "Why didnt you come out here straight away, like we did?" Maybelle had her own burning questions. "What happened to the Destroyer?" Dusty scoffed, looking just as confused about it. "She didn't tell me about this place. My best guess is she didn't think I'd make it all the way out here on my own..." Dusty tossed a glance Therrye's way, seemingly part bewildered, but still glad she was here. "Knowing what I know now -- seems she dropped the Restless Destroyer off at the doorstep of a borg gang -- Maelstrom." Dusty took another sip of his beer, reviled at the taste again. "Shortly after that, she said to come find her, if I couldn't find you myself, Tico -- she dropped me off at a ripperdoc and gave me 10,000 eddies; told me to get the bomb out and that i was on my own." Dusty looked around at all his newfound friends, and then his eyes rested on Therrye. "But I didn't even know where to start, so I started asking around about her -- I didnt find her; I found Therrye instead -- she took me here as soon as we could," Dusty concluded his story, and people were equally amazed as they were chilled by his story of his chance encounter with the Blue Devil. Many looked at Therrye; some of the Sable Seraphs nodding with mild respect.

A moment of silence purveyed the group once more. Salamander spoke up to break it this time. "Those black eyes..." he shuddered visibly, shaking his head feverishly. Atlas caveated off of him. "I still see them in my dreams," ... Dusty furrowed his eyebrow, sitting up lightly and looking at Salamander with curious eyes. "... Are we talking about the same death-dealer?" Atlas perked up out of his flashbacks, seemingly baffled by his brother's question. "Yeah, sky blue skin, silver hair, black jumpsuit... horns," he used his forefingers to visibly trace where Aolieon's horns were. "Yeah, but her eyes were yellow," the other ex-fighters now perked up as well. "Huh?" Atlas shook his head "The lighting wasnt all that good in the dungeons, but... Im pretty sure we all agree they were eyes as black as the void..."
 
"That's okay, Salamander. The worst is behind yall now..."

They'd only had a few days after their long run out of Night City, and there were already all of these signs of life in them. The bruiser took time to look at each of the bikers - no, the Sable Seraphs - who were a part of this family that had taken them in. She didn't need them to return the look; for her, it was a matter of respect and appreciation, a silent, lone practice to acknowledge it all.

Many were the things that tore a soul down in this derelict future, and one could hardly expect to ever make it to an old age. Yet where life bloomed, there was always the chance for else. For new connections, for healing, for altered paths and brighter choices. Therrye smiled warmly, enjoying this precious rarity for what it was, and this band of Seraphs who made this soft landing possible.

Her own wasn't so pretty.

Glancing over at Big Mama, she had more of the same sentiment of gratitude. A small chuff and partial smile at the thought: And I owe the dancer the same. For awhile now, beyond those first night's memories, she'd seen nothing more than pain from Aolieon. Yet somehow, after all that, she'd managed to worm in some of these feelings, too. It was a strange sort of dichotomy, but then she was the one who followed the pull to get closer, wasn't she?

Watching the ex-fighters, Therrye shifted around them for the right vantage point, zoomed in, and then snapped a candid with her eyeware. She brushed away the errant thought, Should have gotten one of her. While it'd been flirty, she'd meant what she said to the Liandri. Glancing at the image, she took a little time getting a couple more before settling in for the rest of Atlas' story. Seeing how the others looked at him, it drew fingers to her own memories - You weren't half as warmly together at that point, though, she self-reflected sardonically. Like Atlas, she wasn't in the best place to shoulder this sort of responsibility, but she did it anyway. Unlike Atlas, she had to figure out her own way of trying to give them all a softer landing. Scattered bits of aid helped, and she had been grateful for that. There wasn't a family to fall into, though, nor a bonding experience through the fires to pull them all together.

Therrye did what she did best: she wrecked and she ruined. It didn't indiscriminately hurt the fighters, but it didn't give them a part to play in their own salvation, now did it? These were lessons she hadn't asked for, and she took them in stride anyway. Spitting in Wisdom's face when it came from a source you had issues with wasn't very wise, now was it?

Many were the reasons why she hadn't repeated those particular choices, but she didn't regret the first choice behind it, and she'd gladly do it all over again. Freedom was freedom, and she'd gotten chooms dear and precious to her through those fires.

Spotting the Goethe's blushing for even half of what it was, she chuckled vibrantly. He deserved the praise, and she felt like he'd grow into the name. This is a wonderful spot for that. Big Mama's comments made her smile widen, and it after it left the leader's gaze, it went to Atlas'. "Yeah, I know the type." There was no derision in her, here. She was drinking it all up like a parched sailor. It was harder to smile on Dusty's words of family, only because she'd lost hers entirely - she didn't even have memories of them to lean back into.

That didn't make her any less happy for them, or grateful for this moment. It was a beautiful thing, and such sentiments often underpinned the successes in bonds and joy for the lives of street kids. Having it already here for these fighters was a vivid reminder of such things. From the words Dusty shared, the bruiser could already see hints of it in the clouds of creativity lurking in her mind, eager for the next piece of art.

Unlike them, though, she could never summon anything up from before her life in the cage.


🎼 Hans Zimmer - Memory (Blade Runner 2049)

Some weeks, blurred vision was the norm. It was harder for her to bite them when she couldn't see.

Most weeks, she'd rather bite them than see clearly.

Early on, they discovered she'd train her own body without prompting, her ravenous fury best worked out through savage activity. The problem was moving her to and from her cage.

Eventually, it was suggested that her cage and a chain be bolted to the wall instead of left on the floor. With a remote release on the cage doors, she could be dropped out of it without any handler approaching. Connecting the chain to a shackle on her ankle and running it through a spool, she could be pulled back into her cage with no fuss, and her range easily controlled.

The one who made the suggestion - Duke Beretta - was made her handler.

They rightly hated each other.

Unlike many of the others, he respected her capacity for violence and didn't push his luck. She never got the chance to claim a piece of his flesh and spit it in his face, like she had with some of the others.

"Horns is teaching you a lesson you were too gonk to learn," he'd said.

Duke pulled for her to keep getting put into the rings rather than be recycled into meat or made an example for the other slaves. Her results spoke for themselves, and the cut for his trouble was not insignificant.

He made most of the calls that shaped her future, growing up. Of course she had her own self-direction and input, limited as it was.

Duke was not fond of her, but he saw in her defiance the potential to be one of the most determined fighters their dominion ever produced. Dominance maintained control over slaves; dominance did not encourage or elevate their drive for survival.

Duke died in her early 20s. They put a bomb in her chest, next to her heart, soon after. It took less discipline and vigilance relative to following Duke's protocols.

She never found out that Duke died of a heart attack.


Talk returning to Aolieon drew a soft exhale from Therrye, but she listened all the same. This was an important story for them. She wanted to respect and remember it.

At this point, the Liandri had seen several sides of the femme fatale, and still none of them sounded like the one Dusty had met. The closest might have been her at the concert. Tongue like bladed ice, a silent nightmare of death descending. Is that the 'blue devil'? While rarely poetic with her words, the associations with images came easily this time. Aolieon had cultivated skills in her past that seemed to make her something far more lethal than the mess she met on that run, and she was already plenty lethal that night. Doing it all without a wisp of alarm, though, that was something else. Therrye did not believe she could have pulled off the same. Not on her own. And even with help...

Another exhale and a deep drink of her beer. A chuff at the reactions to the Restless Destroyer, even though she'd already heard about that one. Not so much amusement at the shared looks in the silence that followed Dusty's next words.

"She could have killed us all..."

She freed you. Beneath the rest, that's who the dancer was. Or, well, could be. As always, it was an ongoing choice, and that didn't seem to be who Aolieon leaned into choosing most days and nights. Her gaze shifted to Big Mama with recognition for what she said of the dancer, the twist in her chest returning unbidden. She brought a hand to her face, resting against it while she wrestled with those feelings. This was getting her off track again, and this night wasn't for her personal issues. Looking to the beer, she finished the rest of it in a long gulp and added it to the growing pile. Few times did she wish beer hit her harder, and this was one of them.

Therrye offered a modest smile when Dusty caught her gaze. It was still endearing how he reacted to the taste of the alcohol - not that she could blame him. That was how her relationship with it started, too. 10,000 eddies, just like that? She was glad she hadn't been drinking anything, as it easily could have gone spraying over some of the assembled. Stars above, dancer, the way you weave back and forth... At Dusty's remarks, she smiled self-effacingly. "You can thank my fixer for the introduction. She has an eye toward making good things happen." Joi had a good heart like that, whether her skin was in the game or not. Enough time had passed to cement that impression of her in Therrye's mind.

Talk of Aolieon's eyes slid in past her distance, running down the grooves still getting cut into her beneath the skin. "Those black eyes..." Something altogether different came into mind for her when she thought of the samurai with black eyes and it was more contexts removed from that bloodbath than it was hours. Ribbons tugged on the hooks left in her chest, bleeding out feelings as easily as a blade between the ribs. That was a death knell to her mood.

"... her eyes are amber," she spoke up as she walked over to the ring to join in more closely, brushing back her hair as she crouched down to make it easy to see her face. "Violet and black," she gestured toward her own. Her gaze unfocused, then, as she touched the roots of her life and drew up so many of the memories that fed her hatred. With them, came the narrowing of her pupils, leaving whorls of rage, "to just violet." The demonstration ended, she blinked a few times, and they drew back to a more normal dilation. In way of explanation for the other direction, she only spoke again after she stood back up: "Entirely black doesn't happen accidentally."

Therrye moved back toward where she'd been perched, not wanting the color in her cheeks to be seen as the heat of that memory swirled in her (How achingly beautiful it was pulling that first one out of you) chest, contrasting the chill and weight in her abdomen. In the years before her freedom, only one experience had ever made her pupils swallow up so much of her irises' light: Dorph, and lots of it. Is that what this cost you? whispered the thought, the heft of it grinding down through her rather mercilessly.
 
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All those gathered for the wholesome (and sometimes disturbing) porch-side chat turned their attention to Therrye, listening intently and watching her flare and dilate as she did. Some were lightly amazed; a few held back very repressed thoughts of how enticing it was -- Big Mama crossed her arms but nodded pensively, as if she was quietly wondering what that was all about, but never thought much of it. The ex-fighters in particular were intrigued, with one of them lightly gasping at seeing her chipped horns -- "That's right; you're a Liandri like her!" Maybelle lightly jeered lovingly, pointing out the obvious in favor of not embarrassing Therrye in her seemingly shy gesture. To a handful of people present, it wasnt well-known entirely what a Liandri was -- Liandri were quite an uncommon sight, even in Night City as less of their race compared to others colonized Earth long ago... This earned Therrye a few looks; still respectful and reverent but more curious, eyes showing wonder instead of stoicism.
But seeing this drastic change in eye dilation only made the ex-fighters more perturbed, as it meant something else was at work when it came to the bladed void that had torn through Bloodbath Brawlhalla and had freed them. Atlas piped up, his tone sounding ominous and slightly pained in pity and remorse. "I've seen that once before," he commented, lowering his gaze and gazing worriedly at the planks in the porch. He turned his head, nodding at Therrye slightly before going back to where he was staring. "... Not that, no offense. What I mean is I've seen someone's eyes be reduced to that of a demon's in the midst of bloodshed before..." he looked up, sighing as emotions rolled in his head -- even he could not discern whether or not what he knew was likely the cause was illicited by an overwhelming need to overcome the opposition, or if it wss a sick thrill undertaken to reduce many to nothing in a pool of their own blood. "Black Lace," he announced, shaking his head, reviled mildly as the words escaped his lips. "Corporate War experimental combat drugs. Makes Dorph look like cheap beer, but far more dangerous. They feed it to the Borgs like candy, but sometimes the handlers will hop their fighters up on it -- cutting them loose in the ring on a psychopathic rampage," Salamander and Maybelle met eyes with Atlas, one looking more guilty than the other. "... it'll also make someone's eyes look like that," he concluded, meeting eyes with Therrye in a bid to try and answer a perceived question. Big Mama was now mildly glaring but at no one in particular. "That stuff's particularly hard to come by," she added, meeting eyes with Therrye in a semi-serious look rife with subtlety; she quietly made a mental note that their mysterious benefactor had seemed to have already established a network of dubious connections.

The tone of the conversation had become mildly bitter; in an effort to not allow people to get too caught up in their thoughts, Dusty thought to himself and began to push calmly against the weight that hung in the air. "Little of that matters now. What matters is that some people gave a care when no one else would -- no matter how long it took for them to act; no matter how flawed or fearsome they are -- we must never discount that it happened to begin with. Now, we've got our whole lives ahead of us. These moments are blessings, not curses," Dusty smiled, sipping on his beer and smirking at the taste -- not wishing to at all to forgo any kindness its recompense. He looked at Big Mama, a grateful look in his eyes. "Just like the dark shadow who spirited me away -- I cannot and will not deny the hand that 'Ma' had in saving my brother's life -- both from the cages, and from his own courageous stupidity," he slapped his brother on the back, looking back around at the Sable Seraphs. "Because of that Shinobi, he is free but because of all of you -- he is alive. And I cannot thank you enough for that," Big Mama placed her hands on her hips and slowly nodded with reverence. Others spirits began to brighten, especially the ex-fighters; one of which, Maybelle, raised a beer. "To friends in dark places!" Everyone spiradically clamored various noises of affirmation -- to include Big Mama, who raised her bottle by the neck. "Here, here!" she replied, taking a swig and lightly slamming the bottom of the bottle on the balcony -- an ingrained forced habit when making toasts for her.

🎶 Steven Price -- "This is My Home" 🎶

As the warmth returned to the gathering, Dusty found himself looking at Atlas before staring off at the vast arid landscapes in front of him... musing about how they had both been torn from a life of suffering, and he had been given one that he never thought to dream of, even on his warmest nights. A flicker in his deep brown eyes flitted by, and he beamed a little brighter -- inspiration having struck him suddenly. "Atlas..." he mused audibly, causing his brother to turn to see him caught up in his thoughts. "In that case -- I shall be known as Ares," he announced, standing up proudly as a will of fire began to be stoked within him. People all looked up at him, with Salamander and Maybelle lightly gasping as they realized what was happening. "That'll be my name -- in light of what must be done," The Sable Seraphs began to clamor again sporadically, playing off the energy of the conversation.
"... yeah, okay!"
"Here, here!"
"To Ares -- Brother of Atlas!"
Big Mama nonverbally participated in another toast, smirking lightly at the Goethe now known as Ares. "The God of War, huh? How come?" she asked, curious about why she had chosen this name. Granted, Big Mama had chosen the names of the three ex-fighters, but those were suggestions -- Maybelle because she had such low self-esteem tied to her excessive augmetics; Salamander because he was afraid and he lit up when told that some Salamanders once breathed fire and were extremely adaptive, with some having six legs. He was so self-conscious about how everyone treated him like a freak -- these names were chosen to help them overcome what haunted them the most. Ares had chosen a powerful name indeed... but for her own reasons, she truly wanted to know...

Ares looked at Big Mama and he smiled, looking out there once more. "Your apt application of the ancient Greeks inspired me. Plus, someone's gotta take this wonderful, one-in-a-million kindness we've been given... and try to pay it further forwards," he declared, sighing wondrously, turning his big form around to face Therrye. "I've decided to go back to Night City -- there are so many out there who don't have this gift we've been given... and they deserve it." Atlas almost immediately stood, placing his hand on his brother's shoulder. "I'm coming with you, then," Salamander and Maybelle even steeled up in sympathetic inspiration, but were taken mildly aback by what they heard next. "No, brother... you all need to stay here, and savor the lives you've been given," Atlas was stunned by his brother, looking at him with apprehension, almost like he was feeling betrayed. "But brother, we've--" "I know; we've lost so much time to the fight pits -- much as I'd love to work to get all that time back; that's all the more reason why I need to go, and you need to stay and uphold this world on your shoulders that you've found," Ares turned with a loving familial smile, lightly tugging on one of his younger brother's thick horns. "This is your Family now, Tico-- I mean Atlas. You need to protect them. I wont be any less of your brother, and I promise you; once i save up enough funds -- I'ma get a vehicle and I will come visit as often as I can," Ares added, matching his brothers perturbed eyes with his own loving ones. "But if I can save anyone in Night City, just as we've had -- more than likely, they'll have no place to go. They deserve the best chance any of us can give, and that includes a chance to be away from that dark place..." he turned to Big Mama, his expression now more stoic and willful. "I am so grateful you've taken my brother in, and all of his compatriots. I wouldn't mean to assume of your hospitality, but... if there wasn't anything I could do, would you be willing to take more in -- even if it's just long enough to get them back on their feet?"

Big Mama paused for a moment, then chuffed, crossing her arms and posturing one foot in front of her. "The Sable Seraphs used to number in the tens of thousands. Not too long ago, we called this wasteland ours, but... well we hit hard times and got burned." All of the Sable Seraphs had their eyes fixed on her at this moment; she knew, and gave passing glances around to them, her look sharp and full of commanding presence. "There's still much to do for us; lots of unfinished business, but..." she turned her head towards Therrye, remembering what she said in the bar before they joined the rest of the fold. "Every aspiring Warrior with a good heart is welcome here." She then looked up at Ares, cocking an eyebrow and smirking with moxie and ambition. Her expression softened just enough to let that personal touch ride through her face. "The Lord works in mysterious ways, and I do concur that yall were likely sent here for a reason -- I'd be honored to help you, sweetie." she looked out to the arid wasteland herself this time, her eyes drifting up to the large walls and neon skyscrapers of Night City. "We ain't got the means to throw down with Night City ourselves..." she bit her lip, remembering a piece of the past. Part of her wanted to say again, but she withheld it. That was a Story for another time, and not one any of these young'uns needed to contend with, just yet. She uncrossed her arms, steeling herself as her tone sharpened in a commanding voice, as if addressing her boys directly. "But we'll take those tired, poor and huddled masses, yearning to break free," she looked about at the mercenaries and grizzled Nomads she called her sons -- all of them nodded, some fingering weapons and gritting their teeth, agreeing in totality with Mama. She looked up with a warm smile at Ares. "... it's the least we can do for now."

Are's hackles fluttered a little, stepping to Mama but freezing. He held his arms out, not wanting to upset her boys. "May I?" Mama's eyebrows furrowed in that bittersweet motherly look. "Ohh, you big lug," she went in for the embrace, hugging as widely and softly as she could. "Big ol' teddy bear, just like your brother," after they pulled out of a warm embrace, he turned to his brother, who was still contending with what he said. "I need you here, brother. Can you do that for me?" Atlas looked into his brother's eyes, looked down, and then gathered himself, lowly nodding. "I'll be okay, I promise -- after all, I'm not going it alone," He turned to Therrye, smiling with respect and conviction in both his body language and tone. "Therrye here -- she's gonna be taking the fight to Balgur himself. Her fixer patched me up; she's in on it, too -- seems to me there was already a Plan before I showed up... only thing to do is chip in," He looked up at Atlas, who was now looking at Therrye -- that same measure of Nomadly respect crossing his face. "... Okay. Just take care of him, alright? I only just got him back, and..." there was a lot he wanted to say, but Atlas didn't really have a talent for words in this context. Big Mama tilted an eyebrow at Ares. "The Merc lifestyle ain't an easy one -- harder to pick up without proper training. You sure you wanna do this?" Ares looked back at Therrye, smiling with hope. "I imagine we'll be working together often on this, so... everything will be fine." Atlas abruptly hugged his brother, clearly having his own feelings but trying to subdue them in support of his brother's wishes. Ares hugged him back, and he just smiled bittersweetly for him. Big Mama piped up, her arms crossed again as she finished her cigarette, "Si vis pacem -- para bellum." Salamander, who had been enthralled and mildly intimidated by the subjects that had come forth over these past few minutes, finally spoke up, shaking his head a little bit and up at Mama. "Hu?" he said, curious about what Mama was babbling. She looked up knowingly and cut a bold eye at Ares.
"... it means, "if you want peace -- prepare for war"..."
Many pondered these words, and nodded. The old bearded man with a shotgun stood up, seemingly excited. "I been waiting a long time for this -- this what we been waiting for, Ma?" Big Mama cut her eyes at him, then lightly shrugged with a smile. "... Something like that. But we still got a lot to do; we gotta get these four ready before we make any moves on the other gangs..." She placed a hand on Ares's chest, nodding towards him before pulling away. "I wish you the best of luck, Ares -- hope the war goes well," she turned around and poked Therrye in the forehead with her forefinger as she spoke the rest of her sentence. "Unfortunately YOU, dearie, are staying the night." She held out her hand, as if asking for her keys. "You've had like five beers since you got here; I ain't letting you brave the wasteland like that -- don't gimme that look; keys. You'll get em back in the morning, I promise." She waited, not moving until Therrye handed them over. "Find these two some sleeping quarters, ya'll -- let's enjoy the night like there's no tomorrow!" All the Sable Seraphs cheered, and started cleaning up the porch. Never in a long time had the Sable Seraphs been so happy to accept some strangers into their fold..

Aolieon's Apartment..
Several hours later...

🎶 Demo by Alex Pfeffer -- "Rising" 🎶
The plasma torch drilled, cut and welded pieces together. The smart-dremmel connected to neural impulses and followed the craftswoman's every whim in making fine-toothed adjustments to metal pieces. Pieces, parts and mechanisms from an assortment of guns were transformed into pieces entirely new. Chemical compounds were synthesized together, with some entirely being physically transformed into different forms. Holograms popped up, as she pulled them apart, slid them together, expanded them and rolled the pieces of schematics around in her head. Chemical equations were done, research on air quality and simple earthly reactions were tested in order to better streamline gas-powered magazine-fed reaction chains by simply using the reactivity of the polluted air of Night City rather than have to inject CO2 pellets into her mechanisms. Holographic sights were fine-tuned with rudimentary AI to not only display weapon data and smart-targeting features and ballistic coprocessing, but also identify types and subtypes of weapon malfunctions for quicker execution of remedial actions mid-combat. Electrical connections were fed through porous metal contraptions recovered from second-hand cyberware, which powered neon fixtures meant to superheat themselves to insane degrees and vibrate at even further incomprehensible degrees of motion. Metal ball bearings and gears were meshed together inside of long tubing to manufacture a silencer.

Aolieon had been pouring over this workbench for several hours, even going so far as to order energy supplements, pizza and other items in order to further fuel her current fixations. In the span of time that had passed; several chaff/smoke/fiberglass grenades were manufactured, including a slew of bullets designed for both smart-targeting, caseless ammunition use at rapid-fire, and even brutal higher calibers designed to generate hydrostatic shock. New shock-knives were produced (this time with an auxiliary timed release so as to become throwable), and many more things were restocked from mere components. A new prototype of grenade had even been designed utilizing a miniaturized reactor and conductive fragmentation shrapnel to lash out arcs of electricity at nearby opponent's, generated from an EMP blast that was overcharged to practically be a war crime in and of itself -- current functioning design was currently dubbed "the Magnova grenade Mk.1".
A new weapon had even been designed from scratch -- the internal and external features, even it's semi-permanent attachments had been custom-tailored to its intended wielder. Intending to truly put it through the ringer, she had deigned to call this original piece of crafting the "MAC-23"; both in echoing the anticipated scope of original design improvement and as an homage to the year of death for one of her more toxic idols in the profession she pursued... Alas, it was in fact a "smart machine pistol", so it would need to be troubleshot and field-tested eggregiously before it was taken through live-fire exercises, both for targeting processes and basic functionality issues. This project was going to be expensive...

Working on weapons and tech had always been the closest thing Aolieon ever experienced that could constitute a "hobby" other than drinking, drugging, fighting and fucking -- while this fact was hardly canny for a woman of her class and stature; that's just how the way of things had been for nigh a decade. Aolieon's life evolved around the Rebel Path, and that meant devoting one's life entirely to the pursuit of war, terrorism and everything that which the Merc needed to have their fangs sharpened for. Dancing didn't quite fall into the category of "hobbies" anymore, since for the longest time (until recent), it had been a weaponized skill used almost entirely for espionage and combat. Still, this made tinkering at her own private workbench quite the liberating practice when it came to sorting stuff out -- short of meditation itself, Aolieon could mull through her thoughts at her own pace without emotion or recklessness; she could truly set her mind upon every little aspect of a problem and then decide what really mattered.
Kaede's fuss about the job, the job itself; the questions of Therrye running through her head like clockwork, especially after that hellish nightmare that she somehow find the way to pierce the veil of -- all of it was carefully considered. What it meant, whether it mattered. Aolieon picked up the MAC-23, testing its various features to make sure it functioned before she added the rest of its important external features. Satisfied with her work as well as the fact that the smart-targeting seemed to be coming online and refreshing itself each time a button was pressed, she hummed in satisfaction -- placing it down on the table and twirling around in her chair as she brushed her bangs out of her face. She looked out the window, smirking in private reflection as she recounted everything she had been mentally chiseling away at, separate from the physical matters.
... Probably gonna have to scrape up some work with some other fixers -- incurring favor with them might allow me to get in contact with some netrunners and drivers without cutting the fixers in on the deal, at the very least, she thought to herself. As for the bruiser... she paused, frowning with lamentation -- just leave her alone for now; let her cool off. Maybe she'll come to me... after awhile, maybe I can just... idk, talk to her friends or something... An intrusive thought.
Oh yeah? What friends?
Aolieon paused, blinking before her eyes widened in realization -- she didn't know anyone who knew Therrye.
She sighed, exasperatedly, reaching for another bottle of vodka and taking some heavy sips. I need to take my mind offa this... She walked across the room and started rifling through clothes to pick a salacious, semi-casual outfit. She then put on her datapad after dressing herself and texted Kaede.

Look, I promise I'll look into it; maybe call some other fixers; "make friends", like you're always telling me to. But I need a night of revelry -- I'll be at Neon Hearts, soon.
Some things never change, do they, gurl?
... Space off, bitch.
;p
 
Therrye hadn't really thought much of it - she rarely thought of her physiology at all, point of fact - so the amount of attention it garnered surprised her. She didn't feel self-conscious about it, not really, but it caught her off guard. That Liandri were so rare wasn't something she'd much thought to, either. Having never properly met one before Aolieon, it just... hadn't come up before.

Life tends to go by fast when you're spending it fighting or surviving, and by the time she could take stock and think, who she was becoming was far more important than what she was or had been.

Listening to Atlas, that worrying weight grew sharper inside of her. Black Lace. The words echoed and brought with them an oily sheen, pulling back that visceral nausea she'd felt after that dream. Given how Dorph affected her, it... just made sense. Any joy that'd been resting in her had found itself dripping out through widened cracks. She could give a shadow of a smile at Dusty's words, but they didn't quite reach her heart then. Having just finished her drink, she didn't even have something to raise in toast with the others.

It was an eerie realization to be reaching toward something like the direly potent alcohol Aolieon had been drinking, that first night. Feeling that bolt of kinship to wanting to wash something out of herself with poison did not do a lick of good in alleviating what put her there in the first place.

Taking steps up to where Big Mama was near the entrance, she quietly took a spot nearby, giving her a meaningful look. "Changed my mind. A drink would be fantastic right now." A heavy beat. "Bottle would be even better, actually." The leader gave her a smile and a nod and patted her shoulder. "Whitestone Vodka's on the second shelf. Help yourself, dear."

Away from prying eyes, the bruiser opened the bottle and drank three shots worth in one go. Nothing about the experience was pleasant - frankly, she'd much rather be getting beaten down by a fellow fighter - but she had enough of a constitution that alcohol didn't drop her without a fight. Still grimacing, she swallowed down the glints of disgust, recapped the bottle, and brought it out with her. Washing down sorrow with drink didn't often work for her, yet it did make it easier for her to catch hold of warmth and joy.

She'd just exited, bottle in hand, when the newly christened Ares turned to face her. Moderately surprised, she shot him an uncertain look, silently asking the question: Are you sure? As he talked with Atlas, he seemed to exclaim as such. If she was in a different mood, she might have felt some cheer in that. As it was, she accepted it pragmatically and moved right on. The words that followed were the ones that she caught onto to help lift her into better spirits, and soon the sideways shift of so much alcohol was helping.

Big Mama's response only made it brighter as it pressed on, leaving a smile on her face, and one of great appreciation at that. The comradery and will of it all felt inspiring. How she'd drawn so many to her was no surprise.

She swallowed a lump of emotion seeing Ares and Big Mama hug. It nearly drove her to tears, feeling so right - so beautiful. While she didn't take a candid, the image of it burned into with the light of a close and caring star. Nodding to Ares, both in respect and appreciation, she inclined her head toward Atlas. "We're only doing this smart. I'm not going to put Ares in any more danger than I'll put myself." To her ears, it didn't feel like much, but it was how she was going to approach things. They hardly knew each other, and yet Therrye would already be up for taking bullets for the gentle giant.

This was how it was, binding arms in cause. Nothing could make her forget that.

Big Mama's poke caught her by surprise, and she sheepishly offered up the keys after some hesitation. With the bottle in her hand, it's not like she had any grounds for argument.


Bunked down at the end of a long night, her mood had sunk back down to less than stellar. No excess of booze was going to change that, and once the embers of high-spirited friendship cooled, that was what she was left with. What the booze did change was opening a connection back to some behaviors and choices that the Liandri had mistakenly believed were well and truly behind her.

Even if she was going to be alone and far from sober this late into the night, it didn't have to be that way the next night.

Opening up her contacts, she swished down them, corrected, went back up, corrected again, and finally made it to the one she was looking for - the one that'd been called to mind earlier that day. Fumbling through various iterations of an opener and deleting them, she finally landed on one that felt like it had the least amount of fuckboy energy.

Thought of you today.

While she was considering what to send next, a response popped up in no time. If she were more sober, it would have made plenty of immediate sense. Like Therrye, Liliya worked evenings and nights.

No fucking way.

The bruiser chuckled to herself, hearing it in the woman's voice in her head. Even after all this time.

Another reply came before she could work out a response: What's a ghost of a sweetheart like you doing thinking of me again?

Therrye winced. It wasn't an unfair barb, given how they'd parted ways. Or, well, how she'd chosen to part ways with the joytoy.

Yeah, I deserve that.
Sweet and humble. Must be my lucky night. She cracked up despite herself. A voice groaned at her to keep it down.
Don't know about that. Could be your lucky night tomorrow, though.

After that message, Therrye was left waiting for several hazy minutes of restlessness. It was the kind of gamble her mind made without a second thought at this level of intoxication.

Mmmm. You think that'll entice me?
Yeah. A beat. Figured I'd take you out to dinner first, though. ;)

Another long minute passed. Finally, Send me some detes and I might even show up.

Grinning wide, the Liandri began pulling up options and planning out a night with a practiced ease that belied her inebriation.


Morning came without any kindness for the bruiser. She'd earned that throbbing pain and disgusting weariness, of course; there was no one to blame but herself. Groggily, she rubbed at the sleep in her eyes and set to the bathroom, gulping some not at all pleasant water straight from the faucet and then using the toilet. If she was at home, she'd have gone straight into the shower, but here, she settled with splashing some water onto her face and wiping at it with her sleeveless shirt. Staring into a mirror that'd seen better days, Therrye was reminded why she didn't 'enjoy' alcohol like this anymore.

Her sense of that only tripled when she opened up the notification to see that her dinner reservation had been confirmed. Digging into the haze of the previous night, she checked her recent activity before it all clicked back into place. "Oh... fuck me," she muttered. This wasn't something she'd been gunning for or even considering in her sober hours, and now that she was here, canceling on her would have made her feel several shades of wretched.

Maybe I'll get lucky and she won't even show. It wouldn't be out of character for the joytoy, and she would've deserved it. Either way, she'd feel like scop if she ditched, so she resolved to make it happen even if she didn't feel like it.

Hoping for the best, she made her way downstairs. Seeing Big Mama already up and at it, she gave a pained smile, light stabbing at her eyes through where it found purchase in the windows, and waved. "You don't have any magical hangover cures back there, do you?" she asked self-effacingly, not expecting an affirmative. Big Mama chuffed. "If I knew a way to do that, we'd be a lot better stocked." Her smile wasn't unkind or judging, at least. "I'll make you something that'll take the edge off, dear."

Taking a seat at the stool, the Liandri rested her face in one of her hands and found the pressure oddly soothing. Today, today... right. The big guy wanted to come back. Picking up thoughts like the discarded clothes from a hasty/sloppy rendezvous the night before, she started nudging pieces together. Place to stay. Pick up threads from Joi. Gear up? Uh. She floundered for a minute, struggling to find that elusive top tucked between the bed and side table. Right. Entertainment. Distraction. The hours between. Would Ares enjoy her line of fun - the punching kind? Shrugging to herself, she decided to just ask and talk it over while they went back into town.

For now, she let herself focus on just recovering from the previous night's poor choices. Why did I keep drinking. Of course she knew why she'd made such a gonk move, and she still didn't let that stop her from indulging in a little self-pity. Her interest in that quickly died, though. The only way forward was through, and she took responsibility for the consequences of her actions.

Alright, Therrye. Get your head back on.
 
There was a loud THUD from the ground deep below followed by some felt collapsing tremors, as if a mild earthquake had struck the saloon.

In the minutes that followed a little bit of normal sunrise activities, Ares emerged from the back door of the saloon, which apparently had been hastily widened in makeshift carpentry to at least let their gigantour friends at least inhabit the first floor. He didn't seem all too happy with his state of mind either, looking groggy and very irritable the only way a hungover side of beef the size of a Kombi could be. "I broke the wall," Ares opened with, wiping a hand down his face. Big Mama paused what she was doing and looked at Ares, mouth agape. "The...concrete foundation support wall in my cellar?" Ares nodded, frowning with an expression that captivated the essence of a child who wet the bed. "I woke up in a place I didn't recognize and thought I was getting chipped again... until I remembered I'm not in the cages anymore. My head hurts more than it should now, and I'm sorry," Big Mama postured her hands up on the bar, sighing with an exasperated growl. "The structure of my cellar is already held up by matchsticks, dammit Ares!" He hung his head a little, lowly bleating apologetically. Big Mama sighed again, "I'll just have your brother fix it. Everybody gets one freebie when it comes to damaging my bar, and that was your one strike." Ares hobbled over in a zombie-like state, moving next to the table Therrye was sitting at and lowly posturing to sit on the floor -- somehow, he was still about chest-height with Therrye. "Is this what it feels like when people drink?" Big Mama polished a glass, rolling her eyes at Ares. "Only when they overdo it, which for you there was likely little chance you couldn't, dear. I'll make ya'll something," Big Mama held her inner wrist up to her lips. "Jeb, can you fetch me some naproxen? One of our guests needs to drive soon... yes, I know about the wall; it was Ares. Have the boys start carting the explosives out, before my saloon collapses like in a cartoon and we all perish in holy fire, will ya? Mm," Atlas came in the back door next, seemingly less worse for wear and dusting himself off. "Moved the dead cars like you wanted, Ma! What's next on the morning chores?" Ares bleated annoyingly at Atlas. "You don't have to shout, you gonkhead." Atlas looked sheepishly at his hungover brother; he didn't think he was shouting -- he then chuckled with what sounded like a goat's blubbering. "I remember the first time they drank me under the table. You let em have it easy, brother; it's not easy to drink our constitutions underneath the table." Ares shook his head. "I didn't wanna refuse all the nice things they were giving me..." Big Mama chuckled. "That was your first mistake, son." Ares huffed. "Duly noted. Gotta learn to say no..." Big Mama looked over to Ares. "Get with your older brothers and start figuring out a way to repair the one good wall in my cellar your brother found with his post-traumatic, stressed-out face." Atlas gawked at Ares before his expression softened, lightly patting his brother on the shoulder. "It's okay. I broke a wall down there, too -- that's why you're not having to worry about it." Atlas began to walk out the doorframe, before he turned his head back. "Hey, uhh Ma? Can I at least stick around to say goodbye?" Big Mama paused for a moment, then sighed with a touch of love in her voice. "Ohh, alright -- but we won't be training until you finish, got it?" Atlas harrumphed, turning back around to also sit on the floor next to his brother with a thud. "Ma's got a busted up Kombi somewhere in the junkyard -- Dale says that he'd help and teach me how to fix it up whenever we got time. I'ma work hard for Ma so I can fix it up sooner rather than later -- I fit in it, bro; you can have it if I get it working!" Ares huffed gently, patting his brother. "I appreciate it, T... Atlas," he snorted lightly, looking at him. "That's still gonna take some getting used to."
Atlas smiled. "You can still call me T, man. I can't wait until you come back and get to romp around the scrap with me... it's so fun here." Atlas smiled with joy in his eyes, but then sighed sadly. "I wish you could stay, and just enjoy some of these days with me, but... I understand." Ares met eyes with Therrye, then patted his brothers back, almost like he wanted to tear up a little. "Who says I can't do both, T?" Ares looked back at Therrye. "How long before you think I can learn how to drive? Four, maybe five gigs? I'd rather try to let my brother keep the Kombi he wants to work on..." Atlas bleated in denial and excitement. "Jeb says he's workin on an ATV that'll hold my weight, so I can ride with the gang. I'd rather ride that..."

Ares stood up and hugged his brother. "Man, I could talk to you all day, until the skies turn red.." He frowned a little bit, and turned to Therrye. "... But this isn't gonna get easier with time." he lightly patted Therrye's back -- he had somehow managed to do it ever so daintily to where it felt like a normal back-pat. "We should go, but... I'll see you guys again real soon," he concluded. Big Mama smiled, performing a Queen's Wave. "As we say here -- Remember to feel the wind in your hair, and fly high as God will let you, son." Atlas hugged Ares back. "You better not die out there, or I'm coming to Night City to kill you again!" he joked. Ares pat his head. "Likewise. Keep holding this house and home up on your shoulders, T. I'll be back before you know it."

Neon Hearts Bar...
6 hours prior to the turn of the next day...

Aolieon strutted in to Neon Hearts bar; this time not wearing any high-fashion or either of her trademark jumpsuits -- she was wearing a simple pair of form-fitting black syn-leather daisy dukes, knee-high rider's heels in black with fish-net stockings, and and a rose-emblazoned brazziere made modest by a faux-fur bolero looking more like something an Edgerunner would wear -- in essence she looked like a more commonplace joytoy than anyone looking to impress like she did last time she was here. She approached the bar and brushed her hair out of her face. "My usual, if you please." Kaede looked up, and then rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue at Aolieon with a rather aggravated look. "A whole week's gone by since you were back -- I think thats a new record for you this whole year!" Aolieon curled her lip up at Kaede. "Man, fuck you -- I just had a good night after a good job. You know how it is," she began, but Kaede held his hand up in a classic talk to the hand gesture. "I saw sparks flying one night that I ain't seen ever; thought this one would get you out of your rut, but you dont even love yourself enough to give that a chance, now do you?" Aolieon tilted her head, cutting her eyes at him. "What's gotten into you? Since when are you my fucking therapist?" Kaede scoffed. "Like, since ever, bitch! What? You wanna talk business; follow up on the job given to you from the major leagues? Or would you rather finally fess up about that slasher BD recreation you threw down in Dogtown?" He finished making a Mai Tai for another regular and slid it down the bar, posturing his hands on the bar audaciously at Aolieon. "Don't answer that -- we both know you don't, because you don't even take life seriously anymore. You used to mean something, and now you live like a joytoy by choice. So, don't come at ME sideways when you finally get the chance to meet one of YOUR PEOPLE, and you waste it like she's anybody else in Night City. Forgive me for thinking you'd learn something about yourself that'd matter to you more than scop!"

The drink that Aolieon had taken up thus far just had its buzz killed by Kaede's heated angst. She finally huffed and straightened her look -- glaring venomously at Kaede as her eyes sharpened to them amber honey seas that beckoned for violence. "Just ghost off, you fucker. I didn't ask for your input; I didnt ASK for you to save me that night, and I sure as hell didnt ask you for relationship advice," she leaned across the bar, angrily spitting on the floor behind it and clicking her tongue at Kaede. "We both know you probably couldn't hit the broad side of a Corpo Tower, what with how long you been out the game. Wanna catch me outside over a good-looking razorgirl? Make it happen, then! Until then, stick to what you've chosen to be good at, and I'll stick to what I'm good at. How about that?" Kaede's demeanor got a little muted at the gesture, but he continued making drinks for other people. "... so, it's like that, then? We going there, again?? Sorry for giving a shit, then." Kaede slid another drink across the bar and looked straight ahead, not bothering to give Aolieon a glance. "Just tap the bar if you want a drink -- or flip me the bird, I don't care anymore," he reluctantly started making a drink for Aolieon -- but he didn't make her usual; he made her a Nephilim, out of spite. "Whenever you're feeling sensible or wanna talk about the dramatic change in your whole approach to life -- I'm here if you wanna talk. But until then, YOU ghost off and do whatever it is the fuck you want. One might as well stop crime all at once in Night City before we stop you from trying to flatline yourself at the bottom of a bottle."

Aolieon took her drink from Kaede as he slid it down the bar. She looked down at it and she got frustrated to the point she half wanted to spill it on the ground. It's not like Kaede's words didn't cut into her in their own ways -- he was right to make this entirely about Aolieon, because it was in fact her doing that was the undoing of such a vibrant and powerful connection. She sighed, pulling out a lighter from the little clutch purse she had elected to bring with her and lighting ablaze the Nephilim -- looking into it's small blue flames as they flickered. What would you tell me about potentially breaking another's heart? ... her thoughts fell silent. There was no answer. She closed her eyes, looking at the Sakura cherry in the drink and how purple it looked when contrasted by the blue liquer that gave the drink it's color. She took a deep breath and huffed to extinguish the flames and downed more than half of it. She bitterly winced, and then she downed the rest of it -- tapping the bar almost immediately and spitting the pennies at Kaede before chewing and swallowing the cherry. "Now make me my fucking usual," she spat. Kaede also took a deep breath and reluctantly started making her factory runoff drink/death cocktail that would put her better off in the mood to entice others into her web... Aolieon whirled around in her barstool, not wanting to look at him while she waited on her drink.

Her eyes fell upon the chairs in at the side of the dance floor, hosting a Corpo and a joytoy he was chatting up -- it was where they had sat, and she had performed that pleasurable dance number that invoked her first ever nibbles from Therrye. She eschewed the cherry stem, subconsciously tying it in a knot and pulling it from her teeth; casting it on the floor with no one currently to impress. What hurt the most is that Kaede knew why she was here, and that he brought up those feelings and memories in lieu of her on the hunt for another pleasurable night's fling... it soured her mood so much. She was gonna need a lot of alcohol to get over this one...
 
While Therrye wasn't quite as awake as Big Mama, her attention definitely followed Ares' regretful statement of unintentional destruction. She could not blame him, of course; it had been years before she'd been able to wake in a state oriented toward something besides tearing apart any living thing within arm's reach of her. Offering him an empathetic smile, she gently patted his shoulder - more for the space for him to indicate disinterest in touch if he wanted to than any concern over harming him. "It's terrible, isn't it? Though I'd have thought it'd be much harder for you to get there than it is for me, big guy." Managing a grin, she considered speaking up to suggest aid, yet the pain in her head intensified. Ungh, she groaned, and sank back into her chair. I'm sure they have this in hand. Besides, Therrye was no carpenter or mason. Like Ares, she was built for destruction.

Despite all the murky toxins in her body, it was impossible not to warm up to the sight of Ares and Atlas hugging it out. The sheer wholesomeness of it was a tad blinding, and the bruiser felt a lot of vicarious happiness in the witnessing. Atlas' plain joy at being with the Sable Seraphs touched her, too, and really cemented in the reality that Ares and Big Mama had essentially negotiated into being the night before. Me, teamed up with a chromed-up Goethe to free fighters and stick it to Balgur? An ironic thought, given her history, yet no reason not to smile about it. "You better do both," Therrye plainly threatened (nevermind that she was grinning), "or I'm not dragging you along on every job with me." She couldn't rightly predict when or how they'd get the fighter set up, so she shrugged. Those sorts of details could get ironed out later.

Regardless of Ares' wishes, upon learning that the big lug was taking off with Therrye sooner than later, the rest of the fighters and some of the Nomads came out to give him farewells. Maybelle gave him a hefty hug, and did alright with it, given her level of borging. "You come back in one piece, alright? Atlas'd never recover if you didn't." Ares managed a mostly confident smile. "I don't plan on letting anything stand in the way of that." Her smile was less confident, but she didn't want to send him off with rattled concern or tears, so she just hugged the gentle giant again. "You better not."

Salamander looked more somber; having gotten a pleasant night together, parting ways so soon wasn't something he liked. "Fights smart, okay? Not just hard. Better you come back than be brave and bold." All of the concern coming Ares' way wasn't making it any easier, and there were still plenty more ready to give him well wishes. Therrye could have tried to pull him out early, and she could tell he certainly would have preferred that, but this was important. Knowing how much you mattered to others gave you more reason to live.

It'd helped her make it through some of her lowest points, and she'd held only a candle compared to this procession of torches.

"You show them hell out there." "Every bunch of Corpos you put into the ground, I'm getting you a six pack." "Don't go easy on any of those cushy pig-fucks! They don't deserve your kindness." "Can't wait to hear how big a name you make for yourself, Ares."

After nearly an hour, the Goethe was finally able to extricate himself, and though he looked wearied by the experience, there was some real emotion there. Therrye shoulder-checked him in the mildest of ways and offered a reassuring smile. "Let's find out how big we can make this family, eh?" A slow grin came back her way. "I'll tell Atlas to start building a bigger bar next time."


If Joi was surprised by Therrye returning with Ares in tow, she didn't show it. Re-introducing himself, the fixer gave him a cheeky smile. "God of War, huh? You're really aiming for the big leagues, I see." "I have to build my way up to there, first." "Well, 'tween Therrye and I, I don't doubt we can make that happen." Shooting a wink in the bruiser's direction, she brought out one of his new outfits: large, banded, dark and durable pants, a very hefty belt for his torso ("That was entirely custom order, so don't lose it, 'k?"), and thick cross-chest straps with shoulderpads and long arm covers. While they didn't full fill out his chest, every piece was reinforced and armored to the gills, and they gave their best shot at coverage. "There's some more casual entropism threads, but I figured I'd show you the battle stuff first." Therrye chuffed a bit, not sure how the Goethe would take it. While it wasn't the same level of flash and pizazz as some of the frequent fighter outfits, it was more theatrical than she would have opted for herself.

Ares, for his part, held them up and simply nodded. "An outfit to inspire fear." He smiled, then. "I'll wear it with pride." Joi returned the warmth and Therrye started taking the boxes out to the transport. After the gentle giant was back in the transport, the bruiser stopped in before deltaing. "Hey, Joi. Need a quick minute." "Yeah?" She only gave it a moment's hesitation before just dropping it on her. "I want to cut my hours. Go down to just two or so shifts a week." Her brows raised, but she was definitely smiling. "Work that bad, huh?" She scoffed, shaking her head. "Nothing like that. I just know I'm going to need more time for runs and else." "Nah, 'Rye, I get it." Really, she seemed pretty happy to be hearing this. "Give me a week or so and I'll get you showing someone new the ropes, alright?" "Of course. I wouldn't leave you scrambling for help in the meantime." 'bout time you stepped out again, the human thought warmly.

With that taken care of, the hardest part lay ahead: housing. Therrye didn't mind dropping a deposit for the gentle giant, she'd no doubts that he'd pay her back, but xeno-sized units weren't hot ticket items, and Goethe-sized units were sparse. It would've been far easier to find a storage unit fit for him than anything like an apartment.

The Liandri'd have to dig to get some solid leads. Having been where Ares was, though, she'd drop plenty of effort and time into giving him a rolling start. She didn't want anyone living through what she did in the sunrise days.

Hours of searching, messages and calls, plus one visit to Jerry's later, the bruiser looked over from her data feed. "Hey, Ares. How do you feel about waterfront views?"


The pair stood before a row of units facing an empty channel. Somehow, despite that dryness, a damp smell pervaded the building. "Last tenant asked if she could tear down the wall between the garage and her unit, and she paid well for it, so hey, I thought, why change it after she left?" A click of a button made a garage door wheel up its rollers just a couple feet off from the entrance door. "Cleared out just two weeks ago, too, saying something about an opportunity up in Alaska. Heck, kinda sounds nice compared to this heat."

Despite the clinging odor of fresh moisture, the undercurrent of mildew was only faint - some expert work must be holding up some shoddy craftsmanship, somewhere. The ground floor apartment was actually decently furnished and cared for, too, with the little touches of maintenance visible from someone who truly appreciated where they were living. Though he had to duck through the garage door, there was enough clearance for Ares' head at full standing once he was inside. Sweeping his gaze across the place, it was mostly living room, with a small table for dining, a kitchenette, large-entry bathroom, and a curtained-off section with a bed. Clearly, one close to Ares' size had been living here for some time and enjoying it. Therrye thanked all the luck that had led her to the niche sub-board of comments on local rentals that pointed here.

"Left all her furniture here, said it wasn't going to be necessary, so I just doubled the security deposit she was getting back. 'course, you'll be responsible for any damages to them and such, so try to go easy on 'em eh? Rent's on the 3rd, first and last month up front of course, and you can drop some extra eddies if you want to skip a background check." Nodding to all of that, the bruiser got a transfer ready, looked through the digital paperwork, and then returned to watching Ares take in the place.

Even though they'd have accommodated his size, nothing in the dungeons and circuits could ever feel like home. This wasn't where his brother was, but it was something with magnitudes more warmth than he'd had since he was enslaved as a fighter. "It's perfect," he said simply, and smiled. Echoing the sentiment in her own expression, Therrye took care of everything other than putting down a signature. "All yours, big guy," she offered the pad to him and held the stencil for him - but he instead pushed the pad of a single finger down and rubbed it until a thick chunk of splotch appeared. "Good enough for me." Handing over the keys, the landlord offered a single finger gun. "Welcome to the neighborhood."


Standing near the entrance, Therrye mused to herself while Ares continuing exploring his new living sitch. There was some nervousness toward her upcoming date (Drunken me definitely was thinking date, she sighed to herself) with Liliya, but that aside, she had some flexibility ahead. Tracks for filling it with upping her game and gear were already in place and building, and that was a given priority. The rest, though... maybe she really should try to get back in touch with Tharaday. You want to handle that, right now? Of course the answer was an immediate no, yet that didn't stop her from considering it further.

If she threw herself into what she was gunning down and nothing else, she wouldn't end up that much different than the dancer. And that was a fate she refused to lean into.

Before she could get further into her thoughts, Ares was catching her attention. "Yeah. I think I'll like it here." "The location isn't the easiest, sorry, but you'll be able to get to a bunch of places without too long of a hike. Mostly what I'm concerned about -" " - the slavers getting onto me, right?" Therrye nodded grimly. "So we're going to want to keep things as local as we can for awhile and stay out of the light when we don't have wheels." The gentle giant returned the nod, picking up what she was putting down. A thought flickered to the front, then. "I don't know how good of a teacher I am when it comes to staying in the dark, but I can do you several steps better." "What do you mean?" "We're not too far from one of the preemest places to become the best of the best."

That drew Ares' attention.


Rolling up into an alley, the duo piled out and approached the side entrance of a corner establishment in a squat but wide tower. Seeing that it was clearly not big enough, she gestured for him to follow to the front, giving a cautious peek before rounding the corner. It became visible for the Goethe, then, what they were next to, between a large semi-transparent window giving peek to training warriors inside and a stylized neon sign of both Japanese and English: Yami no Ken Ryuu / Shadow Fist Dojo. Despite the name, its exterior affectations of aesthetic were sparse, leaving that entirely to the interior.

Opening the large door and stepping in after her companion, Therrye scanned the floor and mats until she spotted who she was looking for. Mid-spar, an older, verging on middle-aged man of Japanese descent was turning his opponent into a throw that sent him a few meters away. Smiling at the display, she watched his opponent recover and then begin again. Punches were swept aside and used as openings for grapples, directing and splaying out the body like one was swishing around silks. A certain appreciation lingered in her look; expertise of form and technique impressed her quite a bit, despite her long resistance to further formal training. And Kobayashi Matsuo was a true all-round expert in martial arts.

Only once their spar was well and truly over did she give a wave toward the man. After a few words were exchanged, he made his way over with clear warmth and discreet curiosity in the Goethe beside the bruiser. They shared a half embrace and thud of fists on backs. "Therrye. A pleasure to see you in good health, friend." "Likewise, Matsuo." "And who are you?" He offered a hand toward Ares, seemingly nonplussed by his massive size or chrome, and took note of the greatly restrained strength in the Goethe's handshake. "Ares." "A most momentous name," the man added, without disparagement. "He's a new friend, and fresh in the area," Therrye chimed in right after, "So I wanted to make sure he got set on the right path from the start." "A new student." Matsuo's eyes lit up, then, though he then offered a teasing smile at Therrye. "A shame you aren't joining him." Therrye shrugged noncommittally - she hadn't thought of the prospect in some time, but that wasn't why she was here right now. "While I'll let the big guy figure out what all he might want to learn here, showing him the ropes of light footwork is a priority." A curious look shifted across the two of them before Matsuo nodded and began sizing up Ares in earnest. "Very interesting. And an intriguing challenge as well." "I'm better at it than it looks." He laughed, good-naturedly. "I'm sure you are. But there is a long distance between 'journeyman' and 'master'." Ares wasn't sure what to say, so nodded with some curiosity. "Well." Therrye patted her latest friend-quaintance on the back. "I'm going to let you two sort things out. Whatever it costs, I'll cover it, okay?" she said, more toward the Goethe, but clearly to both. He rumbled out a thank you as she gave them space and took up a spot near the wall facing the street.

Though the fighting taking place on the mats was where her focus would usually lean toward, being here was drawing all sorts of memories to the surface, and she found it easier to piece through them while staring off toward the window. It'd been years since she'd seen Matuso and the dojo, and it was still the first place she thought of in getting Ares trained up in stealth. She figured it'd be a nice place to work out energy to boot, though she still hadn't gotten around to asking the Goethe how he felt about that. Everyone's relationship with fighting played out differently once it was no longer obligatory to them continuing to breathe.

Therrye didn't know if Matsuo had been taking it easy on her or not when they first sparred, yet she'd felt a lance of pride in being able to throw him all the same. The man had serious, grade A chops when it came to fighting, and whenever he spoke about it, he was laying down some wisdom worth listening to. While making acquaintances, friend-quaintances even, came easy to her, the jump from there to something more permanent in her life... Faces drifted through her mind's eye. So many hearts seen and felt, hundreds at this point, really, and yet how few had been in touch with her the past six months? The past three years?

It was a little depressing, all told, and her recent experiences with Aolieon only magnified that sense of it. Even if keeping others distant helped, this had become much more than that. It'd gotten away from her.

.... I can do better, came the thought, which would soon become a resolution.
 
... Two drinks in and she was feeling somewhat better. Finally, she felt good enough to see what else was going on and work off of it.
Taking a glance around the Neon Hearts Bar, she looked at all the other peoples intermingling; saw some people trying to dance, a few people lounging on a couch conversing with one another over drugs, some people snogging in the corner... the usual stuff. She stood up from the bar, deciding to try her luck with the people on the couch.
"Haaaay," she began in a singsong voice, getting their attention. A few of them exchanged looks awkwardly, "Uhh..." one of the loungers, a crudly-chromed man seemingly in his younger 20s tried to find something to say. "What ya'll snorting?" One of them chuffed and crossed their arms. "What, you looking for a free hit?" Aolieon ran her fingers through her hair, and pulled out a baggie and a credit card. "I got some SynthCoke, here; figured ya'll might wanna trade 'round some lines..." The younger man chuckled, gesturing to the little table they had set up. "We can probably swing that -- got some Molly & Perc. Lay your shit down, and we can go band-for-band on lines," Aolieon smiled sultrily, and then leaned over to address the younger man. "I was wondering if you'd try something... a little more personal with me." The younger man eyed her up and down; the prospect of a good thrill coming to the forefront. "What did you have in mind?"

Aolieon knelt down next to the table, using her credit card and free hand to sweep up a mixture of the molly & percocet onto it. "May I see your arm?" The younger man hesitated, but then offered his hand. Aolieon took his wrist kindly, giving him a leer as she turned his palm upwards -- very carefully, she sprinkled the mixture on his inner arm, using the credit card to line it up into place on a single line. He blinked, a little confused and tried to bring his arm to his face -- Aolieon kept his wrist taut, placing a forefinger from her free hand on his lips. "Ah-ah-ah..." she toned, telling him to wait. "Keep your arm just like this..." she lightly breathed, procuring her already ground bag of SynthCoke and lightly sprinkling some mixture on her left inner forearm. She used the credit card to shape it into a line, then very carefully offered her arm to him -- pulling his arm closer to her face and letting him get closer to hers. "At the same time, yeah?" The younger man's eyes flickered as he grinned from ear-to-ear -- happily taking the gesture, the two placed their lips to their wrist and snorted each other's lines simultaneously, leaning in further up to their elbows as they inhaled them mixture.
The younger man snorted, eyes twitching and tweaking out -- Aolieon didn't fare much better, wrinkling her nose with mouth agape as she shook her head "Woooh... been a minute since I had some good Molly, damn," The younger man growled with a sigh, shaking his head and looking at Aolieon wildly. "Ugh, that was fucking hot. Was thinking you were about to commit a party foul, but I ain't ever seen anyone try to do that... fucking nova. And your shit is good, too!" he was now leaning in towards her, mildly grinning and looking particularly fired up from the SynthCoke he just consumed. "You've got my attention, now. What else ya got?"
Aolieon chuckled with mirth at his lovely reaction. SynthCoke didn't have 'quality' to it -- it was all the same thing, really -- it was all synthesized the same way, and otherwise it was something that you could count on. Regardless, she still found it pleasant that she still had her talents... It didn't usually take much for a girl like her to scoop up a young blood of this city and wrap him around her finger. "Ohh, I ain't got much, but if you're willing to try something new..." she leaned in towards him in kind, nuzzling his nose and plucking his bottom lip with her teeth -- the two kissed rather lavishly and aggressively, setting them off to the races for another night of lustful enjoyment...

1 hour later...
Aolieon was bent over the bar of a cheap motel room, getting railed aggressively by her new toy -- and yet, she sat there on her elbows, one hand cupping her face as she jostled and listened to the elated grunting of this new lover and felt... nothing. Of course, she was no stranger to this sort of thing; she had often felt herself desensitized to the sexual throes of Night City, but this was different in a way that was unwelcome, not to mention downright disappointing.
She closed her eyes, trying to feel for something, anything... like hunting for loose eddies in one's couch cushions. She tried to enjoy the claws digging into the sides of her rear, she tried to bottom out her core to let him deeper; she tried to revel in the feeling of this strapping young man lancing inside of her walls... It was all too ordinary, too run-of-the-mill... she felt numb. Empty -- as if there was no place, no matter how far removed from her feelings for someone, or something like this anymore. There was feeling, but few to almost no sensations being illicited. There was no attachment to this man, and although that was to be expected; there were no desires being called forth even when this young blood was in the midst of doing something he could have been naturally good at. And in spite of him trying so hard, there was no heat; she felt... cold. Colder than she usually felt. This wasnt doing anything for her -- not like it used to be, where there were at least a modicum of sensations to cultivate and expand within her center to achieve some bliss. They had been snatched away from her by some thief in the night.
Aolieon sighed with resignation, contracting the muscles in her pelvic floor, wrapping them up and spiraling inwards like ribbons around a bannister -- she felt him seize in his movements and an angsty half-growl half-moan. How original. She held her breath lightly as if between two fingers to see if he would power through the clench and harvest at least a little something more out of it for himself, but his own muscles relaxed and he sighed heavily. Ohh, fucking really? That's not even melting in my hand... Aolieon rolled her eyes, curling her abdominals lightly to just pluck him out of her. "Damn, baby; that's the best I ever had," she grabbed a kitchen towel to wipe herself off beneath and began donning her clothes. "I'm sure," was all she could barely mutter in reply. Just as she managed to slip on her dukes and fishnets, she eyed the bag of molly & percocet. She pocketed the mixture along with her SynthCoke -- honestly feeling like she shouldnt have known what to expect and being mildly appreciative of the opportunity to salvage something worthwhile from this waste of time. Reaching in her little clutch, depositing the baggies and trading it for an anesthetic syringe. The young blood was huffing and exhausted, still in the throes of post-climax clarity. "I'll be good for another round in a bit... just need another round of that blow... and I'll be right back on ya," he panted. Aolieon had broken a bit of a sweat, but wasnt at all fatigued. She walked up to him, fully dressed which confused him. Without another word, she stuck the syringe in his next and pushed in the plunger with her thumb. "I don't think so, love," she replied softly. The young blood's eyes shot open in shock, before he slumped on the counter and passed out unconscious. The last thing she did before leaving him lying there was rifling through his clothes for his wallet -- taking what little eddies he had for his trouble and walking out of the motel with a mildly prideful look... but it faded into an expression echoing a sad emptiness.

She walked out to a fire escape on the side of the building. Clambering over the railing and narrowly grasping the bottom, she climbed up to the higher level, as to avoid any potential for anyone to run out of their rooms and give her problems. After that, she dusted off her clothes and she sighed, pulling a menthol cigarette out of her clutch and lighting it. She took a puff of it, exhaling it out freely into the air... and she frowned.
All that had been left inside of her besides the obvious and ineffective was the echoing ribbons that ached for a better taste -- flashes came to her of the last time she had done such a thing; how memorable and beautiful it was, and how she had somehow been inspired to mildly try. It didn't take much for her to snag a lusty beau out of a crowd; a sensual look, a tender touch -- a sparking memory over the enjoyment of vice and vigor. But for her, she realized she had tried a little more than usual and that she had gotten more than she paid for... and now, it was like nothing before and after was real. Having a good one-night stand with someone who had the capabilities of good stamina and skill just didnt feel the same anymore... and what ached the most, were the harkenings of why.
What the hell did she do to me...
... Kaede's right. Maybe I need to stop doing this...


Ares had been quietly accepting of everything that he had been gifted; in fact, he wholeheartedly appreciated a lot of it. He offered his appreciation with a gentle hug. "I will wear it all with pride," he began, clutching the suit in his hands and looking at them eagerly. "I'm gonna go change in the other room; Im really excited to see how this fits!" Shortly thereafter, he changed and came out -- looking like his own Road Warrior. As he thought -- everything came into place. When he put on the battle gear, he was very proud and honored that someone would go about making him a handful of outfits that could fit him, but this one was special -- he was no stranger to being dressed ostentatiously, but this outfit had practicality to it. It was form-fitting in a way not uncomfortable, but tight and enabling of mobility. The spaulders were thick and bulky but felt light as a feather. There was something to be said about Edgerunner fashion that just spoke to a person and caressed them in such a way that simply said, "you can't trust anyone out there -- THIS you can trust" and because of that; he'd be hard-pressed to wear something else for awhile, as this outfit had a unique quality of making him feel comfortable in his own skin...
He beamed brightly, wearing his new kit. He rolled around the shoulders, wiggled a little bit in place, and he nodded vehemently. He was quite happy with it all; his enjoyment of the outfit was hardly containable. When he crawled into the transport, he harrumphed, looking at himself in the rear view mirror and he couldn't help but lament at how happy he was that everything seemed to be turning out. This was the stuff dreams were made of... and it was only gonna get better from here.
He overheard the conversation with Therrye and Joi and seemed to get a little curious. "You, uhh... need someone to cover down for you on something here, Joi?" he peeked out the door and looked down a little bit, curiosity shining in his deep brown eyes. "Because if it means a way to repay your kindness, well... I could try my hand at it," he offered, listening patiently to hear what they decided between themselves.

The gatherings of an apartment/garage was it's own major surprise, but going to a Dojo to get back into fighting was... unexpected, but not unwelcome. Ares still had his own intrapersonal issues that he had to work out when it came to fighting, but he had an inkling of what he was getting into when he decided to come back to this bloodthirsty 'City of Dreams'. While his brother would be romping around playing in a junkyard, drinking beer, working on cars and enjoying a brotherhood of road warriors that resonated with their upbringings -- he was going to have to apply himself in many ways that even he could intuit he never really thought about, if he wanted to bring about the means to break people's chains and make their dreams come true. He had gotten his first taste of it when he saved a distant colleague of Joi's, and the humble philanthropic goodwill that manifested when taking the fight to the degenerate hives of scum and villainy in Night City -- he also knew that what he did that night was particularly raw, unrefined and quite possibly a tad visceral in the bringing about of said changes... and that most likely wouldnt be sustainable in his pursuit of justice in the liberation of others.

And so, when the time came for him to become acquainted with Mr. Matsuo, he remained largely silent and receptive to the goings on of such a place. He let the two talk, and he nodded quietly when Therrye left them be; he was unsure what she meant by 'light footwork' and basics, but he wasn't altogether besmirched by these words. He knew that he was the epitome of a 'bull in a China shop' when it came to fighting; quite literally, it would seem and he would have a long ways to go in order to bring his raw destructive power and showmanship into the realm of something tactical and versatile.
"Well for starters, one should always be cautious of the realm of risk they are working with -- I shall be right back," Mr. Matsuo declared, going into the back rooms and rolling out a cart which carried something that might have made Therrye grin from ear-to-ear -- the punching force scale. Essentially, this was a machine used by higher echelon boxing rings in conjunction with the typical measurements of physical aspects such as weight and reach, in order to better dichotomize fighters of different calibers, especially when it came to advanced cyberware and raw power. This machine was used at least a handful of times by many of Matsuo's students, and any trainer in the realm of legal professional fighting invested thousands of eddies to make sure this was one of their staples. Carting it across the room and placing its back to one of the large concrete pillars he had supporting the weight of the building, he nodded respectfully towards Ares. "Now, you need not be shy, Ares-san. It is important that you do not hold back... and show me the threshold of your pure strength. I need you to hit this machine as hard as you can, from a stationary stance." Ares listened intently, nodding before closing his eyes. He huffed, a sharp cone of breath escaping his nose. He took on a simple brawler's stance, raw and unrefined and he raised his fists up high as if raising them up to the sky (nearly touching the ceiling in the process) -- abruptly, the wrathful sound that sounded like the cross between a bull's blare and a goat's angry bleating reverberate the walls, as he brought his fists down; grounding his stance solidly and bringing a fist in for a savage left hook -- The ground tremored with this bringing down of his weight, threatening to crack or buckle, but the reinforced steel foundation of the Shadow Fist Dojo held strong, as Ares delivered his unsung but feared Seismic Cross into the machine; a punch which had floored many a Borgbeast and several creatures smaller than him. The big rubber pillow in front of the punching scale reverberated violently as the massive spring compressed and rebounded... The machine immediately spit out two numbers upon its machine which would make any bystanders expressions go bug-eyed in sheer intimidation and amazement -- 1,622 kgf; 894 psi -- the measurements for both his impact force and punch pressure.
"Yomi's breath," Matsuo lowly exclaimed, his own eyes widened and impressed. "Your form is misguided and not at all tuned -- and yet you punch with the force of a lion's bite, Ares-san. You are quite the Fenom; i imagine you could rend limbs with ease..." Ares clenched his fist and unclenched it a few times; "Heh... yeah..." he replied uuneasily. Ares was no stranger to this machine but his rusted gorilla arms and reinforced muscles and tendons of his own made the recoil generated from the machine send uneasy vibrations up his arm. He wrung his hand a little bit and then shrugged. "You said as hard as I could... master," he managed a smug-looking grin with a twinkle in his eyes. "Hah! If you truly wish to be that formal, you may refer to me as Sa Bum... or Sifu, if you prefer." he returned the smile and gave Therrye a wide-eyed look, as if to say you've really gifted me with a handful, here... he exhaled through his nose, then looked up at Ares. "I fear I may need some additional equipment if I am to train you. Kenji!" he switched to Japanese, calling to his brother who was manning the desk. "Fetch me the exo-vest, please!"

Kobayashi Kenji, Matsuo's younger brother was the weaponmaster of the two. While also quite skilled in the way of martial arts, the younger brother was distinctly more 'ganic and featured a more Eastern appearance, wearing a sleeveless martial Gi over a loose-fitting pair of breathable sweatpants. He also walked barefoot across the mats and had his hair styled in a typical Night City manbun, tied in a more elegant manner reminiscent of a Shinto topknot with a dojo's headband around his forehead. He came out with another cart bearing what looked like a piece of super thick ballistic armor -- he laid his eyes on the Goethe and mildly balked, but didnt at all stray at the sight of the Goethe; more like he paused with wonder, and then raised his eyebrows, as if he completely understood. But he didn't say much of a word; Kenji was more introverted, quiet and stoic than his brother, carrying with himself a more Samurai-like disposition to his movements. He left the cart out of the way of the yellow square which constituted the 'ring' and bowed formally to Ares -- Ares did his best to return the gesture in kind.
Matsuo picked up the exo-vest and pulled it over his head -- clasping the two metal clips around his waist. When he did this, the neon lights in the vest activated, as pieces whirred and began to click in place -- the plates across the pectorals and abdominals spaced out and then settled into place; the arms were covered in brigandine cyberized plates, and a lock collar extended in various rings and clasping around Matsuo's neck to give further support. This exo-vest seemed to have been inspired by the punching scale's technology, and an entirely original invention -- coupled with Matsuo's already high-quality cyberware, it was easy to intuit that this vest gave his weaker joints and torso additional support and the ability to spread impact force through the entire vest, thereby allowing Matsuo to take entire echelons of punishment more than his humanoid body could take.
"Alright, then, Ares-san -- let us begin to see where it is your warrior spirit lies within the realms of skill... For now, let us reconcile not to venture upon any blows directly to the head, neh?"
Ares nodded, assuming his simple brawler's stance. "Got it -- not the face."
 
"How about that. You won't even have to wait a week," Joi grinned broadly. Therrye chuckled and smiled up at the fighter. "I'd love to pass the torch to you." A considering look up and down his chrome. "Main hurdle will be not completely breaking scopfaces when they get out of line, but you've already shown a lot of restraint. I think you can manage it." "Would love to have you, Ares. By looks alone, you'll make half of them piss themselves in regret." A glance over to the the bruiser. "No offense." She chuffed. "None taken."

Trading places with Ares in that, and already giving him a job that suited both talent and skill? She couldn't have asked for more serendipity. It felt good - it felt right.


🎼 Kn1ght - Something Memorable (Furi OST)

True to expectation, Therrye lit up at seeing the punching force scale. While she could tell by look alone that Ares would be able to take down walls with limited effort, having numbers to attach to it made it easier to compare and imagine. It was plenty enough to draw her out of her thoughts and over to where the 'demonstration' would be taking place. How much of a bull are you, Ares?

"Holy shit," she exclaimed, struck, amused, and proud all at the same time. Fuck yeah, fighter. Cracking her knuckles, almost absentmindedly, a certain youthful glee resonated with the revelation. Back when she was coming up, she'd felt a deep satisfaction every time she hit a new milestone in her abilities as a fighter. However Ares felt about his own strength, knowing that he'd be bringing that to helping others - to expanding the family at the Twisted Throttle - inspired plenty of excitement in her.

Catching Mr. Matsuo's glance, she shrugged with a bit of empathy, but mostly just wanted to see how far this Goethe could go given dedication and direction. She wouldn't be surprised at all if he could make it to the level of Legend with enough determination and luck.

He just needs to make it there alive. Training him was well laid to Matsuo's hands; keeping him alive in the field would be in hers.

Considering what he was dealing with, Therrye nodded approvingly to what came next. Her interest in this was less the rising glee of a young fighter and more the eager assessment of an experienced Edgerunner (even if, in her own estimation, she was hardly there yet). That's an intriguing piece of kit. She glanced over at Kenji with a curious smile; his craft was unparalleled in most circles, and worthy of respect in all. Watching this unfold would be something.

Briefly, Therrye felt the impulse to cheer Ares on, but she didn't want to distract him or get in the way of the dynamic just getting its start between student and master. Standing with the rest of the forming crowd, she crossed her arms and watched with great interest.

In many ways, despite his formidable skill and well-chosen augments, Mr. Matsuo seemed unassuming. He was not the sort of man to puff his presence or impose intimidation upon others as a matter of habit. Which wasn't to say he couldn't - he just chose when to use each technique and implement with great intentionality. Each one had its time and place. Faced with such an opponent, Ares had much less to go on compared to his days in the circuits and rings. No rage, fear, or deadly intent glinted in the Human's eyes, and he held a stance ready to respond to however Ares chose to act. How do I approach this?

Shifting a few steps to the side, he received a first note of instruction from his new mentor. "Though there are no ropes to bind you, every arena has its boundaries. Take care to stay within the yellow lines on the mats." The fighter glanced down to see a foot already nearing toward one and grunted quietly. "Got it," he echoed, then took a half-step back as he brought a fist to strike an overhead blow down toward Matsuo's chest. Though he'd been given instruction to not hold back with the punching force scale, this was a different matter; bringing that level of power against someone you didn't want to kill would feel all sorts of wrong.

For his mentor, the attack was telegraphed well in advance and put the gentle giant's momentum entirely into his hands, making him an enemy of himself. Shifting just enough aside to be out of its direct path, Matsuo took hold of his gorilla arm and twisted him into an instant ippon. Finding himself already down on the mats, Ares blinked in surprise and then grunted good-naturedly. "Again," came the simple instruction, and the Goethe got himself back up and returned to his brawler stance. Looking more carefully at how Matsuo held himself, he ducked into a swipe at the man's midsection, trying to catch him in a grapple that his size and strength made possible. Taking a partial step back, Matsuo took wrist and arm in hand once again and spun Ares with his own momentum, crashing him to the ground.

It wasn't angering getting floored like this - the gentle giant was not a creature of pride. Instead, there was a great deal of curiosity. With all that he was in bulk and brawn, someone half his size was tossing him around like their sizes were reversed. That was truly intriguing. Ares got back up without instruction, and this time, he went in with a fist from each side, the timing staggered to make it harder to avoid. With a small shift in position, his mentor was able to shift the direction of the first punch into blocking the second for him. Furrowing his brow, the student tried paying more attention to see it in action as he gave it another go, reversing which side was dominant. This time, Matsuo pushed the blow up and behind him, slipping right into the Goethe's guard and sticking a hand into where his armpit would naturally be if his arms weren't entirely replaced; with finger and thumb, he shunted servo and connection, causing the gorilla arm to start sputtering of its own accord.

Stepping back in less than a moment, Ares could still feel the limb struggle to respond normally, and moved to hold it with his other, feeling at where he'd been struck and 'disarmed'. Pushing the servo back into place, functionality restored itself momentarily, but the impression was given, and a deep level of respect already earned. "When unarmed, one should not use strength to kill the Bear -- rather, use the Bear's strength to kill it." He beckoned at the bull. "Again."

Taking this to heart, the Goethe attempted to move more with speed than power. It pushed Matsuo into more of a defensive posture, and as he circled, the gentle giant thought he was getting the upper hand - but a meaningful look and small nod from the man had him looking down to see he'd already rung himself out. He rumbled quietly, smiled, and returned to his starting position.

Therrye watched as this continued, and each of Ares' attempts to adapt made her smile and run through what she might have done herself, what she had already learned, and what glints of insight she could pull from Matsuo's choices. The longer it went on, the more she found herself getting drawn in by his displays of skill, and another decision was already forming beneath her conscious mind.

She almost forgot herself entirely, as half an hour quickly sped by. "Shit, gotta go." Waving to the two of them, she popped out, feeling less ready to leave than she expected. With her having to drop off the transport then make it back home, the timing would be tight. That wasn't at the forefront of her thoughts, though, and a smile from all she'd witnessed lingered.


Shower finished and hair cared for, Therrye stood in front of her wardrobe going over the options. These days, her clothes leaned toward the entropism side of kitsch, and outside of protection, she prioritized ease, comfort and durability. The bruiser wasn't living a life that was gentle on clothes, and while the torn shirts and pants look was fine to her, sometimes she wanted to look a little more put together.

Tonight, however, called for a step above that. She had to reach into the back - the stuff she barely ever went for now.

Coal-black slacks... I swear there was a matching - that's it. Pulling out a long sleeve shirt, practically pristine compared to her usual, it matched the dull shade of the pants rather closely. Together, they made for a base that offset her skin without crowding it out in glossy dark. Yet a base wasn't enough on its own.

There was a thigh-length coat she wore more often for a time, and hadn't seen the light of day in awhile. A champagne lining contrasted well with the black, while its dusty rose exterior played very nicely on her violet tones. Pulling it all on, her fingers brushed over some options for jewelry until plucking out a medium-weight silver necklace of concentric half-rings and five plunging darts in an overlaid fan. Fixing it and standing in the mirror, it all felt a bit off, but there was nothing for it. Given the establishment she dropped eddies on for the reservation, a certain level of dress was expected.

She also knew Liliya would show up looking classy if she showed up at all. Can't disappoint, she smirked mildly, trying to summon a little more enthusiasm.

It wasn't that the Human was an uninteresting date or lover. Much the opposite, in fact. Something else had led her to quietly drop the relationship, and while she'd never hounded Therrye for closure, it was clear she'd left some unhappy feelings in her wake. Her memories with the woman were sometimes reminiscent of Bethsket. Liliya was free in ways many weren't, and that had long attracted the bruiser - still did, to an extent, though she no longer relied on that to expunge her hard feelings.

No, there were other elements about her that had given her enough pause to step back, which her drunken self had 'conveniently' forgotten.

Maybe she's changed, though.

Not a convincing thought, but one she couldn't dismiss out of hand, either.


Standing outside just slightly early, the bruiser regarded a varnished wood sign nestled above the entryway. Elegant script upon it spelled out Anatolia's. Though it was well fancier than her preferences, this was the sort of thing Liliya went in on, and with her clientele? She could well afford it - though she usually had any such expenses paid for. That, too, was something Therrye expected to be covering, and was another reminder for why she'd left her drunken nights behind.

'Bringing out the best in people', she mused, rather unconvinced of late, regardless of how that contrasted the dancer's own recent behavior in saving others.

Occupying herself with her data feed went on for only so long before Therrye found herself out of new things to brush past with disinterest. Ten minutes past the hour. Thoughts drifted toward what she might do the next day. Fifteen minutes. Joi told her she'd be up for a job soon, but hadn't given her the detes yet. She considered sending her fixer some messages, but it didn't feel warranted yet. Eighteen minutes. Therrye shifted positions and stretched, then stretched some more. Twenty minutes. Exhaling, the bruiser considered the time and the possibility that she wasn't going to show. Liliya had told her that up front, so it's not like it'd even be rude of her.

No notifications, either. Fair enough. Gazing up at the sky, she smiled a little. It wasn't such a bad way to leave the night off; some extra rest would do her good, besides. A stray thought about Tharaday came and stuck around, inviting her to slip into happier memories before going on its merry way.

🎼 deadmau5 - My Heart Has Teeth (feat. Skylar Grey)

"I know I'm an angel, but you're not going to find me up there." Blinking, Therrye brought her gaze back down to see Liliya regarding her with a smirk from outside of a now-leaving taxi. Nebula-pink irises gazed back, subtle glimpses of fantastical colors appearing over them now and then. The joytoy had gone in on cosmetic eyeware since an early age, and regularly switched up her aesthetic; her color palette remained the one through-line over the years, favoring pink anchors in all things.

Wearing a halter-strap, mid-thigh garnet dress that clung to her hourglass figure, she clacked her way over in black lace-up heels. Liliya had long perfected her struts and the curtain of shoulder blade length straight black hair moved with her body in a way that Therrye had always found a little uncanny. Nevertheless, the woman was mesmerizing; she'd earned her status through effort aplenty. While she could have easily adorned herself in a full case of pricier jewelry, there were only a pair of abstract, four-point star earrings and an exceedingly thin, chain-like bracelet, all silver. A nearly invisible strap to a small black purse was held in one of her hands, its understated elegance belying its price point.

To her own surprise, the Liandri could feel some heat at the back of her cheeks. She'd forgotten just how strikingly beautiful this woman was and that fact arrived mercilessly. Her smile was not delayed long, though, and the bruiser offered her arm. "I'd best keep my expectations grounded, then." Liliya shot her a modest grin. "See that you do."

Looking more like a couple of years than a pair who hadn't seen each other in two, they entered Anatolia's.


"- which just ruined my second best pair of heels. Imagine, all of that blood soaking into biosynthetic spider silk." Despite the described loss, the joytoy did not seem upset in the slightest. "Clearly, he deserved it." They shared an easy grin. "I know you're more of a broken bones, internal injuries type with those sorts." Therrye gestured with an open hand, "I've never said I'm averse to blood." Liliya offered a challenging brow. "Really? You seemed ready to empty your stomach when I was telling you about that client who was obsessed with vivisection-" A finger moved insistently. "That's because you got me plastered on black market wine." "Blaming me for that, are we?"

She laughed. Like with Bethsket, it was easy to, though the reasons were often terribly different. Well, maybe not so different, sometimes.

"I don't recall asking you to put fresh bottles in my hands." "And yet you kept opening them. Don't tell me you've abandoned personal responsibility after all this time." Therrye scoffed good-naturedly, but drew back from the snark already loading itself into the barrel, opting instead for a sip of water. "I'll take that one on the nose." "I can think of much more fun places to take it, Therrye." She stifled a deep laugh, then, almost inhaling her drink. "You did that on purpose." Innocently fluttered eyelashes came with her response, "Me? You besmirch me after I so graciously accepted your invitation?" "And left me waiting near half an hour." Liliya's gaze glittered over the rim of a raised glass. "Did you deserve any less?"

Therrye held out her hands placatingly. "Okay." A beat. "I'm sorry." "Are you, now? What a startling development." The bruiser briefly closed her eyes and chuffed. The tongue on this woman. "It was rude of me." "One would think you'd respect closure more than most." She pursed her lips. "One might." "Of course, I was more inclined toward charitable interpretations back then." Finding an endless retreat was giving her less and less space, she switched tracks. "As was I." "Oh? Is that what you were doing when you so graciously left me on read?" "No, I'd lost some of that perspective after you burned those two missionaries." Liliya drew a hand to her chest, affecting offense. "They started it." "They were walking away from you!" "After they'd insulted my virtue, which you didn't defend, I might add." At that, Therrye crossed her arms. "I'm sure many false things have been said about you Lily, but 'whore' is not one of them." Liliya's brows drew upwards, her response no longer affected. The Liandri gave a quiet cough. "You know what I mean." "Do I?" Therrye tried to look serious, she really did, but the joytoy's manner made it so hard not to laugh. "I doubt I could even afford you now." "Smartest thing you've said all night."

She cracked up, no longer able to hold it back. Though it felt nothing like a match at her gym, the back and forth held a similar essence of energy, and Liliya was equal parts ruthless and unflappable. Somehow - even after all this time, she couldn't pin down a reason - that made their conversation so rejuvenating. Perhaps it's in her elegance, she mused. There was such a core of poise in how the Human moved and spoke that remained untouched. In a way, it reminded of her own stone-within-the-storm, yet how she held it seemed more fluidly connected with her body, her emotions, her self. Liliya had achieved a level of integration that Therrye could still only yearn after, and imbibing that sort of presence was an easy intoxication, even if she didn't understand it was even happening.

Of course, this did not change that of the many souls wrapped in beautiful flesh she'd held in her arms, few seemed as unmoved by her giving heart as Liliya. The ways in which she'd responded did not communicate a sense of coldness - on the contrary, the joytoy could be extremely hot - but her vulnerability seemed even more unavailable than Therrye's.

🎼 Phantogram - You're Mine

Which made it all the stranger that she seemed to harbor sharp feelings about Therrye pulling away. For all the bruiser knew, it may have simply been a matter of ego. Liliya was highly sought after, for a spectrum of reasons, and to have a street kid like her disengage may have felt unthinkable.

She'd seen her cruelty firsthand, though, and this didn't feel the same as how she responded to such bruises.

While she regarded her water thoughtfully, she'd in turn been watched by Liliya. "So, sweetheart, was it chance that brought you my way again?" Therrye returned her gaze to her dining companion and briefly wondered how intimately she'd come to understand the fluctuating dilation in her eyes - knowing her keen observations, likely moreso than the Liandri did herself. "Hard to say." "I believe in you." Another small chuff. "It feels unlikely that anything can be fully ascribed to chance. Some chains of action and reaction are just harder to see than others." "Then to what should I address my thanks and/or curses?" A wry smile. "You're not going to like it." "Now you have to tell me." "Is that so?" "We both know you're a terrible liar." "Staying silent isn't lying." "That may be technically true, but a jury will still hang a quiet sinner." Therrye shook her head a little. She really is something else. "I... got drunk." "You drunk texted me?" "... guilty." "I don't know whether to be flattered or offended." "I'd accept both." "You would, wouldn't you?" "Am I often picky when it comes to you?" Another smirk from the joytoy. "You never seemed like a picky eater. Until the one time." "Do you think most folks would go in on a mildly burnt missionary?" "Hmmm," she intoned thoughtfully, as if seriously considering the question. "I forget that you probably know a few cannibals." "More money than taste comes along more frequently than you might expect." "I don't expect anything good from Corpos." "They aren't all Corpos, I'll have you know." "Really?" "Well. There was you."

The modest slyness in Liliya's expression had once been familiar. In her work, she used it to devastating effect for inflaming passions and beguiling harder hearts. With Therrye, the context had been somewhat different. It was one of the clearest windows she'd ever gotten into the Human's soul, associated as it was with her deeper desires, and some of the things there had given her a good deal of pause.

Not all of them, though. Maybe not even most.

"I'm flattered." "You should be." "Really, though." "Yes, you really, really should be." Another laugh. "Your eyes are telling me you want something." "Are they, now? And what are you reading in them, miss violet?" "I'm a bit rusty, admittedly." "Entirely your fault, I'm afraid." "Mmm." Liliya raised a brow expectantly. "I think..." Therrye leaned in, gazing intently at those candy nebulas, ".. that you want me to kiss you." The Human's eyes widened; the Liandri drew closer, attention shifting between eyes and lips. Lilliya didn't move, her own mouth parting while just a hint of blush creeped into her cheeks. Stopping short, her focus returned solely to the woman's expression. "Do you?"

That only seemed to fluster her further, and she shortly pursed her lips and turned her head. "My mistake, then." Making an exasperated nose, Liliya rolled her eyes. "You're terrible sometimes." "Just sometimes? I must be doing better." "Oh, ffff." Glaring at her mildly, she then huffed (clearly with some amusement, despite appearances), took a swig of her wine and then stood up. "I'll be outside."

Permitting herself a grin, Therrye took a moment to just steep in what had become a surprisingly pleasant night. Though she hadn't really forgotten why she'd stepped away in the first place, she clearly had pushed aside much of what drew her so intently to Liliya. The sort of fun she found in her wasn't something she'd experienced anywhere else, and the only constraint that ever truly bounded their mutual enjoyment of one another was time. Knowing that she'd kept rather busy in the past, the bruiser had reason to suspect she'd come to Anatolia's straight from one of her other engagements - not that that bothered her in the slightest. She would have been more ruffled by her tardiness, except she'd earned some rudeness from the woman.

It's only fair, came the thought, with a slight chill in her spine. Too soon.

Draining the rest of her water, she paid and then exited the restaurant.

That she might not be waiting for her had certainly occurred to her, but there she stood, looking out at the sky. Therrye took a spot next to her and enjoyed the view with her. "You always reminded me to take pleasure in the small things," she said after a little while. "I did?" "Not aloud... More in how you look at the world around you. You take it in like there might actually be something worth seeing in it." A quiet smile had appeared in Liliya's countenance, which was echoed on the bruiser's. "That's because there is," she replied, without any hesitation or doubt. "Would that I had your eyes, sweetheart." Therrye's smile grew more sardonic, but not entirely. As she turned her head toward her, she felt fingers touch her jaw, and then lips upon hers. They were awfully soft and smelled of a fruit-born sweetness. Rather vaguely, it felt like she was searching for something in that kiss - but as to what, the bruiser could no longer tell by intuition alone.

She leaned into it, despite her surprise.

When the kiss ended, it seemed that something had rather shifted between them in the moment of silence that followed. Then Liliya smirked at her and waved. "Enjoy the rest of your night." She walked away as a taxi pulled up, and was soon far gone from there.

Therrye couldn't help but smile, even though it still felt a bit off. Why not pursue this?

No answer was forthcoming.

Not this night, at least.


By now, the bruiser was tired. She'd woken up rung out, had spent all day driving around with Ares after she got back from the Twisted Throttle, then one of the shortest - the shortest? - date she'd ever had with Liliya. Listed out, it felt like too little, though. "Fuck it," she muttered, diverging from the path that would take her home with a hard pull of her bike.

Catching some looks getting herself a ChroManticore Ultraviolet from a vending machine, she chugged half of it and then walked into the The Farthest Bullet with her back-strapped Kolac. Waving to the attendant and holding up her access badge for the range, she went down with one of her boxes of ammo in hand without delay.

She started with sets of three, focusing first on relaxed, distant aim, and then switching to rapid target-swapping fire. They alternated after each three rounds from her rifle, giving her only a single chance to hit each one - and also giving her time to reload the magazine. For any who knew her combat predilections well, this gun could be described as an interesting choice for her. Or, to put it bluntly, very out of character. That was the point, though. If she was going to expand her horizons, she needed to slide right into unfamiliar territory and thrash around in it until it became familiar.

Which, as always, required plenty of repetition.

Her first box was out in less than half an hour, so she went back up and bought four more. Acquire. Breathe. Fire. Accuracy seemed easier to improve in the first set of exercises, but the second was more relevant to most runs. Both needed the muscle memory, though, to make the process seamless, and that meant hours and boxes and hours and boxes.

Twoish hours after she'd stepped in, she'd gone through a couple hundred rounds and refilled her the mag dozens and dozens of times. A headache was coming on and the ChroManticore wouldn't help with that, so she dumped it after she left the arms shop. What soreness had settled into her arms and shoulders felt good. Hopping onto her bike, she sped off toward home, ready for a nice crash out in her bed.

Blissfully, two thoughts were chief among those she took to bed, and neither stirred any negativity in her.

First, she'd have a great fucking run the next morning and pound a Nutriblast. Second, she'd surprise Matsuo at the dojo and enroll with him to pick up some new moves for CQC. If she was going to go all out in her training, why not punch it across the board?

Why not indeed, came the satisfied response.
 
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🎶 Velvet Dreams Dark Ambient -- "Walking Home Alone at Night" 🎶

Deciding it was best not to stick around, Aolieon began the on-foot trek to walk home alone. In her style of dress one might think this wasnt exactly a good idea, especially considering she often took back roads and industrial shortcuts where gangers, Dorphers and all kinds of ruinous degenerates were known to kill time and prey upon passersby. But Aolieon never went unarmed or incapable of defending herself -- even ignoring the custom-made polymer one-shot in her clutch, she had decided casually to affix her datapad with all of its bells and whistles meaning it not only came with its tactical Cyberdeck, but also it's laser, wristblade and it's own polymer one-shot. And more importantly, she was tired -- she now had a well-seasoned tolerance to nearly every drug under the Night City neons that didn't promise guaranteed lethality. Add on top of that the numbed and yet somehow ongoing battles with feelings and now the beginnings of sexual frustration as the cherry on top -- any lead head with the guts to step in her way would undoubtedly pay the ultimate price for it and be cast aside like microplastics in the wind.

Aolieon was someone you'd consider two-faced in many aspects, these days -- on one hand, she often lived like a Dorpher & professional joytoy by choice, playing around with her life and body as if it had no value... and yet, she had placed so much thought, training and investment into guaranteeing that no one would ever touch her if she didn't want to be touched, ever again.
Although it might as well happen only on a positively utopian day; even Aolieon might quietly admit that such paradoxical dogma was not normal for someone to have -- anyone else who had been through what she had? Either they'd sanctify their own being and put as much distance between every aspect of their trauma, shrouding themselves in modesty and finding comfort in humdrum modernity; that or they'd abandon all hope and embrace that which corrupted them, going down a downward spiral of self-destructive depression that would ultimately end in their own demise. Not Aolieon, though -- her seeds of vengeance ran deeper than simply wanting to destroy those who partook or invested in the sex worker industry or the alien trafficking in-persons; it ran deeper than resentment of any greater darknesses that happened in the bowels of Night City; it ran deeper than even the Corpos might possibly perceive or understand, even with how much of her obscure fury was aimed at them -- no, there were forces at work that which Aolieon was so diametrically opposed to with an otherwise ironclad conviction. Some things so obscure and inevitable that a sinful necessity was assumed in the pursuit of getting ever closer to it and snuffing it out with extreme prejudice. A key principle of this condemned reality that one might as well smother all existence into unlife over, as it would be far easier than trying to resolve it in true justice and vindication... and yet, even Aolieon did not quite understand what it was within her that made her the way she was. Corrupted in origins, serrated by design and in spite of every chance she was given to bask in the light of anything that made life worth living -- Aolieon still remained as the architect of her own suffering... all for a blackened web of poisonous vendettas that not even she could understand.

An hour had passed of walking, and she was walking on the edge of a turning highway road, overlooking an unsung outskirt of Night City. She looked over to the left and saw a beautiful full moon rising over the backdrop of a massive landfill -- she paused, feeling the image of everything being so breathtaking. Something touched and caressed her dark thoughts with a cold gentle hand, giving off just a touch of deja vu... she felt drawn to it like a moth to flame. Finding an opening in the highway fence cordoning off this section of Night City and vaulted over the concrete barrier, landing carefully on the top of a building about 15 feet down. She huffed with the mild exertion, and then approached the edge of the building -- she sat down, letting her legs dangle over the edge as she pulled another cigarette to light it... She frowned for a moment looking down, realizing that she was running low on tobacco. Sighing with resignation, she lit the cigarette and just took the view of the night sky over the landfill in. She squinted her eyes slightly as she took a puff, trying to put her finger on why this particular spot felt so familiar...
... A massive weight settled in her stomach when she realized why.

"I know it's not the most extravagant location... but in our early years of campaigning, many of our dead had to be buried here. Many good friends call this lackluster landfill their resting place, and... I wanted them to be able to hear what I had to say to you,"
The words echoed to Aolieon in the waking world -- she could almost feel his hand upon her shoulder, just as when she sat here the last time. She shook her head, trying to banish the memory... but something deep inside her brought a stillness to her nerves. Something clad in ribbons halted her rejection of the past, and wrapped itself around her, as if to say, You need to hear this again...
"That's so like you -- ever the sentimental one, especially when it comes to the dead. I don't know why you torture yourself like this -- but part of what I love about it is that you choose to, even if it hurts..." her replying words echoed in the back of her mind.
The Ronin sighed in acknowledgement of her, but there was a touch of nervousness to his words that hadn't ever been there before. He looked out to the night sky and smiled, before looking down and finding the words to say. "When I first met you... all I wanted to do was give you your life back. As much of it as I could. I wanted you to live free, move on and find a better place in this world... but i suppose I should have recognized that I'd be a fool for thinking you'd choose anyone else, after how far I've come in trying to do that," he chuckled lightly, meeting her eyes with a glimmer of lamenting care. "I used to think that unless I could change the world for the better; there'd be nothing for me here... that has changed, all because of you."

He leaned in to give her a half-hug around the shoulders with his left... his right hand placed itself gently upon her belly. "What you have within you; what you've manifested against all odds, is a miracle -- this is a gift upon this Universe which no Human has ever been given the opportunity to rejoice in. I've fought to change the world for the better -- with enough time and safety, this could change the world overnight." He let go of her, looking down at her belly then back up at her with warmth in his eyes. "The first-ever human child, born of an alien -- some may call it a monster, but... with the right teachings, it could send humanity back into the stars..." He turned away to reach for something that he held enclosed within his hands. "...I think... I think I wanna give it a try. To try and give you what you've been asking me to do, for all these years..." he opened a box containing an elegant amazonite ring of pure sterling silver.
"Aurielle... Will you marry me?"

🎶 Nine Inch Nails /Johnny Cash -- "Hurt" (Cover by Alexa Melo) 🎶

The joy and rainbow of emotions turned grey before Aolieon's eyes... the memory faded into smoke. Her over-the-moon replies with silver tears, the kiss they shared... she looked out on the landfill, and added the sacrifice of all those who had given their lives to see the galaxy in a whole new light. Now, he counted among those numbers -- now, her child lay with them, too. Everything they had fought for. Everything they had pushed to see through to its end... and the ends that never came. It now all stood for nothing.
But was it because they took everything away from us... or because I...

"What have I become..." Aolieon leaned her face into her hands, rubbing it and trying to just run from the thoughts, but she couldn't -- peeling her hands down, her gaze fell upon the moonlit mountains of garbage, underneath which there was no telling how many Fallen soldiers lie whose names he remembered -- people he shared that moment with; people whom he valued enough to try and choose a new life over... Souls she now had been made to stand before, and even found herself wanting. She looked down at her clothes; she wanted to tear them off and just jump off the building right then and there... But then, it all really would be for nothing... Platforming her cheeks in her hands, she let out something between a sigh and a huff; a barely masked sob, as a few silver tears began to stream down her face. The ledge is right here; the Story could still end the way it was supposed to... She hung her head, seriously considering it -- she couldnt help but look back over the sea of chrome and consumable detritus before her... and a single thought pierced her mind with a resounding adamance to it.
"As long as we keep fighting, and keep trying -- those we have lost will come to mean something when all is said and done. Their fates; everything theyve ever stood for becomes sealed in this waste, only when we give up. Thats not gonna happen -- not so long as I draw breath..."
That jerked more tears from her eyes... she huffed in a staggered manner, as her regret sank into her body -- almost as if on cue, her thoughts began running with echoes of the last 10 days, as if her mind was pleading against what was truly becoming a serious probability...

"You were good. Really good."
"...I wanted you to live free, move on and find your own place in this world..."
"... you used to mean something..."
"Just so hard not to admire your handiwork..."
"You clearly have years of it on me... but you don't know me... what I need... or what I'll give to get it done."

Aolieon's head came out of the slump. There she is again... finding her way, even into Aolieon's darkest thoughts. She looked down, over the edge, then her gaze slowly crept upwards to the setting moon as the sky began to turn blue... the moonlight blanketed the mountains of trash. An intrusive thought found itself into the subsiding silence of her mind -- one that she had never seen coming...

If she knew... what would she say? ...

There was a silent peace over her mind -- a coolness that settled with the early morning air, which offered a grim comfort but also offered no answers. She breathed a quiet sigh -- part of her was very weakly reaching for a possibility she couldn't realistically pit any stock in. After all, certain words echoed true...
"You don't know me..."
She wrestled with all the other thoughts that went unanswered. So many buried caches of resources, so many buried bodies... all being unused, remaining forgotten and benefiting no one...

Slowly, Aolieon found the strength and will to stand up. She took one last look down below... then she reconciled to climb back up to the highway and continue on her journey back home... Quietly, she fumbled for thoughts of things to occupy herself with; preparations to make, agendas unaddressed -- her jumpsuit needed some modifications, and she was gonna need some preem neon blades to conceal within her heels... she also wanted some special bayonets. Might need to buy some new swords, too...

Just as she was about to turn the corner towards her apartment complex, the sun rose between two buildings. She paused and witnessed the sunrise -- something about appreciating the small things in life, worth living for... something he encouraged.
Aolieon heaved a heavy sigh, then muttered something underneath her breath.
"I promised her my Sword, if she could give me a good enough reason... if she decides to use it... well..." she slowly blinked, trying to wade her way through the mud of all the negativity she had been swimming through... the words never came.

She walked up to her apartment, deciding to change back into her Runner gear and get some preparations done.

... maybe it'll be worth sticking around, just enough to get to know her... it's... its too soon to tell anything.
 
🎼 Kords - Kilohertz

She'd pushed herself pretty hard this time. Speed and endurance were well-worn grooves in the shaping and upkeep of her body, and though she wanted to up her game, that wasn't what drove her that morning. Something a particularly blue devil had said to her a week past now had filtered into her subconscious and started driving another small engine of change. Even if it'd be some time before it fully bore fruit, this morning was the morning it solidified.

No more skipping leg day.


Rinse, towel, change, and then she was back on her bike, driving a district over. Therrye considered dropping by Ares to see how he was doing, but a certain exuberant impatience had bubbled up in her. In the ripcord that'd been pulled and the ensuing landing into brambles, a series of undeniable shifts had begun rapidly accelerating and clicking into place. Choices nestled into the slots of a bandolier that would arm her against a deadly future, and though many still yet awaited, in hindsight each would feel inevitable and necessary.

That the underlying push that scattered so many pieces and dropped others like dominoes belonged to the barb in her heart did not stop her. If anything, it encouraged her to sweat and bleed harder.

She pulled in to park next to one of the same places she visited the day before: Yami no Ken Ryuu.

When she entered the dojo this time, her energy was different -- clearer. The agitation of nerves that ran through the end of the night before last and through everything that came after yesterday were gone. This time, she knew exactly what she wanted, and it was truly for herself, no matter how it might be used to help others. Showing up a little after they'd opened, a morning class was near to concluding. Matsuo didn't spare attention until it was over, but when his gaze caught Therrye in its path, he raised an eyebrow and she smiled back.

Taking the bit of free time to change out of her street clothes, stretch and warm up, Therrye began inventorying her own weak points and blind spots. The bruiser had let her grapple skills lapse; she'd invested little into leg-centric strikes; her patterns of motion mostly drew across two axes rather than a full three; efficiency and grace were de-prioritized in favor of power; she was sure there were more, but now Matsuo was free and she didn't want to lose the moment. "Two days in a row. I can't recall that happening before with you." Therrye chuffed and took a more serious pose, cycling her breath before speaking. "Matsuo-san. I want to train under you." A different light entered the master's eyes and his smile grew as he regarded her. "What do you wish to learn?" "Everything." A beat. "But I figured brushing up on self-defense would be a good start." "Ever one of the most valuable pillars of an Edgerunner's career." "Exactly," she agreed, grinning widely.

Turning blades, disarming, breaking grapples, locking down limbs -- the list of uses of the present version of a militarized self defense art covered near everything a 'runner could expect to come up against in close combat. Her experience and augments already made her a dangerous opponent in melee engagements, but the bruiser had followed a path of shifts and replacement more than synthesis and diversity in her skills. Eras of focus and art contrasted each other strongly in her history, and too many lessons learned had become forgotten through neglect.

It wasn't exactly going to be like riding a bike, and there was plenty she hadn't ever known. Yet bridging her past fighting selves together with her present would lead her into a much more rewarding learning curve than she would have previously realized.

They began with the basics and Therrye took instruction on her form. Habit had pulled her in directions that did not align with the fundamentals. That would take some time to break herself of and rewrite muscle memory, but she'd pulled that off many times now. Here, in flow and fight, lay the most potent display of her intuition. It took little time for her to discern and internalize Matsuo's instruction, both through observing his body and digesting his words. Unspoken assessment and understanding passed between them as the master surmised her flaws and the student walked through his leads.

Despite the visceral excitement of experiencing such things, they were both aligned with properly addressing the foundations. Bad habits spiraled into poor decisions, and though she could have readily learned new advanced techniques that day, charging ahead wasn't going to help her as much in the long run.

Given enough pointers, though, it was time to try and integrate them into her practice. Taking up a baton each to better practice in the vein of self-defense, Therrye and Matsuo faced off. "Show me what you've learned," he spoke simply, and they shared a smile in that. "Gladly."
 
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🎶 Perturbator (feat. Dead Astronauts) -- "Minuit" (Slowed + Reverb) 🎶

Aolieon got to her apartment and her feelings were still notably heavy. She tried not to dwell on things, because she had an agenda and she wished to follow through on it. It was comforting for once to have something official she needed to do that wasn't a gig or merely an outing for pleasure, and it would help her sort through her emotions quite well. She walked across the room, quickly doffing all of her clothes to where she was naked and proceeded to get into the shower -- she did her once-weekly hair washing, pulling her soap-laden hairbrush through her hair and getting every part of every strand lathered, taking care not to pluck any of her hairs, she rinsed the hair out decently, and then went to use her fingers to apply copious amounts of hair conditioner -- when she went to do this, she closed her eyes and tried to release some tension while she took the time to tactically take care of herself; a cut flashback of someone else's fingers running through her hair as it was gently taken care of flitted across her memory -- Aolieon paused, posturing her hands against the shower wall while she shook her head to banish the thoughts. She had other things to think about -- such fancies needed to be set aside, for now. Having reconciled her thoughts regarding the razorgirl, she conceded to the idea of letting her come forth to her; hoping that she'd hear from her and potentially need her help with something practical. Finally finishing the hair lather to where her hair smelled of essential oils and Sakura fragrances; she washed her body rather quickly, ending the shower in a record 45 minutes. When she got out, she wrapped her head in a towel, and proceeded to get some other stuff done quickly.

Approaching her workbench, she approached it with datapad in, jacking it in to synchronize all of it's features. She swiped left through several holographic designs, selecting two and ensuring that the files were uploaded to it's own fileset. "Armory," she spoke aloud -- naturally, the hidden wall panels flipped open. She grabbed her casual black backpack and started throwing some items in the bag -- her old MAC-10s, her new MAC-23 prototype, a few assorted pistols and a buttload of small-caliber ammo for both. She looked around to the dresser; it's surface covered in blade marks and various old-timey damage. She pondered for several minutes as she took the time to don her skin-tight vantablack jumpsuit and clip her utility belt on... finally, her gaze returned to the dresser; eyes fixated on the ornate synth-cherry wood sword stand sitting atop it... Walking up to it reverently, she picked up what was both an ancient relic and a visionary tool of judgment -- a harbinger of a brighter time, which had once carved a bloody swathe through Night City in search of its own higher echelon of justice... She thought back to her designs, and then smiled lightly; beginning to caringly wrap the katana's scabbard in black silk ribbons, taking the time to wrap it in such a way that it could not be identified by its unique markings or identifiers -- both it's elaborate scabbard and the hilt. Finally, she used the ends of the excessively long ribbon to fasten it to her back. With all her gear on, she paused on the way out the door... it felt so wrong, bringing this blade to bear after so long... even if it was only to provide a cross-reference to a renowned swordsmith. She huffed and steeled her emotions -- fearing more the loss of the blade or its discovery more than anything; she pulled out her silenced pistol and applied it to her utility belt, as well as making sure she had a few throwing knives ready. Now classically armed to the teeth, she finally set upon her journey out to a place she hadn't had the luxury of visiting in a long time...

Walking along the street, she found a handful of Tyger Claws simply hanging out in a graffiti'd parking lot smoking -- one of them was revving his fancy little motorbike and doing doughnuts with it in the parking lot. Smiling, she approached and waved at them daintily. "Say... that's a nice bike," the Tyger Claws looked at each other then began to laugh derisively. "Heh, you wanna ride? I can take you for a spin, but I think I got something else you can ride, if ya want," Aolieon tilted her head to the side, giving a fake warm smile at the catcall before turning her head casually to his comrades. "Does he speak for... everyone here?" she allowed a little bit of a suggestive tone to enter her voice with those last two words. They all simply guffawed and leered at her with predatory and corrupt intentions. Aolieon just kept up her casual smile -- planting her feet shoulder-width apart as she pulled out her silenced pistol and with both hands executed a double-tap on each of the three skulls belonging to his friends in a matter of two-to-three seconds. It happened so fast, the man on the motorbike barely had any time to react. But before the eastern biker could pull out his own weapon, he found a lightly smoking black cylinder pressed to his temple. "Off," was all that Aolieon said. Finally showing himself to have a bit of streetsmarts, he threw his hands up and dismounted his bike. "Back up..." she calmly added -- just as he took two or three steps back, the gun lowered and she immediately kneecap'd in both knees; causing him to sprawl out on the ground, wailing in agonizing pain. Aolieon mounted the bike and holstered her pistol, revving the aftermarket-kludged machine. She turned her head to the writhing ganger. "Thanks for giving me a ride, kind stranger..." she called out loud enough over his wailing, casting him a sultry wink and blowing him a kiss before she revved the crotch-rocket and began to drive off. "You BITCH, we're gonna fucking kill yooouuu! You're dead, ya hear me?! DEAD!!" Aolieon barely heard his last two callouts as she turned in the street and moved at a much quicker pace to her destination. She couldn't help but smile from ear-to-ear, feeling a bit more confident and maybe even a tinge hopeful in the wake of passing thoughts dedicated to what she was trying to do...
"Haha... you can try, sweetie... you can try,"

🎶 Dynatron -- "Dust of the Saturn" 🎶

After a handful of minutes of driving, she turned into a backalleyway and parked the motorbike next to a dumpster. She walked gingerly through a couple of turns and finally arrived at the front of Yami no Ken Ryuu -- an old favorite of hers and his, due to not only the many hallmarks of training and teachings of the mind that lie in wait between the two brothers, but also because one of them was a renowned swordsmith, meticulous enough in his techniques of forging that he could even repair and maintain blades that were outside of his scope of traditional forging. She walked in at the wake of the still generally early morning, and she paused as she stood in the doorway, sighing... This was going to be a turbulent reunion, at the very least. Buying second-hand Arasakan katanas was a more casual business altogether, but if she wanted something original and done right? This was the place to go... and it allowed her the opportunity to refresh herself on some techniques if she truly wanted. Still... she thought to herself... The Kobayashi brothers are acutely aware of the big news in Night City -- while they do well to remain neutral in many aspects; their reception of me after knowing all that went down with him might be... a bit hard to swing. Aolieon took a deep breath and calmed her nerves, rolling her shoulders ever so slightly and putting on a fake smile... or, they'll be complacent about the whole ordeal, and will respect my wishes. No use holding my breath -- let's flip this coin. And so, she approached the sliding door and walked in, approaching the desk where Kobayashi Kenji was reading a screamsheet on the fight leagues to gather information for his brother.
Aolieon placed her hands on her hips and beamed brightly, squinting her eyes with a touch of mirth as she noticed his Shinto-styled manbun. "How is it you manage to always look the same; never aging no matter what year it is, hmm?" Kenji smirked unamusedly; his eyes slowly flowing up Aolieon's form until he met hers, upon which they lit up and widened in blind-sided awe. His jaw dropped lightly and he scoffed, "... I could say the same about you, Ari-san. You haven't aged a day," he sat up in his chair and leaned in, still somewhat baffled at her appearance within the dojo. "... well, this is a most pleasant surprise -- I had thought you went the way of Legends..." he started, his eyes lightly darting to scan the windows outside, as well as to look to the side, see who was around and whether or not his brother was preoccupied -- not for any particular reason other than to see if discretion could be maintained so casually, mind you. Aolieon clicked her tongue and turned her head to the side with a complementary leer. "With your blades in my back pocket? Ha, you do yourself so little credit," Kenji beamed brightly back at her, standing up from his desk and giving her a very formal bow. "You honor me, Ari-san," he replied, otherwise still full of questions but humble in his approach to the situation.
Aolieon stood at attention, returning his formal bow, even taking care to bow slightly lower. She then giggled a little, walking around the desk and holding her arms out for a very formal hug, which Kenji hesitated but eventually accepted. Aolieon pulled from the hug, giving the introverted man his space. "It's good to see you," she added in kind, but then tilted her head, trying to turn towards business. "I need some custom bladework done -- something I need attached in some unconventional places," Kenji nodded, and simply asked, "What did you have in mind?" Aolieon now took her turn too look around a tad shiftily, and then she answered, "... I think it's best we move somewhere private," Kenji merely gestured with a hand across his body, in the direction of the backrooms. Aolieon walked alongside him, pulling up her holographic blueprints as they moved past the locker rooms and into the offices of Yami no Ken Ryuu. She then allowed Kenji to get a closer look -- the holograms zoomed in on different faculties of two different designs -- one showed the underbarrel of a gun with a silencer, and the other displayed the back of a high-heeled stiletto's spike. "I need some blades that can either flip out into these locations or simply slide out of a recess and be activated -- also, instead of merely being quality alloy or something else, I need some work done to see if neon-blade technology can be included in it -- not the showy kind, the tactical kind that helps cut through metal," Kenji looked at this and furrowed his eyebrows calculatively, nodding as she explained. "This is indeed unconventional. The mechanisms required for such a deployment of these blades will be... a tad difficult to surmise, but nothing I can't handle," Aolieon nodded as the Samurai spoke. "However, the technology you speak of -- I am not quite sure if I can adapt it to suit your needs. I must admit; that technology was experimental and largely not released to the public... I doubt even my forging skills could bring it to reality." Aolieon nodded with a frown -- this is just what she feared. She then lowered her gaze and turned off the datapad, turning to face the Grandmaster.
"... Would it help if you had an example?"

🎶 Jeremy Soule -- "Darkened Depths" 🎶

Kenji looked up at Aolieon, just as the darkness of his office set in -- the only light source to reveal their forms was a meager desk lamp. Kenji's eyebrows furrowed, feeling that Aolieon was about to show him something serious -- and that, she was. Very slowly and reluctantly, she took the sword wrapped in silk off her back. She then started untying it's peace knot at the hilt and unfurling its concealing bindings... the more Kenji saw, the more intrigued and serious his look got. The scabbard was all-black with the golden depiction of an asian lung, it's head up towards the tachi of the sword; all around the scabbard was golden kanji scratched into it as if with a knife and filled with golden epoxy; duets of letters and some others that simply meant words all by themselves -- words like "Truth", "Discipline", "(unconditional) Love", "Will", "Valor", "Mercy" "Emptiness (Selflessness)" -- alongside the scabbard was four holes with triggers aligned in each hole, the entire attachment looking like brass knuckles. The hilt was black with plasteel contour-grip grasped in rubber and adorned with golden conductive cyberware in its workings. Aolieon plucked a red glowing fusion cell from in her utility belt, and slid it within the hidden recess in the pommel. She then postured the sword next to her hip in preparation for a left-handed draw, turning away from Kenji in order to ensure his safety and not damage anything -- her right hand almost found comfort in the four finger-holes in the scabbard, but in remembering what the triggers do; she readjusted her hand to where her fingers didn't rest in this unique grip. She then took a deep breath, steeling her nerves and muscles for what was about to be a monumentally difficult task for her. Her right thumb flicked open a safety switch at the top of the scabbard... and then she began to draw the blade.
The moment it began to emerge, a cyberized hiss emanated from the blade as the special motor in the lining of the blade activated, sounding like the technologic rendition of of a lion's growl. A few inches of removal from the scabbard, and the bones in her arm already vibrated with such funny tremors that it felt like her hand was gonna melt under the blade's almighty high-frequency tremors. Removing more, red arcs of lightning snaked up and down the cyberized blade, as the edge began to glow a bright red from an activation of heating coil mechanisms that heated the unique alloys to temperatures threatening to reach 900 degrees Fahrenheit -- altogether contained and kept away from the wielder's hand by the unique construction of the tachi. At last, the full blade had emerged, and she postured it to point up at the ceiling... it's blade tremored as if it was going to phase through reality on the spot; the edge of the blade's glow lit the room with a fiery vengeance that demanded to rend anything it touched.

Kenji's eyes widened with equal parts immaculate awe and bittersweet sorrow -- completely floored by the visage of this blade after so long. His jaw dropped, and he struggled to find the words to speak. "... Kyokushin ...!" he breathed the name of the Katana, meaning "Ultimate Truth", with stunned reverence. Aolieon nodded, focusing all of her efforts on controlling this blade -- it was made only for those with a still mind and cybernetic arms ironclad and immaculate in their design to wield -- something Aolieon lacked, and thus it was taking her a lot of willpower just to maintain her grip upon the sword. "Uh-huh..." she uttered with exertion in her voice, as she very slowly, very carefully... pushed the sword back into it's scabbard. Kenji was worried for a second, fearing he'd have to call for his brother to help her regain control of the blade, but she barely managed to succeed in sheathing the sword. She popped the battery out of the pommel, it's metal warm enough to threaten to burn the skin, but largely not at all depleted. "... you wish me to make weapon attachments that work like Kyokushin does?!" he barely raised his voice, but he glared at Aolieon -- almost feeling offended that she'd dare to besmirch the legendary sword by delegating its technology to such menial roles. "... just the edge, if you can. I wouldn't dare keep a blade like this so close to my feet..." she offered, managing a chuckle... She looked at her hand which held the sword; it was trembling violently, and felt funny. She wrung it out, and then huffed, proud she was even somehow worthy just to hold it in all of its glory. She then took the sword and formally offered it to Kenji "... if you need to study it to emulate its technology, I'd be willing to see that happen -- however, I trust you'll understand if I do not leave your side, as you do so."
Kenji nodded, daintily grasping the sword with a solemn reverence to his body language. "... I will have to run the blade through a spectrometer unpowered, and I may have to carbon date its various alloys..." he began, frowning as he gazed upon the sword in its dormant state. He locked eyes with Aolieon seriously. "... that means I'll have to mildly damage it," Aolieon's eyes sharpened to near amber seas. "... can you repair the damage?" Kenji nodded. "Naturally... but I will not just make the designs you ask. I will do you one better, by making knives that emulate each of the experimental technology aspects of Kyokushin, individually. Only then, can I hope to have a chance at emulating it."
Aolieon nodded, lowering her gaze and finally finding the courage to let go of one of the strongest and most proudly surviving relics of the Ronin. "Do what you have to do." she resigned.

The next few hours saw her meditating in the back, whilst Kenji worked in the underground facilities beneath Yami no Ken Ryuu. He coordinated with her to remove the sword unpowered, and ran it through various machines both modern and more rusted. He gathered all of the information he could, and then... he came back and returned the sword to her hands. "This will be quite a tall order -- Kyokushin's construction dates back to 16th century Japan -- a true Samurai's generational weapon. Even it's modern augmentations are made with metals that are... severely rare... It may take me several weeks to secure materials. That being said, I will do my best to work on this project. I know better than to ask to keep Kyokushin, so I return it to its most rightful owner," he concluded, bowing heavily before the kneeling Aolieon. "You honor me greatly with this opportunity to bear witness to his Blade... I am glad it has not found its way into the wrong hands," Aolieon nodded reverently, smiling warmly at Kenji. "You don't have to emulate the Blade down to its ancient construction -- we're merely making some short blades and weapon attachments. I know it'll be a depreciation in quality, but... if you can get away with using more modern alloys, then you are free to do so," She stood with the sword elegantly laid across her hands, walking over to a secure facility and locking Kyokushin in it for now. "I'll come back for it later -- for now, I think it's best if I take a few refreshers on some techniques. I trust your security will be tightened?" Kenji nodded vehemently. "The back entrance and all windows will be shuttered. You will know if someone comes for it -- I will not allow it to leave my sight," Aolieon nodded.
"Very well... I suppose its time I got back to training, then..." she shrugged. She fluffed her hair and began strutting to return to the dojo -- where she found herself graced with something she never considered she might be walking into...

The time that had passed between the demonstration of Kyokushin's power and the time it took to analyze and repair its craftsmanship had amounted to a couple of hours -- allowing the dojo to actually assume the fullness of its business hours. Fighters were working at punching bags, lifting weights... and a certain unique razorgirl was sparring with Kenji's brother. Aolieon's eyebrow raised as she quietly crossed her arms -- Now, this should be interesting. She'd quietly lean herself sideways against one of the back walls and oh so quietly observe their tussle -- both naturally enjoying Mr. Matsuo's visionary demonstrations of form in nostalgia, but concentrating on Therrye's moves and seeing what more there was to glean from her beyond the savage and reckless brutality witnessed at the Geraldi black site... this was something that had Aolieon completely pulled into this match. What else does she have to show for her skill? ... How else is she like? So many questions brewed, and the prospect of getting answers was getting more delicious with each passing second. When the baton's came out, her eyebrows would raise and she'd be even more interested. Melee weapons? From my bruiser? Egads! Aolieon fluttered her eyes and briefly lowered her gaze, eye twitching at that intrusive thought... "my" ... really? She completely binned that thought, and focused more on what there was to observe and mentally take note of in their self-defense demonstration.

When it finally looked like they had found a stopping point and Mr. Matsuo was laying down his post-fight critiques, she'd let him finish but the moment he paused enough in his own speech, she thought of what to say -- instinctively, a call-out slipped from between her teeth.
"My, my, my; and I thought I had seen everything -- look at you, broadening your horizons! Ohh, how I missed seeing you work it ~ how's my favorite bruiser been?"
 
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The clack of baton on baton wasn't something Therrye had heard in years. Focusing on training at her gym, it was all the thud of flesh on flesh, flesh on metal, and flesh on reinforced plastic. This wasn't at all an unpleasant thing, and as she made unfamiliar strikes, memories writ in sheets of cells were being prodded and pushed back into waking. At first, Matsuo-san had little trouble disarming her; her gripping needed work, and her stance hadn't involved the routine use of melee weapons for a decade now. Having to mind it until she didn't need to anymore would take time and practice.

That did not, however, stop her from doing the same to her new mentor. Losing her own weapon just made her that more determined to steal his, and as it went on, it became more of a back-and-forth juggling act of who had whose baton. Though she started out focusing entirely on defense to put the man's teachings into action, she adjusted first to using her open hand more offensively, then weapon offensively and hand defensively, until eventually weaving back and forth with both. Therrye was quick to reset when Matsuo-san directed her to, and was soon anticipating when he would before he even begun to motion for it.

As her handling improved and the weapon became more integrated into her flow, the trading of armed and unarmed moves pulled together into a more seamless flow. She was a long way from reaching Matsuo-san's level of skill in it, but for a lapsed weapon fighter, it was a pretty good showing. Already she was pushing to prioritize clarity of technique and swiftness over her usual focus on power, taking the first steps of an arc that would work to blend the three.

After half an hour or so of actively trading blows, Therrye already had quite a few precursors to large bruises forming in her skin. Even though she was just in workout clothes - thin athletic pants and a similarly form-fitting sleeveless crop top - she did not hesitate to use her body to block and deflect blows. Everything was a tool, and with no cutting weapons involved, she did not hold back in the usage of muscle organic and synthetic to defend herself. Flickers of anger could be seen when she did take hard hits to her body, unsurprisingly, but they didn't last. Training like this, where she was actually focused on learning instead of burning energy and maintaining muscle, put her in an altogether different mindset.

Anger was fantastic in dealing with the what was and what might be in the short term. It had little place in helping her shape the what could be in the long term, even though she'd rely on it plenty in the later execution of those designs.

Their sparring match concluded in an upset that left Therrye laughing at the end of it: Matsuo-san knocked her baton loose from below, sending it spinning upwards in the air, while she pushed forward and bodied him into a grapple to pin his weapon arm. His leg hooked behind her knee to drop her with a forceful push as she wrapped her other arm around and beneath his free arm to put both of his arms into an immobilizing hold - so as she went down, he came with her, falling on top. Her flow would have ended with her headbutting him, which she realized she would have felt bad about after the fact, so she was lowkey grateful that they'd ended up dropping first. Releasing, they both got up in good spirits; rare was the fighter with the sort of raw talent Therrye possessed, and the bruiser very much enjoyed getting pushed and bested in this kind of format.

No one's life was on the line right now, after all, so losing could actually be rewarding.

"That was enlightening," she stated breathlessly and with warmth. "You learn quickly," he smiled. "Let us hope you unlearn quickly as well." She laughed and then shifted her stance to give a modest bow, which he returned. "Thank you, Matsuo-san." "You are most welcome." "I'd like to make this a regular thing," she stated definitively, and he responded with his own modest glints of excitement at the prospect. "Then I will look forward to spending more time together."

After he gave some more pointers and left her to spend time with the next eager fighters, Therrye found herself still plenty riled and ready to practice more of what she'd been intaking this morning. Before she could give shape to that desire, though, the emotional sensation of stepping on teeth and finding a rake's handle slapping into her face arrived.

Are you fucking --

Turning with a most wtf expression, she sighted the blue devil near the wall. Something of a sinking feeling (though not entirely, and not exactly) tugged down on her, leading to a vocal exhale. "Fantastic up until a moment ago." She snorted, though for all those words were meant to be off-putting, Therrye was unmistakably smiling. Fucking hell, came the thought after self-realization of that. Half-rolling her eyes at herself, she brushed fingers through her hair and grazed her scalp, that familiar antidote to feelings that threatened to pull her out of balance.

"What brings a dancer like you to a place like this?" she mused after stepping off of the mats and moving a little closer -- presumably so that they weren't talking or shouting through others. At least, that's what she'd tell herself.
 
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Aolieon chuckled with plenty of mirth at Therrye's reply to her question, "Ohh, so you figure out which end of a baton you're supposed to hold, and suddenly you're too good for me, huh?" she chuckled derisively for a turn at the enjoyment of her triple entendre, mouth agape as her tongue found itself caressing the corner of her mouth in a teasing expression. Her derisive chuckle quickly turned into one of soft melody however, as the bruiser approached, watching her run her fingers through her hair. Her expression was quite sardonic in and of itself, but the dilation of her amber orbs being ever so slightly larger than what might be considered normal told a different story; the fact that her cheeks had also taken on an almost unnoticeable two shades of lilac subtlety also betrayed the fact that there was a note of happiness to see her. She took a casual inhale through her nose and lightly sighed at the visage of it all -- sneaking a brief inhale of a worked-out Therrye with the energy that one might use to smell a flower. And yet she narrowed her eyes slightly, the back of her mind eschewing and registering some mental notes of observation.
Perhaps this had been what she had been up to since they last spent a decent amount of time together -- that, or the bruiser had proven herself to be quite an adaptive fighter. She made some rookie mistakes in the beginning of the fight, and while they didn't exactly iron themselves out entirely over the course of a fight (certainly not fast enough to dictate that the mistake had been learned and had had a lot of time to be unlearned) -- the intention and direction with which she took her techniques allowed her to compensate quite well. There was a grounded reservedness through it, seeming to be one-dimensional and focused on principles after awhile, but then she started seeing a move or two she had seen before, such as an over-reaching right hook or a feint into a body blow -- and something new, adapting basic whacks of the baton and turns away of the enemy's weapon. Eventually, Matsuo got her good and she went in for a driven grapple, which saw her almost subdued but she kept hold on Matsuo... which was an impressive turn of allowed freedom. She knew that Matsuo favored plenty of styles as a collector of martial arts and one of the styles he doted on frequently was Aikido. That being said, it would have been all to easy for him to whirl his hands out of the grapple and mix into a pin of Brazilian Jujitsu -- however, she supposed that was not the point of today's lesson, and thus allowed the stalemate to commence. Would not have been my approach; then again, he thinks I'm always trying to one-up my opponents. Not really, there's a point in ramping up difficulty with adaptation... oh, well. Still... that face she had, the emotions rolling forth -- that's different for her...
Different for you, maybe...
Aolieon snorted at the thought -- although there was some validity. She crossed her arms, lowered her gaze and looked off to the side for a moment. "I... realize that we might have gotten off on the wrong foot last time... I shouldn't have done that; not then..." Aolieon's tone went low, and carried a tinge of remorse that implied a note of sincerity. She was vaguely gesturing with her words towards something that she had been rolling around in the back of her head -- unfortunately, she was going about it as if the most important word for such a message was not in her own vocabulary. She curled her neck enough to fluff her hair backwards and looked back at Therrye with a tilted head. "I needed some custom bladework done -- there's not many people who can do it right for me," she replied, giving an honest enough answer to her question. She then shrugged when she perceived the implied nonverbal insinuations of the question. "Hey, a girl's gotta practice, too! What, you honestly think I'm just some cheap thrill? That why you call me 'dancer', hmm?" She cocked an eyebrow at Therrye with a bold smile and a light snort.
Then, inspiration struck her as her eyes lit up with color; a flare of dilation occurred, and the mirth settled in her face with a leer of mischief.
"You know... I've seen what you can do to some meatbags when you get fired up, but I've never seen YOU 'dance'..." Aolieon grinned a little bit, lowering her head a bit at the prospect of wrestling with the razorgirl in a different context. "Hey, "Mat-Sifu"!" She called out, pulling an ancient affectionate nickname from the lion's share of a decade ago. Mr. Matsuo looked up from the general clean-up he was doing of the Dojo, tensing up a little bit at the old reference but nevertheless approaching with a warm smile. "I thought I was seeing ghosts for a second, there... Turns out I was," Matsuo replied, clearly not beneath throwing a touch of allusionary back-sass at the blue temptress. Aolieon looked away from Therrye enough to cast a slightly awkwards look at Matsuo from beneath a fake smile, as if to say Stuffit for now, please. She sighed lightly, and then presented a question. "I saw what you were doing with my friend, here; I was wondering if you wouldn't mind if I took a crack at it myself; maybe throw around some things I've learned around the block," Matsuo tilted his head pensively, but did not at all betray his objective warmth and serenity when talking to his students. "... you were trained quite differently, Ari-san," Aolieon chuckled a little bit with a twinge of nervousness, running her fingers through her bangs. "Ahh, Matsuo-san; how I've missed that thick accent of yours. He always struggled with saying the word 'Aolieon', so he just defaulted to what sounded easier to pronounce," she added, cutting a look at him as if she was truly explaining a small facet of their history. Matsuo blinked, turning his head a little bit before bowing lightly and formally.
"My sincerest apologies... 'Aoli-san',"

Aolieon smiled fakely again, blinking a handful of times as she turned her head and raised her eyebrows at Matsuo, as if to quietly say shut the fuck up, please in an unheard sing-song voice. Clearly, there was an absence of malevolent friction between the two -- that didn't change the fact that it felt like Matsuo & Aolieon had verbally just went through the motions of their own sparring match and Matsuo came out on top. That last word that left Matsuo's mouth had no besmirching energy to it, but for Aolieon it was clearly a lesson in not saying hello after years, and how it feels when the shoe is on the other foot, when it comes to someone butchering your name and title. Aolieon huffed nasally with a tone of frustration, uncrossing her arms and turning to face Matsuo -- surprisingly out of nowhere, she shifted her feet together, standing at attention with a clasp of her arms to her sides before she formally bowed to Mr. Matsuo deeply, very nearly 90 degrees at the waist. "The fault is mine, Sa Bum. Gomen," She waited for him to return the bow, which he did, allowing her to maintain the gesture of humility. When they both rose up again, she looked into his eyes with a look of sincerity and obscurity. "We do have much catching up to do... Nevertheless, I would be honored if you would grant me the privilege of training with your students once more." Mr. Matsuo said nothing -- he merely extended the two batons he still held in his hands, and then nodded lowly. "If you continue in that kit, she will get to use hers," Matsuo briefly reminded her. Having already turned back to Therrye, Aolieon's shoulders slumped and her head lulled back, as if throwing a mild tantrum despite her face still being of a manufactured warmness. Aolieon looked back to Matsuo. "You got anything that suits a girl like me?" Matsuo chuffed. "You think you're the first Edgerunner to come in here in full kit, that which is unfit for training?" Aolieon closed her eyes, moving to strut towards the locker rooms. "I'll be right back," she said, booping Therrye's nose with her forefinger before seeming to strut off with a bit of a quickness -- not doing well at containing the excitement of this opportunity.
Matsuo pushed the batons in and sighed with a bright smile. "It is good to see her again..." he commented, as if indirectly at Therrye. "Real good," He looked at her, passing her the batons. "Be careful with that one, and remain on your toes... she's a slippery one -- you'll see," He tilted his head with a nod. "Come and see me when you are ready to continue your training," he resolved, walking away and leaving Therrye only briefly with her thoughts -- notably, this was counter-intuitive to what he had said before... indicating something in his mind had changed.

Aolieon came out of the locker rooms in only a matter of very few minutes, wearing a simple cotton karate Gi, padded with synth fiber to reduce impacts and reinforced in certain places. Whether or not she had chosen a blue belt as an aesthetic choice or whether it meant something for real in Yami no Ken Ryuu would remain to be seen. Aolieon held out her hand with a smile, prepared to accept a baton. When she was allowed to take it from her, she would once again commence with a formal bow; waiting for it to be returned -- then, she would snap the baton to extend it to full length, and relax into what seemed like a mildly lackadaisical knife-fighting stance, bouncing individually on wide-stanced feet that kept their balance and holding the baton aloft while she kept her free hand open and free of tension.
"Alright, bruiser... let's not be too serious starting out, neh? Just come at me with all that you've learned."
 
"Too good for me?" she echoed, contemptuously. As if that was the direction things took between us. "You're the one who wants to fly solo," she pointed out, without a hint of mirth.

What Aolieon said next took her completely off guard, though. An apology? Therrye could scarce believe it, and it certainly did a lot to shave off the hostility in her attitude. It also gave her pause, and made her start to reconsider some of her reads on the Liandri. With enough time, she might have even thought of giving an apology to her for how her anger had gotten the better of her at the concert.

But then Aolieon was back to all that sass, and she assumed a more unimpressed, yet not unfriendly, look. "Only thing I think is cheap about you is your taste in alcohol," she offered, something of a smirk appearing. If she'd known the dancer more, she would have alluded to her taste in recreational activities as well, but as it stood they'd still only spent a handful of waking hours together.

The bruiser raised her brows at Aolieon calling her 'friend' and crossed her arms. She didn't know what she would have labeled her in return, yet 'friend' definitely wasn't in the list of options. Much as she considered dropping a reply on her, she had no interest in rudely interrupting her conversation with Matsuo-san - who Therrye would have considered a friend. Her brows raised further at the formal bow she gave to him. How well do they know each other? It certainly drew her curiosity into focus and put her to assembling and acquiring more hints for the answer. Definitely some history. They don't seem tense with each other, though.

An eye twitched at Aolieon's booping of her nose, but she had come and gone too swiftly for a considered response. Shaking her head, she turned back toward Matsuo-san and accepted the batons while the man deepened the mystery of his relationship with the dancer. "... I have an inkling, but I'll take that to heart. Thank you, Matsuo-san."

Regarding the woman with a mix of bemusement and distance after her return, she gave a slight shrug and handed the baton to her. Despite Therrye's preference for respect, she did not go in for the formal as much, so it was a moment before she returned the bow. "Oh? I thought you wanted to see me dance." She chuffed, easing into a brawler's stance already partially modified by what she'd learned from her new mentor. "But I'm happy to oblige."

Giving a breath, she then pushed into motion, hand going straight for Aolieon's baton to snare it -- and while that approach was obvious, she held back the sweep of her baton toward the side and back of the woman's knee until the last moment she could begin the strike.
 
"Ohh, I mainly fly solo because in my experience there's two kinds of people on a gig -- Liabilities, and Warriors. Guess which one is as thick as fleas on a bag lady, and more likely to ruin everything than do anything good?"

"Ohh, please, bruiser -- dance with me," she teased in that low, sultry tone of mirth. When the bruiser charged in, Aolieon's eyes widened and sharpened in an instance -- everything happening in slow motion. She saw both Therrye's eyes and hand zero in on her baton, and how she wanted it. Aolieon quickly brought her baton overhead as if she was gonna crack it like a whip over her head -- then, she opened her hand, letting it drop directly in front of their vision. When the split-second distraction was in play, Aolieon leaned down and in, shoulder-checking Therrye's charge with just enough force to stop her momentum. Now all up in Therrye's face, her hands moved to the side -- her right arm flowed an open hand between their midsections, planting the outer ridge of its palm firmly in the underside of Therrye's right forearm. The left hand then slapped and pushed down on Therrye's wrist, both hands shoving in a upside-down claptrap like motion to cause her weapon hand to bend in on itself and loosen the grip on her weapon. As her left hand then slid down to grasp the baton in reverse grip... Aolieon's right foot hooked around Therrye's left ankle, as she used her shoulder and free hand to shove Therrye to the side enough to cause her to stumble diagonally, opposed to the direction she charged at her with.

When she stumbled away from Aolieon enough, she twirled the baton to forward grip with a lightning motion -- then flicking her wrist in order to swat Therrye's ass with her own baton. Whenever she'd turn around; Aolieon would for sure savor the reaction salaciously, twirling the baton in between her finger tips before throwing it up to flip a little in the air before catching the business end of it in her fingers... offering the handle directly to Therrye. "One thing I can definitely say about disarmament? Most gonks you'll meet on the battlefield won't have it in line as their first idea. Only enemies who will do that are ones that are really damn good at it -- and the only way you'll know, is if they abandon their weapon when you get too close, because disarmament is much easier to perform..." Aolieon ran both her hands through her hair, bowing out her elbows to strike a sexy pose "... with both... hands... free. And good luck spotting that kind of behavior, before its too late..."

She'd then turn around, picking up her own baton off the floor and twirling around on one foot with a sultry smile. "Don't take my toys away, baby... Dance with me!" -- she'd flip the baton into reverse grip, and seem to be taking on a knife-fighting stance once more.
 
Aolieon's speed was devastatingly fast, and her technique far more trained than Therrye's. How she managed to pull all of that defense and counterattack into such a small timespan lit up the parts of the bruiser's brain currently bent toward learning and improvement.

For the rest of her, her expression betrayed the emotions quite clearly: annoyance and engagement. It was hard to be angry at such a playful retort with her own baton, and she wasn't aspected toward anger to begin with here, so her annoyance came down to how utterly bested she was. The potency of that feeling was a shadow compared to her engagement, though.

This kind of defeat made her curious. Therrye was hungry for more.

Taking the offered baton with a smirk and a chuff, the flavor of her regard had shifted. Motion and blow let her tangled emotions about Liandri sift out of her fingers and the thrill of fighting could more fully replace it. Grinning despite herself (that fucking diva) at Aolieon's sexy pose, other flickers of interest were starting to appear in her nonverbals. Much as it felt like diving facefirst into a steel trap, there was no denying how attracted she was to the woman. "Not sure whether that's more motivating to get good enough to steal your swords or opt for bludgeoning dominance instead." It was actually a question for her, as the make and strength of her breakers gave her a chance of catching a sword swing and potentially snapping a blade in half. That was still a dangerous gamble, though, especially with certain types of swords -- and Therrye suspected that even if she claimed one of her longer blades, Aolieon would already already bending into gutting her with another.

Truly, she had a lot to learn, and that was terribly exciting.

Resetting with her opponent, her gaze turned to assessment of her stance and grip before she acted again. Circling opposite of her left hand's easy range, she abruptly halted mid-step to snap-swing the baton in a wide arc to catch her shoulder, all while drawing the left side of her body backwards, hand opening into a claw as she readied to defend against her counterattack.
 
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