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[morgcna-blog1]

netrunnersinclair‌

“Don’t let him hear that, might just start hanging around to brag,” god he was well and truly going to get it in the neck if he ever got caught in this particular act. But it was all part of the fun, for him. Perhaps less so for other people, but no one was truly being hurt at the end of the day. So what if he wanted to maintain a divide between the ring and his personal dealings outside of it? That was his right to maintain regardless of what other people felt. “Well, what would you say to him? Hypothetically, if you got the chance?” He tipped a shoulder lazily at her comment about secret identities, “yeah, but I guess some people want to keep that separation. Probably have some dodgy shit to protect or something you get IDed and that can cost you a career especially if it ends with your head in a gutter… And if you can wreck a person like that? Come on, you’ve got to be involved in some real shady shit - no doubt.”

“In comparison to some of the places down here you’ve done a good job, but you’re never going to have a place like this be totally clean.” There was no way that would ever happen. Regardless, things would always go down whether it was in the ring or trade offs in the crowd. There would always be crime this close to the bowels of the city. 

He couldn’t help the slight smile that game when Morgana spoke of wanting to be a runner, “not where I came from,” it wasn’t said in malice simply that where he’d come from that wasn’t the way things were done. You didn’t have the luxury of dreaming about things. You had a job and you did it. The disciples had their rather occultish ways, and they were excessively strict about them - the more cyberwear you had the more decorated you were in the eyes of the gang and ultimately, the higher up its ranks you rose. Though the consequence of that was so many cyberpsychos in their numbers that even the base wasn’t entirely safe. He’d seen too many psychos kill people simply for being too organic, not digital enough. “Can’t even remember the first time I jacked in, passed out for a day after… You grow accustomed eventually,” especially when your life depended on it. 

He didn’t need to comment on the need for escape, of course you did in a shithole of a city like this. This kind of conversation also wasn’t why he was here, so he waited, and Morgana eventually turned the conversation on its heel. “Uhuh… How ‘bout a drink?” Alcohol always took the edge off after things got too… emotional for his liking. “Athleticism is all well and good, until it gets pummelled into a pulp.”

“Drink? Sure.” It wasn’t as if she had forgotten their entire purpose here but Morgana had been lost in the depths of the past, not a great place to lurk. She slid behind the bar and rustled up a can for him. It wasn’t exactly the best. Definitely not premium beer. It was drinkable. She emptied herself a can of soda into a cup and pushed a plastic looking cup over the bar towards Tony. The night wouldn’t end for her just yet, and there was no celebrations to be had until the last fight was won. It looked like the tanked labour synth was just taking the edge in its fight. She sighed and leant with her elbows against the bar, cup to her lips. Nothing like losing a little bit of money to keep things even. “Maybe, I guess I just like reality too much.”

Morgana winced as the athletic synth took a hard hit onto its knees. Sparks flying as its knees dragged across the concrete. Well at least it was putting on a show. She took a swig of her soda and came back around the makeshift bar as it got busy, drinks flowing and patrons making the most of their late night escapades. “What would I say to the guy? Shit if I know. I’m not going to admit to his face that I’m jealous of him, makes me sound like a fool.” She mumbled this into her fizzed grape soda. It tasted artificial, horribly faked with a bitter aftertaste that was no better than the grim beer she’d served him. “Maybe I’d ask to spar him, friendly, off the books not on a night like tonight just for the hell of it.” Maybe that would finally put her in the morgue.

“People know my name nowadays y’know, associate me with this place.” She jabbed a thumb in the general direction of the ring, the throng of the audience booing and hissing at the synths still engaged in their match. It had its benefits, obviously. There was something of a nostalgia for the days when she could go swinging her fists without it meaning too much. When people didn’t look to her for leadership. Morgana slid a hand into her jacket to produce an e-cigarette, put it straight to her lips without offering or conferring if Tony was even okay with it. He’d damn well have to be. She exhaled over her shoulder, away from him, a small courtesy. “So what’re you doing after this? If you aren’t going to try your hand at fighting and you’ve got your winnings for the night, not gonna go gambling some more?” Men, she had learned, tended to do one of three things with their money, piss it away on sex, drugs ( and ) or alcohol, maybe sometimes they would put it to good use to make some more out of it, or the real fools would save it for a rainy day. That wasn’t to say women were exempt from the rule, but Morgana tended to forgive them easier.

“Soon as this place shuts up for the night, I’m gonna get myself a big ass grilled cheese sandwich and I can practically taste it now. I know hardly the exciting saturday night routine but by the time finish up here any bars or clubs still open will be on the verge of closing too. Hardly seems worth it when you’re bone cold sober.”

But Dust & Shadow: Morgana & Tony

[morgcna-blog1]

sendameme‌:

Eyes: Blue | Green | Brown | Hazel | Grey | Other Hair: Blonde | Brown | Black | Red | Ginger | Grey/White | Multi-color | Other Body Type: Skinny | Slender | Slim | Built | Curvy | Athletic | Muscular Skin: Pale | Light | Fair | Freckled | Tan | Olive | Medium | Dark | Discolored Gender: Male | Female | Trans | Cis | No Gender | Other Sexuality: Heterosexual | Homosexual | Bisexual | Pansexual | Asexual | Demisexual | Other Species: Human | Undead/Vampire | Shapeshifter (Weres) | Demon | Angel | Witch/Wizard/Sorcerer | Incubus/Succubus | Other Education: High School (dropped out) | College | University | Higher Education Living Situation: Lives alone | Lives with parents/guardian | Lives with significant other | Lives with a friend | Drifter | Homeless | Boarding school Parents/Guardian: Mom (missing) | Dad | Adoptive | Foster | Grandparents | Family friend Relationship: Single | Crushing | Dating | Engaged | Married | Separated | It’s complicated I’ve been: In Love | Hurt | ?????? | Sick | Abused I have a(n): Learning Disorder | Personality Disorder | Mental Disorder | Anxiety Disorder | Eating Disorder | Substance-related Disorder Things I’ve done before: Drank alcohol | Smoked | Done drugs | Stolen | Self harmed | Starved myself | Had sex | Had a threesome | Gotten into a fist fight | Gone to the hospital | Gone to jail | Used a fake ID | Gone to a rave | Killed someone Positive Traits: Affectionate | Adventurous | Athletic | Brave | Careful | Charming | Confident | Creative | Determined | Fearless | Generous | Honest | Humorous | Intelligent | Loyal | Modest | Patient | Selfless Negative Traits: Aggressive | Bossy | Cynical | Envious | Fearful | Greedy | Gullible | Jealous | Impatient | Impulsive | Insecure | Irresponsible | Possessive | Sarcastic | Self-conscious | Selfish | Unstable

BOLD all that applies to your muse!

[morgcna-blog1]

drnorthrop‌

“Knitting?” he asked with a chuckle. “I stitch and sew flesh together, I guess knitting would be rather easy to pick up.” Although he didn’t see himself as someone who would knit. It wasn’t that it wasn’t “manly enough” for him, it was just something he didn’t really see any point why he would pick up such hobby. “Do you knit?” the question was really random, but since it was obvious Aden didn’t knit maybe Morgana did since she mentioned that in the first place. Or maybe she needed someoen to knit her a scarf or something?

“Good, that means I’ll have dinner company”, he gestured her to show the way to this food place that was around the corner. “Hospital.. is the same as always. Nothing too special going on.” He looked at Morgana and a small grin formed on his lips. “How’s the ring?” You’d think that a doctor with a fancy status wouldn’t hang with the so called ‘low life’, especially not with someone having something to do with the shady things around the city, but Aden didn’t care about that stuff. If he liked someone’s company he didn’t see any reason why he couldn’t hang out with them and be their friend and whatnot.

Aden eyed at the place where they were going to go and honestly the first expression of it wasn’t the best one. “If I get some kind of food poisoning you are going to get an angry call from me”, he commented teasingly even though there was some sort of seriousness in his voice. He stepped in holding the door open for Morgana to get in too. “You come here often?” he asked as he walked further in.

“Wouldn’t even know where to begin.” She didn’t have the patience to pick up a hobby like knitting. It required faithful attention to yarn that had a tendency to just spiral away, or so Morgana assumed. She’d seen portraits of elderly ladies on the holobox doing their knitting. Of course no-one really had yarn these days. Everything had that itchy scratchy quality to it and left a lot to be deserved. Didn’t seem worth her time knitting something that was only going to end up shoved at the back of her closet. She guided them to a table in amongst the quiet evening crowd. Most people had already moved on to the bigger, better, bars. Although nothing was really much cleaner around these parts. It meant they could have a table all to themselves though.

Morgana shrugged out of her jacket and slung it across the back of her chair. “No food poisoning I promise, it’s all good here.” Really, there was more chance of getting ill by just strolling through the city that anything in here. Food was cook and real tasty as if someone had properly home cooked it. Far enough away from the scrapyard that no stench of burning plastics infiltrated the bar. That could really put you off your meal. She flipped the menu up into her optics and browsed, as if she didn’t already know what she wanted. Morgana was a creature of habit. Liked the familiarity of cheesy chips and a whiskey, neat. There was half a dozen waiters tonight, real waiters, because places like this had to staff real people not synths. The latter was too expensive.

“Ring is okay, I mean it is what it is. Probably best not to uh, pull too much attention to it though.” She’d just gone to all the trouble to moving The Pit, seemed foolish to start blabbering on about it now. “Took one of the kids down to get patched up, she took some nasty hits.” Morgana had gone around for a home visit only the other day and she was on the mend, no longer delirious from the pain. “Just you wait, I might be begging at your door sooner or later for a pick me up too.” She grinned, flagged down a waiter to take their order. Fortunately for Morgana they’d seen her enough times that they asked her, ‘usual?’ Morgana nodded. “What about you Doc? It’s on the house.”

[morgcna-blog1]

riotnox‌

Her lips curled into a wicked grin. “Oh, don’t worry. Plenty of people would love to see me knocked down a peg or two, or they see me as an easy target. I almost relish that; its so great to see their calculations fall into ash with just a couple hits.” Not that Nox couldn’t take a hit or two herself. Her legacy as an untouchable legend had grown in the Crows (even if her real role of leadership hadn’t) but the truth was, she could still be hit and hit bad sometimes. She just didn’t let many people see the aftermath and always made sure that by whatever means necessary that she was the final winner in the end.

The cycle was never ending. Every day brought it’s own challenges, but never with enough surprises that it meant a total upheaval and the persistent issues and more persistent boredom were not a great matching with Nox. Surviving wasn’t the issue. And it had been years since Nox had taken a moment to think what she truly wanted the future to look like, mostly because she could never feel safe enough to believe in a future. One day, she’d end in flames and that was enough for her. Or at least that’s what she had convinced herself after all these years. Looking over at Morgana, she wondered if her friend had other thoughts for her future. If she had dreams? They had talked a little of such things when they were kids but slowly through the years, those wishes had fell away.. or their conversations had just turned so closed off from those emotions that they couldn’t talk about them anymore.

“Then do it.” Morgana could do it easily, Nox had no doubts about that. Masks were not uncommon. Not in the streets, not at the pits. “You’re a hellfire out there and even if they knew who you were with the mask, all it would be is whispers.” The only thing that mattered was if Morgana still truly wanted to fight. As a waiter finally stopped by their table, Nox ordered her bacon sandwich and whiskey on the rocks, letting Morgana order and the waiter leave before continuing the conversation. “What is Stealth? Your pit lingo means nothing to me, but that does sound like something I could get behind.”

Certainly didn’t surprise her. Need only to walk across the floor of Bootlegger and no doubt they would find someone that would love to show them their place. “That’s true.” There was nothing stopping her really, time maybe. The Pit needed a certain degree of babysitting, the place wouldn’t run itself after all, but Morgana could recycle time she’d normally spend elsewhere in the gym. It would feel good to have a purpose once more. Something to sink her teeth into. Maybe, it would give her an excuse to finally upgrade the faulty tech she was lugging around with her. Give her an edge back given she couldn’t grow a new arm, certainly she couldn’t afford it. “Maybe we should go mask shopping after we find ourselves some trouble to get into.” Morgana flashed a crooked smile, and ordered herself a whiskey, neat with a side of fries.

The waiter disappeared and they could resume talking without worry of being overheard. Morgana did however ungracefully snort as Nox minced her words. “No, it’s a nightclub. Trendy with the kids and douchebags that think with their dicks not their heads.” Didn’t everyone? Although hers were all silicone and probably didn’t count. She nudged Nox, “pit lingo, honestly there is no such thing. Unless you include grunts and groans. Maybe the occasional posh bastard that thinks himself above the place.” Then again, why berate The Pits when you had volunteered to come visit – albeit not everyone came by choice. Surprisingly quickly the waiter returned with their drinks and Morgana fell into a hushed silence as they offloaded their tray. Disappeared back into the depths of the speakeasy to go serve another table.

“Cheers…to kicking guys in the nuts, I suppose.” Not a half bad toast. One that Morgana could certainly get behind on a daily basis. “So fucking tired of spending all my time around blokes that are all competing for who has the biggest dick.” At the very least they didn’t try anything with Morgana any longer, after the first guy had lost a few fingers, and the second guy had gotten a black eye and bruised balls, they didn’t pester her. Not unless they really wanted something, or could behave themselves. Ridiculous. “Really ought to come visit you and get outta this hell hole.” The cost of transport was a fairly good reason not to. Though Morgana could always find a way. “Never even seen cloud city…”

[morgcna-blog1]

TRANSMISSION RECEIVED…

Name: Amira “Morgana” Moneaux

Gender & Pronouns: Cisgender Female | She/her

Age: 35

Species: Augmented

Stance On Synthetics: Neutral

Occupation: Fight Ring Manager

Affiliation: Criminal

Social Class: Lower

RETRIEVING HISTORY

Amira Moneaux was unremarkable. She grew up in a grotty apartment in the lower city situated over a bar that tended to get rowdy until the early hours of the morning. Nothing that was out of the ordinary for the families of Bay City that had not even a cent to their name. Life was as it was for many and Amira didn’t know any better. The glittering upper side was alien to her and any friends she gained or lost, all came from neighbouring apartments. The archaic holobox in their living room was Amira’s only glimpse into the glamorous life of the glitterati. Without the gift of money, talent or the luck of being found Amira remained anonymous. Just a young girl glued to her holobox and the visions it showed her. The first fracture was when Amira’s mother went missing. The police weren’t interested, they never are when you don’t have money, and Amira’s father didn’t cope well. It didn’t matter if it was drugs or alcohol, he drowned his sorrows in hallucinations and Amira too young to understand where her mother had gone The debts racked up quick, rent that couldn’t be paid because her father couldn’t drag himself out of bed and Amira, hopelessly naive struggled by on a barista’s income for two years. Life was miserable but manageable.

Until Daria Kova. The enigmatic young woman waltzed into Amira’s life and turned the daily grind into a whirlwind that was out of control but more lucrative than roasting premium coffee beans for the city’s elite white collars. It was Daria that helped Amira to finally afford basic augments, taught her how to put up a fight and finally, it was Daria that introduced Amira to the Grin Reapers. She gave herself a new name, one that didn’t have ties to her father who was still wasting himself on booze. Morgana. She took on a few small jobs for them at first. Morgana wasn’t trusted with doing the books off the bat for The Pit but she came around, worked hard until the trust finally went both ways. By that time she’d already taken up training at a gym not far from her apartment. Learnt how to fight like the brawlers did in The Pity, which was an entirely different game to self-defence on the streets. Daria faded from her life but Grin Reapers never did. They became her family whilst her real one slowly killed himself. Morgana looked after him then, and she still does now, she’s put him through rehab twice although he’s always relapsed. Nowadays he lives at a mediocre care home across the city. It’s not plush but he’s well looked after and it keeps him out of harm’s way.

Morgana, she still lives in that same dingy apartment that she grew up in. With most of her money paying to keep her father in a home, it doesn’t leave Morgana with heaps, just enough to live on and keep her motorcycle running. She doesn’t need much else to live by. The dream of being one of the glitterati has well and truly died. Morgana has found something else instead, a family and a purpose. Even if it’s all criminal, which in the lower city is no real surprise. Something is missing now that she manages The Pit instead of fighting in it. There’s a certain heady thrill about learning how to knock out a guy twice the size of you and Morgana was always particularly good at it. Go back three years ago to the fight that put Morgana in hospital, or as close as she could get to a hospital which was no more than an illegal back-alley operating theatre. She never would’ve given up fighting. It was her everything. After she saved up the money to get a new limb fitted to replace the one with dead-end nerves Morgana was back in The Pit just as soon as they’d stitched her up. Ever the fool to jump headfirst in.

Nowadays, she can live without the fights. She still trains and she’s got her dreams about opening up a gym for young girls and boys alike that need to defend themselves. Controversial yes, given her day job is managing The Pit, and not all of the fighters want to fight there. Unfortunately it’s always been that way and Morgana just turns a blind eye to it. Instead of trying to fight a system that doesn’t want to change, she’s worked on getting the fights organised by level of augment, so no-one suffers the same fate as her. No matter how much of Morgana’s blood spills on The Pit’s floor, she’s always one that people think twice of challenging, the only ones that’ve beaten her in the last decade have played dirty, real dirty. Still a little naive she’s too honest to lower herself onto their level. But don’t tempt her, she’s already been eyeing up getting her arm replaced with one that conceals a sword. Above all else there’s a part of Morgana that wants to know what happened to her mother, she might never find her and the likelihood is that she’s been buried somewhere in the city but closure is all Morgana needs.

PERSONALITY ASSESSMENT

Positive Traits: Loyal, Resourceful, Generous Negative Traits: Argumentative, Impulsive, Outspoken

Morgana can be rough around the edges. She’s learnt how to defend herself and put up a wall to keep anyone from getting in too deep. It keeps Morgana safe but it means that general opinions about her can vary from warm to abrasive, and anything in-between. In close company she’s capable of letting her guard down, or at least partway. She’s incredibly loyal to those that earn her trust and even now, she’d never turn her back on the Grin Reapers. Just don’t expect Morgana to engage in small talk or lengthy conversations about the current political climate. What goes on over at the upper side of the city is beyond her scope and Morgana prefers to stay grounded to reality, and to what she knows, that just happens to be fighting with your fists.

Morgana ( Tessa Thompson ) is written by Dion ( She/her - GMT )

[morgcna-blog1]

[morgcna-blog1]

carringtonbishop‌

Carrington didn’t need Morgana’s help. Not because he was the kind of man that would feel emasculated if such a thing were to happen - Morgana had laid him on his ass more than once, after all, so Carrington knew she was formidable -  but simply because he knew himself and his limits. This bellycrawler was hardly worth either his or her time. Though the encounter left him with a pent up frustration that did little to help his mood. Which was hardly a change from normal.

“I’m quite aware, but thank you for reminding me,” Carrington said of his payment plan, such as it was. “As for charm… you and I have very different definitions.” He turned back his drink, humming at Morgana around the mouthful of liquor before swallowing it down. “Witless you mean.” People with weapons - and he used the term loosely - that had no idea how to use them could be more trouble than a trained fighter any day. They loved to flash them around to try and make themselves look dangerous, when all they were doing was pissing off the wrong people. But that was neither here nor there at this point, so Carrington didn’t think on it anymore. He poured himself another small glass before turning to lean against the counter. 

“Possibly,” he said of plans. A moment of silence passed as he seemed to consider something. “Actually, the birds have been chattering quite a bit lately. About a bit of very hard to find plumage that may or may not be going up for auction soon. But… if their nattering is true, I thought you might be interested in some new feathers.” That was all he said. If Morgana was interested, she’d ask him for more details. If not, she’d probably tell him to fuck off. Either way, the rumor of a load of stolen mili-tech being sold off to the highest bidder was one that Carrington couldn’t let drift by. 

“Oh, come on. It’s called the pits Carrington. I can’t be liable for what criminals do.” She held up her hands as if to surrender, with a wicked little smile. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and waited for the storm to clear. She understood, after all it wasn’t that long ago that she had been raging against the world. Everyone that had dared to touch her would’ve got their hands cut. Morgana couldn’t pinpoint when things had started to change. Somewhere along the line life stopped being a fight for survival daily, she’d come to worship the little things. Old habits died hard. She still needed blood to survive. Like everyone down in this wretched hellhole. The temptation of fists out and black eyes was all she needed to throw herself headfirst into the action. If only someone were fool enough to challenge her.

“Well,” Morgana flexed her arm, she couldn’t be certain in the dim lighting but it looked like a wire might’ve just popped out. With a snort she relaxed her fist, it took far too long for the prosthetic to react. “I guess it’s probably about time to retire this one. Civilian augments don’t take well to being beaten repeatedly. But not here.” She’d dropped her voice, but still one could never be too careful. The pits was well hidden. Concealed in plain sight even, sometimes. But Morgana couldn’t help but be paranoid – for good reason. Nova had every reason to shut this place, and her, down. She didn’t want to get caught in their crossfire. Couldn’t be held responsible for that. Equally, she didn’t trust half the shitbags in here.

Sometimes you just had to be selfish down here to survive.

Morgana led Carrington through the thick of the crowd, until the roaring audience thinned and they disappeared down into a narrow hallway. The old warehouse they were occupying temporarily before the next more permanent move ( this one had been a rush job ) was situated above a myriad of old tunnels. Bunkers and underground systems that had mostly been used to monitor the city’s waste. Not attractive. Certainly didn’t add to the charm or appeal. But it meant the next building over had a safe-house beneath the ground. Only the few that Morgana trusted – and they really were few and far between. Had permission to be down here. “Right make yourself at home,” she hopped off the ladder and made for the make-shift desk she’d made out of empty crates. In the corner she had her latest auction win still sealed in it’s box, ready for Zina to modify. “Just don’t…touch anything. I can’t be held responsible for what happens to you.” Morgana flashed him a toothy grin. “Now tell me, what your little birdies have found."

pit(y) party || cari & morgana

[morgcna-blog1]

riotnox‌

“Ah, I did notice you carry that beauty with you.” It was odd choice of weapon but Nox wasn’t to judge unless she was the one in the fight. She’d also seen Morgana use the blade a couple of times before and it really was true, it didn’t matter what the weapon was: it mattered who the person behind it was. And her friend definitely knew what she was doing with the broadsword.

It had a bit since she’d been the Bootlegger, though if she was to be honest it was less out of avoidance and more of her complete inability to keep her eating schedule in tact. Something always came up, whether it was a fight on the streets, pertinent news that needed to come to her directly, her own forgetfulness. But just like anytime she was faced with the prospect of food, she was reminded how hungry she was and picked out a couple of items mentally while still listening to Morgana speak. “Maybe if I had been pulled in younger I’d be in the Pits.’ The though made her chuckle. Nox loved to fight, but not with the rules attached even the bare bone rules. More importantly, she loved keeping up the anonymity in the streets. Most people looked at her and saw that she was intimidating but couldn’t pinpoint what would end up coming from a fight with her. If she advertised it to the Pits… well that was all those secrets gone. “But I’m too old to get in the rings nowadays. Let those young ones fight it out and find their time in the spotlight.

“The Med Bay? Oh that was just this.” Nox gestured to the bandages on her neck already dried but she wouldn’t bother taking them off yet. They still bothered her but she could at least live with them until she got back to her apartments. “Somebody wanted to try their new Scratchers out on me, but they weren’t fast enough to do any lasting damage.” Waste of cyberware, if you asked Nox. If you were going to go through the process of getting the ware, you might as well know how to use it. “As for how I am, still on my feet and alive, so it can’t be awful. Stressful as fuck, but not any different than the last couple of years have been. How about you, things alright with everything?”

“If you missed it I’d suggest getting your eyes checked.” Poor attempt at humour. Certainly not Morgana’s strong suit. She leant an elbow against the table and dismissed the menu, the red glow zipped back down into the table below. Her gaze followed where Nox gestured, the bandages that she’d missed earlier in the dark gloom of the city, no doubt the stain of red concealed beneath. She had always wondered if Nox could bleed. She’d seemed immortal when they were younger. Untouchable. She still very much was in Morgana’s eyes. “Can’t believe someone would dare try and go for you.” It was unthinkable. “Suppose that’s the double edged sword of anonymity. The grass is no greener on the other side.” Most wouldn’t try to pick a fight with Morgana but some, mostly young boys who thought her ill capable, tried and failed.

The staff were few and far between in bootlegger. It was hard to catch anyone’s eye but Morgana liked this little moment of peace. Solitude if you will with an old friend. It was as if they had the city to themselves. The roar of the club just beyond her reach. Muffled. If only. She nodded, sometimes it felt like they weren’t living, just surviving. Each day was another small victory. It had never struck her that Nox might feel that way too. “The same really…” It felt like everything was undoing itself. But Morgana knew that patience was needed for the world to right itself again. She wouldn’t be off-course for long. Waiting wasn’t easy.

“Sometimes I do wonder…I used to think the pits were a way to fight back, but nowadays all I see are kids coming in hungry for blood…” Only she had been hungry for blood once. She still was when the mood was right. Power, Morgana had never wanted. “I think I’m just nostalgic and envious that they get to fight without responsibilities.” She laughed and shook her head, how easy it was to look back on the long slogs of working the pits with rose tinted optics. “Sometimes I think I should take up a mask, nickname and fight again as someone else. No-one wants to fight Morgana anymore.” She quirked a brow in Nox’s direction. “I think I’m just dying to kick a guy in the nuts. Really ought to just go down to Stealth on a Saturday.”

[morgcna-blog1]

doc--frank‌

Zina couldn’t quite understand the grief and anger that flared across Morgana’s face when she realised where Zina had placed her arm. It was worth little more than scrap, and would probably cost more in repairs in the next five years than it would cost for having a brand new arm made by a genius like Zina for the rest of her life. She set her jaw and continued examining Morgana’s connection port, already categorising the repairs and readjustments she would have to do. “No feeling at all…” she muttered to herself, pulling out a screwdriver and taking off the protective panel, digging deeper into the mess of wires that lead to the connection point where flesh met  metal. Zina hummed in concern the deeper she prodded, tracing the path of each individual wire with some difficulty until she was stopped by Morgana’s protests.

She waited like a kicked puppy, worried she had done something wrong, not said the right thing and Morgana was going to leave without even a tune up. She audibly sighed when Morgana told her her terms, if tilting her head in confusion. “I was going to take the scrap off the price,” Zina said, knowing by the way Morgana held it that it had some sentimental value to her. Sentiment, something Zina had never really understood.

“Alright,” she said as Morgana insisted on a standard arm. Perhaps a little bit entranced by the way Morgana smiled so easily… This was why she focused on the arm. “We’re going to be working on this for a few weeks, if not a month, so there’s plenty of time to change your mind,” she grinned, letting Morgana settle back into the table before picking her tools up again and refocusing her eye onto the microscopic details of Morgana’s connection point. She spent a good few minutes tracing the paths of individual wires, figuring out which wires did what, and making notes which she could view through a programme in her cybereye.

“So the good news is that you’re in good hands now. The bad news, if you’re inclined to think that way, is that it’s a complete gut job.” Zina leaned back and looked at Morgana. “You have a pain-modulator? Might be worth turning it on, otherwise I might have some pain blockers lying around. Today I can redo the wiring for movement, which seems to be what you’re able to do now. Then in a few days I’ll use some bioware to regrow your sensory neurons so we can hopefully get you some proprioception, temperature, pressure, texture, fine touch sensations back into your arm. I’ll have to wire into the somatosensory system while the nerves are still raw, so you can work on reassociating the senses.” Zina smiled, worried she might have sprung too much onto Morgana. “And then, after all that, we can fit you a new arm!”

“It’s…not the money.” She had too many memories wrapped into the messy of wires. There was something quite painful about letting go of the wretched broken thing. Now, there was a hellhole that Morgana didn’t want to unpick. She exhaled slow, through her nose, as Zina started her work once more. This was familiar. This was safe. Zina wasn’t going to make a mess of this. It was hard to believe. Everyone was trying to earn a living. Even if it meant stepping over each-other. Morgana couldn’t count the times she’d been screwed over. But wasn’t that what the reapers were for. Protection. Family. Somewhere and someone to belong to. She thought of Jakov but, it wasn’t really as if they were close. He was admirable. There was an edge to him that no-one else had. After all, he was the chosen one. Morgana glanced at Zina. Her head was bowed. Attention honed into the wires. She liked these moments. When neither of them spoke and Morgana could observe. As if this was the most natural thing in the world.

Working on this for a few weeks. Why did that bring such great relief to Morgana? The weight she had been carrying about her shoulders lifted by the sheer knowledge of coming back for more. Maybe she didn’t want to leave. The comfortable silence of sitting in Zina’s warehouse as she busied herself with work, usually Morgana’s faulty limb but oft times Morgana brought in other work too. It was a ritual. Morgana’s divine worship and her communion. Every wire undone and metal sheath replaced another note of silent confession. She flexed her good arm, in the absence of her right it felt strong, safe, and at the very least it responded as it should. Organic limbs didn’t have the same woes as metal. It was too late to regrow an arm now, too expensive. Only the elite could afford to look natural.

“I won’t change my mind,” she said, slight twinge of a smile at her lips. With a hum she nodded. Of course Morgana had a pain-modulator. She blinked through a list of neural commands. Switched on the processor and leant back with gritted teeth. Hers was heavy, clunky, it made her feel like a rag doll with limbs that were disconnected to her. If she could flex freely a moment ago now it took concerted effort, her hand didn’t feel like her own. “Fine touch sensations?” Morgana’s smile escalated at the thought of fine touch. How she’d longed to have sensation back in that hand. It was functional. She could hold a glass, rev the engine of her bike, and more or less fight with it when it didn’t hiss at her. But touch? Morgana hadn’t had the pleasure of holding someone for a long time, but knowing she could brought a small heady thrill of its own.

“You’re looking awfully cheerful for someone that’s about to cause me a great deal of pain,” she teased. Morgana leant forwards to rest her elbow on her thighs. “Going to find me a wicked metal arm? Not sure I fancy the new models with their faux skin.” Despite her initial hesitation, Morgana couldn’t help but be excited for what was to come. It was hard not to be when Zina looked at her like that. “Just bill me like usual.” She pursed her lips, not sure whether to tell Zina about a certain delivery. It was going to end up here anyway, so she might as-well. “I managed to pick up a new synth, well not new new but you wouldn’t believe who it is. Zodiac that singer everyone was obsessed with.” It had been hard to go anywhere without hearing one of Zodiac’s songs blasted through cheap speakers. “Not the usual synth I know, but figured it might draw in crowds. Just might be…more difficult to modify. But I assumed you’d be up to the challenge.”

[morgcna-blog1]

sxrapper‌

Narrowing his eyes as the helmeted figure spoke, he had to wonder whether it was as frustrating for others when they spoke to him and couldn’t see his face, it was slightly unnerving, but that feeling was well hidden behind his crude mask. That voice, he could have sworn he recognised it, he couldn’t place it until the helmet came off, of course, it was her. How the hell had she found him all the way down here, he knew well enough that chance meetings like this just weren’t probable.

Looking at the hand she held up, he had to admire the custom work on it, it definitely looked like Doctor Frank’s work. With a groan of disappointment that his mask hadn’t hidden his identity as well as he had hoped, he reached up and pulled it off, discarding it on the side of his workbench covered in scrap metal. “Well enough. Standing up to his full height he had probably grown a little bit since she’d last seen him, he was tall, especially for someone living down here in the darker, poorer parts of the city. 

“Yeah I got a few parts, depends on what needs fixing.” Riffling through the piles, it didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for, despite the fact that it was a mini scrapyard in here, he knew exactly where everything was located. Everything had a place, and he had his own mini-map in his head of how things were sorted. Organised chaos Leia had used to say about all of his collections.

When Pip stood, Morgana found a place to sit. Although she didn’t pick all that wisely. Crate of disused plastics that could only just about take her weight. She braced herself and awkwardly tried to make herself looked comfortable. Not a great start. “Engine is on its last legs. Worried she’s going to need a totally refit but I don’t wanna put her in the shop.” Because it was going to cost a small fortune to repair it. Her bike could’ve been a museum piece, it was too solid, too heavy to fly, and spat out an ungodly amount of exhaust fumes. She was pretty sure the bike itself was prohibited. How it had ended up in the underground markets she’d never quite understood. Regardless of its origin story, it was a good few decades old at least, and needed more care and attention than Morgana knew how to give it.

“Maybe it just needs a cylinder head replacing? Might need more. I know it’s asking a lot to dig through and produce me a brand new viable engine…” She was going to just have to make do with whatever could be found. Then, because regardless of what Pip had she couldn’t fit it. She’d tried. Had built it up in her head that she was going to be able to do repairs to the bike whenever the damn thing needed them. Which was all the time. Only Morgana didn’t know the intricate details of engines. She was, in her spare time, trying to work her way through something of a visual guide for how to look after engines. But it was based on a newer model. One that could fly and that was mostly electric and most definitely didn’t have the same thrill as her baby.

She picked up an abandoned piece of scrap metal, reality was they were surrounded by it. “You doing okay? I know I don’t visit much but…” Work was busy. She was either trying to keep the pits alive and well, moving it or organising another night of mayhem. Or, she was delivering penance to those that deserved it. Nothing like working two jobs. In between all of that she worried about him. It was easy for kids to slip under and get trapped by the city’s grinding gears. Morgana had a sketchy dream about saving him amongst others, but saving them from what?

“You know you can come over if you want to. Promise I won’t cook I’ll order food in.”

[morgcna-blog1]

riotnox‌

“You’re saying your not nostalgic for the good old days of running through scrap yards, collecting up skill chips and whatever odd and ends we could find and just messing around with them?” Nox asked with a smirk. But it wasn’t Nox and Morgana that used to do that. Back then, they were other people, Ava and Amira two girls just trying to make it in a world that didn’t want them in it. And they’d proven to be strong enough not to let that world push them into the ground. Nox didn’t let the change phase her though, it didn’t matter who they were. Morgana was still her friend, no matter what. “They’ll only grab your ass once if you’re willing to break their arm,” she stated, though she did understand the appeal. Some people did just want to drink and not look for a fight. Nox wasn’t sure if she was one of them though.

As they took off down the alley, Nox let herself look over at her friend. Morgana looked tired, and older than she remembered last seeing her. Which was only to be expected, Nox was sure she looked older too, even if she didn’t feel it all the time. But more importantly, responsibility went well with her. She obviously cared about the Pit, ought to with how much time she was spending in it. “Yeah well, my folk don’t like the Pit all that much. Rather take our fights out on the street where you can get as dirty as you want. Plus we try our best to stay out of your house, just like we expect the rest to do to us.” It was one of the few rules that had been imposed in the last few years, and one of the few that Nox enforced among the ranks. “But we got a couple that are interested in the rings. They’ll make their way there eventually and they know we won’t stop them.” When they stopped in front of the Bootlegger, Nox couldn’t but grin. This had been where the two of them spent so much time once they’d gotten old enough to get in, one way or another. And then once they went their separate ways, it was the one place they could back to and be themselves again. “Sometimes never will. You think our corner table is empty?” she asked, pushing through the doors first and glancing over in the familiar direction. “It is, which is almost a disappointment. I would have been kind of fun to kick someone out of our spot.”

“Very nostalgic.” She joked, but the reality was that sometimes Morgana did yearn for those days. Because they were simpler. Kicking through scrap and finding bits that were useful to them, it was a singular life and not a grand one, but it had been theirs. For a short while. There would always been temptation and Morgana had yanked the forbidden apple off the tree with both hands. “You would think the sword would give them the hint.” Morgana very rarely separated herself from the bastard sword that was strapped to her back. It was ridiculous. In an age of guns that could recharge in a matter of seconds. When you could pick up a black market cyberlimb with a blade installed in the elbow. A sword was archaic. Not worth the weight of carrying around and yet Morgana couldn’t let it go. It was her stamp, her style. If the threat of her fists wasn’t enough then a blade pointed at their throat surely ought to be.

She shrugged, pit or not, everyone had to take their fight somewhere. There was too much anger concentrated in the shadows of the city. Hatred for each other. For those above them. For the system that trapped them down here. All the while Morgana was happy to work in the shadows. Maybe not happy, content. Everyone wished they could see the sun after all. In the depths of bootlegger there was no sunshine to be found. Just lively music and good food. “Now that is disappointing, could’ve watched you loom over them like an omen.” Morgana grinned, couldn’t help but laugh as she slid into the booth. It felt odd to be back here after all this time. Not the restaurant specifically. She came here none too regularly for food because cooking in Morgana’s apartment ended up a riotous mess. No, this particular seat was always one she avoided without Nox.

“Shame you don’t fancy fighting. Be entertaining to watch you shred a few of the men that have more sense than smarts.” She flicked her hand over the menu and it popped up in the corner of her optics. Unnecessary. She knew the entire menu by heart and she was going to order the same as she always did. “Should I ask you how you are? Or what you were doing down at a med bay?”

[morgcna-blog1]

carringtonbishop‌

The Pit was packed tonight. So packed that even Carrington had a slow time navigating the crowd as it surged and moved like a great stinking, riotous wave of humanity, all shouting bets to be placed on their favorite contestant or simply screaming in support of the carnage. Fucking troglodytes. 

“Oi!” someone turned to yell in Carrington’s face, brandishing a piece of hackjob tech that was meant to be a knife, as Carrington tried to push by. “Watch where the fuck you’re-” The man pulled up short as he saw the look on Carrington’s face, and felt the sharp end of Carrington’s own blade - military-grade titanium, and sharper than anything this bellycrawler would ever own - pressed into his side.

“You were saying?” Carrington asked calmly. 

“I uh… no. No… I weren’t sayin’ nothin’. I uh… just thought you was someone else ‘s’all.” The man swallowed thickly and let out a breath. 

Carrington wrinkled his nose at the smell that wafted from the man’s mouth. Like the liquid that collected at the bottom of a garbage bin in the middle of the summer. “I thought not. Now get out of my way.” The man moved aside faster than Carrington thought possible for someone of his… bulk, and disappeared into the sea of people. Carrington retracted his blade with barely a thought, wiping the blood from his wrist even as the skin healed around the wound. 

He made his way to his destination, encountering no more problems along the way, and when he finally spotted the woman he was here to see, he wasted no time in telling her how he felt about her establishment, such as it was. Because he had no doubt that Morgana had seen what had happened. 

“Next time one of those cavemen tries to stick me with one of those rusted shit-cleaners they call weapons, I’m afraid I’ll have to start insisting on hazard pay.” He gave her a look that she was well used to by now as he moved to pour himself a drink. Without asking. As always.

The beauty of the pits, because not everyone appreciated the aesthetic of blood stained concrete and vomit, was that it offered freedom. Rules did not apply here. Often, Morgana considered the lack of rules to be something of a roadblock. Then again, it meant that in cases like these she could do whatever she saw fit and frankly, the opportunities were endless. Against her better nature Morgana didn’t step in between Carrington and the thick man that most certainly wasn’t one of hers. Patron, she supposed. Someone who probably spent their wages betting on synths. Might’ve been one of the blokes that took to the ring during their open hour. When just about anyone could sign up and be randomly paired. Winnings were meagre but the crowd was particularly buzzed whenever they could root for one of their own.

“Place your bets,” she whispered to Nikita, as the pair prepared to duke it out. She was almost disappointed with the civil end. Nikita simpered behind the bar and disappeared with a tray of drinks, her skate augments lighting up bubblegum pink as she glided across the floor. She was effortless as she carved through the crowd. Whilst Carrington looked as though he was about to gut someone, with heavy feet to match. “You aren’t on the clock the second you step out of the ring Carrington.” She folded her arms across her chest and leant against the bar. There was no point trying to tell him not to take a drink as if he owned the place. Men were a little foolish and often, it was easier to let them have at least something to play with. “Comes with the charm of the place.”

It was also the very reason that even now, with no reason to carry a weapon, Morgana still had a sword strapped to her back. Admittedly a hip holster was considerably cooler but the added bulk made it hard to squeeze through the thick crowds. Balance between raw power and agility suited her best. She was never going to have the brute strength of Eve, but she didn’t need it. “You don’t need my protection, can look after yourself and besides he was harmless.” Just another fly on the wall down here. “So, other than meeting the locals. Any plans for the night?” She couldn’t imagine he was after her company for a catch-up.

pit(y) party || cari & morgana

[morgcna-blog1]

zxnith-txch‌

Tapping the glasses in front of her with the back of her nails she grinned, “It isn’t a party just by myself.” With a tilted smirk she leaned over and slowly placed a kiss upon her cheek, leaving an ever so faint deep red against her skin, as if to say to everyone else that she was hers for tonight. “Oh you know, profitable, fun, but enough of me, how have you been? How’ve the fights been going?” She, of course, had done her research after the first night, making sure that again it wasn’t some ruse or con, after finding out that the ineffebly beautiful Morgana (whether she believed it or not) was running the pits, it only created more allure. There was that rebellious, dangerous streak to her that only encouraged Kyra’s own.

“Anyone of worth coming through?” Now it wasn’t that she was a fighting aficionado, it was more that she liked to invest some money from time to time, and investing in the pits, as she had done in the past, didn’t seem like a bad idea, especially when she knew it helped people like Morgana, and she was the kind of woman that was far too proud to take free handouts. Brushing the hair from her shoulder and neck, one of her many tattoos peeking through the edges of her hair, the light blues and purples of the light tattoo swirling around her spine.

“Well, it’s a party now.” Morgana knew without glancing into the mirror behind the bar that her cheeks had flushed from the kiss. As if Kyra’s lips had burned their mark to her skin, as they so often did. There was an allure to her one that Morgana felt as though she could simply admire. Kyra was too pretty and incandescent for her to touch. That wasn’t true. “The fights?” She repeated, after a moment she gathered her thoughts enough to string a coherent sentence together. “They’re good. Usual mix of voluntary fights and those that’s due penance.” There’d been a few organics lately, but by chance one had been paired with one of her own. Something to do with a debt that was owed. Carter the only one who could deliver it. It’d been messy. Then it always was.

“I’m biased but, I’d have to put my money on the new kid Tyr. She’s one of mine so not sure that’s a fair pick.” Stubborn little kid but Morgana had trained her because she’d asked for it, because she had relentlessly pestered Morgana until she conceded. She knew the little flash of Kyra’s tattoo was for her benefit, and admittedly Morgana fell hook line and sinker for it. She leant in on her hand, unable to tear her gaze away from the exposed skin. She was simple.

“I’d invite you over,” her voice dropped as if she was telling Kyra a secret. “But I guess that’s breaking the rules.” To hell with them. Cursory glance across the bar revealed the synth bartender had busied itself with cleaning glasses, as if it knew. The only other occupants of the bar were deep in conversation or necking their weight in beer. She kissed Kyra hard, as if this was her reward after a battle hard won. If Morgana was steel and blood soaked lips, then Kyra was practically sugar sweet. But maybe that was just the lingering buzz of her drink. Her hands itch to take a handful of Kyra’s top and pull her closer. Even Morgana had to pull away for air. “We doing this here?” It was half a joke.

Drunk dial

[morgcna-blog1]

drnorthrop‌

If Morgana would’ve pulled out a knife at him she certainly would’ve gotten extremely highly raised eyebrow as a respond. Aden wasn’t a man who carried weapons with him, but he did know how to fight back if it was needed. Plus he had a shit ton of augmentations under his skin so if he wouldn’t fight he would get away in a way or another. But since he knew this person standing at the end of the stairs and she definitely didn’t pull out a knife or anything, Aden was all relaxed and not worried at all.

“A new hobby of mine”, he joked as a reply to Morgana’s comment as he made his way down the stairs. As Morgana started to talk about having a drink, Aden thought about it for a moment and then hummed. “I’m more on the mood of dinner than beer.” He put his hands in his jacket’s pockets. “I’ve been working all day and that hospital food ain’t worth of eating so I really need actual food right now.” He looked around them a bit. “So maybe we should find a place where I can get decent food and you’ll get a decent drink.” Aden wasn’t sure how far they would have to walk for those things, but he was in no rush to be anywhere plus he wasn’t dying out of hunger either, so he woudln’t mind the walk.

“May I suggest picking up knitting? Or something that doesn’t scare the kids.” Morgana laughed, but it quickly trailed off as it dawned on her this was not something they shared. He could if he wanted to pick up a mundane hobby such as knitting. How funny this world was. She blinked, everything was still in monochrome as if she was stuck in a vintage movie from the days before the crash. “There’s a place around the corner from here.” Morgana had given up asking why people like him, who most certainly didn’t belong down here, had ventured down. When she was younger she thought it was just a game to them, like sight-seeing. Maybe it was. Maybe they really wanted to help.

“I can go for food.” Work for Morgana wasn’t exactly the sweet nine till five, clock in clock out, sort of employment. Some delinquents, not reapers, were making a nuisance out of themselves and well, usually Morgana’s presence did the trick. They were a little more egotistical than that. Thought of themselves as big lads that could do anything because they were young and invincible. “How’s things at the hospital?” She’d been once. When her father had gotten admitted for disorderly behaviour, she’d found him handcuffed to the bed on a shared ward for people that like him, all spelt trouble. “Just here,” Morgana ducked into another alleyway and led them through the damp dark streets until a mediocre dive bar came into view. It was quiet. Not one of the most popular places in town but it did decent cheesy chips. “After you.”

[morgcna-blog1]

sxrapper‌

He’d collected a rather bigger haul than normal, this sometimes happened when the corporations were pushing new tech out, all the old stuff suddenly became useless to people, it found its way to the scrapyard, unwanted, forgotten. He felt like that was where he belonged some days. He was sitting on the edge of his workshop, sorting through the pile of scrap for what could be salvaged immediately and what needed some love and attention. Energy drink in one hand he hadn’t been sleeping well of late, unsure whether it was due to the incessant nagging guilt he harboured or whether it was just because his bed was uncomfortable as hell itself. 

Leaning on the back two legs of his creaking, half-rotten chair he couldn’t help but stare at the rather out of place individual looking around. They might as well be wearing a sign that read ‘mug me’. Putting down his energy drink he kept his mask covering his face, mumbling through the thick material. “You look lost, what ya looking for?”

Home. It was a familiar concept one that brought her to the edge of the city or here, amongst the discarded and forgotten treasures. She kicked out the stand for her motorbike and flipped the ignition off. It wasn’t often that she saw him down here anymore. The kid was one of the few to make for an escape. “Terribly lost,” she picked her way through the scrap with a grin, even if he couldn’t see it. Eventuall, she did pull her helmet off when there was no more risk of tripping over the scrap. Some of the rubbish needed to be burned, but a great deal of what came down here ought to be reused and repurposed in some way. It was a little ridiculous how still, even now the residents above them burned through material things as fast as shooting stars.

“On my way to go see Dr. Frank…” It just so happens she noticed he was in. Morgana waved with her right hand, the one that was stripped bare alloy with wires twisting around it, tied tight to the wrist and disappearing into the busted case that covered her forearm. “Getting this fixed.” She dropped her helmet onto a convenient pile of metal sheets. “You doing alright Pip?” There wasn’t any doubt in her mind that it wasn’t him. Can of energy drink, the thick but amateur mask, it was most certainly Pip. “You had anything come through that’s useful for the scrambler?” Riding around on an old bike had it’s disadvantages, it was heavily modified to take in a home-brewed fuel and thus it was prone to break downs.

[morgcna-blog1]

riotnox‌

“Hush now, not everyone as lucky as you to even know that the Crows have a leader. And let’s be honest, it’s always been less of a ship and more of a… swarm,” Nox said, finding the best word to describe her crew. She knew it had been a dangerous game, letting someone from another gang know who exactly she was. But even when they hadn’t spoken, she still counted Morgana as one of the closest people to her. It was a shame that she’d been taken up from another crew, but then again, Morgana wasn’t chaotic enough for the Crows. It what had balanced Nox out so well as a kid, having such a down to earth person beside her. It was never enough to keep Nox out of trouble, but honestly, Morgana wasn’t one to talk when it came to trouble either.

Nox looked around the street, narrowing her eyes at the man underneath, fingers going up to tug at her bandages. She probably should be heading back to the Nest, though most of her main lieutenants were used to her flighty ways. Nox would always come when she was needed and that’s all that mattered. So, she turned and grinned at her friend. “For you. Always. Come on, I don’t like the look of that one,” she muttered, nodding her head towards the man, and started heading off in the opposite direction and towards the bars of the lower level. “What are you feeling tonight? The Saloon? Or the Bootlegger? You always were a fan of vintage things.”

Yeah. That was what worried her. Tenuous friendships like this only existed because everyone, for now, lived in equilibrium. It wouldn’t be long for someone to push the scales. At least she supposed, Nox wasn’t tangled up in the disciples, because that would have torn their friendship limb from limb. Could she call it a friendship? It had been quite a while since they’d last talked. Her ties to the reapers were strong enough to consider this treason, but Nox came before the reapers, before everything. It just so happens they’d gone on to walk two separate paths. “Vintage? That makes me sound nostalgic. Bootlegger is one of the few places you can go without some greaseball trying to grab your ass. That’s the appeal.” She rolled her eyes and with a mirthful laugh said, “but I don’t mind a little jazz.”

She walked alongside Nox as they ducked into an alleyway that brought them out the other side of the clustered group of medic bays – if they could be called that. She felt a twinge of guilt for leaving Tyr, but the girl was capable of looking after herself. Had even told Morgana as much on several occasions. It was hard not to see herself in her. Hard not to try and protect her too much. “Not seen any of yours lately,” it did make her wonder whenever people didn’t show. The regulars. The ones that thrived on the pit as much as she did. It was as much punishment as it was cathartic, for those that were caught in peacetime with ire to burn. “Anyway, look at that. Bootlegger in it’s original glory, it’s like nothing has really changed.” She hoped so.

[morgcna-blog1]

netrunnersinclair‌

The pits were hell. You didn’t name something the pits and expect it to be a joyride. Quite the opposite in fact. It was part of what he liked about them, the harsh gritty reality that came with slamming your opponent’s head into the ground repeatedly until they saw stars or you saw crimson. He had little remorse, even less for those of the Disciples that he was put up against more than one of them had come away broken and bent from the beating he’d doled out for them.

Tony knew Tessa from the business, and from the odd job on the streets. Their circles not always too dissimilar except for the fact she did have closer ties to the Reapers. But connections with links always made for useful networking when the opportunity provided itself. 

“No need to be snide Morgana, everyone agrees that he put up a decent fight today.” And no doubt for as much as she might have lost in a bet she likely would’ve made up far more than that on those that had betted for the current champion. He sipped his drink, leaning one elbow on the bar casually. “Oh Eve? That’s one helluva girl… Would be interesting, his speed versus her lumbering strength.” Lightly he tapped the rim of the bottle on his chin, eyes drifting to the current fight between a chunky looking labour synth and a wirey yet agile athlete model each heavily modified to make for a far more entertaining match up. “Me?” his eyes widened, looking back to her with an expression that suggested mild horror at the notion. “Fuck no. I like all my limbs where they are thanks. Though… If you have such an issue with him why don’t you deal with him yourself?” A genuinely curious question that one, and an answer he was interested to hear. If he got one. 

“Hell he fights good. I think I’m just jealous.” Morgana shrugged, running the pits didn’t leave much time to train herself these days – much less fight. “Be the first to admit I miss it…” She scanned the crowd, a roar echoed as the labour synth took a hit, it knelt on the concrete as if to catch its breath. Morgana glanced back at Tony with a mirthful twist to her lips. “Well, there’s an idea talking to the guy. If only he didn’t dart off right after matches and only appear before them.” She never caught more than a glimpse of him. It would be considerably easier if she could simply talk to him. Life was never as simple as that. “Everyone is caught up with secret identities lately, as if we don’t all fight regardless of who you are or where you come from. Names don’t mean jack in there.” She gestured towards the electrified ring.

She was one to talk, but Morgana was her she didn’t shy away from that. “Some days I wonder y’know…trying to keep this place clean…” It was starting to feel like she was in over her head. She used her organic hand to rub her eyes, “god listen to me.” She laughed, because god it was the only way to stop this all becoming too real. “Y’know when I was a kid I used to wanna run. I’d go down to the scrapyard and find little chunks of metal and tape them to my temples. Pretend they were plugs. Don’t look at me like that. Swear everyone did it at one point y’know.” Back in the day, it was the the augment she dreamed of having. Being able to jack in. Experience a world that was everything Bay City wasn’t. “Friend let me borrow their ‘trodes well…I was sick, threw up right in his lap. I lasted maybe like…five minutes in the net.”

Morgana turned to lean against the bar with both elbows, “I don’t know. I guess we all just want to escape right? I used to think the net would give me an escape but it’s just the same hell hole. Friend got frozen by a nasty piece of ice and that was the end of him.” She shrugged, “didn’t really expect to outlive him. But hey here we are. Shit sorry.” Morgana laughed with her face in her hands, “not what I wanted to talk about tonight.” She smoothed out her jacket and perched on a stool instead of endlessly fidgeting against the bar. “Should’ve stopped me from talking, I think it’s the sleep deprivation getting to me,” she gave him a gentle elbow jab. Quickly, Morgana decided on a change of conversation, a full 360. “Who do you think will win? Out of the two synths? My money is on the sport model.”

But Dust & Shadow: Morgana & Tony