#⚘ ˚◞ verse˚ cyberpunk 2077 ◞ 𝒸𝑜𝓇𝓅 𝒽𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝑜𝓃-𝒹𝑜𝓁𝓁𝒶𝓇 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈.

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˚ ⚘ ᠂ Santiago Moncada & Brianne Landry dyn. Cyberpunk 2077; @badtrigger

Alfiya Shaliheen / Anne Carson, decreation / Sherman Alexie, The Toughest Indian in the World / Jonathan Safran Foer / Mary Oliver, “Hum Hum,” A Thousand Mornings / "The Better Man Project" / Aline Mello, “When Looking for Home”

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@mindsmade ( V. ) | p.s. ✿

Splatters and splotches of red defile the pristine white asphalt that lines the length of the North Oak gated driveway. The limb, which nearly caused the director to faint upon its discovery opening the front door, was already bio-bagged and discarded, but the crimson puddle at its side is yet to seep into the concrete's pores. Even if the perpetrators are nowhere to be found, the security footage explains enough of the events that transgressed that morning. At least she knows one is thankfully alright, the other brings question.

A deep-seated sigh cannot cease the shake of her cold hands that clench into fists. Sight sits apprehensively on her personal phone, black against the white marble granite of her kitchen island. Ill she feels that this move to contact is not fully about a concern for the merc’s condition, but more so a bid for self-preservation. He knows something he should not about her personal relations. 

[ landry 📲 v. ] There is hope on my end that you quickly sought medical attention after what happened earlier today and that you are somehow recovering. 

[ landry 📲 v. ] I watched the security footage and heard from my guards so no need to explain, but I think we should meet and discuss matters.

[ landry 📲 v. ] Please contact me at your earliest convenience.

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@badtrigger : Day by day she grows, and Santiago adores every moment of it. He had not ever imagined he would father any children, and to be having two on the way? His mind is still trying to wrap itself around that. Twins. They'll certainly have their hands full. He comes to lay on his side in the bed, moves to rest his temple in his hand and his free palm against her belly (every time with the silly hope he might feel the kick of little feet.) "I've been thinking more. What do you think about 'Monte' for one of them?" He tests the waters, watches her face for change. This name Santiago had thought long and hard about, about what it means to him, about how it might make her feel. They had both lost the same man. Watched him lose himself in his final days with Los Piratas. Santiago still thinks about him all the time. As much as he would like to give a hundred percent to the present, to Brianne and this new life they are laying the foundation for, his brother is always somewhere there at the back of his mind. But it's a happier, cheekier version of him, of Vaas, because that's how Santo prefers to remember his brother as. Not as the delusional, tormented man fighting an unwinnable war in his own mind. "I know he was not always the kindest. He was difficult. Very difficult. But.. he was like family. There was no one else like him." No one else like Montenegro. // wonderfully random asks ( always accepting ) ᠂ ⚘ ˚

She loves it, Santiago’s penchant to touch her growing bump, seeing it as an outward expression of their future sons being on his mind as they are on hers. More change awaits them, more settling into this quieter domestic life, to building a family into their future, and putting the stress of their past behind them. Among deciding what nursery furniture, baby carriers, and diaper creams to purchase, the ongoing discussion is naming these twin boys. 

It takes a second to register where the name he suggests comes from, and then — Montenegro, Vaas’ last name. With it, eyes bright with anticipation and a smile that’s curious drops under the need for solemn remembrance, to the mourning they both carry on for this man they lost. 

What would it mean to her to honor him by bestowing this name to one of their sons?

Vaas was a man she loved in her own delusional way. Not for love that could be returned or a love untarnished by shame and fear, and perhaps only held onto by pity and a foolish belief he needed her more than just for her money and body. She does not always like who she was with Vaas, who she had to be at times to appease him, or the feeling of being trapped in his cage that ironically ended up protecting her. But without him, Santiago would not be in her life as he is now. Everything happens for a reason, they often say. Maybe only in this, she chooses to believe it. 

Her hand reaches towards her husband's face, her fingers lightly gliding up the length of his strong jawline before resting her palm against his cheek. A searching gaze locks onto his brown eyes, under it a smile that's doleful in its thoughtfulness. A moment is taken for her hand to seep in his perpetual warmth. Softly she speaks. “He was your brother. And I believe he saw you the same.” 

Santiago was always a fixture in Vaas’ conversations. Yes, as his righthand man who managed all the gang’s ongoings, but more than that. He was someone whose advice Vaas would actually follow, someone he trusted, and someone he loved like family. For all the man's difficult tendencies, she knows that was not all he was. His smile, mischievous usually, could still so often bring one out of her. He could make her forget her troubles for a brief period of time. He was there when she had no one else to fall on. For good or bad, he means more to her than he probably deserved.  

“I like it. Monte. And it would go really well with Miguel. Two m’s.” Their other thought was to pass on Santiago’s middle name. A perfect pair, and one that would hold meaning and memory. Vaas should not be forgotten. “Monte and Miguel.”

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Exhaustion carries the soft steps of the corpo through the garage door. The meeting (to silence) V about her indiscretions inundated her in emotional discomfort. All she wants is this ordeal with the nomad merc behind her and she’s only halfway convinced it is. 

The floodlights are their usual evening dim and the spacious first floor of the North Oak estate sits in its usual silence until the crunch of broken glass under her security chief’s boot alerts her that something is off. A large palm raised stops her in her tracks. Turay confirms via his comm what he already suspects; the notification from in-house security states that the ganger is in residence. Chin turns and lit Kiroshi’s corner on his charge, who already pieces the lack of extra precaution together. “You know what I’m going to say."

A sigh suffices for an answer. Turay would prefer her to disengage, to lock herself in her room, away from the ganger and his tantrums, but that’s not how Brianne functions. She hasn’t heard from Vaas since before the incident and she can't simply sweep what happened with V under the designer rug. Carefully, she steps around the chief, her own judgment taking precedence in all matters concerning Los Piratas' president. It's worked so far.

To the living room she meanders, lamenting not the broken baubles or glassware at her heels, which she keeps on her feet for safety. Rather a tired acquiescing to his volatile manner unfolds, even if his unhinged anger scares her.

“Vaas?” A falsely calm voice calls after seeing the shadow of him perched on one of the plush grey sofas, his red optics eerily glaring back at her. A shiver runs down her spine, almost pausing her in her tracks. “You alright?" She manages shakily, trying to replace that chill with concern, foolish but genuine. "I was worried. All that blood.” You never returned my texts... // @badtrigger (p.s.)

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only dead ends...

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neomilitarism that, neokitsch this. how about neo-yuppie...?

bri is going to exude that old-money look and wear luxury brands just because. 1980s yuppie-ism revival in 2077 is all I'm saying.

(though in reality, bri is just coined a "rich european" in her style compared to those in Night City. she's not acclimating and considerably bland)

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💭 + vaas

𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓼 — send 💭 + a topic to receive a headcanon about said topic. ( accepting !! )

Vaas, the president of the Night City gang, Los Piratas, and Brianne’s extortionist. The one who pinned her in a protection racket making her pay over 80,000 eddies a month to avoid being one of the gang’s victims. She and her security would have probably gotten fast-scrolled into a gore XBD if she refused or tried anything. I have an updated hc post about her extortion so I’ll not rehash it but I don’t think I’ve actually written about their "relationship" which lasted from 2076 to 2079 when he disappears after a cyberpsychotic outburst to never be seen or heard from again.

So why does she love Vaas? It’s complicated. 😩

After months of planning, Vaas and his righthand man Santiago killed her security guard and driver and hijacked her and her vehicle after a fundraising gala, thus an effective route to ensure her willingness to pay. And in their interactions following, Vaas made sure she feared him. Her compliance, doing exactly what he wanted, was the reason the gang targeted her. A rich, pliable corpo ripe for extorting. 

Because of the key access she gave him to pick up payments, he’d be there when she’d walk in the AV door just sitting at her couch or table, cleaning his mantis blades of blood, flipping through her premium news channels and papers, or enjoying the spa, and she’d interact with him like it was normal even if she knew it wasn’t. And her being her amenable self, he started being a bit more amenable back. It wasn’t so bad. Despite reminders to not cross him, she became less wary of his presence. He could always make her laugh. His smile was infectious. Then somewhere along the way, she’d come home to an empty house and wish he was there. Perhaps it was her loneliness making itself known; his presence brought something new to a life that got monotonous. He was her company and she needed a little company, especially after being transferred away from her family in London the year before.

Folding to his sexual advances initially felt like a mistake. She told herself every time he got too close, to not let him any closer. She’d move his hand off her thigh, turn her face from his, and step out of his circle, but in those moments she’d feel a hitch inside. It was that of being wanted in a way unknown to her. Maybe it was the stress at work, that creeping mortal feeling that her time was up, her attraction to bad boys, or his company feeling like more than it was. It wasn’t how she imagined her first time and of course, she felt shame after. Used. Foolish. There was no gentleness. No affection. And then she thought maybe that would be it; he’d not come around anymore except for the cash because he got what he wanted all along. But that wasn’t the case. He still took whatever she would give him. This intimate part of their relationship remained, taking on its own rhythm and it became not only about his pleasure.

And she hardly ever said no. Not to him, not to the gang parties he threw at her estate, trashing the grounds, not to the drugs (at least the less hard ones), or to the use of her vault to store gang contraband. She tended his wounds when he showed up bloody at her door. Watched over him when he decided her place was right to binge on drugs and alcohol. Cooked his meals. Ordered takeout. Filled the fridge and bar with what he liked. Bought him things to make his stays comfortable (starting with a pair of swim trunks, an electric toothbrush, and a grooming set; he had his own sink in her bathroom). She's cleaned his apartment whenever she might find herself there and when she was stuck there in hiding after being dismissed from the corp. She is a nurturer by heart and she cared for him as if it was her job. It took her mind off of things going on at work. And he took her into the city she never got to know outside her corp buildings. He let her ride on the back of his motorcycle, unhinged from her constant strangle of security to feel some sort of ironic freedom. He’d push her to do things she never imagined, bad things like stealing a liquor bottle, but it made her feel alive. He’d supply her with drugs to sleep when nothing else worked. And he didn’t let her down when she was dismissed from Arasaka and headhunted; the gang’s protection racket saved her life.

He didn’t love her. She wasn’t considered his girlfriend. He slept with others. He was never her emotional support in a way one would assume though his company did wonders. She knew he saw her as foolish; his dumb little corpy wrapped around his finger. There was no relationship label for an extortionist and his victim. Stockholm Syndrome sure, but under these circumstances, is it any surprise that Brianne, a selfless woman with a kind heart, befriended him and came to care about him too? A man who, in her eyes, was broken.

The bandages on his fingers, the scars across his head and on his body, she’d see him broken and beaten, knew of the risks he’d put himself in, and then see him angrily recoil from a kind touch. His past remained a mystery but she knew it must be full of pain. When he rejected her gentleness, she believed he’d been hurt. She wished she could fix him by giving him what he probably never had, or perhaps did and it was taken from him.

She didn’t know about his cyberpsychosis until he was gone; always believed it was the drugs and his depression eating his mind away. He became more dependent, and she’d watched helplessly as he inhaled whatever drug before passing out on his side of the bed. Of course, if she said anything, he’d get angry and his anger was terrifying. He trashed her house many times, but he never hurt her. But when his condition got worse, she wasn’t so sure she was safe anymore.

Three years is a long time to have someone in your life. Long enough for it to become status quo. Of course, she felt stuck; the protection racket being her captor and savior from Arasaka. She feared pushing him away and holding him closer. Even if it wouldn't make a difference. Even if it made her sad and his rejection emotionally depleted, she had no choice but to accept it. He wasn't going to change for her or anybody.

When he disappeared from the streets (taken during a cyberpsychotic outburst), it was after not seeing him for well over a month since his condition got so bad he wouldn't visit her. It felt like a hole in her heart. The thought of him being alive somewhere, alone and in pain, his mind tearing him apart, it was so hard to bear. She would never wish him any harm, and she would save him if she could despite herself. She loved him in her own unfair way.

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@badtrigger sent 🗣️ for an incorrect quote ft. Brianne, Santiago, & Vaas ✿

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@badtrigger: “i don’t want you to worry about that anymore.” // santiago, any verse | more random dialogue prompts , ( accepting ) ᠂ ⚘ ˚

After a few years of paying her monthly fees to the gang’s president, she can see the amount in volume alone. Brianne would keep the payment (the banded stacks of crisp eddies) in a locked drawer in the kitchen, a lock to which Vaas could gain access and take the money around the expected due date. No need to exchange in person. It was easier for her to not experience the emotional weight of it leaving her hand for another who owned her. Just the routine task of putting it in a drawer that would be emptied before she put it in again. It made the extortion less present in her mind and her interactions with Vaas less demeaning. But Vaas is gone and her payment goes to his second-in-command (and now unofficial gang president) whom she hasn’t acclimated to her preferred process quite yet. 

“Here, the month’s payment.” The banded stacks of eddies are taken out of that same drawer and neatly piled on the white marble countertop of the kitchen island. As her hands refold at her front, her sight remains downcast on the money; the awkwardness of putting such a steep price on relations that somehow grew more benign over time. “I’ll get a bag.” She stammers, about to turn to the pantry before he speaks.

“i don’t want you to worry about that anymore.”

Sight lifts to find those dark eyes on her — brown eyes she admits to wishing she could read every time she falls into them. How easily she falls into them. The sudden irregular rhythm of her heartbeat might show in the flush on her pallid face. With it, her eyebrows furl, disbelieving what her thoughts tell her; this concerns the extortion.

“What do you mean?”

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Director Landry's North Oak Estate #1 (c. 2075-2077)

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@badtrigger : “how much longer till we’re there?” // the twins, any verse | more random dialogue prompts , ( accepting ) ᠂ ⚘ ˚

A day planned at the aquarium must start with a car ride along the Mediterranean coastline. A bag full of their favorite snacks, a cooler with juice boxes, and a pair of matching drawing pads and colored pencil cases should be more than enough to entertain the two boys for the hour. Apparently, however, fifteen minutes in they are already getting antsy. Excitement tends to lessen their already child-thin patience. The repeated question from Monte gains a brief but knowing look between parents in the front seat. Santiago answered the last time, so this time it’s Brianne who’ll filter the expected monotony.

“Let’s see,” she drawls while checking the clock and thinking about making them use their noggins. A summer holiday chore. “It’s been seven minutes since you last asked. Do you remember what papa said then?”

“Uhh. He said forty-five minutes left.” Monte confirms after giving it a second thought.

“Mmhm. So if it’s been seven minutes since you asked, how many minutes are left now?” 

“Oh no, not math mama.” The math question immediately gains a whine, his little nose scrunching with it.

“Yes, math. Think it through, or do you want your brother to take it?” Suggestion to let Miguel take it, regardless of what it is, often does the trick.

“No no! I’ll take it!” He's swift to return, brows knitting in concentration that quickly slide to what his brother is drawing on his pad. 

Brianne turns in her seat, giving him a curious look. “So?”

“Uhh, let’s see. If five and two are seven...” He begins to count on the raised digits of both hands.

“Take the five first,” Miguel tells him, finally looking up and over from the colorful doodle of a whale on his paper.

“Hush hush, Miguel. Your brother’s got this one, you can have the next.” Brianne suggests gently. “Monte, you still thinking?”

“Do you think they’ll have candy floss at the aquarium?” He asks instead, avoiding doing the work.

"It's papa's beard!" Miguel interjects with the French term for cotton candy, causing both boys to erupt into giggles.

"Barbe à papa!" Monte snorts in between laughs.

"But papa has no beard!" Miguel manages in between breaths, "He got a goat-tee!"

"A goatty!" Monte chimes back in near hysterics, "Get it? A goat..."

“Oh dear, you both are unmanageable,” Brianne shakes her head, but a chuckle is not far behind. It’s very like Monte to dilly-daddle and for Miguel to encourage getting off track and for them both to be subsumed in giggling. “Let’s just finish the time question first. Use your paper.”

“Alright, alright.” Monte huffs before his green colored pencil hits the open drawing pad.

“Forty-five,” Brianne reminds him as he staggers, “Take away seven.”

It takes a moment and he recounts his steps twice until, “Thirty-eight?” The answer stretches out unsure.

“Yes. Very good. Thirty-eight is correct.” Though she reckons it’s thirty-six now. "See, it's easier to write it and see it. And," she cycles back, "I bet they do have candy floss there."

"Can I get some please?" Monte's eyes hopefully widen.

"I want some too!" Miguel adds excitedly in near facial unison to his twin brother.

"What do you think papa?" Santiago gets a look at her side. "Should we put cotton candy on the day's agenda?" She uses the American English term and avoids the French term less the giggles return.

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Gotta love megacorporations and greenwashing. The RDA's slogan is "Leading the Sustainable Development of Alpha Centauri" when in fact, they plan to resource plunder that system dry. They are also largely responsible for Earth's accelerated pollution (while at the same time being the ones providing solutions to food shortages). Reminded me of Arasaka saying their satellite systems provide environmental protection by targeting poachers. Propaganda at its finest.

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@badtrigger : “ You are speaking out of fear. ” // santi, any verse | * 𝐅𝐀𝐑  𝐂𝐑𝐘  𝟑. ( accepting ) ᠂ ⚘ ˚

The recessed lights dotting her bathroom’s ceiling illuminate the two in harsh artificial brightness. Santiago sits at her vanity. The med kit is open on the marble countertop. The sharp spell of astringent fills the air. Small hands are busy, gently dabbing the wounds on his bruised and swollen face with a cotton gauze. 

Since opening the door, since the moment she saw his busted face, anger darkening his brown eyes, her heart sunk in her chest like a stone and there it remains. Gang politics, the mystery surrounding the officiation of this new president, a secret big boss, and the unexplained disappearance of Vaas, it continues to confound. Better to not know anymore — but now, it’s cycling back. Of course, she asks too much.

“Because I am afraid.” Admittance comes with a pause to her motions. The gauze is set down, and her hands go to rest along the outline of his jaw. Glossy eyes beseech his; she doesn't care if she appears weak in front of him. “He could have killed you.” A shudder rocks through her thin form; the one thought she cannot shake. Vaas is gone. She has to accept that. But him... “I can’t lose you, Santiago.”

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❓ // vaas (cbp) and vaas (avatar)

send "❓" to know what's the first word that crosses my muse's head when they think of yours! ᠂ ⚘ ˚

Cyberpunk 2077

“ Vaas is Vaas. A mess of a man. At least, he’s not without ambition. But can a man run on ambition alone? He runs on other things too but most of those aren’t so great, unfortunately. ”

Avatar

Brianne's Personal Log “ The younger of the two, Vaas, is comparitively easygoing. Not a care in the world. Not to say he doesn’t care about what’s happening to his people, I think he does but he expresses it differently. Maybe it’s the last vestiges of youth holding on. Minus laying off the pranks, I hope this war doesn’t change him too much. ”

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@badtrigger sent 🌅 for a moodboard of our muses ( brianne & santiago | cyberpunk 2077 ) ✿

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Motherhood

Cyberpunk 2077

Brianne focuses on her career at Arasaka, but what she desires most in life is to have a family of her own. Corpo life with its hours and expectations is not conducive to raising children (or finding a partner). Not wanting to be an absent mother, she is willing to wait until her 20-year contract is up and if need be, rely on technologies to slow her biological clock (and to conceive or adopt if she remains unlucky in finding love).

In France at 47 years old and free of Arasaka, Brianne becomes the mother of fraternal twin boys with her husband, Santiago. The rest of her life is dedicated to raising them. Brianne is nothing you’d expect from the fussy, poised, and posh office lady at Arasaka. Her hands are happily caked in cookie dough, paint, dirt, chalk, marker, and clay. She’s content to spend her days raising her boys and watching them grow up to be good men. 

Far Cry

Brianne never becomes a mother. She went from being hyper-focused on her studies to a high-paced and travel-heavy career in the financial industry, working for her family’s firm and her father on the side in his money laundering schemes. She still dreams of being married and having children one day. Maybe there’s still time, she foolishly tells herself over and over again. The Collapse situates her in a bunker with the maternal side of her family and when she emerges to a new world many years later, she’s already entered perimenopause. Her time to have children is gone.