#Vagues Okada

[shihlun]

Alain Resnais

- Hiroshima Mon Amour

1959

[juegosintiperojuegocontigo]

[chromaji]

i was thinking that timerra’s artist, Manabi Okada, was new to feh (true), but that the name was vaguely familiar

TURNS OUT THEY MADE THESE WYRMPRINTS. I KNEEL 🫡🧎‍♂️

[jeffgerstmann]

So apparently AEW pays well and that's bad?

I know a couple of current WWE folks who definitely got better contracts simply because AEW existed and, thus, created a world where people might jump ship and go somewhere else.

But yeah, I don't know, people are fuckin' crazy. That said, with all of the recent free agent talk going around and that article that is all "WWE needs to look in the mirror about why they keep losing free agents to AEW," I think that's a little off the mark.

Like, yes, in a theoretical, big-picture kind of way the WWE should probably ask themselves why people would want to work anywhere else. And they can chalk it up to "well, we've had some negative press lately" or "this person just didn't want to work as many dates" or whatever. Each case will be different. But I think in the three recent cases cited, there are very real life reasons why none of those three would go with WWE. It's great that the offer from AEW was better and, honestly, I think those signees will easily find more success in AEW than they would in WWE.

Like let's not kid ourselves here: WWE could have offered Okada a fuckton of money, but would he actually make a meaningful mark in the WWE? He'd come in, the announcers would have to spend a ton of time educating the audience on why he matters because most of their audience doesn't watch anything else, and he'd probably just end up being the next foreign heel. The types of great matches he had in NJPW aren't really the kinds of things that WWE is looking for or especially needs more of. They'd probably rush him into a main event program for three months or so and then do something embarrassing with him. He'd be tagging with Nakamura in a team with a vaguely racist-sounding name or something shitty like that. He'd be another amazing performer in search of a meaningful storyline and the WWE's midcard is fucking stuffed full of guys like that right now. He'd be losing to Karrion Kross by Survivor Series.

Tack on the notion that WWE's business is doing really well and they're selling tickets everywhere they go and inventing new, more evil forms of revenue all the time and it's easy to see that WWE doesn't need Okada. They need to be making sure that they have a fresh crop of young talent ready to take over when the current headliners fall off or move on. At 36, Okada isn't quite that guy.

However, Okada is a great fit for AEW and its audience. Too good, actually. I mean I don't think he'll be a "needle mover" on the ratings because anyone in this country who knows who Okada even is already watches AEW. They're super-serving their audience. They're "building golden toilets" for their fanbase. As someone who really likes that shit, I'm stoked. But the weirdo ratings nuts online who live and die by television ratings are melting down over "is Okada a draw or not" or something. And I think it'd probably be obvious to anyone who really sat down and thought about it that Okada wasn't ever going to drag in a whole new American audience.

I'd say mostly the same thing about Ospreay. He'd become the leader of the Catch Wrestling Crew or whatever the fuck they're called now.

The other thing I'd say is that, over time, a better program will probably attract a larger audience. So AEW's programming is better by way of these new signings. They're great performers and I think they both have the ability to be super big in the US for years to come, provided they're working somewhere that plays to their strengths.

Bringing Sasha Banks over to AEW has a chance to bring in new audience since she had a level of fame here in the States already and, hey, maybe fans of hers weren't already watching AEW. It's possible! Punk did it, right? We'll see. That might immediately make her more valuable than Ospreay and Okada. That said, there are already a ton of women that I'd love to see more of on AEW TV, so inserting another star at the top of that division kinda rubs me the wrong way.

Either way, I think these three specific cases are, well, specific enough that trying to use this to claim that WWE is "losing out" on this free agency stuff is probably wrong. They know how much they're willing to spend on an individual talent, they've been at this long enough to have a pretty good idea how some of these people are likely to monetize once they get there, and they're simply not going to overspend on any talent anymore because they're really focused on trying to bring in new talent and raise them up through their system. For all we know, AEW overspent on all three.

But they aren't spending my money, so fuck it! It's awesome! I only get mad when the people I want to see are locked behind the ROH paywall. Like Athena! Put her on real TV, she's fantastic! What the fuck!

[tgrailwar-zero]

Hey team, do you think there's any way we could possibly use the weakness of the tunnels to our advantage? Could we cause a controlled, partial collapse, or would there be too much risk in making the entire thing fall apart?

Looking at the quality of the tunnels, it wouldn't be difficult to break a section of them- the main danger would be ensuring that it didn't begin a chain reaction that ended up doing more harm than good. It seemed like both CONSTANTINE and KUKULKAN had a fair amount of skill in this area- CONSTANTINE's beams were weaker, while KUKULKAN's beams held a lot more firepower.

KUKULKAN: "I think I see what you mean. Block off our enemy, and then use the time as a chance to retreat and regroup, yes?"

With that in mind, making MUSASHI do the breaking would spare you the stress of going overboard with your own power, but she also wasn't exactly relenting with her own strikes. But she was supposed to serve as a defensive unit for this place- so there was a chance she would probably hold herself off from doing permanent, horrible damage to the environment.

You pondered on the idea of hacking MUSASHI. There have been moments where you've hacked into Servants both with and without consent, with varying degrees of success. Which meant that it was, technically, a skill you possessed. Hacking into this particular Servant may produce interesting results, if you also considered your vague memories of OKADA IZOU's final moments.

As sort of… traumatic as that memory was, it was a shared link. That if you encountered the shadow of OKADA IZOU once more, the strands of fate- as tenuous as they were- were not fully severed. With that logic in mind, the same would most likely correspond to MIYAMOTO MUSASHI.

Long story short: Hacking wouldn't be easy, but it would certainly be plausible.

A stun hack would be the easiest option, but may not be as effective. Meanwhile, a more in-depth hack would put any Servants staying to fight in danger as they tried to stall for time.

And, as pointed out by CONSTANTINE, you could probably do a much more effective hacking attempt with the Crimson Blade you acquired- though as PRETENDER noted, that would be at the expense of an important bargaining chip.

There was also just straight brawling- which seemed to be what MUSASHI herself preferred.

The swordsman stepped forward, before blitzing forth in a sudden burst of speed, her blades only barely knocked away by the empowered Sun Goddess. KUKULKAN took a step back, before beginning to trade blows with MUSASHI, back and forth as the time before a crucial decision was needed became more and more imminent.

PRETENDER: "You know they're joking, right? RIGHT?"

And now we've reached the first (real) update of THGW-Zero! Initial responses have been gathered, and now it's up to you to discuss and figure out which course of action to take! Each action has various pros and cons, as the story unfolds in response to your choices!

This operates off of MAJORITY RULE- meaning that whatever choice has the most votes will be picked.

[valeriefauxnom]

How Euden Was Primed To Have Identity Crises Even Before Nedrick (Or: Yet Another Very Long Analysis As To Why Euden Is More Messed Up Than He Appears)

Did you know that the whole plot point of Euden not being the actual 7th scion was decided by Okada? Yeah. Make of that what you will that that one decision impacted the whole trajectory of the story, but I'm sure to many it helps explain the transition from a more typical story about royal family infighting and rescuing siblings from demonic possession to identity crises and fighting God(s).

Surprisingly enough, though, I'd argue that Euden would be in hot water whether or not he was the 'real' 7th scion or not!

The very long and short of it ties back to my long dives here on Tumblr which explored just how ridiculously self sacrificial Euden is and how his behavior is a problem, but in this analysis I'm going to narrow in on another of his problems under the giant self sacrifice umbrella he is constantly lugging about.

As the title says, I'm going to be looking at how Euden might have had an incoming identity crisis even before Nedrick popped in to say 'hi' even if he did kickstart it in the worst way possible.

First, I'd like to establish Euden's complete lack of 'selfish' motives. Everything he does or wants tends to trail back for others.

It's started even before canon: Euden only knows how to play piano was because his father made him take lessons, eventually he decided to continue just so he wouldn't disappoint King Dad (read: Aurelius, in contrast to King Dork, Alberius, in a set of nicknames me and WillOfWinnie maintain for the fam).

He seems more personally invested in practicing the violin but maintains his study of piano just to please his father.

Then there's the very start of the game, in which he only really struck out because Aurelius and the kingdom needed him to. Personally, he wasn't interested in pacting (as he is trying to remain nonthreatening to his siblings, capitulating to their supposed 'desires' of their security) or gaining the right to the throne, but he set out regardless.

Other than that I really just have to wave vaguely to all his motives throughout the entire game+side stories. Despite how he frames them all as 'selfish' they aren't actually serving him beyond emotional fulfillment in that he thinks it's the right thing to do and make him feel good.

Forming a kingdom and establishing himself as leader? That's to protect the people fleeing the empire and establishing order instead of a quick power grab. He's a very passive ruler when it comes to ruling via traditional means and mostly seems to run the Halidom in a 'don't cause too many problems or else you'll end up in my therapy class' philosophy.

Rescuing Zethia? Well, there's... many reasons for that, not least of which freeing her and thus the people from the Other's tyranny, which is another of his goals that are for the people instead of him. Besides, one of his base form's lines is: "I've grieved and grown with Zethia. She needs me." Keep that last bit in mind...

This gets pointed out in Luca's dialogue nearly verbatim in 18:

This leads to the second point of my overall argument: Euden has few things he then can characterize himself with. Most people have some sort of individual dream or trait they view as intrinsic to them. Whether it's 'I want to be the best x ever' or 'I'm very x, personality wise' we have certain markers, no matter of how well conscious they are to our actual behavior, that we use to try and keep in touch with ourselves.

But Euden's goals, so wrapped up in other people and for other people means he's lacking some of the common methods people use to define and drive themselves. Combine that with his surprisingly low self esteem I've also addressed, Euden doesn't really seem to have many of the typical means to keep in touch with himself.

So, how does Euden keep track of who Euden is and what Euden should do?

What all these other people think of him and his actions. And other people in general.

What's one of the first things to start getting to him in his hallucination?

What's the reason he's trying to stay strong for even after everyone abandons him in his hallucination? That's right: other people, instead of any of his own real drives. He can't let other people's hopes and dreams go to waste.

"Now wait a minute," you, the hypothetical viewer I am creating to discuss with in my head as if this were a Socratic circle, say, "This is from chapter 18, after Nedrick popped up. His identity crisis was already in bloom there."

Yes, but for a big point to demonstrate that this is not a recent insecurity or tendency brought up as Nedrick reemerged, look to chapter 13 before that whole plotline. This is not a recent development, and the 'title drop' moment of this analysis: even before Nedrick, Euden has a pattern of behavior and way of thinking that set him up for identity crises because he has no strong foundation of self that's not tied to others.

"Ed" Beren why did you choose 'Ed' as a fake name instantly identified this weak spot in Euden's mind to start prodding at it.

I think it's relatively fair to say a decent chunk of people's initial response to being told they were not needed would be a feeling of indignation and sadness, depending on how close they were. Euden's?

One could argue that this is a form of indignation, 'prove them wrong', but notably any of the standard 'ha! I am needed, loser' anger-driven vehemence to protect one's self esteem isn't there. He's trying to prove his usefulness...to live up to his family and his duty to serve. Again, external things he has imposed on himself. It isn't out of vengeance to prove himself to get back at whoever the rude person is, it's an attempt to make others realize he still has a use to them.

Beren, keen as ever, notices this weakness in turn, that the big chunk of his indignation is to prove the worthiness of his dragonblood and as prince and prods that.

The essence of this conversation boils down to Euden admitting that he derives a great deal of his own self-worth, goals, and general identity from others. They are what keep him tethered.

What pride he takes in himself more comes from things like possessing the legacy of dragonblood: he feels the need to live up to Alberius' and Aurelius' legacies. That others need him. Remember his ardent claim earlier how 'Zethia needs [him]?' While it by itself more broadly fits into the slow quest people gradually undertook in Dragalia to get the two of them more independent and less mutually overprotective, it also is an example of how he's anchoring himself to what others need instead of himself.

He derives identity on what others ascribe to him: 7th scion, son of Aurelius, dragonblood, Prince... these traits are what give him that framework to define his life around. He needs to practice the sword to be strong, to then fulfill his duties as prince, so on and so forth, etc.

It's a big chunk of the reason why Nedrick's revelation hits him so hard. I've seen some people misunderstand (at least, in my book) that Euden's unhinged reaction to Nedrick's claims is because he believes shared blood is the ultimate determinate of family and that he's just really upset that he thinks now all the time spent growing up was meaningless. No, he seems perfectly fine accepting others of atypical family structures.

What was really getting him, aside from the whole 'core facts of your life have been lies', is that so much of what he's tied together- this duty, most everything he's done in the past year+, -is falling apart. Euden himself essentially calls up this whole issue in the moment:

"Who am I" is suddenly now a valid question because the biggest traits he's used to characterize himself and guide his entire modus operandi has been ripped to shreds. It's the meaning behind what those labels meant to him that makes having them ripped away hurt that much more rather than the labels themselves causing the fit.

There it is again: Euden has a deep need to feel needed. And yes, most of us do to some degree, but I think and hope I've demonstrated in this post that he is a bit too dependent on this need to drive him. As Luca later hallucinates the genocide and complete destruction of his new village as what he fears, Euden's instead revolves around abandonment and being unneeded. And these run deep enough that Euden wasn't showing any sign of being able to break through on his own and likely would have died if not for Luca's intervention.

We also see this darkly demonstrated whenever Euden thinks he is truly alone. Even in as late canon as Bondforged Euden, he has this reaction to thinking every single person and dragon he fought for is dead:

All I can say here is that he's essentially (and possibly literally, I don't know) lying down, ready to let fiends maul him to death with no more struggle, which is...concerning. Before in the Ch.18 hallucination he was adamant about continuing because the others had their dreams...but now that they are 'dead' he's giving up life itself.

Even in Halloween Mym's fantasies, which are notably more closer to the core components of Euden's actual behavior (selflessness, deference to elder siblings, etc) now that she's had more time to get to know him, the vaguely southern, tough-but-sweet-on-the-inside orphan imagining of him immediately is ready to, guess what? Let himself be mauled to death by a fiend because he thinks Mym's dead and he sees no further point in living. I'm sensing a pattern with how Euden chooses to go out-

Ahem. Anyways, the point is that when Euden thinks his sources of motivation and those who need him, who gave him meaning are gone, he himself sees no more need to live either. While it certainly wasn't helped by Nedrick, this is an overall pattern to his motives and personality that existed before, too.

And it's a dangerous one in its own right, even aside from how it again falls under the 'selfless' umbrella that overhangs all his more specific problems. (Honestly, 'selfless' almost takes on its own meaning in this context, not in the sense of being willing to throw one's self onto the pyre for another, but in the sense he has no true internal drive to characterize himself. Maybe why Nedrick+Beren's no.1 go-to insult is calling him hollow? He 'rings hollow' to them and needs to find meaning and drive to fill the gap elsewhere).

Please do take this next bit with the tiniest grain of salt, as somebody who merely has taken an abnormal psych+a few other psych classes in college, but he almost seems to start showing shades of something not quite Borderline Personality Disorder or Dependent Personality Disorder. While I don't actually think he meets many/enough of the criteria for either one, nor am I wanting to play armchair psychologist and get on a whole 'x has y disorder!!!' thing some people do and unintentionally diminish the significance of what y disorder is to those who have it, he still has shades of what we would start to consider clinical degrees of dysfunction.

For the former, one of the big facets of BPD is the fear of abandonment. While, again, he doesn't show some of the other core traits like 'splitting', ie, having rapid mood swings of idealizing others and demonizing them the next, his frantic desperation to avoid abandonment lines up. So too is the tendency to feel 'lost' and 'empty', as well as his trouble identifying himself. Again, for every 1 thing that lines up well, 3 other things don't, but it still is an interesting connection, I think.

Dependent Personality Disorder also doesn't fit him for similarly many reasons. It shares the fear of abandonment, but Euden doesn't particularly struggle to decide what to do- he knows what he has to do to fulfill the duties his roles have placed on him- nor does he feel completely helpless without someone to 'take care' of him. As I've long discussed, he's more of the 'desperately seeking to take care of others' type. But it he does have other few shades, as his tendency to submit to other's wills and efforts not to aggravate them.

Again: this is not even worth 2 cents. It simply sets my eyebrows rising a bit when I linked up just how intense his behavior patterns are to concepts like the 4 D's and those disorders in my pattern-seeking monkey brain trying to hammer square pegs into round holes.

The 4 D's, as I recall, were a guideline in determining normal behaviors or quirks from actual, diagnosable, 'yep this is a Problem' disorders. They are Danger, Deviance, Distress, and Dysfunction. Danger is easy: is it dangerous to one's self or others? Deviance: is the behavior(s/thoughts/etc notably atypical compared to cultural standards? Distress, is the behavior causing marked distress in one's or other's lives? Dysfunction, does it markedly interfere with living a normal life or fulfilling one's daily tasks? I could see an argument for all 4.

I think what I intended by bringing this up is simply to stress just how disruptive his behaviors are. No, he does not have BPD (bipolar or borderline!), nor does he have DPD. But the fact he shares quite a few qualities that are considered atypical enough to be symptomatic is, again, a testament to how concerning and dangerous he would be in real life.

In any case, I really do need to wrap this up since I've danced around my points long enough. If you've suffered along for this long, especially combined with my other long dissections into what I believe is the hidden dark side of the moon to Euden's character, thank you. I hope you've found some of this interesting, at least!

[tgrailwar]

Tumblr Holy Grail War: Wave 3 - Day 2 (Team Rider, Team Caster, Team Berserker, and Team Assassin)

'Ruler': "Hang on, four Servants are 'Playing Defensively'? I appreciate you all being careful, but this won't be much of a Grail War if you all stay hidden away. Just this once, let's mess with the strings of fate a bit, hm? You don't all have to fight, but I can at least give you something to do… ahem."

In searching out a way to spend their time undetected, two figures meet up in a quiet looking gambling parlor. The air smells of alcohol, smoke, and perhaps vaguely of blood too. It's shady, but the money shooting back and forth is anything but.

'Gloomy-looking Man': "Gambling, huh… you know, I never really had a chance to do something like this. Ah, sorry. I fold."

'Rough-looking Man': "You're foldin' already? You just picked up your cards, kid. They can't be that bad. At least fill up the pot a bit more."

'Gloomy-looking Man': "O-Oh… yeah, sorry. I'll keep trying… do you play cards a lot?"

The rough looking man blows smoke into the air, before looking over at the unsure youth with a cocky expression.

'Rough-looking Man': "Heh, a bit. You new to this sort of thing? How 'bout this, you buy my next couple rounds, and I'll teach ya' how to play."

'Gloomy-looking Man': "W-Wow… well, no reason to say no, I guess… thanks. I'll take you up on your offer."

Before they started, however, two more figures joined them at the table. You could swear one of them was vaguely translucent...? No, that's impossible. Maybe she's just so beautiful that she seems ephemeral.

'Burly, energetic Man': "Ooh! You fellas playin' cards? Lemme in!"

'Ominous-looking Woman': "...Deal me in."

'Rough-looking Man': "Now it's a game! Hahaha!"

An 'event' has started! While you aren't going to sustain any wounds, the winner of this will gain a +2% bonus on their next encounter, no matter what it is!

Second place will gain +1%

Third place won't gain anything!

and last place will gain -1%!

Best of luck! And speaking of luck...

--

Okada Izou's Luck Stat is E! He gains a -10% penalty to his final score!

Shade-Cleopatra's Luck Stat is D! She gains a -5% penalty to her score!

Kintoki's Luck Stat is C! He gains no bonus to his score!

Mandricardo's Luck Stat is B! He gains a +5% boost to his final score!

[neon-prison]

Crossed Wires Ch 8

AO3 link HERE.

Pairing: Delamain/V

Status: Ongoing

Rating: E (Mostly M)

V spent the next few days unpacking all the shit she’d klepped. Word on the street said Netwatch was out in full force, scouring the net with the digital equivalent of a fine toothcomb. She guessed they were banking on some rookie mistake, hitting up known circles in hopes of finding classified intel to trace back to their thief, but V knew better than to hawk hot info for a quick payday. Laying low was both the smart and efficient play, and she took advantage of the downtime to put her affairs in order. Plus, there was a lot to sort through once she’d unarchived the files, from organizing loose information to untangling deeply embedded digital mines that would fry most runners at first contact.

The work should have been tedium, but it was a welcome respite from the storm of string in the physical world, and V took her time, picking and sorting everything into neat little packets with timed triggers. It was as close to a will as she was gonna get. Most of it would have to sit on the back burner for a week or two, but there was one piece of info that couldn’t wait. Opening her holo, V sent out a ping.

Wakako picked up almost immediately. “Hello, V,” she said politely but with the ever-present undertone of impatience. “What can I do for you?” V had known Wakako for far too long to take a question like that at face value. Despite the pleasantries, the fixer was all biz.

“I got something for you.” V didn’t bother with niceties, knowing that the fixer didn’t have much tolerance for them anyways. She punctuated the sentence with a packet of data and waited patiently as Wakako’s runner scanned it for malware.

Wakako’s jaw suddenly clenched, the only flaw in her otherwise flawless facade of unnerving civility. A long pause bloomed between them until the fixer tersely broke it, “What…do I owe you for this?” A prudent question, given how steep the tab could go.

That is if it were anyone else on the line but V.

“Nothin’,” She said, toppling the fundamental pillar of their quid-pro-quo relationship in one word.

“That is not how business is done,” Wakako whispered, dangerous. V was treading on thin ice, and she knew better than anyone about the terrible dangers lurking below the fixer’s brittle stillness. But confident in her footing, she met the Wakako’s flinty glare, all preamble gone, as cold and serious as she’d ever been.

“You know this isn’t biz,” she could’ve asked the Wakako for the fuckin’ moon and still had a fistful of favors to burn, but there were things in this life more important than eddies. No reason to insult Wakako by telling her it was personal…for both of ‘em. She’d grown up with Akira and dined at the Okada family’s house more often than she could count. They were good people, innocent- an unfortunately tempting combination for Arasaka, who were looking to take a cheap shot at the Tyger Claw’s leadership following a disastrous raid. Years later, V didn’t understand what the death of a fourteen-year-old boy netted them, except Wakako’s black rage, simmering to this day.

They squared off in silence until Wakako relented, “I will not forget this.” The veneer of civility was long gone, leaving only the bitter, conniving hag that counted a never-ending list of grudges. “Thank you, V.” At least she could cross one off the list.

Too bad she’d never be around to see Wako put those fuckers into the ground, another regret V wouldn’t live to enjoy. Unsure what to do with the emotions coursing through her, V settled on a shrug. “Have a good one, Wakako,” she said, shutting off the holo and flopping back against the bed with a vague sense of anxiety.

Hanako’s sudden text compounded it, reminding V that the hour of reckoning was approaching. The meet was set for tomorrow, date and time as immutable as the laws of gravity. Idly, she thumbed through the rest of her contacts, a small smile tilting the corners of her mouth as V checked off each one. If the time for regrets was over, then at least she’d wrapped up as many loose ends as she could. Ends wrapped, V found herself awkwardly free. The absence of urgency forced her to pace across her apartment to try and drain the anxiety. The sun was going to set soon, usually an indicator to get her ass in gear for the next gig. But what was she supposed to do now? It felt wasteful to use her last night for cruising around on NCPD biz or-

“A good fuck’ll do you wonders,” Johnny interrupted from her bed, materializing some kind of rubber ball to bounce against the wall as an outlet for the tension that bled over. “Just get drunk and get laid; it’s what I would do.”

She dropped beside him, legs restlessly tapping a nervous rhythm. The thought of fumbling with some drunk-tit gonk in a filthy club lounge rolled her stomach. “Kinda feels like I should do something…like, important, for my last day.”

“Getting that stick out your ass and replacing it with something better is important.” He replied crudely, angrier than usual. “And It’s not gonna be your last day,” Johnny swore, unusually vehement, throwing the ball with spectacular violence. V watched it bounce off the wall and roll along the floor till it dematerialized in a glitchy storm.“I told you Alt’ll fix us. Don’t know why you don’t believe me.”

V didn’t know if Johnny was trying to convince her or himself. She’d been putting off the inevitable for so long, pretending that if she went down punching every night, she’d wake up kicking in the morning. But every lead they’d chased was a dead end, and V had the weird sinking feeling that maybe she hadn’t spent her time as wisely as she should have. Beyond run-of-the-mill regrets, her brain was so bloated with digital threading that she was functionally blind most of the time, huddling in back alleys, bleeding through her eyes and ears with nothing but migraines for company. But arguing was pointless, so V let Johnny’s magnetic charisma drown out her screaming instincts. Who knows, maybe against all odds, Alt would come through. Maybe there was some happy end waiting for them at the end of the long, dark tunnel.

More like a long walk off a short pier…

“Stop moping," Johnny interrupted with an irritated grumble, swinging his legs over the edge of her messy bed. “Go out, get drunk- call one of your friends. Everyone on that list owes you at least a dozen shots.” Getting up, he paced, “Go do something; you’re driving me crazy.”

Driving? Seconds before she tapped on Panam’s name, an idea formed, splitting her face into a wide grin. “Good call, johnny.”

Johnny halfheartedly threw the ball at her head.

------------------------------------

The fact that Johnny hadn’t made a single snide comment about her plans for the evening was impressive, though V wisely chose not to comment on it for fear of baiting the contrarian in him. End of the day, he owed V the same enthusiasm she’d had for his outing with Rogue, so it evened out. Watching her pop several pills without protest, Johnny disappeared from her consciousness with a two-fingered salute and an expression V couldn’t read. She brushed away the twinge of annoyance. Fuck it, it was her last night out, and V didn’t want to spend it thinking about Johnny.

Showering, V stared at the mirror, pulling out a blow-dryer with more dust than the badlands. One fire hazard later, she looked almost respectable, tying her hair in a more elaborate version of her usual style. It was silly to be nervous, but it had been so long since V carved time for herself that it felt almost alien to stand in front of her closet, wondering about aesthetics instead of optimal coverage or blood spatter. It was a shame that some of her favorites didn’t fit anymore, sliding down her thin frame when they’d fit her perfectly less than a month ago. An unexpected stab of grief shook her, but V bullied it out of her mind, choosing a dark, comfortable jacket with just enough bling to edge into fancy. She’d just have to make do with the rest. Staring at the mirror, V grinned at the sight of herself, having almost forgotten how fun it was to get dolled up, to test makeup and mix and match outfits, the whole deal. Her reflection looked respectable, like V was just another girl going out for a fun night instead of a final one. Finishing touches done; V holstered Vnity and downed two painkillers to stem the ever-present migraine before heading down the hallway and into the garage.

The Villefort hummed to life when V stepped out of the elevator, and sensitive sensors immediately picked up her signature ping, doors swinging open to accept her. V ducked into the passenger’s seat with a theatrically saucy wink, “Hey babe, come here often?”

“Good evening, Victoria,” Delamain greeted her, engine vibrating into a soft purr as soon as she settled in. “This is the current registered home address for this vehicle, so yes, I am here quite often.” The confusion in his tone made her chuckle, and she reached out to pet the dash. Processes skittered at the contact, bursting beneath her touch and reforming a moment later. The dots lined up, “Ah, that was a joke.” He paused, sounding disappointed, “The concept of humor is still a mystery.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” V interrupted the incoming apology, “Humor’s a personal, subjective thing. Give yourself time to develop your tastes, and humor’ll come after.” Over several weeks, she’d gotten pretty good at disseminating human traits to easily digestible sound bytes. Usually, she’d be down to talk about it at length, but V had time-sensitive plans: “Let me drop you the coordinates.” Much as she’d like to take the wheel, V could barely see the streets let alone drive through them. Crashing her precious Delamain Vehicle No.21 and dealing with insurance was not part of the evening’s itinerary. Delamain would have to do the honors.

Accepting the packet, Delamain paused, feeding the coordinates through his system to pinpoint the destination. “This is far from the Delamain Network’s regular service area.” He sounded hesitant, but the rearview map plotted the optimum course.

Shit. “Too far?” She wheedled, cringing. Delamain had offhandedly mentioned that he’d never been outside the proper city limits, but V hadn’t considered whether it was by choice or limitation. Hmm…That threw a snarl into the code, but there were other places, closer and less impactful but still fun-

“You need not worry about whether I will be able to maintain a stable connection,” Delamain interrupted as if he could sense her thoughts. Maybe they had been spending too much time together if he could read her that easily. “I will still be within acceptable safety margins. I chose Night City and the surrounding suburbs for peak service traffic, but they are not the true operational limits of the Network.” Delamain was being oddly loose-lipped today. Not that she was complaining, especially once the engine revved, pulling them out of the garage with inhuman smoothness. They merged into Night City traffic, weaving between cars with elegant deft, his precision closer to craft than algorithm. “However, my analyses indicate nothing of note in that area. May I ask the purpose of our visit?”

He was getting bolder by the day, and V grinned, proud. “Now that’s a secret.” The caution in his tone was warranted, given that the outskirts of the badlands were knee-deep in Raffen territory. Made sense his regular clientele never ventured out that far but V and Panam worked hard to scatter the shiv and send them back to their hidey-hole to lick their wounds. “But if it’ll make you feel better, it’s a personal matter- just you and me.”

“That sounds like you are leading me to an execution.” Delamain said, shocking V into startled laughter.

Coughing, V controlled herself. “And you said humor eludes you… Wait -” A worrying thought popped into her head. “You’re not talking from experience, are you?”

Delamain materialized in the rearview, looking convincingly affronted. “The Delamain Network expressly forbids the active use of vehicles to commit intentional violence against others. Combat mode was installed with the exclusive condition that it be used only as a means of self-defense. Clients in breach of their contract face immediate termination of their membership, cement a spot on the Delamain Network Blacklist and are reported to the Night City Police Department for further penalty. As for your question, I spent a considerable portion of my studies in humanity towards the consumption of classical media.”

V leaned forward, awed, “So you watched gangster movies?”

“....Yes. Humanity has an avid interest in organized crime.” Oh yeah, he looked embarrassed. “It was, of course, one of the many dozens of genres that I analyzed.” He added hurriedly, “I eventually abandoned the project once I determined the scope and effort of my studies would not lead me towards the end I hoped to achieve.”  

Remembering her disappointment at the news, V made sure not to voice that opinion. “You never did tell me what your end goal was.” It was one of the few things Delamain had never been upfront about, changing the subject as soon as V broached it. Eventually, she’d taken to personal guesses, though no fantasy reason could ever sate her curiosity. They rounded Kabuki, taking the highway towards the badlands. Long, iridescent strings of shimmering code choked every corner of the roundabout, and V closed her eyes in a pointless bid to block it out.

“It would be remiss of me to make any conclusions based on such little information.” Delamain repeated, justifying his excuses behind AI rationale. He could be suspiciously cagey whenever it suited him, wielding human expectations to his benefit and managing them with as much deft as he did his fleet. Close as she was, V knew better than to push, resisting curiosity with what seemed like a herculean effort.

“Where’d you leave off?” She asked instead, tackling the problem from another direction.

“The Remains of the Day.” He answered, judging her question safe enough for honesty.

Huh. “Never heard of it.” V made a note to look it up when she returned.

“It’s no matter,” came the glib response before he lapsed into silence.

The rest of the drive was in comfortable quiet, the world a soft golden glow behind her eyelids as the sun began to set. In the distance, V could feel the pulsing rhythm of Night City fading further and further away, tangling digital webs releasing their hold on her as they reached the city limits. Eventually, even those faint impressions melted, leaving Delamain’s silver gilt thread as their only connection. Considerate as always, he turned to her favorite Retrowave station, and the combination of synthetic beats along the purr of his well-tuned engine lulled V into a trance. A dozen miles later, the familiar hum of tires and cement turned to the bump of sand and gravel. A smile tugged at V’s lips. She shouldn’t have been surprised at the ease with which Delamain glided over the desert, overcoming obstacles that normal cars could barely handle with only a slight increase in effort. She opened her eyes as they angled towards a small cliff, climbing the steep incline in seconds.

“We have arrived at our destination,” Delamain announced, coming to a rolling stop. “Are we at the correct spot?” V doubted there was a more precise GPS in the world, but Delamain seemed set on being polite.

In the distance, Night City glimmered, reflecting the setting sun against its buildings in a shining glow. V grinned, “Yep, this is it.” Last time she’d been here was with Jackie, drinking to the sound of his absurd fantasies as he imagined some bright, ridiculously gilded future. The stories always ended with forty-something cars and twenty-something mansions, complete with real-water swimming pools and, of course, the mandatory harem of fawning groupies. He’d always been a little vague on how they got there, but Jackie had never been a journey type of a guy, obsessed with destinations just out of reach. Probably why he loved the view, how distance reshaped the gritty reality of Night City into a beautiful, fantastic dream. And between the two of them, Jackie had always been the dreamer- an unfortunate trait given that Night City primarily sated its appetite on dreamers and fools.

Stepping out, V took a deep breath, and the cold desert air burned her lungs. Grateful for the foresight of bringing a jacket, V stepped around Delamain and gingerly climbed atop him, planting her ass on the warm hood. Huddling, she shivered, “We’re a little early for the show; hope you’re not in a rush.”

“I have no record of large-scale events scheduled at this location or in Night City.” Delamain replied, and V had only a few seconds of warning, a staticky hum filling her audials before a figure materialized beside her in a brilliant, sudden flash.

“Holy shit-!”  V nearly rolled off the hood in panic, Vnity halfway out the holster before she recognized Delamain’s avatar. Catching herself in an awkward sprawl, V flailed and crawled back up the hood, wide-eyed and gawking. “The hell?! Since when do you have a holoprojector rigged to your systems?!” Had he always had it? Maybe V was just willfully blind and ignorant because there was some disconnect between her brain and what she was seeing. She gawped openly, failing miserably at hiding her shock.

“Victoria? Are you alright?” Delamain looked worried, features creasing as he awkwardly leaned toward her. “My apologies; I should have given you ample warning and…Victoria?” He looked at her, confused, "Is there something amiss? You are…staring.”  

Yeah. It was probably hella rude, but V couldn't stop staring any more than she could force Johnny to be civil. She leaned closer, brushing aside boundaries and personal space as curiosity took the reins.

Delamain, unused to any measure of physicality, didn’t have enough self-awareness to maintain distance as V nearly crawled over him, observing the intricate layers of light and code that formed his features, familiar yet different now that it was rendered in real space. The work was extraordinary, finer than anything on Jig Jig street. Several colors in full-spectrum hues layered over one another in tight bands, making him look deceptively solid unless you were close enough to see the minuscule, shifting gaps. Even the aura was bearable, tuned to a pleasing blue glow as opposed to the blinding garden-variety glare. Leaning back, V couldn’t hide the naked wonder on her face if she tried, “Jesus, Del, that is some preem tech.” The tracking was immaculate, eyes following her every movement despite having no hardwire connection to any optical sensors. It was an eerily lifelike replica, except… Glancing down, V bit back a snicker at the awkward assortment of holographic limbs as he bent half at the waist like a Ken doll. His legs were stick-straight over the hood, ruining the illusion. “Guessing it’s your first time tryin’ it out?”

“You are correct,” he said, lack of accompanying body language confirming it. “I employ certain algorithms that can convincingly mimic organic randomness in muscle movement. Alongside my emotion-based subroutines, they primarily concentrate on my face, serving as the basis for emotional expression. However, in the interests of preserving processing power, I do not render the rest of my ‘body’ and have not had an opportune moment to conduct trials in physical space.” His neck turned with alien detachment to look at V, “I can shutter this feature if it proves too disconcerting.” No need for advanced algorithms to relay that tone of disappointment.

“No, no!” V reassured, watching as Delamain raised his hands like he’d never seen them before. Maybe he hadn’t. “Practice makes perfect, right? Plus, you can have me as context.” Experiments always worked better with a controlled variable, and V would argue that she was a pretty well-practiced human. She watched him mull it over at Delamain speed, finally settling on folding his hands over his lap, prim and proper as ever.

“That is sound advice,” Delamain agreed, nodding with her, pleased at the thought of gathering information.

His hands distracted her again, and V couldn’t help it; she stared - trying to reconcile memory with some small difference…It was going to drive fuckin’ crazy; what was it?  V’s eyebrows shot to her hairline as it clicked a moment later, “Are you wearing…driving gloves? Wait- ” Flicking her eyes up, she let loose a delighted gasp, “Del, is that a new suit?”

V didn’t even wait for confirmation, a wide grin splitting her features as she puzzled out exactly the nagging difference. It was subtle, but Delamain was clad in the latest fashion, sporting a double-lapelled suit tipped with gold caps that mimicked the ones at the edges of his crisp, white shirt. Even his tie was different, dark, but with golden filigree lining the expensively recreated cloth, winding up to punctuate the look with an elegant golden pin- the same color as his new cufflinks. It was understated yet unmistakable, iconically Delamain- every cut and corner crafted to mirror the elegant lines of his fleet, layering an extra air of golden elegance over his usual gilded luxury. And those gloves… V was glad it was cold because she’d be sweating otherwise.

She’d been staring too long, and the delicate lines of his silver syntax twisted under her intense inspection. He paused, fidgeting “I…ah, believe it is customary to dress up for a date.” Delamain explained, looking down at himself with sudden shyness, “Is it to your satisfaction?”

“Oh, Absolutely.” V whistled in vivid appreciation, “Ladykiller protocols activated. Once you get the hang of some ‘ganic movement, you’ll have to beat clients off with a stick.” Holographic projector or not, clients were gonna be tripping over themselves for some facetime.

“Feedback noted,” he preened at the compliment, self-professed slivers of vanity peeking through his carefully crafted façade. “However, I do not plan to use this iteration of my avatar with my clientele. Beyond the power requirements necessary to maintain the projector, it would dilute the Delamain Network’ to have its-” Suddenly self-aware of his potentially unflattering tangent, Delamain changed gears, pausing as he considered his next words, “This avatar is a special version for you, and I am glad to know you like it.”

Seemed a shame to keep drip like that in the backlogs, but V’s cheeks warmed. Grinning to hide the sudden embarrassment, V made to bump him with her elbow before realizing the futility of the gesture. “Could’ve at least warned me so I could try to match. Not that I can afford anything that fancy off my day job.” V once caught Johnny staring over her shoulder, positively misty-eyed at the sight of her barebones bank account.

“That would have been quite unnecessary,” He responded, looking her over, silver script flashing across his eyes as he logged…something. It seemed unlikely, but maybe he’d been just as slow in noticing V’s change in attire. “You are lovely in any garment you choose, as always.”

What a gonk. V snickered, charmed.

The little space between his brows crinkled, “Forgive me, but given how dangerous and high-stakes your work tends to be, I would have assumed you would be properly compensated for your time and effort.” A nice way to talk around the fact that she regularly bled out in his backseat. He suddenly frowned, looking her over like he was trying to understand something, “I have seen references on the net call you a “Charity Merc,” though I am struggling to understand the connection between what is considered a generally virtuous trait and the apparent disrespect of your alias.”

V winced, caught off guard by how much the nickname stung coming from Delamain. Figures Delamain would be fond of gossip. No way someone habitually watching the world through a billion cameras wouldn’t develop a voyeuristic streak. “Stalkin’ me online, huh?” It was meant to be teasing, but from how his delicate threading cringed, she wasn’t successful.

“Please forgive me,” Delamain apologized hastily, regret etched across his face, “I did not mean to offend you. After you reset my core, I had no memory of you beyond my predecessor’s logs, which I aimed to verify by searching for references that led me towards-” Recoiling, he stopped, struggling to find the right words to smooth things over.

Sting gone in the wake of her amusement, V watched him spin his wheels over an awkward apology. “Don’t worry about it,” she reassured him gently. She leaned on her hip a moment later and turned toward him, “You want the full story?”

Delamain mimicked her, his movements perfect, if unintentionally feminine. V could tell he was struggling against innate curiosity, and she interrupted his train of thought, fearing that his earlier gaffe might reestablish rigid propriety protocols and set them back several weeks, “Firsthand account’s gotta be better than forum gossip, right?”

She’d been right to bank on AI logic because Delamain hesitated before rising to the bait, “Only if you are amenable. I admit I have been rather curious, but I…wouldn’t want you to revisit any unpleasant memories.”

“Nah, babe. You’re good. I appreciate the due diligence. Not like I would believe a note left by a previous version of myself without cross-checking either.” If Johnny were here, he would have helpfully reminded V of the time she tried on a brain dance left in the trash. Twice. Glaring hypocrisy aside, V turned her gaze towards the darkening horizon. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a single defining event that netted her the nickname. “Hmm…might have to start at the beginning for this.”

“I remember you mentioning your mother,” Delamain prompted, giving her an easy segue.

Latching on the hook, V nodded, unsurprised at the depth of his memory banks, “Yeah. Helen. She actually adopted me.” Pinging Del, V airdropped a packet. It was a photo of a blonde woman with short-cropped hair, a wide smile, and a face so ordinary that it could be forgotten the moment she stepped out of sight. “She took me in as a baby. Never knew who my real parents were, but I spent years makin’ up stories- super elaborate fantasies about being the long-lost heiress of Militech or something.” V grimaced, thinking back to those years like every adult did: cringing. “Yeah, it was all very silly.”

“Questions about one’s origin is something I have found to be an innate part of humanity,” Delamain offered gently, referencing his studies. “The desire to understand one’s source and find further purpose is only…” he looked confused- as if he’d just realized something, “...natural.”

A smile tugged at her mouth at his insight, obviously born from personal struggles. “So I started taking up crazy jobs that got kids bigger and smarter than me killed on the daily.” Delamain would blow a gasket if he realized her stunt with Pacifica was probably less dangerous than some of the shit she pulled as a kid. “I didn’t care about the eddies ‘cause I figured if I made enough noise and got enough attention, my real family would sweep in and fly me away to some castle in the sky.” V always regretted being such an ass to Helen in those early pubescent years, but at that time, she didn’t know how to channel her restless curiosity, and it ended up bleeding into anger. Anger which she took out on her adopted mother- who, looking back, had the patience of a fuckin’ saint. “So I ended up with a reputation. If there was something dumb, dangerous, and crazy risky, you could count on me.” Hmm. Awkward to realize that she hadn’t really changed all that much.

Then the Valentinos and Tyger Claws pulled iron over a few petty pounds of synthcoke, “And Helen got caught in the crossfire.” The memory was a mottled scar, a scab repeatedly picked in the middle of healing, but she’d made enough peace that it didn’t fill her with grief like it used to. “After that, I was alone,” Night City was scary for a thirteen-year-old with no family.

“I am sorry for your loss,” Delamain responded, more earnestly saddened now than when Jackie bled out in his backseat, but V didn’t hold it against him.

“So all those jobs I used to do? Yeah, I started doin’ 'em to trade for clothes, food, and other stuff.” There wasn’t a particular point where she got the alias, but the first whispers probably started then. “Valentino kids used to make fun of me for it. They started makin’ bets on who could make me take the stupidest, most demeaning job for the smallest scraps.” She grinned at Delamain, who was staring with compassion and avid interest, “Babe, I got into so many fights.” She had scars on her knuckles for years ‘till she traded them for Gorilla hands. It was expensive, but watching Diego and his goons hit the dirt was totally worth it.

“I did not realize you had to endure such hardship,” Delamain’s face twisted, features arranging themselves into an unreadable expression, learning a new combination in real time. The final result looked slightly unsettled: "You deserved much better.”

Now wasn’t that the story of NC. “Then I met Mama Welles when I tried to break into her bar, but she recognized me ‘cause I helped a friend of hers a few weeks before. So instead of turning me over to NCPD, she gave me food and a place to sleep for the night.” The memory was fond, something she pulled out on rainy days to cheer herself up. “Anyways, I was sleeping on a scratchy sofa when I suddenly realized that I spent so long fantasizing about some imaginary family that I never took time to appreciate the people who took care of me, ‘specially when they didn’t have to.” When V needed food, Ellie from the corner store never ran out of her favorite snack. Hernando always had spares in her size when her shirt had too many holes. Looking back, the vendors on her block always had her side, and the community found a way to provide V with anything she needed.

“After that, my attitude changed, and I started doin’ the low-paying, hard jobs ‘cause people needed someone watching out for them, and I wanted to give something back.” Shrugging, she continued, mired in memory, “I spent the rest of my life turning “Charity Merc” into something I could be proud of. Though some people never got over first impressions.” It was always an uphill battle with fixers who only knew her by rep. “After that, well,” She turned to her companion with a small grin, “You know the rest.” And the ending.

Delamain was staring, his attention like a pinpoint laser. “Thank you for sharing,” he said with unnecessary gravitas, as if V had just imparted some secret of the universe instead of Night City’s most common backstory. “Forgive me for my boldness, but I would like to posit that you have succeeded in your aims and much more. Many boards I frequented sang your praises, sentiments my predecessor and I share.”

Her cheeks flooded, and V fought the urge to look away, “Thanks, babe. Means a lot, coming from you.”

“Did you ever locate your birth parents?” He was strangely curious, but V chalked it up to AI peculiarity.

She shook her head, “Nope. Never looked either ‘cause I realized if they cared, they wouldn’t have thrown me behind a dumpster in the first place.”

In the corner of her eye, she saw delicate threads of code snarl in a nasty tangle for a long moment. Delamain’s face stuttered, twitching in unison, expression hilariously outraged, “Behind a dumpster?” His tone was incredulous, so sincerely horrified that it glitched into pure static, sending V into uncontrollable giggles.

“Don’t look so scandalized,” she laughed off his shock. “Alleyways are Night City’s most common orphanages. Who knows,” she teased, “If I look hard enough, I might find a sibling or two a street over.”

He frowned, and V couldn’t take him seriously with such a comically stern expression, “While I appreciate your ability to bring levity into difficult circumstances, I am appalled at the notion of someone….” He looked distraught, "discarding you.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I think I made it out ok. Just took a few knocks and learned some hard lessons.” Inhaling a lungful of freezing desert air, she met his gaze, enjoying the backlit glow and warmth of his holographic form. “Plus,” she amended, “if everything was different, I might not have had the chance to befriend the smartest and slickest AI this side of the continent.”

It was meant to be a softhearted tease, but the way his silver gaze melted under the compliment made her shiver. “Do you really think so?” He asked, hushed.

“Absolutely,” V whispered, suddenly breathless, caught in the gravitational pull of his question. “I’m so proud of you.”

The praise seemed to go right through him, translating through his delicate coding with a shiver. “Feedback noted,” Delamain murmured, and a sudden silence bloomed; the air between them charged.

V watched his face and tracked the shimmering holographic strands that made his aquiline features, trying to gauge the tension between them and read the intent in his machine-spun processes. After a moment, a flash of understanding dawned. “You want to kiss me.”

The words were gentle, but Delamain reacted to them like a physical blow. He struggled against the accusation, eyes flicking to her lips as her words gave form to contextual connections. Newly foreign impulses reared their heads to war against hard-coded propriety protocols, demanding capitulation. They stayed there, locked in each other’s orbit for what seemed like an eternity before Delamain shuddered, surrendering, "Yes.”

V took the next step, gently leading because he had no inborn instinct, no knowledge of how to proceed. A token piece of her hesitated, but if all she had was tonight, didn’t V deserve something for herself? The strength of her desire was surprising, washing out resistance as she closed the gap, using the privacy of the space between them to admit the breadth of her feelings- if only to herself.

He mirrored her, body leaning forward in perfect technical mimicry as they finally connected.

The kiss was livewire, electrical charge and heat skittering across her face as flesh met light. It was an uncomplicated, chaste kiss, all the more precious for the care and consideration he put into it. Delamain was delicate in how he angled himself, mindful of his ephemeral form, silver script calculating her shifting body down to the millimeter as he adjusted in tandem, heuristic algorithms learning from their contact in real time. Endeared by the effort, a soft, affectionate noise escaped her, and his form fluttered at the sound. Distantly, she heard his engine rev, the hood growing infinitesimally warmer beneath her fingers.

V was angling herself closer when sparks lit her vision. A sudden pop under the hood scattered his form, leaving her yelping in the dark, awkwardly clutching air. “Del?” Rubbing her eyes, V blinked, vision stabilizing after an embarrassing few seconds, “You alright?”

“...Yes, forgive me.” He answered after a short pause, audio suspiciously staticky, “The holographic projector’s capacitors were unable to process simultaneous streams of data and ah- seem to have…overheated.”

Stifling the urge to giggle, V was secretly flattered. But not wanting to compound insecurity, she turned on her scanners instead. His processor, finer and more delicately crafted than the holographic form, rippled like waves across her feed. Didn’t look like anything was broken, but still, “Need a hand?”

“I appreciate the offer of assistance, but recalibration will take less than five minutes.” The thin lines of his repair protocols wound beneath her, tangling around what V could only assume was the projector housing. His previous timidness was gone, replaced by a single-minded focus on his assigned task, “The damage to the projector was superficial, though I would like to make sure that you did not sustain any unintentional harm.”  

V knew better than to argue against that tone. Staring at the loom of his processor, V tried to catch the flickering numbers as he scanned her. But even with her newfound sight and mental reflexes, Delamain was too quick, script flashing in a seamless blend that looked like a river of light. There was some serious power under the hood, and V resisted the urge to dip her fingers. “You know,” she started, rolling to her back, absorbing the bleeding warmth of his engine, “Vik said your medical scanning tech was some of the best he’d ever seen, and you mentioned wanting to expand. Have you ever considered partnering? Like with Trauma?”

“That is an interesting proposition,” Delamain replied thoughtfully, corresponding data threads looping as he digested it. “The idea is quite sound.” New information looped across his processors, threading new information toward the broad city horizon.

“Just a thought,” V responded, enjoying the lingering warmth across her back as she waited for him to finish the repairs.

“The holographic projector has been repaired,” Delamain warned, considerate of surprising her again. “It will be coming online in 3…2…1.”  Timing exact with his countdown, Delamain’s avatar rematerialized in a series of glowing lines, machinery humming smoothly beneath her.

“Welcome back,” V greeted him with a bright smile, taking note of the subtle curvature of his limbs as he draped over the hood much more naturally, only a hint of his previous stiffness apparent if someone were to look too closely. AI learning was just something else….”You gonna be good?”

“Yes. Thankfully, neither of us is any worse for wear.” He looked moderately pleased with his success, "I have taken several measures to compensate for any single-point failures in the future. Barring any unexpected…" Delamain looked at V as if he’d just suddenly remembered what caused the failure in the first place, and his voice crackled at the edges, “...surges in the system.”

Before she could tease him, a flicker in the distance caught her attention. V turned immediately, settling back on her ass and gesturing excitedly towards the horizon, “Oh, great timing! It’s starting!” Grabbing at Delamain before she could remember he was hollow, V laughed and pointed towards the city. Her friend’s gaze obediently followed her outstretched hand. The sun had set, leaving only a quickly fading crimson scar to kiss the dusty horizon. Against the inky red backdrop of the sky, Night City was a glittering, iridescent pearl of diffused neon and twinkling spotlights. It was a beautiful sight, but not the one V brought them out for. That happened a moment later in a staggering sequence of power meant to draw from the city’s energy reserves in steps to avoid cascade failure. Close up, the change was impossible to clock, like staring at a corner of a painting. But they were dozens of kilometers away, and at this distance, brushing the edges of the badlands, Night City lived up to its reputation as the jewel of the west.

Beginning at the lowest levels, billboards flickered, advertisements tuning to a single channel of rippling color. Then, rising like a wave, it engulfed the smaller buildings, lighting up the lower floors and reflecting dying sunlight off the armor-meshed windows like a prism. Drones and aviation lights followed suit, glittering across the sea of color like stars. The tide overtook the winding megabuildings that dotted the city landscape, lighting them like oversaturated beacons in an ever-shifting multicolored band. Soon enough, even the high-rises were submerged, and the entire city turned into a dazzling rainbow display, entirely accidental yet heartbreakingly sublime. Misty had shown her old holos of the Aurora Borealis, and maybe it was arrogant to think that they could match nature, but watching Night City light up in a single, unified wave of rippling color? V liked to think they came pretty damn close.

Overwhelmed by emotion, V drew her knees to her chest. Memories flooded her, snippets of conversations with her friends, the taste of her favorite burger joint, the low-level murmur of people’s voices as she stared out her apartment windows…her entire life felt so small and far away, every formative experience contained to a single, tiny, glittering dot on the horizon. Living in Night City, it was easy to get swept away in the endless tidal wave of chaos, succumbing to ceaseless waves churning you over and over until there was nothing left but smooth, weathered stone. That’s what the last few weeks had been like for V, a grueling swim against the tide with no land in sight. But watching the colors fade and the city return to its regularly scheduled cacophony of noise and advertisements, V knew that Johnny was wrong. There was no going back, and she was suddenly fiercely glad she chose to spend her final night with someone she cared about, sharing a view that meant the world to her.

Eventually, noise started to bleed back, and V’s pinpoint focus diffused to her immediate surroundings. Turning her head, she watched the subtle interplay of light across Delamain’s face, his avatar a blue, gleaming beacon in the darkness.

He stared at Night City for a long while, unblinking. The decision to drive out had been a good one, and V didn’t doubt for a second that Delamain wouldn’t be as enamored of the view as she was. Absently, from the corner of her eye, she watched little bursts of data travel along the silver string that connected them back to his HQ. V imagined his neural pathways twining, surging, and coalescing, logging everything he saw in clinically precise but sensory-rich detail. What was it like to see the city from all those different perspectives, to simultaneously exist in hundreds of points? Soon, even the sky would be part of his domain. V was proud to have contributed a new view, but she still envied him.

“So?” V ventured, breaking the silence that wrapped around them like a fog, startling them back to self-awareness. “Different from the outside, huh?”

“Yes,” he murmured softly. “That was a remarkable experience. Thank you for sharing it with me.” V felt another rush of electrical current running beneath her palms. There was no mistaking his intent this time. He turned, gaze as intense, as bright and brilliant as the city itself. “Victoria,” Delamain’s voice was a silver-soft plea, “Kiss me again. Please.”

V nodded and this time, it was Delamain who leaned forward first, sweeping her with newfound boldness. She closed the final gap, gasping at the kiss, hand coming up to cradle the ephemeral cut of his jaw where her chrome tingling at the contact. It was only a facsimile, just a holoform, but the way he shivered and fluttered at her touch made their connection real, physical. Bands of light sparked, prickling against her lips in delicate patterns. It was like kissing electricity, charged air pinging her cyberware, making her lightheaded. It was nothing like their hardwire connection, no feedback loop drowning out reason to leave only frenzy, and V relished in their sobriety, enjoying the liberty to give freely without expectation or condition. Beneath her fingertips, V felt the faint impressions of his processes as he recorded everything with indelible detail.

Hanako, V’s impending death, the endless tangled strings of Night City, the reaper’s blade, everything faded- washed away in the wake of Delamain’s glowing presence, drowned in the dull roar of his engine. Tomorrow was inevitable, but he’d given her the gift of now.  

Grateful, V closed her eyes and simply existed.

------------------------------------

Back home, she’d barely managed to take off her clothes before the painkillers wore off. Clad in exhaustion and chasing sleep to escape the familiar ache of a migraine, V crumpled into bed, turning in time to see Johnny materialize beside her.

He turned his head just as her eyelids began to droop, “So what, you’re basically Murk Man?”

“Oh god…No…" V went to sleep horrified.

[naritaren]

@ that post where you put m jf in the tags: … same I do not get it at all lmfao and I feel the same about the other wrestler associated with him which I know is unpopular you know which one 💀

I'll swing at the hornets nest with this, but he's super overrated imo His mask is slipping and the fatphobia and vague racism towards Asian men is really telling. You can heel it up without being a bigot and he doesn't get that. Whenever he goes off script it's insane and clear he isn't as good as he thinks he is. His wrestling is pretty meh as well. That could be remedied if he would actually wrestle and put the work in. I'm dreading watching 60 fucking minutes of him doing restholds and bullshit. You can be a heel without doing all of what he does and be effective. He's also not a generational talent. When you say generational talent you are saying you are as good as someone like Okada. He ain't even near that level. If you want to be a good heel without being a bigoted shithead, you need to model yourself after Jay White. And right now? Jay is probably about to be the real big free agent. It's not going to be MJF.

[shinagawa-division]

The doorbell to the Okada residence was heard, Ritsuko paused, her security measures hadn't gone off. That was highly unusual. Opening the door, she found no one there. Ritsuko was about to close the door until she spotted something on the doorstep.

A large green box was on the floor, with “To Ritsuko Okada” on it. Seeing it was for her, the raven haired woman picked it up and carried the box inside. Placing it on the counter, Ritsuko opened the gift.

Inside the box was a tiered black cake with a giant crack on the side revealing a dark green geode design on the inside. Further inspection revealed that the geodes were made out of rock candy. Raising an eyebrow, Ritsuko plucked the card from on top of the cake. Opening the card, Ritsuko found the writing of someone she never thought would send her a gift.

“Ritsuko-san,

I'm not sure why I made you this, but Happy Birthday.

From,

Kanra Akemi”

In Edogawa Division…

Kanra was staring at the ceiling, having just come back from delivering her gift. She didn't know why she made a cake for Mama Ritsuko. All Kanra knew was that the moment she heard it was Ritsuko's birthday, she immediately went to work making a cake. Why? Who was Ritsuko Okada to her? Why did she seem to both hate and care for the woman? Why did her eyes seem so familiar? Questions that she desperately wanted the answers to but knew wouldn't be getting anytime soon.

Letting out a sharp hiss, Kanra closed her eyes as her head suddenly began to throb painfully. She couldn't help but gritting her teeth as images began to flood her mind.

"******, come meet your… younger sister."

"So this is what you were working on, Old Lady?"

"Yes, she took quite a bit of work. Much more than you."

"I feel like I should be pissed at you for replacing me, but she's so adorable. The onee-chans are going to love her."

What the hell was this? Kanra couldn't help but think. She had gotten vague flashbacks before, but this was the first time she had heard anyone speak in them. What they were saying didn't make any sense to her either.

"The name's ******, but you can just call me Nii-chan! Hahaha!"

With a sharp gasp, Kanra opened her eyes, tears trailing down her face. The sound of her older brother laughing was the only thing she could hear.

"Nii-chan."

Ritsuko stared at the card for a while, an unreadable expression on her face. Out of everything, this had to be the biggest surprise she’s received, surprising…but not at all pleasant. “Theta…” The scientist sighed out, suddenly looking exhausted. For once, she didn’t know what to think, was she happy? Perhaps, she definitely felt a…light feeling in her chest, the kind a mother would feel when their estranged child made contact after years of…nothing.

How long has it been since she last saw those crimson orbs look at her in wonder…and terror? If the ravenette concentrated long enough, she could still feel tiny hands clutching onto her as her daughter creation took her first steps. If she receded into the dark crevasses of her mind long enough, she could hear the pained and fearful shrieks as she felt those same hands being ripped away from her, she didn’t knew what primal fear was until she looked into the eyes of her little girl who she knew she would never see again.

Until now, she thought, finally turning her attention to the large cake on the kitchen table, a few clones surrounding it due to the sweet aroma, however they dared not touch it, out of respect or more likely fear of their creator. Upon giving the green light, the clones cheered and went to go get plates and silverware, Ritsuko plucked one of the geodes from inside the cake and popped it into her mouth, it’s good, she thought as she chewed, she has a real perchance for baking. How much was there to Theta, no, Kanra that was unknown to her? How much did she grew and individualize herself from what was planned? If Ritsuko were to see her now…how proud would she feel from just seeing her?

So many questions, questions that she wasn’t sure, for once in her life, that would get the answers to.

Thank you for the gift!

[odaclan]

I only skipped straight to the Nobunaga scenes out of curiousity, so don’t ask me about my opinion of the Dousuru Ieyasu drama yet. 

I'm surprised to find out that the teaser shots of Nobunaga with loose hair and red attire that was shown on Twitter was actually supposed to be Nobunaga in his youth. 

The red clothing does make sense, as the Shinchoukouki describes that Nobunaga and his retinue of pages and attendants were all garbed in red. My surprise comes more from how old Okada Junichi looks in this scene (he was even sporting a light moustache), even though Nobunaga should still be in his teens. His father Oda Nobuhide is not even dead yet. 

Usually dramas would hold off the facial hair until Nobunaga is supposed to be in his later years, especially if they use the same actor to act as both the young Nobunaga and his older version. If the actor is not young anymore, having even the slightest amount of facial hair makes them glaringly old. The “adult Nobunaga”, from what is presumably the Okehazama scenes, looks younger than this “teenaged Nobunaga”. 

The choice to style the hair loose like this is also a unique choice, I do not believe I’ve ever seen Nobunaga wearing his hair like this in a “serious” historical live action movies or drama. I’ve only seen it when Nakamura Hashinosuke was Nobunaga in Kiriya Kazuaki’s Goemon movie, which purposely had a more game-like/fantasy feel to it. See below:

In a standard historical Sengoku movies, loose hair were usually seen in battle, worn under a hikitate-eboshi while the samurai is in armour, like this:

Or sometimes during death/execution scenes.

I imagine I could’ve mistaken the scene for a Chinese historical or fantasy drama if I was just shown screenshots, not the entire scene in context. Especially this rather odd scrappy “fort” that Nobunaga’s little gang has: 

It has more the vibes of a Chinese bandit gang, often seen in wuxia/martial arts series. I vaguely recall of a wuxia story  featuring a “beggar’s sect” with this kind of hideout. Nobunaga and his retinue were also acting like thugs too. 

Honestly, it feels like the direction this is going is more like “a live action adaptation of a manga” kind of look and feel. The atmosphere I’m getting from this is reminiscent of this manga called Sanzoku Ou by Sawada Hirofumi. It’s a historical manga, but with a touch of fantasy and typical shounen hot-blooded energy. Hopefully it doesn’t hurt the series too much, as I’ve seen reports that Japanese viewers were so upset they ditched the series on episode two because it’s too outlandish. 

If I have time to watch more than just a couple clips I might also give some more detailed comments. 

[sybilius]

hello syb how r u !! i love looking at the posts you put into your original writing tag. is there anything about your original writing you'd like to talk about? setting(s) or ocs or something?

Hiiii shoop what a sweet ask and question! Thank you!

I'll be real here, the "original writing inspiration" tag is more of a "saved" list than anything else-- no particular story attached to them, I just fancy that someday I'll want to Write Something and if I don't have an idea I'll look through those for vibes. The images or quotes are ones that I feel could be attached to a story, if I was sifting through them with a creative eye. It might just be scratching a scavenger's itch though, I've never actually gone through them with the intention to come up with something new.

Stuff for original writing though, if it's got a concrete character or vague-ish vibes, it probably has its own tag! Most of the time they skate off inspiration from a fanfiction or an OC from a fanfiction that really gains their own life. For instance #braided with a knife I started because I kept thinking about the Okada/Jay dynamic that I liked so much, but I had nothing else to say about in kayfabe canon for (I really liked where my friend left the fic with her sequel :") ).

Another one I recently was poking at again was #stripped to the teeth (link goes to my cowboys blog since the original idea was from a cowboys fanfiction). I named one of the lead characters Medea Horsewhip the other day -- she picked the name herself since she's a bit of a mythology nerd (and a bit extra). She's a ruthless outlaw / bank robber, but at the start of the story finds herself in a weird situation where due to Weird West shenanigans, she's a ghost inhabiting the body of a kind of rival-lover-ish >:)

Original writing is tough for me, I'll admit! I had the best run with writing Ambergris, a novel I got 2/3s of the way through. I had to pause on it first due to pandemic, and then due to personal reasons. I kind of want to rework the climax and ending but I'm not sure where to start. It's tough because it's very easy to write in community for fanfiction, and that's a big motivator for me. I like to share and co-create. So I've been thinking if I want to get back into that, I actually was thinking about whether I should look into a library writing group today!

[projecthipster]

The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, by Haruki Murakami

This portrait of May Kasahara is by the brilliant but sadly seemingly forgotten blog Art for every page of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

“The point is, not to resist the flow. You go up when you're supposed to go up and down when you're supposed to go down. When you're supposed to go up, find the highest tower and climb to the top. When you're supposed to go down, find the deepest well and go down to the bottom. When there's no flow, stay still. If you resist the flow, everything dries up. If everything dries up, the world is darkness.”

This is a book about a man who gets so sad that he decides to sit in a hole. And then it starts getting weird. It never really stops, and it never really ties everything together, but it does barrel toward a conclusion that feels appropriate for reasons that can’t entirely be explained. There’s a sense of cohesion in a mirrory sense, if not in a mystery-solved sense. There are flashbacks to the Second World War in Manchuria that read like entirely different, vaguely related short stories. Those are interesting, but also the parts that drag the most.

The truth is, it's a little difficult to describe what The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle is, because it's so much that I hardly remember most of it. This was my second Murakami book, after Norwegian Wood, which was a thematically interesting but generally pretty low-key drama. Wind-up Bird starts on that same foot, following an unemployed Murakami Protagonist Man, here named Toru Okada, who, like the rest of his Murakami Protagonist Man kin, spends his days in suburban Tokyo cooking pasta, drinking beer, listening to jazz, feeling generally melancholy, and having less than exemplary and realistic relationships with the women in his life. His cat, named after his evil politician brother-in-law, has run away, and his wife Kumiko soon follows. There's a well in an abandoned neighbouring house, which he discovers alongside a death-fascinated teenager (see header picture.) Various conversations with strange women and old soldiers occur. Toru realizes that meditating in a hole might open other worlds to him. The reader, at least this reader, only realizes the significance of this later, that this man who so subverts the heroic masculine ideal in his generally passivity here becomes important for his inherent talent for being passive, as Toru is swept up in a secret conspiracy, dating back to the horrors of the war, to enter a spirit realm where the forces of good and evil are more fundamental, and therein defeat evil in a crucial battle. That makes it sound like a high fantasy novel, which it's not, except in the sense that it maybe kind of is.

What it is is dreamlike, esoteric, meandering, and hard to recommend or understand. You just have to, like, experience it, man, which is a very hipster thing to say, and I think that may be why this book more than other Murakami (but as well as most Murakami) is on hipster lists.

Read this if you have a lot of time, a missing cat, and a deep hole to sit in.

I give this hipster book four disillusioned wanders through city streets out of five.

Project Hipster is a futile and disorganized attempt to dive into the world of things that the internet has at some point claimed "are hipster," mostly through ListChallenges search results.

This review comes from the first list, Hipster Lit: If You Haven't Read 'em, Pretend You Have.

Stay deck.

[agendaculturaldelima]

#ProyeccionDeVida

📽Cine Club AF. Cine y Memoria, presenta:

🎬 “HIROSHIMA MI AMOR” [Hiroshima mon amour]

🔎 Género: Drama / Romance / Holocausto Nuclear / Nouvelle vague

⌛️ Duración: 88 minutos

✍️ Guión: Marguerite Duras

🎵Música: Georges Delerue y Giovanni Fusco

📷 Fotografía: Sacha Vierny y Takahashi Michio (B&W)

🗯 Argumento: Una actriz francesa rueda una película pacifista en Japón; tiene un breve romance con un arquitecto japonés, hablan en una habitación de hotel, en un bar, por la noche. Habla de sí misma, una joven de Nevers que amó a un soldado alemán en la Francia ocupada… Habla de sí misma, dolorida, radiante, aterrorizada, apaciguada.

👥 Reparto: Emmanuelle Riva (Elle), Eiji Okada (Lui), Stella Dassas (Mother), Sacha Vierny, Pierre Barbaud (Padre), Bernard Fresson (Amante Germán) y Moira Lister.

📢 Dirección: Alain Resnais

🌏 Países: Francia- Japón

📅 Año: 1959

📌 Proyección:

📆 Viernes 28 de Junio

🕖 5:00pm.

🎦 Sala Lumiere de la Alianza Francesa (av. Arequipa 4595 - Miraflores)

🎫 Entrada: S/.5

🖱 Reservas: https://www.joinnus.com/organizer/cinealianzafrancesa

👀 A tener en cuenta: Película recomendada para mayores de catorce años (14+)

[debbiechanclub]

Hi Katie

I hope you’re doing great. At the moment I’m doing wonderfully because I’m on vacation on the beach. (This also mean that will be catching up with the podcast as soon as I am at home)

So first and foremost I hope that the email that

I wrote wasn’t too long even though there were some other questions that I wanted to ask you and Cass but I had to restrain my self for once.

Bu I also feel that I was a bit vague in the reason why I asked you the question. It’s only that I fell like in order to get some interest in jr heavy weight division we need some one new and fresh at the top of the division, in the last few months it felt more exciting in the tag department that in the single department

(but don’t get me wrong I also love Hiromu as the champ).

So yes that’s it for today

TOO SWEET

MEG🌼

Ps I’m still mad that kyomiya didn’t advance to the playoffs of the g1 to face Okada especially now that in Pro Wrestling Noah the n 1 victory tournament has just started (like him being one it the best from NOAH didn’t count nothing)

Hi Meg! Your question wasn't too long at all and it was perfectly clear (and thank you for taking the time to listen and send in a mailbag)! I 100% agree with you that the junior division needs a shakeup, and when we answered your question on the podcast, Cass made the point that the junior division simply doesn't have enough people right now. BUT I'm hoping that All Star Junior Festival will inject some life into it and serve as a jumping off point to some things (and I will be there in the front row on hard cam side!). And don't worry—I would NOT be at all surprised if Akira holds the title one day. I mean, he's only been wrestling for NJPW for just over 1 year and he's already a 2x junior tag champ at just 23? It'll happen.

And you and me both are disappointed that Kaito didn't advance. I'm VERY interested to see what his working relationship will be with NJPW moving forward, and NOAH's as a whole. Again, I feel like I'm just gonna have to start watching NOAH too 😭

Enjoy the beach, and thank you again for listening!

[7thartheaven]

"I knew that someday you would find me. I waited for you, calmly, with boundless impatience. Consume me."

Hiroshima Mon Amour (1959), Alain Resnais