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Blood in the Rivers: VIII

A/N: I apologize for the wait (again). Thank you to everyone who read, liked, reblogged, and commented on the last chapter. And thank you for all the shenanigans about dogs and unicorns last night. You all make me smile

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: T - mentions of death, unhealthy coping mechanisms, my continued overuse of italics

Word Count: 9.2k (Don’t look at me)

Read Chapters I-VII here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Eight: Pockets Full of Pebbles

“Raise your elbow.”

The bow was a bit too big for her little hands, even if it had been specially made just for her. But she did as her father bid and tried to focus on the target just a few feet away in the courtyard outside the keep’s armory.

“Perfect. Now loose.”

The arrow soared through the air and hit the side of the target. A shrieking giggle soon erupted from her throat as her father’s strong arms wrapped around her waist and hoisted her into the air.

“You are a natural, my darling girl! My little warrior!” His smiling lips pressed a kiss against her cheek as she continued to laugh.

“Oh, Brynden. You will have her running wild if you continue,” Vaella said, fondness in her tone betraying her love for her husband and child.

Brynden adjusted his grip on Y/N so he could hold her a little closer, little legs wrapping around his waist, and he pressed another kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “She is already wild. Aren’t you, Y/N?”

There were few rivers in Dorne. The Tullys drew their strength from the river, and it was to the river they returned when their lives had run their course. But the nearest was too far. She would not delay his soul’s rest any more than necessary. “All rivers lead to the sea, darling girl,” her father had once said. So, the Summer Sea was her only choice. It wasn’t the muddied rivers around Riverrun. It wasn’t The Trident in The Vale where her father had laid her mother to rest. “All rivers lead to the sea,” she repeated her father’s words.

She barely remembered filling a small boat with kindling and stones and small slips of parchment before carefully placing her father’s head inside, atop the makeshift body she’d made from rolls of black fabric and straw.

She would never recover the rest of his body. There had been a note shoved behind his teeth: his body was fed to a caged bear at Harrenhal. Another desecration. Oberyn had matched it by having Ilyn’s body hacked to pieces.

The words of a familiar prayer slipped by her lips as she finished, hoping his soul would find rest in the Seven Heavens and that he would be reunited with her mother. “Goodbye, papa.” The words were strangled in her throat.

Ellaria quietly stepped to her side. Oberyn soon followed. Harmen and Daisy took their places, too. Without a word, they each placed a hand on the boat and helped shove the small tender out onto the gentle waves of the sea. Her heart was in her throat as she watched it start to pull away from the shore and then Daemon was there, handing her the bow and arrow. Y/N nocked the arrow with her bandaged hand and murmured a quiet ‘thank you’ to an injured-but-healing Trystane as he lit the end, letting it blaze with orange fire. A steadying breath is all she gave herself before she pulled the bow taut with perfect posture, just like her father taught, and let it loose. The arrow hit the boat and it erupted in flames. Her hands shook as she finally let the bow drop to her side. The stitches on her palm had torn. She didn’t feel it. Blood dripped onto the sand.

The boat drifted away and she watched until it sunk beneath the water.

The Realm had descended into chaos. Myrcella and her Lannister guards had disappeared the night Ilyn had tried to kill Trystane and Doran. Westerland armies tried to cross the Red Mountains into Dorne on the Prince’s Pass but were largely pushed back by the House Fowler armies. House Yronwood raised their banners and fortified the Bone Way, waiting for the Lannisters to try again.

Y/N had been wordlessly invited to join Oberyn, a healing Doran, and the lords and ladies of Dorne who had been at the Water Gardens for the feast and never left. All of them were calling for retaliation. For war. The men and women sequestered in the cooled undercroft serving as a war room did not bat a lash when she joined them. Some even voiced their approval for her plans, stating that she was a natural tactician, “a woman after Princess Nymeria’s own heart!” It almost made her smile. It was a small solace, to know that her opinion was valued enough to earn a seat at the table.

But it had kept long hours. Longer still when she would hide away in Sunspear’s grand library, poring over centuries-old texts about the Red Keep or Casterly Rock, trying to find some slip of information that could be used as a tool against the Lannisters. It had almost become some sort of sad little game to wonder who would be sent in to ask her back to bed.

“You are falling asleep in your seat,” Sansa would say. “Go to bed.”

“You look ill. You will be ill if you do not sleep,” Arya would grumble.

"You must sleep, My Tully,” Ellaria would whisper as she would gently massage the back of her neck. “Come lay with me.”

And sometimes it would work. But sometimes she would wave them on. But she found a surprising companion. Obella, not yet seventeen, quietly helped her find books in the library and show Y/N her own findings—mostly battle formations that had faded from common knowledge but would be brutally efficient. They came to a soft companionability, taking turns to bring food and hot tea to the library when the night grew dark or relighting candles that snuffed themselves out.

“Why do you come here?” Y/N finally asked after their fifth night together.

“I cannot wield a sword like Obara or a bow like you—or even a lance like Elia. But I do want to help.”

She said it with such conviction that it fractured a part of Y/N’s already broken heart. She only nodded and pushed a steaming cup of tea toward her with a sad sort of smile. “You’re helping more than you know.”

Obara, Elia, and Arya were her companions at the training grounds. The two Sand Snakes seemed to innately know the anger that had infested her bloodstream and would silently bandage Y/N’s fingers when she would rub them raw with overuse against the string of her bow.

She was a fine archer and Obara had taken it upon herself to find Y/N a Martell guard who preferred the short blades she was more comfortable with to help her train with those as well.

Her hand ached. She pulled the stitches from her skin on her own, too early for the ugly, jagged wound to be fully healed. But she did it anyway in the dead of night, tired of feeling the scratch of the knots against her palm. Obara said nothing when she saw the messy work when she bandaged Y/N’s hand the morning after

Obara would stand behind her father’s chair when she cared to attend the war stratagem but largely kept to the training grounds with their cavalry and infantry.

Time had turned strange. Days and nights melting into each other without any sort of rest. Tracking the date had not been a necessity or want. She simply needed to do all she could to help. To train. To lend her voice at the stratagem meetings. She could rest later.

Just before one of these meetings Y/N noticed a shaking servant, holding a crumpled missive in his hands. The seal of the Tyrells was broken at the edge. The poor soul looked like he was headed toward the gallows. “I’ll take it for you,” she murmured.

The servant mumbled a quiet but reverent “thank you, Princess,” before all but shoving it into her hand and then pulling open the heavy door to let her in. Her thumb slid beneath the broken seal and she quickly scanned the words, stomach curling with each line of ink

Oberyn noticed the fright on her face within a moment. “What is it, my moonlight?” He asked and pressed a kiss to her cheek before she handed him the letter.

She was thankful that only Doran was present when Oberyn’s beautiful face slid into something monstrous as he read. He curled his fist around the letter as Doran lifted his head from the pile of missives from far-off Lords from the east coast of Dorne, keeping him abreast of any movement or changes in scheme they needed to employ. “Oberyn?”

“Myrcella and her guards washed up in Blackwater Bay.”

“And the Lannisters think we had a hand in it?”

“According to Olenna Tyrell, yes; Cersei thinks we killed Myrcella and she wants all of our heads on spikes.” Oberyn threw the remnants of the warning onto the table with a snarl.

While Y/N knew she would pray for the little princess’ soul to be carried off into the Seven Heavens when she was alone that night, her mind quickly turned toward how they would deal with this newest development. “They must have sailed near the Stepstones. Pirates and raiders-"

“The Lions do not care for logic, my moonlight. They have deemed us guilty.”

Her gut churned. She wanted blood, yes. But not Myrcella’s—not the innocent.

Before any other arguments or plans could be made—the door burst open and Elia was careening into the room, out of breath and dark eyes wild. “Ships! Greyjoy and Stark banners!”

Y/N scarcely recalled leaping up the stairs or dashing through the fortress and out into the dying sunlight to see the ships on the horizon—swathes of grey fabric and black wood rising from the waves like the Deep Ones of legend. Small tenders were already in the sea and rowing toward the shore. One of them had tied a bit of white fabric to their bow.

“Should we trust them?” Y/N asked.

Oberyn, at her back, sighed. “The Starks have not betrayed us yet. Remains to be seen with the Greyjoys.”

The fortress was abuzz with movement as the Northmen settled into their temporary lodging Sunspear was providing (the Ironborn loudly voiced that they’d rather row back out to their ships for rest). Battle plans were being drawn and redrawn. Alliances and promises made.

Y/N learned that after the Boltons had tortured and killed Theon as they took over Winterfell, Yara sent a raven to Robb. He would help her claim the throne of the Iron Islands against the claim of her uncle, Euron, in exchange for drawing the Boltons out beyond Winterfell’s walls so Robb’s men could attack them from behind and finally reclaim Winterfell and wipe out the Bolton line. They both had vengeance with the act and gained an ally.

The North was once again under the rule of House Stark. But Y/N could not delight in that bit of happy news as word was sent that Yara Greyjoy required a private audience with Y/N.

Daemon rowed her out to the Black Wind and promised to stay until she personally told him to go or she came back out to the tender to be taken back to Sunspear. “I would not have you languishing with the Ironborn longer than necessary, my lady,” he muttered before a rope ladder was thrown down.

As she reached the deck of the ship, several of the crew looked her up and down. She caught whispers of “the Mountain” and “princess” before she was led below deck by a man with a salt-and-pepper beard and cold, green eyes. He knocked twice on a sea-weathered door before a gruff, feminine voice called to let him in.

Y/N stepped inside and tried not to wrinkle her nose at the smell. It reeked of old hay and excrement—probably a holding cell. Yara was waiting, standing under the single beam of light the room had and holding a chain in her hands. It snaked across the hay-strewn floor and disappeared into a dark corner. This was the first time Y/N had come in contact with Yara Greyjoy—but her reputation obviously preceded her and was well earned. The smirk she had splitting her face was enough to warrant the rumors of callous humor and bloodthirsty nature.

“Ah, you’ve come. Perhaps you can get something out of him before I rip his tongue out. We caught him just off the Stepstones, trying to hide his hideous face under a hood.” She pulled at the end of a chain. The metal links seemed to sing as she continued to yank until the prisoner stepped into her line of sight.

Y/N nearly balked at the sight. “Lord Tyrion. A surprise to be sure.”

Tyrion looked no worse than he did all that time ago in the Water Gardens but his limbs were now all encased in heavy steel and his hair was a little more unkempt. “My lady.” He even bowed a bit.

“The Imp refuses to speak to anyone but you,” Yara said as she stepped forward to hand Y/N the end of the chain with a curled frown. “Was this the one you were intended to marry?”

Y/N bristled but was unsurprised that Yara knew of the Lannisters’ plot. All of Dorne seemed to know it, too. “It was Tywin, actually. His father.”

Yara sneered. “I guess the old lion does still have a cock.” She then left without another word and the door closed loudly behind her.

With a sigh, Y/N set down the chain and wiped her hands on her skirts. “Why have you asked for me, Lord Tyrion? Prince Oberyn or Doran would be the only ones to grant you more comfortable accommodations in exchange for information.”

Tyrion shook his head. “I do not trust them, just as they do not trust me.”

Y/N hummed. “I am surprised they kept you alive at all. The last time you were in the company of Starks, you were accused to trying to murder Bran and only survived Catelyn’s wrath by the gods’ grace and the help of a sellsword.”

“It was more the sellsword than the grace of the gods, my lady, I assure you. But it was under Robb’s instruction that the Ironborn did not tie me to the front of their ship to be pecked to death by gulls.” He pursed his lips. “I was nearly to Essos when my ship was blown out of the water and I was scooped up like some dead fish.”

“Then perhaps you should consider it luck that they found you and not your sister. She wants you dead. Robb wants leverage.”

“If you had counseled your dear king, he would have known that I will hold no leverage as a hostage. They would prefer me dead.”

Y/N paused for a moment, thoughts stirring in her mind. “You asked me here for a reason, Lord Tyrion. And it is not because you fear me the least. What is it you’re offering?”

Something crossed Tyrion’s face then. It was almost a smile. “You would have made a fearsome Lady of the Rock, you know.” But as quickly as it came, it disappeared. “Tell me, are the rumors of Myrcella-”

“Dorne had nothing to do with it. Doran and Oberyn may not care for your family but they do not kill children. They know the ache of the loss of a child.”

Tears gathered in Tyrion’s eyes and tracked down his dirty cheeks. “She was good and gentle.”

“She was,” Y/N said softly. “And I am sorry that the gods have called her home so soon. But we need your help to see this through. You have my word that Tommen will not be harmed when we take King’s Landing.”

Oberyn and Ellaria were waiting for her when she stepped back onto shore hours later. Y/N had slips of parchment crumpled in her hand and streaks of ink staining her fingers and across her cheek. “Is Sarella still in Oldtown?”

“You cannot believe him!” Robb snarled.

Y/N pivoted in her seat to glare at him, uncaring of the other lords and soldiers in the room. “What cause does he have to lie?”

“He is a Lannister!”

“He is hated by his family. They tried to kill him.”

Robb’s face continued to contort in rage as he stood from his seat, fist slamming against the wood of the table. But whatever words he had wanted to say stilled in his throat as Oberyn stood from his seat, too. Oberyn said nothing as he loomed at Y/N’s back. He did not move his hand to the pommel of his sword but the promise of violence was not missed.

The King in the North seemed to swallow his pride at the quiet show of strength but did not sit down. “There is no way to see if this is not a trap.”

And that was when Y/N had a smirk of her own, pulled the rolled missive, stamped with the seal of the Citadel, from the folds of her dress and unfurled it on the table. “Tyrion’s claims of the cisterns and drains of Casterly Rock have been verified, as have the rumors of Wildfire under the whole of King’s Landing.” She pushed the parchment toward Robb and watched his face as he read Sarella’s handwriting. Her findings had given Y/N hope that this war could be won without an unending number of battles. Less bloodshed. Fewer dead Dornishmen. Fewer families without sons and husbands and brothers. Tyrion had told her of how he used to smuggle his favorite girls in and out of his rooms by the way of the drains of Casterly Rock and how that flaw in the Lannisters’ fortress could be exploited and allow for an outside naval force to sack his ancestral home. He’d provided crude drawings of how the tunnels curved and turned from the cliffside up to the balustrades and towers. Tyrion’s placement of the wildfire under the capital were less precise but still damning.

“And what does The Imp want in return for this information?”

“He wants to be set free-” There was an immediate and expected uproar from the Northmen and Ironborn and a handful of the Dornish lords and ladies but Y/N pressed on. “-to live in Essos with little Tommen when this is over.”

Robb held up his hand and quieted the rabble as his lips pressed into a thin line. “We will need scouts in the Westerlands to know of any movement of their armies.”

Lady Maege Mormont, pallid face red with the heat and slicked with sweat, suddenly moved her dark eyes to Y/N and the Dornish prince at her back. “The Riverlands armies are still waiting for command.”

“The Riverlands have not declared to King Robb’s cause aside from a handful of men who still hold Riverrun,” gruffed an Ironborn who tried to hold Oberyn’s gaze but quickly wilted under the Prince’s unwavering stare.

“That is inaccurate,” Robb said, voice cutting through the room’s din without effort. “There is still a small battalion of men loyal to Brynden Tully waiting for a command just outside Pinkmaiden. It would be a sufficient number.”

Oberyn’s warm hand reached down to gently grasp her shoulder and squeeze. A quiet show of support. “Why have they not joined you in Dorne?” Y/N asked, voice steady.

That was when Robb finally sat again and he tried to look her in the eye but failed and glanced down at the maps in front of him. “Your father was waiting for my command to take the Golden Tooth.”

Y/N nodded. He had never made it to Pinkmaiden.

And everyone in the room knew it.

But Y/N’s face did not move and Oberyn’s steadying hand did not falter in its grounding warmth. “Then it seems you have your scouts.”

The meeting continued on into the night and only adjourned when Lord Stonehouse let out a snore, slumped over his plate of half-eaten supper. Y/N wrapped a bit of chicken into her napkin and set out on her own after kissing Oberyn’s cheek before he went to Doran’s side.

She was…exhausted. But, she still sought out the one frivolous activity she would allow herself. Grey Wind, Robb’s hulking direwolf, was curled on the cool marble of the grand hall and lifted his large head when he heard her approach. Ned had told her stories of direwolves during her time at Winterfell and she, a bit childishly, wanted to see one as close as she could manage. Y/N unwrapped the chicken and held out to him with a small smile that grew only a fraction bigger when it was quickly devoured and her fingers were licked clean, too. The direwolf sniffed at her hand for a little longer before pressing his head against her palm, wanting to be pet. And that almost made her laugh, this giant animal who unnerved most others he encountered was gently asking to be scratched behind the ears. (Robb had grumbled his acceptance of Grey Wind not being present in the war room because of how uncomfortable it made some of the lords and ladies of Dorne.)

“You’re just a big pup, aren’t you?”

Grey Wind whined, offended.

“My lady?” Daisy’s voice rung out in the hall and Y/N quickly gave a handful more scratches before trying to find her handmaiden. When she did, Daisy explained that Ellaria had requested Daisy get Y/N “in bed with no distractions!” when she heard the meeting had been adjourned early. So, she let Daisy lead her back to her chambers with a sigh and fuss for a moment or two before she helped her out of her clothes and into her silken nightgown with a small smile. “I feel like I have not truly spoken with you in ages, my lady.”

“I apologize, Daisy.”

“Think nothing of it. I know your heart and mind are occupied.” When she finished, Daisy lingered at her back with a nervous expression. “I know it is not my place-”

“You are my friend, Daisy. Speak freely.” She turned to softly squeeze at Daisy’s fingers before dropping her hands back into her lap.

“I worry about you. And I know others do as well.”

“I am going to sleep-”

“It is not your lack of sleep that disturbs me, Y/N. You…you are not yourself. For as long as I have known you, you have worn your heart on your sleeve. Only tucking it away when you think someone will betray you. I know your heart is broken. Let it be broken. A heart that bleeds alone still bleeds. It is easier to bear with someone at your side.”

Y/N frowned. “You are with me-”

Disappointment colored Daisy’s face as she sighed, cutting off Y/N’s words. “I know you are not this stupid, Y/N. You know exactly what I mean.”

And that poked at the festering wound Y/N had tried to seal over with brick and steel in the cavity of her chest. “When this is over, I will… I will mourn as I should. It would be selfish to do it now.”

Daisy clicked her tongue with a shake of her head. “I have been told that war makes animals of men but I did not think it would make your heart stone. It is not selfish to love your father. It is not selfish to feel.” Before Y/N could even come up with some sort of rebuttal, her friend was striding toward the door and pulling it open. “Sleep, Y/N.” And then she was gone.

But Y/N did not sleep. She sat on her bed and listened to the night’s chatter die down as time slipped by. The fortress grew dark as only the necessary torches were kept aflame. The stars glittered in the moonless sky. Even as her body yearned for rest, she could not sleep.

All she could do was stare out to the sea.

But then she was moving. Slipping off her bed and slinking out of the fortress, wordlessly passing the stationed guards who made no move to stop her but watched her with careful, curious eyes.

“All rivers lead to the sea.” The words were murmured but felt like a rock had dislodged itself from the recesses of her lungs.

Cool marble gave way to paved stone and then to cold, wet sand she let squish between her toes as she walked closer to the sea’s edge. The water was calm. Gentle waves shimmered in starlight and lapped against the shore. She let the cool water splash against her ankles before she discarded her dressing gown. She took one step, then another, another, and another until she was treading open water in just her chemise, feeling the wet fabric glide around her in the water like a curious, silken fish. She dove beneath the waves to feel the chill and rhythm of the sea settle in her bones. For a moment, she wondered if she could spend forever at the bottom of the sea, looking up at the stars through the clear water, weighed down by pebbles sewn into her pockets. But when her lungs started to burn, she rose to the surface slowly and pulled in a deep breath of warm night air as she crested like a leviathan.

Y/N had always been a strong swimmer. Edmure had once joked that she was truly part trout when she would spend hot days swimming against the current of the waters around Riverrun. But she did not want to swim tonight. She wanted to simply feel the water on her skin. To feel the waves beat in time with her heart. To know that the water would always have a place for her.

Her legs stopped pumping and she let them rise to the surface and she floated atop the waves like a wash of seafoam.

The stars were shining above her in their celestial beds, bright and welcoming even as drops of salted water managed to sting at her eyes. She followed the lines of the constellations she knew by heart and licked the salt from her lips.

With each wave, she knew the shore grew closer. She could let herself mourn until then, let the salt of her tears finally meet the salt of the water. She could let herself cry here, mourn here, in the water that welcomed her family home.

They came slowly and then all at once. Great, heaving sobs shook her entire body and nearly took her under as water filled her mouth when she let out a wail—the sounds wrenching themselves free from their hiding places within her tired soul. She cried and sobbed and wept. For her father. Her mother. For Ned and Catelyn. For Rickon and Bran and Hoster. Finally letting herself feel something for longer than a few stolen minutes. Y/N barely registered the arms wrapping around her shoulders and under her knees, the grip keeping her head safely above water.

It wasn’t until the tears ebbed enough to clear her vision that she saw Oberyn standing in the water, cradling her weightless form against the waves. His features were soft in the starlight and he said nothing as her sobs came again and she curled further into his grip.

He let her cry until she was spent and then walked her closer to the shore and helped her stand.

Ellaria was waiting just outside the sea’s reach with a stack of linen towels neatly folded near her feet. She plucked one from the pile and wordlessly started to dry Y/N off with a gentle touch before wrapping another around her shoulders. Oberyn slung one around his damp breeches then leaned forward to press a kiss against Ellaria’s temple, lingering for a moment, before doing the same to Y/N.

“The night is losing its battle with dawn, my loves. We must sleep,” Ellaria said, reaching out to tighten the towel around Y/N’s shoulders.

Y/N nodded, beyond exhausted. But her heart felt the smallest fraction lighter. And perhaps it was not the end of her grieving—it was just the start. But she knew it was a step forward. When Ellaria pushed her into the warm silk and linen sheets of her and Oberyn’s bed and then climbed over her to settle like another blanket, Y/N knew she would finally sleep. Peacefully. Oberyn climbed in after them and murmured soft ‘sleep, my darlings. We will speak in the morning’ into their skin and snuffed out the single candle on the bedside table. One hand brushed against Ellaria’s back as his other brought Y/N’s palm up to his lips to breathe in the lingering scent of salt and water as his eyes closed. Oh yes, she could sleep for eternity if they just held her like this for a little longer.

And the sound of the water, ever-present and ever-moving, lulled them into a quiet, deep sleep.

Morning came sooner rather than later and Y/N woke to Oberyn pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder, fingers sliding under the thin strap of her chemise to revel in her soft skin. Much like Ellaria had the night before, he was lounging across Y/N’s back, weight pressing her into the featherbed with a comforting pressure. Ellaria was sitting up, held up by her elbow to look down at her with a soft smile.

It was something Y/N could get used to seeing every morning. She breathed for a few moments, simply wondering in how quiet the room was, how gentle Oberyn and Ellaria were with her. Briefly, she thought of how her life had changed since she had sent that first raven to Dorne. Being this comfortable, wrapped in blankets that did not belong to her, in the arms of not one but two people she was not married to—the scandal of it all. It was a soft sort of loveliness, even with the hurt of her loss. It seemed the water and the forgiving touch of the couple she loved had given Y/N her soul back; fractured and hurt. But hers once again.

“How are you, my moonlight?” He asked, voice quiet in the still of the room.

“I think I will carry this ache until my soul leaves to join whichever of the Seven Heavens the gods deem fit for me. But I know it will be easier to bear with time. Just as it was with my mother. Knowing they are together again gives me a small bit of happiness.” Y/N tapped at his thigh so she could turn to face him, letting her fingers trail through his hair when he laid his cheek against her stomach as they once again settled in the mess of blankets. A handful of grey strands pulled her attention as she let her nails gently scratch against his scalp, gaining a soft groan in return. “Thank you for last night. You… you both seem to know what I require before I even speak.”

Oberyn looked up at her, dark eyes warm but sad. “We each have had our own brushes with loss, my moonlight.” He paused. “We watched you close yourself off to everything aside from the coming war. Your eyes did not sparkle. You did not laugh. We had you, could touch you, feel the warmth of your skin. But you were lost to us.”

Ellaria hummed her agreement and reached over to let her fingers roam across her exposed collarbone and the corner of her mouth tilted up when she heard the next breath catch in Y/N’s throat.

“It was never my intention-”

“You have spent too long in places where you cannot feel. You have swallowed your pride and anger and joy and grief in order to survive.” Ellaria said, fingers continuing to trail, burning her in their wake. “That is not how we live here, that is not the life we want for you.”

Y/N pushed out a long breath and let her hands drop to the back of Oberyn’s head, twisting the black and grey locks around her fingers without thought. “What is the life you want for me?”

Oberyn suddenly moved. His hands planting on either side of her shoulders to loom over her like some beautiful, terrible heavenly body. Her legs parted as he moved, cradling his hips with her thighs. “We want you to live, my moonlight. To live freely. Without restraint.”

“We want you to be angry, to be sad, to be joyful—to feel,” Ellaria said, hooking her fingers under Y/N’s chin to make Y/N look at her. “We want you to feel.”

They spoke of their hurts and anger, of their happiness and triumphs as the sun started to rise. “But none of it means anything if you do not feel it.” Oberyn leaned down to steal a kiss and sighed against her mouth as she lifted a hand to slide against his side, delighting in how he shivered. “We want you to take the day. Do not attend the meetings. Do not go to the training yards. Sleep. Pray if it helps your heart. Eat something. Speak with Sansa and Arya. Let yourself feel.” He kissed her again before Ellaria stole another, too. But they eventually all made their way out of the haven of their soft blankets and dressed unhurriedly to meet the day.

“Join me for lunch. The little ones miss you,” Ellaria said, catching Y/N’s hand before she left.

“I will find you,” Y/N promised with a squeeze to her wrist before setting off to find Sansa.

The day passed smoothly, for the most part. She let herself cry again when she spoke with Sansa and joined Grey Wind and Arya in the sea before setting off to join Ellaria and the younger Sand Snakes for lunch as promised. The afternoon was filled with a trip to Sunspear’s sept for prayer and speaking with Daisy. No plans for battle. No talk of alliances. It was not all her heart needed to heal from her loss. But it was another step toward acceptance. As night descended on Dorne, she was rewrapping the leather binding on the handle of Dorea’s Morningstar, having nearly stepped on it when she was walking back to her chambers. The leather had been ripped and torn under Dorea’s exuberant thrashing and Y/N had a bit of leather to spare, not minding to part with it. Oberyn found her as she finished and smiled as she, a little bashfully, showed him her work.

“She will love it,” he said with a warm smile and tired eyes.

Oberyn led her toward Dorea’s chambers and they found Ellaria asleep in Dorea’s bed with a book of fairytales from the Riverlands opened on their laps. Oberyn only tiptoed in for a moment to press a kiss to his paramour and daughter’s cheeks. Y/N had followed to carefully pull the book away and set it on the bedside table and made sure that the blankets covered the pair, tucking them into bed against the sea-scented night air. She placed the Morningstar atop a table before they both slipped out.

“She must have had a nightmare. She rarely lets us leave her bed if some sort of monster has creeped its way into her mind,” Oberyn said softly as he closed the door.

“Does she have nightmares often?” Y/N asked.

“They come and go, as it is with all children.” He grasped her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers with a tired smile. “You will see when you have babes of your own.”

“You want more children?” She asked, head filling with something other than plans for war for a brief moment.

Oberyn’s smile widened and he pressed a hand over her stomach, fingers splaying. “I want as many children as you desire to give me.”

Something playful and teasing and almost unfamiliar bubbled in her chest and she smiled and covered his hand with hers. “Oh, I see. You’ve seduced me in some attempt to fill these halls with little Martells. You have no love for me—just my ability to give you more heirs.” She even laughed, quiet in the hall.

But Oberyn did not smile now and his fingers curled into the fabric of her dress and yanked her close. The heat of his body enveloped her instantly and the burn of his gaze struck at her heart. “Do not say such things.”

“It was-”

“I love you, my moonlight. Even in jest, I will not have you speak of yourself that way.” He released his grip on her dress to gently hold her face in his roughened hands and swept his thumbs across her cheeks. “But it is good to hear you laugh again. I have missed the sound.”

Y/N nearly melted into his grip with a soft sigh and closed her eyes to savor his touch a little more. But then her mind started to wander, back to when she was still untouched by war and courtly politics. “I’ve always wanted one or two.”

He leaned forward to press his head against hers and Y/N could feel him smile as he kissed her forehead. “I can give you that.”

“I want them to have your eyes and good heart.”

Oberyn chuckled and then wrapped his arms around her, dragging her a little closer. “As long as they are healthy, my moonlight, I will be happy.”

And as she curled beneath her blankets that night, mouth still tingling from the kiss Oberyn left her with, she thought of little Loreza and Dorea trying to teach two little ones how to read on the shore as the Dornish sun warmed their skin.

And the thought carried over to her dreams where Oberyn crooned in her ear some lullaby she couldn’t place, a babe in his arms.

“Could you throw one more?” Y/N asked.

The young squire chuckled and nodded, pulling another bruised blood-orange from the pile collected from the groves and threw it into the air. Y/N quickly pulled back the bow’s string and loosed another arrow. It soared through the early morning air and pierced the skin of the orange and ripped through before it sunk into the target. It lined up almost perfectly with the six other speared blood-oranges on the target, dripping red-pink juice across the wood.

Y/N waved off the squire moving to clean off the target and said she didn’t mind the work. “I am sure I have kept you from your duties for far too long.”

“It is a pleasure to serve, Princess. You are a formidable archer.”

“Flatterer,” Y/N mused and watched the squire try to hide a shy smile before bowing and dismissing himself. She carefully pulled the arrows from the target and licked the juice from the tips and threw the discarded oranges out into the garden to let them feed the soil. It was still too early for most others to come to the courtyard to train. The last handful of days had seen most of the Dornish armies leave Sunspear to relieve the sorties at the border and to lead an incursion into the Stormlands.

A sudden noise had her turning and ready to nock another arrow. But it was just Robb, still haggard from sleep, with Grey Wind trailing beside him. The pair stared at each other for a moment and Y/N had to will herself to loosen her grip on the bow and carefully place the sticky arrows back into a pile. Robb approached her slowly. Much slower than Grey Wind who nosed at her leather breeches before letting out a low rumble as her gloved hand found the spot behind his left ear he loved having scratched.

“We have not spoken properly, cousin.” His mouth opened and closed twice. “I have missed you,” was all he managed.

Y/N nodded. She did miss him, too. “We are a long way from Winterfell.”

Robb’s smile was small but sincere. He took a step closer. And then another. And then his arms were wrapping around her and pulling her to his chest in a tight hug. Y/N’s arms wrapped around him tightly without a thought or care. Tears gathered in her eyes and she quickly shut them in a half-hearted attempt to keep them at bay. But then she was holding him in earnest and remembering how he and Jon would laugh in the Wolf’s Wood and string blue roses behind her ears with dirty fingers and would always make her smile whenever they could. It was so strange to see him now, the burden of a bloody crown on his head and scars littering his skin. It was strange that the boy she knew, full of smiles and fond of laughter, was now so quiet and serious.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

The tears were coming in earnest now and she felt Robb’s own trickling onto the shoulder of her tunic.

“You saved Sansa. Arya. You kept them alive and I repaid you with your father-”

“Don’t say it,” she said, biting back a whimper. “Do not say it.”

He held her tighter. And she tightened her hold, too.

“What happened to us, Stark?” She whispered.

The claimant king shuddered in her grip, the tears continuing their descent. “I do not know.”

And the pair held each other for a little longer until they heard other guards and soldiers approaching the training ground. Y/N stepped back first and noticed the sadness in his eyes but he blinked and turned his head and it was gone. The careful mask of kinghood was back in place. “I did come to speak to you of something else, Lady Tully. If you would permit me a moment of your time.”

She nodded, her own mask upon her face, too, and let him lead her toward a quiet corner of the training grounds with Grey Wind trailing beside them. And with each step, she noticed how Robb seemed to hold his shoulders higher to his ears. “What is it?” Y/N whispered when they finally slowed to a stop, mask slipping.

“Your father’s men want to fight. Riverrun still answers to the name Tully. And you, dear cousin, are the only Tully left alive and out of bondage.” When Y/N was quiet, Robb continued. “We sent the raven to Pinkmaiden—they responded that they wanted a commander. A leader.”

“And you think that I-”

“You are a Tully. You are Brynden Tully’s daughter. You have outmaneuvered the Lannisters at every turn. Who else would I send?”

She had kept Robb’s request to lead the Riverlanders’ forces to herself for only a handful of hours, trying to find the words to tell Ellaria and Oberyn. She thought time alone would help her, but all it did was wear on her nerves. A nervous tittering called her attention and she turned to see little Loreza staring at Grey Wind—the direwolf had made it a habit to splash around in the cool water of the Summer Sea at least a few times a day and was currently submerged up to his neck in the water, letting the waves wash over his back.

Y/N smiled despite her heavy heart and walked to Loreza’s side, biting back the question of how she’d managed to evade her Septa’s watchful eye this time. Seeing Loreza so nervous broke her heart a little. She was too young to be so scared. “He’s very big, isn’t he?”

“He’s almost as big as a horse,” the young girl murmured, dark eyes flittering back to the direwolf. “Obella said she saw him eat a man!”

“Obella is just teasing. Grey Wind is gentle—especially to little girls.” Y/N knelt down to Loreza’s level with a smile. “Would you like me to prove it to you?”

Loreza seemed to ponder it for a moment before nodding. Y/N held out a hand for her to take and led her over to the lounging direwolf. She held out her hand for Grey Wind to sniff and quickly lick before she scratched behind his ears. The water was starting to soak through her leathers but she turned to show Loreza how he liked to be scratched.

“Give him your hand, just like I did. Let him smell you.”

Loreza held out a shaking hand toward Grey Wind who sniffed all around before licking a wet strip across her little fingers and Loreza let out a loud giggle at the sensation. Her little dress was floating around her like a pale yellow lily pad.

“See? He likes you.”

Grey Wind continued to nose at Loreza’s arm as she started to run her fingers through his dark fur. “He’s soft!”

“I heard King Robb brushes him every night,” Y/N said with a waggle of her eyebrows. Loreza smiled at that and then let out a surprised squeal when Grey Wind licked at her face. “I think he likes you more than me!”

Loreza finally pulled her other hand from Y/N’s hold and happily pushed her little fingers through Grey Wind’s damp fur. A particularly tall wave washed over them and Loreza laughed as Grey Wind licked the water from her hands. “Would Father let me have a direwolf?”

“Direwolves are of the North, like King Robb and Sansa and Arya. And they are rare there, too.”

The girl pouted at that but did not stop her petting. “Will King Robb let me pet him while he is here?”

Y/N nodded and promised to speak to Robb on her behalf before she noticed a figure standing on the shoreline. “It seems your father has discovered us.”

Loreza looked back at the shore and grimaced. “I did miss my lessons today.”

Y/N urged her gently to find her septa, promising to speak with Oberyn, and watched her dash away through the water toward the sand and dodged her father’s hand as he reached for her with a teasing smile.

Y/N eventually pulled away from Grey Wind and squared her shoulders before pushing against the water toward Oberyn who waited for her.

“It is good to see you with them. You are gentle—but I do think you let them get away with far too many follies.”

Y/N smiled. “Even I missed a lesson or two when I was her age. A little rebellion is good character.”

He shook his head with a soft laugh and pulled her close despite her wet clothes before brushing his lips against her forehead. “I’ve spoken with Doran. He wants me to lead a command of my own into the Crownlands.”

“Oh,” was all she could manage. She knew he was a seasoned commander but the thought of him leaving the safety of Sunspear had not come to her. Perhaps she had deluded herself into thinking he would always be safe.

“And the wolf king has told me of his plans for you.” Oberyn looked at her and she held his gaze, even as she felt his sigh against her wet skin. Slowly, far too slowly for her liking, he reached up to hold her cheeks in his hands. “Do you truly mean to lead them? If this is the wolf king pressing you-”

“I have to, my prince. Robb or not.”

“Does your honor demand it?” He asked, almost teasing. But his tone lacked its usual warmth.

“It does.” Y/N reached up to cover his hands with hers and keep him close, half-scared that he would walk away, too. “Just as yours requires you to do the same.”

The pair was quiet for a moment, only the sound of the waves against the sand to listen to as time stretched on. Oberyn was looking at her, truly looking at her all the while and it was the sadness and resignation in his eyes that dug straight through her heart. He kissed her softly without a word before stepping back. “I would have you safe.”

And Y/N wanted to ask what he meant but he grasped at her hand and led her without a word toward the armory. “She is an archer, she needs to be able to move,” Oberyn said as he started to dig through the careful stacks of pieces of armor and accoutrements the blacksmith had forged for the Dornish forces. He quickly found pieces of light armor; shining mail, vambraces and pauldrons stamped with Martell suns, a light cuirass which would fit her feminine form. And as she gathered all of her armor to her chest, equal parts excited and anxious, she watched Oberyn turn to her. His dark eyes held some secret sentiment. Sad and proud and something else she could not place.

When they found Ellaria, she seemed to already know their news. “Oh, my two warriors.” And then she was gathering them close and lathing slow kisses against their lips and pushing them onto the bed. “Just let me have tonight, my loves. Just tonight before the Realm rips you away from me.”

And there was nothing carnal in the way they all burrowed under the blankets as the sliver of the moon rose or the way hands roamed and lips parted with gentle sighs. It was just love, simple and soft.

The younger Sand Snakes filtered into her rooms throughout the afternoon to watch Y/N pack away the essentials, just enough to fill two small saddlebags. Dorea tried to give Y/N her beloved Morningstar, “to keep you safe!” but Y/N quickly and gently pushed it back into the young girl’s hands. “You have to keep your mother safe until your father and I return. You cannot do that if I have your Morningstar, right?”

Elia sniffed at that and suspiciously turned her head away.

“And your sister, Elia, she will protect you," Y/N said, acknowledging Elia's pain without making it a point of conversation. Elia did not like to dwell on emotion.

It earned another sniff and a curt, “don’t die. I like having you around.” ("I do, too!" Dorea added.)

Nymeria and Tyene arrived soon after with words of encouragement and two matching vials of poison. “Just in case! Father likes to slick his blades with it. Perhaps you could dip a few of your arrows?” And that spoke volumes, at least to Y/N, about how they cared for her in their own way.

But Sansa was near tears despite the steadiness of her voice as she let herself into Y/N’s chambers. “Must you go? It feels like I've just had you return.”

“You know I must, little one. Robb’s asked it of me and I know you would do the same if Winterfell was still under Bolton colors.” Y/N reached out and pulled the redhead into a familiar hold and said nothing when she felt tears start to wet the fabric of her tunic. “But I will come ba-”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say something you cannot know to be true.”

Y/N pulled back and grasped at Sansa’s chin. “I am coming back. The Stranger themselves could not stop me.”

Sansa nodded with a watery hiccup and pulled her close for another hug before there was a knock at the door. Y/N kissed Sansa’s forehead before calling out a welcome to whomever it was. Ellaria stepped in, a roll tucked under her arm and Sansa quickly excused herself and shut the door tight on her way out.

Ellaria was quiet for a moment before she walked to Y/N’s side. There was a quietness to her features now but tears still pooled in her beautiful eyes. She pressed a kiss against her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, before touching her lips to hers in a soft, reverent kiss that tasted like citrus and salt. She sniffled just once as she pulled back and she handed the bundle to Y/N with a single wobble of her chin.

Y/N unwrapped it and marveled as more and more of the gift was revealed. The bow was black, darker than night and stronger than steel. It was dragonbone. A rare prize indeed.

“Father said it was one of the smaller bones from Meraxes. It was meant,” she had to clear her throat. “I meant to give it to you as a wedding gift. But I would rather you have it now. I know your aim will be true.”

Y/N quickly set the bow down on the bed and pulled Ellaria close without a word, trying to somehow convey the hope that she would return through the touch alone instead of words she knew would fail. “I love you,” was the only phrase she dared whisper. I love you. I love you. I love you.

When dawn broke the next morning two Northmen Robb entrusted with her care were waiting for her at the stables. Qēlos nuzzled into her palm as the mare's tack was secured and Y/N smuggled her an apple to devour as she swung up into the saddle. Y/N was finishing saying goodbye to a tearful Sansa when Ellaria and Oberyn appeared at the stables. Oberyn was already dressed in his light armor and Ellaria had donned a fauld of four lame across her waist. A little armor of her own. Everyone around them seemed to understand the need for privacy and quickly vacated the area or decidedly avoided pointing their gazes toward them.

“We will not try to dissuade you. Your wrath is justified and glorious.” His hands reached up to cover hers on the reins. The warmth slowed the wild beating of her heart just a fraction. “But we will ask that you do not forget us.”

Y/N’s poor heart leapt into her throat and she hurried to move her grip, pulling Oberyn’s hands up to her mouth to press a kiss against his knuckles. “The gods themselves could not take you from my mind or heart, my prince. I will see you again when this is over, when the Lions are dead and the Realm can have peace.”

Oberyn untangled his hands from hers only to grasp the back of her head to kiss her, artfully stealing the air from her lungs with ease as his mouth moved against hers in slow, unyielding ministrations. As he pulled back, he pressed another kiss to her forehead, breathing in the scent of her hair for a moment before releasing her. His fingers trailed down her arms to tighten the lacings of her vambrace. “Then I shall see you again, my moonlight.”

Ellaria was quiet but kissed her soundly. “Come back,” was all she said.

“I will,” Y/N whispered in return.

And then they were off. Y/N looked back at the gates of Sunspear after every new turn on the road, watching it grow smaller and smaller. The Northmen offered no words but did give sympathetic smiles after they caught her sad expression.

But then there was a thundering of hooves against the sand-covered road and Obara was at her side in a moment, dressed for battle and saddlebags packed. “You will not fight alone, Little Fish.”

And then Arya, on a horse that was definitely not hers, was galloping to her side, too. “I’m coming, too!”

Y/N knew she should tell them no. Send them back to Sunspear and Oberyn and Robb and Safety. But one look at their determined faces left her sighing. “Your father and brother are going to kill me, you know.”

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Obara said with a smirk. “I’ll protect you.”

A/N: Please let me know what you guys think! I really appreciate it. :)

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut @lostinwonderland314 @fandomreblogsnoshame @arianawills @nyrnerosmartell @5hundreddaysofsummer @honestlystop @huliabitch @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @karmezii @thesadvampire @sarcasmisakindofmagic @alexa4040 @paintballkid711

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell imagine #oberyn martell x ellaria sand x reader #oberyn martell x ellaria sand #game of thrones imagine #asoiaf

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heartofsnark · 3 years

Text

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Five): Just To Want It All

Notes: As stated in last chapter notes, i have a decent chunk of chapters done so these are coming out pretty rapid fire. Otherwise, I don’t have much to say other than massive thanks to my friend who reads these over for me and has been cool with me dropping 80+ pages of fic on them in a week. because yeah...I finished another chapter of this.

Word Count: 7885

Chapter Warnings: mentions of alcohol and cursing, if that counts as a warning in cyberpunk 2077.

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

Lizzie’s Bar stands out brilliantly in the city; out of all the gangs, she thinks she likes The Moxes aesthetic the best. Vivid pink and bright teal. Their colors splashed across the overpass, along with a neon pink skull sign with hair and a bow. At the side of the building is a towering neon skull girl sign, full bodied with an animated kicking leg and axe held above her head, the same hot pink color.

She parks and gets out of her car, doing a quick scan of the area, searching for more Militech drones. None that she sees, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. The credchip burns in her pocket, remembering some of the stuff T-Bug has taught her. How to crack an encrypted shard and see what’s on it, how to transfer its contents. V rifles through her bag, remembering she had a blank credchip somewhere. If Militech did anything dirty, V should be able to transfer the eddies onto a clean chip.

V makes a beeline to the front door, cement blockers and walls covered in graffiti. More neon signs, the bars name over the door in glowing turquoise letters. Lizzie Jizzie scrawled across an outside wall; two screens on each side of the double stores, all covered in Nicola ads requesting V ‘taste the love’. Groups of people loiter in the open outside the bar. V’s eyes are drawn to the two bouncers outside the doors.

Two women, one leans against the outside wall as she puff away on a cigarette. Short slicked back hair that starts blue and then fades to green, eyes hidden behind sunglasses and a gold septum piercing in her nose. The other one stands in front of the doors, a yellow spiked bat held over her shoulders. Long hair pulled up into space buns, purple roots and pink ends. Both of her arms are metal; black with pink and teal accents as well as spikes along the forearms. Both women are skimpily dressed, no shame in that. The one wielding the bat has a white top with cleavage going beyond her breasts, showing her almost plastic looking skin and the Moxes tattoo across her chest. The other shorter haired bouncer is wearing neon pink pasties beneath a teal bomber jacket. V’s been here before, has maybe seen them in passing, both really attractive. She’s not sure there’s a Mox member who isn’t.

“Hey there, dollface!~” The bat wielder greets her with a grin, as if she could actually see V’s face.

“Interest you in a preem BD?” The smoker offers.

“What you got?” V asks to be polite, she doesn’t honestly even like brain dances. But the girls are cute, so… no harm in a little small talk.

“What don't we got? Women and men of your dreams, synaptic acting A-listers. No washed-up virtuporn boytoys or blow-up dolls here.”

“Auteur stuff - It'll grip your heart and blow your nerves right outta your body. Pure bit-based ecstasy - that’s why people come here.”

“Sure know how to sell it, don’t you?” V signs, trying not to laugh as the bouncers give her the spiel.

“Not a sales pitch, it's a warning. I'll give you one word - bespoke. Not for everyone's synapses.”

“Think you can handle it?”

“Think I can manage it,” she tells them, knowing damn well she has no intent to get any sort of virtus.

“Mmhm. Couple of things you need to know first,” she affectionately rubs her bat, “Ahem. Severe penalties for any unauthorized recording… “

“No drugs, no groping. Someone catch your eye, you do not grab 'em. You find 'em in the catalog, ask for a BD and get yourself a box.”

“No worries, not even my first time here.”

“Door's open. Have fun, Doll.”

“Welcome to Lizzie’s.”

The double doors open and V walks through a blue beaded curtain. There’s a front room, a stand where a woman with a bright pink mohawk is selling clothes, under another Nicola ad and neon letters saying ‘Fuck To Death’ behind her.

“My what a sweet face you have,” she says, her tone honeyed but its clear she hasn’t looked up from the counter, not even noticing as the masked merc walks past through another beaded curtain and double doors to the main club.

“Here in Night City~”

Music thrums as she steps in; the room is lit with strobing pink and teal lights. Couches with neon glowing lights on the underneath, some people with BD wreaths and others playing on their phones. People dancing to the club music and bar tucked away in the corner. She doubts the client will be right at the start of opening, so V finds an empty stretch of couch, sitting down on black leather with a pink neon light at her feet. V slides the Militech cred chip into her mask, it takes a moment, but she manages to crack it and get a look at the inside.

Ten thousand eddies and malware; it was meant to send all of Maelstrom’s data to another server and then fry the systems. Meaning, if V handed it over Maelstrom would get their systems fried, with her and Jackie dealing with the aftermath. V slides the blank cred chip into another slot in her mask’s edge, transfering the clean money over to it. Fucking around with tech and daemons isn’t her strong suit, but if she recalls Bug telling her that fairly simple malware like this could be reworked pretty easily. She works through the coding with her thoughts, the data and interface all on her mask. If she can get the coding right, she might be able to have it send something other than data back to the Militech servers… Shifting and twisting what she thinks will work… if she’s done it right, instead of sending data back to Militech’s server, it should inject the same malware back into their system. If used, it would spike both Maelstrom and Militech.

She’ll call up T-Bug before they hit Maelstrom, double check she did the steps right. If Maelstrom play nice, they can pay and be done, if not...she can fuck over the gangoons, Militech, and walk away with an extra ten thousand in her pocket. She puts the credchips in her pockets, spiked one in her left and clean one in the right.

Time to have a look around for the client. V making a beeline for the bar, bartenders always have all the info. Lizzie’s Bar in neon over the drink station, a brightly blue lit corner where a man works at making drinks, shelves of booze behind him. She climbs onto a blue vinyl bar stool, feet no longer on the ground and unable to resist swinging them a bit. The bartender comes to her; a man with slicked back dark hair, glowing white cybernetic eyes, and silver embellishments run across his cheeks and jaw. His shirt bright blue with a tropical design and if not for a single button above his pants, it’d be completely open. Beaded necklaces bringing even more attention to his exposed chest and stomach.

“Get you something?”

“Looking for Evelyn Parker,” she speaks the woman’s name, not wanting to waste time fingerspelling it even if the sound feels tight in her throat.

“And you are?”

“V, me and her were supposed to meet here.”

“Well, V, it’s a pleasure. I’m Mateo.”

“Nice to meet you… any idea where she’s hanging around?”

“Club's big. Gonna have to look around. Can't do it for you-”

“It's all right, Mateo,” a feminine voice calls out and V’s eyes are drawn to a woman at the bar, “I was waiting for this one.”

There’s something about her, distinctly Mox and also not. Her hair is a short vivid blue bob with bangs cut straight across her forehead. Heavy makeup, a tight silver sequin dress with a dipping neckline, red thigh high vinyl boots, a black trench coat that pools around her knees with a pink and white feathered collar. She holds two fingers up to the bartender and moves to the bar stool closer. There’s a clang and tink of glass; Mateo getting out a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses.

“That won’t be necessary,” V signs before he can fill the second glass, “I don’t drink on the job.”

“Aww, what a good girl,” Evelyn coos, a smile pulling at her painted lips, “Evelyn Parker. I knew it was you as soon as you walked in.”

“And you decided to let me wander around instead of introducing yourself?”

“I wanted to get a good look at you first.”

“And?” V watches as Evelyn takes a swig of her tequila.

“Rest assured, if I didn’t like what I see, you’d know,” she takes another drink, “C'mon. Know a place we can talk where ears won't prick up to listen. We'll be in the lounge, Mateo. Anyone asks we're not here.”

Evelyn takes her black clutch purse and leaves the bar, V puts some money down for Mateo; if nothing else to compensate for his time. V hops down from the stool and follows after Evelyn, through a pair of double doors that goes into a hallway tinted red and pink, booth doors lining the way. The blue haired woman opens up a door, standing to the side as V walks in.

The booth is small, circular with a red vinyl couch around it’s curve, a table in the middle projects a hologram of a stripper who twists and dances. V sinks into the cushions, watching Evelyn stride in and light a cigarette as the door closes behind her. Everyone in the city a smoker it seems. As Evelyn puffs on a cigarette, V is somehow just noticing the gold nail like finger caps she wears.

“Dex had a load to say about you. Called you professional, effective. And trustworthy. I hope he wasn't overselling…“

“You don’t give a shit what he says,” V retorts, not missing the tinge of disdain Evelyn’s voice. V doesn’t need anyone to blow wind up her ass.

“You have trouble accepting compliments?”

“Flattery’s beneath you.”

“Maybe Dex is beneath you,” Evelyn moves around the table, grabbing an ashtray from the table, then sitting down next to V, crossing her legs, “Have you known each other long?”

“First time working with him.”

“Hmmm, I've heard there are two kinds of fixers. Those with stable crews on long contracts and short leashes. Loyalty and predictability they value above all else. Then there's the other kind- Dex's kind.”

“Meaning?”

“Headhunters. They lay their trust elsewhere, not in people but in a thing- their intuition. They bet on potential. And if they lose that bet…It's the last mistake they ever make. I’m hoping Dex’s intuition served him well in this case.”

“Let's get to the point, why am I here, what’s this about?”

“Your target - I trust you know what it is.”

“Arasaka biochip.”

“Mmmhmm, their Relic, secure your soul technology. Arasaka's poured billions into personality transfer technology. But me - I just want the data on this one. The chip is tucked away inside Konpeki Plaza, the hotel. You ever been?”

“Fancy corp hotels? Yeah, no, way out of my price range.”

“The decor's to die for. As you'll see for yourself.’

So, V and Jackie have to bust into some fancy hotel to get the chip people are arguing about on tv. Understood, so far. But, theres a lot of risks involved in a heist of this scale. Its one thing to rip off a dropped piece of cargo or a convoy from a corp; but this kind of top notch tech?

“You know where the chip is, exactly?”

“In a suite on the top floor. The room's occupied by Yorinobu Arasaka.”

V swallows the lump in her throat, the son of Saburo Arasaka, heir to the entire fucking corp. She’s once again finding herself wondering why Dex thinks her and Jackie can handle a job of this caliber, the Arasaka’s seem downright un-fucking-touchable to a merc like her.

“He’s in NC?”

“Don't you read the screamsheets?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Well, the media couldn't get enough of Yori coming to Night City, it was all over the headlines. He's heir apparent to the Arasaka empire - Saburo Arasaka's only surviving son.”

“So, he trying to take over while he’s in town?” V asks, trying to understand what exactly is going on.

“Only a handful of people in Night City know what the Arasakas' real plans are.”

“And you included in that?”

A smirk stretches across her face, green eyes devious; “Yorinobu is a puppet. He lost all his cards years ago when he failed to do daddy's bidding. Saburo's had Yori's balls in a vise for years. He might just turn the screw and crush them outright if he learns his son's up to no good again.”

“Someone like him is bound to have an army surrounding him, that hotel is probably a fortress by now.”

“Yorinobu keeps exactly no muscle around. Not one guard. Got rid of them a long time ago.”

“Why?”

“Surely you know what they say about Arasaka intel? Sneeze in Night City and a blossom drops from a cherry tree in Tokyo. Yorinobu was convinced his Arasaka security detail reported directly to his father.”

“If you got a spare ache up your sleeve, I’d love to see it.”

“ Now, this should make your tits perk up,” she says, putting the ashtray aside and leans forward.

“My tits are quite comfortable where they are, I assure you.”

“Cute, but more importantly, Yorinobu recently swiped the chip from an Arasaka laboratory. He's made a deal with NetWatch, aims to sell it to them. Have you spotted my ace yet or do I need to spell things out?”

“Okay, no muscle because he has daddy issues and no security on the device because he stole it from said daddy. Any idea where he’s hiding the thing?”

“Likely in a specialized container, one that mimics an organic neural environment. On the outside, it looks like an ordinary briefcase.”

“Which would be where?”

“You'll see for yourself soon enough,” she stamps out her cigarette and stands up, walking to the door, “Provided we're done gossiping about the Arasakas.”

“You know anything else about him?” V asks, wanting to see if she can mine any more useful information about the heir that could help.

“Quite a bit, actually. He studied finance and biotech in Tokyo. Hm, probably didn't have a choice in the matter, come to think of it. Saburo was grooming him to be his successor. But then Yorinobu vanished to chase his own dreams, cut himself off from the corp for years. Long story short, though the black sheep returned, the bitter taste remained. But that's only one side of him. There's another - an intelligent man who has always walked his own path and so has his own designs on the corp.”

There’s no doubt in V’s mind now that Evelyn knows Yorinobu personally, the way she talks and speaks is clearly colored by experience. Some prodigal son who ran away from his father and then came back with his tail between his legs when he couldn’t cut it alone. An odd lump in V’s throat at the thought; running away from shitty dads, being a black sheep…

“Sounds like any other corpo dick to me,” V signs, not liking the parallels her brain is starting to draw.

“Hm. Ever tried to imagine what life might be like for an emperor's son? You have everything, yet you are no one, nothing. At least as long as you remain in Saburo Arasaka's shadow. I…” she scratches almost sheepishly at her neck, her wannabe femme fatale attitude slipping for just a moment, “...sympathize. It's a vulnerability I understand well.”

V is still finding herself finding uncomfortable similarities between herself and fucking Yorinobu Arasaka. Its stupid, she doesn’t know the man and he has the wealth to destroy her for pretending she does. But, a power hungry leader for a father, leaving home, terrified of being under his thumb. Only difference, well many, but most pressing is she’s managed to make it on her own...so far… at least. Not that she hasn’t had her doubts or worries.

“So, what’s next?” V asks, practically shaking her head to dispel the weirdness swimming in her brain. Black sheep or not; Yorinobu Arasaka has a silver spoon in his mouth. She’s a nomad turned Night City edgerunner; their lives couldn’t be more far removed.

“Now comes the best part,” Evelyn opens the door and turns to leave, “Follow me. Got somethin' for you. Should help you plan. Braindance from Konpeki Plaza.”

V follows Evelyn out into the hallway, “ how’s a braindance going to help?”

“Think BDs are only good for fondling virtual tits, jackin' off to in those boxes?”

“Thought that was the main selling point, yeah,” V teases back as they turn a corner in the hallway, headed towards a door.

“No. They can be a very useful tool. Good for analyzing details human perception, even boosted, doesn't grasp. Exactly what you need,” Evelyn teases as they enters a dressing room, a few Mox at the tables painting their faces with makeup and styling their hair.

“What's on the tape?” Through another door and neon lights fade to harsher, darker lighting.

“Yorinobu's suite. The glorious interior,” the walk down a short metal flight of stairs, “You'll need to locate the Relic yourself. Hope I grabbed enough detail to make that possible.”

The stop at the end of the steps, Evelyn turning to look at V with a hand on her hips. Not that V really had any more doubt about it, but she’s been given more evidence that Evelyn and Yorinobu know each other.

“You recorded it?”

“Mhm. BD rec implant. Why, you object?”

“Not particularly, who you know and what you do with them is none of my business, lets see the braindance.”

“Judy'll help. She's a Mox, too,” down another short flight of stairs, deeper into the basement, “Besides, we go back… years.”

Evelyn stops them again outside a pair of double doors, Lizzie’s is starting to feel like a little maze at this point. But more importantly, Evelyn’s paused again, stumbled over her words and showed something under her facade. V felt something was off, a Mox but somehow not, and she’s starting to think Evelyn is purposely trying to put up a front. That she’s trying, a little too hard, to come across like femme fatale or corpo. Evelyn clears her throat.

“V, this is important. Judy's always been there for me. Always helped out. I trust her. But she's a Mox, not the latest member of your crew. Try not to forget. So you'll be a good girl, tread lightly and keep that tongue on a leash.

“Oh, but it's not my tongue you need to worry about.”

“Hmm, can feel you smirking under that mask, keep it up and I’ll tie those hands down, too,” Evelyn says with a wink as they pass through the double doors into another hallway, then through one more door.

Evelyn leads her through the basement doors, a dark little room with servers, netrunning chairs and screens. In an office chair slouching with one leg on a desk is a woman; late twenties or so with olive skin. One side of her hair is shaved, the other shaggy and down to nearly her shoulder, a deep green color with bright pink ends. The woman is heavily tattooed, bright red roses nestled above her collar bones, a spider web on her right shoulder, a cartoon ghost sitting in a shell, and a large number 13 on her bicep are among the standouts. But V could spend hours describing each artwork.

“Ahem.”

“Hey, there you are…” Judy greets Evelyn, a playful almost flirty tone to her voice.

“This is V. She's here for that BD roll. And V, this is Judy - best braindance editor I know.”

“Enough already, gonna make me barf.” There’s a slight accent to Judy’s voice, not unlike Jackie’s.

“Impressive set up,” V signs, at least, she assumes it’s impressive. Tech is already a bit of a blind spot for her, especially when it comes to brain dances.

“Mhm, Analyzers, sensory sig amps, acoustic and emotive wave monitors, facial expression translators.”

“Ahem, Judy,” Evelyn stops the inked editor before she can tell V more.

“All right, all right… Compiled your BD, Ev.”

“What do you think? Will it do?”

“Still pretty raw… but yeah, oughta do.”

“Mhm. V needs to get deep inside, that's most important.”

“So, let's calibrate, tune it to her,” Judy stands up from the table and moves to the desk closer to the door, sitting down below a neon pink light, “Believe me, I've dealt with worse. Should see the dig-Jig Street porn we gotta contend with sometimes.”

Evelyn has followed behind Judy, standing behind the editor’s chair, “So we drop V inside? Let her look, let her rummage around, right?”

“How 'bout it, V? Raw braindance - ever taken a dip before?” Judy leans forward on the desk, looking at V.

“No, not at all, but I’m a quick learner,” that feels like a lie as soon as she says it, “ and need to know what I’m dealing with. So.”

“Siddown, settle in, and we'll get you goin'.”

V turns around to the chairs, either netrunning or ripperdoc chairs, she’s not sure. But, she climbs into one, settling down into it as Judy comes back out around the desk. Judy is nearby, fiddling with a brain dance wreath.

“Be easier to fit without the mask.”

“Mask has optic tech, linked to my neuroport and biomon, should work just like it does with any set of cybereyes.”

“‘Fraid of ruining the mystery?” Evelyn asks, teasing again.

“Mask is for business, lot harder to track a merc if you got no clue what they look like. You that curious, feel free to try and track me down during my off time.”

“Fine, fine,” Judy affixes the BD wreath around V’s head, lining it up properly on the merc before walking back to the desk, “Gotta create your sensory profile first.”

“Go for it.”

“Now, sit still, look at me. Gonna run the analysis soft should feel a slight tingling…”

V’s breath catches as it prickles across her skin, a crackling and warm sensation crawling across every nerve. From the base of her skull, down her spine, across her arms to her fingers, running down her legs to her toes. A vague pulse, a current of something.

“OK now let's set the optics and other sensory sigs. Look smack into these two screens, pretend it's an eye exam.”

The two wreath panels flash and strobe white light, building in urgency and frequency.

“Gimme two more minutes. One more sec, need to get the pain receptor limiters in… OK. All set. Need to test your profile first. Tossing in a sam-”

“We can just use my recording, there’s no point in wasting time,” Evelyn interrupts Judy.

“It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“I’m fine with just jumping to her BD,” V interjects her opinion, “better to get right to it.”

Judy sighs and rolls her eyes; “Fine, fine, what do I know.”

“Great, I’ll just need to patch Bug in.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Who?” Judy jumps up from her desk, crossing her arms and looks at V like she just asked to summon Satan.

“Runner from my crew, security specialist. She'll tell me what to look for while we analyze. No problem, I assume?”

“Actually, it is a problem! You’re already asking me to cut fucking corners and now you want to bring someone else in?! Not what we agreed, Ev!”

“It’s not a big deal,” V signs, not sure what Judy’s sudden problem is.

“No big deal! You don't quite grasp the risks I took by lettin' you in here! What I'm risking pokin' around with this stuff!”

Judy continues to yell and V rolls her eyes, she’s a BD editor, not part of the actual crew, the client, or the fixer. If Arasaka goes after anyone it sure as shit won’t be Judy, so why is she throwing a fit.

“And you don’t seem to grasp the risk I’d be taking if me and my partner went stumbling into that hotel with no fucking clue as to what we or our runner are up against. I miss one hidden turret and I get pumped full of lead, either my runner links in or I’m gone.”

V makes a point to twist her head and look at Evelyn at the last part; Bug is the most highly trained member of their crew and Dex’s go to runner. Without her involvement and eyes on it, the job won’t be going anywhere.

“Bye then!” Judy yells out, “good riddance and don’t let the door hit you on the way out!”

“Judy, please…”

“Ev, she wants to bring a 'runner in. What part of that don't you understand?! How do I know she'll only perch in this footage, observe, not fuck with anything?!”

“Because Bug is literally involved with the heist, has a dog in this fight, and wants it to go well too,” V signs, hoping the AI voice is getting her annoyance across, Judy does level a glare at her over Evelyn’s shoulder.

“Me,” Evelyn steals Judy’s attention, “I'm your guarantee.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Help me, this one last time. I promise everything'll work out, just like we planned.”

And it hits V, between the flirting and the soft drop in Evelyn’s voice here. The reason Judy is so worked up about this; her and Evelyn have something. Friends teetering the line into something else, girlfriends already, or maybe even more than that. V’s not sure. But there’s something distinctly not platonic to the way they interact. Maybe that’s the play on Evelyn’s. Scam Yorinobu Arasaka then run away with her porn editor girlfriend.

“Fine,” Judy shakes her head and sits back down, the anger gone, “call Bug and we’ll dive in.”

That issue taken care of V rings up T-Bug, the netrunner answering after a ring or two.

“What’s up, V?”

“Bug, listen. I got some useful footage from Konpeki Plaza. It's a braindance.”

“Konpeki? Ohhh, thought as much…” Judy looks up at Evelyn.

“Someone there with you?”

“Client and her...friend...is what I’ll settle on; that’s not what matters right now, its going to give us a layout of the room, a chance to find where the chip is, and some idea of security.”

“All right, see if I can walk you through it. Jackin’ into your tech now,” notifications alert across her mask’s interface, “Mh, you've gotta give me access. Opening port 1779… Secure protocol? Good, I'm goin' in. Should be getting my request… …now.”

“Got it. You ready?”

“Millisec. OK, connection confirmed, now some quick temp ICE and… we're clear. Ready to dance.��

“Let’s do this.”

And with that the wreath panels begin to flash and strobe in front of V’s eyes, quicker and quicker until the world goes out in white. And in the next snap of a moment, one reality becomes another. Her body is no longer her own, she’s placed in Evelyn’s mind standing outside an elevator. What feels like her body, moves to adjust a purse strap, gold capped nails.

“All right, V - eyes open. Gotta find out where Yorinobu is keepin’ the Relic. Everything is controlled by thought and intention; you can step into editor mode, access everything her cyberware picked up a signal of, can scan, rewind, fast forward. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

The doors open, exposing the hotel room, and a horror show of a man walking towards her. V can feel the spike in fear, whether from Evelyn in the moment or V’s own instinctual reaction; she isn’t sure. He’s around eight feet tall, complete metal and cyberware from his feet to his upper lip; more machine than human. Wire, hydraulics, steel; all branded with Arasaka. The flesh section of his head is sickly ashen protrusive veins, glowing red where eyes should be. As he draws closer there’s a whirr of machinery, hydraulics pistoning to give him movement. How is he alive? How is he functional?

“You look like a cut of fuckable meat. Are you?” He asks as he walks past, voice edged with something inhuman.

Evelyn reigns her fear back in, the past version of her walking deeper into the room, where a dark haired man sits at a table in front of a large screen where another blonde haired man speaks back to him.

“I said no,” the dark haired man speaks out, his voice colored by a Japanese accent and V knows it’s Yorinobu. Evelyn continues to walk closer, her heels clicking against the floor.

“They'll have my head for this…”

“Then you shall perish for a good cause.”

“But I-”

“Make yourself comfortable. I need a minute to finish,” Yorinobu tells Evelyn, sparing just a glance over his shoulder.

“Listen in on that conversation, V! Could be something important.”

She wants to watch through first, do an initial watch to look for things and then go more in depth. Two watches at least should mean she’s covered everything. Yorinobu switches the conversation to his holophone, pacing around the room. Evelyn meanwhile puts her purse down on the chair, then walks behind him, trying to keep him in range

“My father is a tired, visionless old greybeard who thinks nothing will change and he'll live forever in his tiny, frozen bubble! You will listen to this - Saburo is an addled despot utterly removed from reality, stuck in some fossilized vision of a world that no longer exists! Of a world that may never have existed! We have not seen eye to eye for the last twenty years. I am quite sure we won't now.”

Yorinobu continues to talk as Evelyn pours herself a glass full of champagne and takes a drink, the tech allowing V to taste the sweet bubbles as if they were on her own tongue. Glass in hand she takes a slow look around the room and walks back to the center of it, sitting at the table, the plush of the cushion letting her sink into it.

“Noted,” Yorinobu says into the phone as he starts to walk back to Evelyn, there’s something in his eyes, “enough.”

He hands up, putting the phone down on the table. Evelyn looks up at him and V through her eyes gets her first good look at the Arasaka heir. Dark hair with the sides shaved down close to the scalp, glasses perched on his nose. His cyberware is surprisingly minimal for a man of his wealth, two streaks of silver going up his neck to his jawline.

“Sorry, to make you wait,” he touches Evelyn’s shoulder and the woman rises, “business can be stupid.”

They’re close and V can feel his hands on her, Evelyn’s, hips. Evelyn’s hand on his shoulder.

“Mmh, it wasn't long,” Evelyn hums and it feels wholy unnatural to feel like she’s speaking with someone else's voice, “Not even long enough for me to grow bored.”

His hands start to creep and Evelyn goes to pull away, movements playful, when Yorinobu pulls her back in. Then he starts to dip his mouth.

“Fuck no!” V yells out as she pushes the thought to enter editor mode, separating her senses from Evelyn’s before she has to feel Yorinobu’s lips on Evelyn’s neck. She looks down and sees herself, though slightly digital, her bright blue nail polish and not gold jewelry. The scene around her has paused and a digital filter over them.

“Something wrong?” T-Bug asks with a slight laugh.

“Nearly had corpo droolon me,” V signs, happy to find the tech allows her translator to work in editor mode, “was going do a watch through, then a second go in editor mode, figured two look throughs would be best...then”

“Then you nearly had to lock lips with Yorinobu Arasaka.”

“Gag, rewinding back to scan the call fully.” With a thought she watches as Evelyn and Yorinobu move in reverse, getting back to win the heir was starting the call. Once she gets where she needs to be she scans his phone and restarts it from editor mode, thankful for the sensory disconnect. She hears the man on the other end of Yorinobu’s call speak.

“Please speak with your father. He's taken a particular interest in this project, he can certainly explain the risks invol--”

“My father is a tired, visionless old greybeard who thinks nothing will change and he'll live forever in his tiny, frozen bubble!”

“I should not even be listening to such things.”

“You will listen to this - Saburo is an addled despot utterly removed from reality, stuck in some fossilized vision of a world that no longer exists! Of a world that may never have existed! We have not seen eye to eye for the last twenty years. I am quite sure we won't now.”

“Read the documentation carefully. The Relic requires specific storage conditions. You MUST provide them.”

“Noted,” Yorinobu hangs up again and V pauses the BD.

“Heard that? Relic docs gotta be around here somewhere. Look for them,” Bug confirms.

“Once we find where the chip is stored we’ll do a clean sweep of the security, okay Bug.”

“Smart thinking.”

V watches half-heartedly as Yorinobu and Evelyn interact; her range of vision and senses limited to Evelyn. She fast forwards through the two canoodling, only mildly catching Evelyn mentioning something about ‘candy’ though V assumes it’s of the nose variety. Evelyn separates away from Yorinobu for a moment and walks to a control panel, offering to lend music to the scene.

But V’s interest is piqued when she catches Evelyn rifling through Yorinobu’s messages, a few spam and scam emails. Then she pulls up an email from Clouds, a dollhouse in the city. Evelyn deletes it, V rewinds back and pauses. The email thanks Yorinobu for his patronage; hmm, heir has a taste for doll prostitutes. Something, Evelyn doesn’t want that email to be there… Its all beginning to make more sense and V’s not sure she likes it.

The merc fast forwards further through the BD, moving through to Evelyn playing awful music and going to meet Yorinobu in his bed. Where he sits with a tablet, the second the screen is clear. She pauses and scans it, bingo.

“Manual details a special temp controlled container. Relic needs to be kept real cool,” T-Bug explains through the technobabble.

“Chip’s got to be in a freezer.”

“Yep. Could damage it otherwise. OK, switch on thermal layer detection in the editor. Should be easier to spot where Yorinobu's keeping the chip.”

V switches with a thought, the world turning into temperature signatures as she searches for unnatural cold places and spots. An air conditioner pumps out cold air, but that would be a stupid place to put billion dollar tech. One malfunction and you lost it all. She rewinds back to get more of a view, a ice bucket for champagne, a fridge?

“That’s just a regular fancy fridge, not cold enough,” Bug tells her when she spends t0o long contemplating it.

V rewinds further and an amass of blue ice cold air from behind a pillar catches her eye, It seems to come up through the floor, unlike the AC, ice bucket, or fridge she has no clear idea where this one is coming from. A secret container in the floor? Seems like a much craftier place to hide expensive stolen tech, V scans it.

“Right, grabbed the heat sig. Matches the spec in the docs,” T-Bug tells her.

“Chip has to be here, we got it.”

“Mmhmm, time to scan security.”

V switches back to the regular mode, looking for what she needs to scan. The camera system first.

“Shit, cameras packed with newtech motion sensors, heat sig activators. IFF.”

“Can you kill it?”

“With access to their subnet, but we need the Flathead bot for that.”

They continue on, with Bug commenting on each security measure they scan. Alarm with fresh firmware, Automated turrets connected to the hotels server. Yorinobu’s pistol, loaded with the safety on. V rewinds and fast forward, searching anything else that might be an issue but comes up empty handed.

“Seems like we got everything. Looks like all their security systems are linked to the hotel subnet. We need the Flathead. No other way to shut down these systems,” T-Bug sumises.

“No way around it ourselves?”

“Nope. Least I'm fresh out of ideas. Think we got everything we need.”

“Okay, but hang on the line with me after we get out of the BD, need you to look over something for me, if you don’t mind.”

“No problem.”

V exists out of the brain dance, a flash of white and the world returns. Judy and Evelyn looking at her from across a desk, T-Bug still in the call panel of her mask. Her eyes hurt, her throat feels dry, and she can feel a migraine pushing at her temples. She fucking hates brain dances.

“Get everything you need?” Judy asks, a dark raised eyebrow.

“From the BD, yeah, got to clear something with Bug while I got her on the horn,” V gets the chip she fucked with out of her pocket and slides it into the proxy reader of her mask, “got a chip I fucked around with; decrypted and tried to rewrite the virus on it, so it will spike the people who gave it to me. But I want to make sure, I didn’t fuck up.”

“Need me to grade your work, V?”

“Kind of…”

“Oh, shit, V. You fucking over Militech?” T-Bug exclaims, a little pride in her voice as she reads over the code, thankfully her voice is only audible to V through her hearing aids.

“Mmhmm.”

“And you don’t want to sign and have your translator read it, because you don’t want to risk the client knowing you’re fucking over Militech while prepping to fuck over Arasaka.”

“Mmhmm, will it work?”

“It will fry the servers of any tech it’s plugged in proper and fry the servers it’s linked to, a Militech van from the looks of it. Won’t be a dent in their bottom line, but will surely piss off some reps. That what you meant for it to do?”

“That was the plan.”

“Preem work then, but I do want to make some...edits,” T-Bug edits the chips code in front of V’s eyes, “there we go.”

“Something wrong with it?” Nerves creep up V’s throat, if she fucked up, she’d rather learn her lesson now.

“Nah, I added a bit of a personal touch for you, nothing wrong with a little style added to your hacking.”

“Appreciate the help.”

“You know I won’t always be here to check your work.”

“I know, I know, but it doesn't mean I won’t take advantage while I can. Thanks again, talk soon.”

“Later, V.” With that V hangs up the call and slots the spiked credchip back into its respective pocket. Judgement, suspicion, and resentment are radiating off of Judy.

“I'll wipe the cache and your data. You were never here.”

Judy stands up from the desk and V tries to decipher a few of the tattoos she sees, noticing more sea themed ones, like a dolphin and sharks. V flinches behind her mask as Judy removes the BD wreath, glad to be free of the contraption, but she could have taken it off herself.

“Thanks…” V signs, despite this, just trying to be polite despite their spat.

“Keep it,” Judy hands her the wreath, V getting a good look at the octopus tattooed on the woman’s hand, “I'll put it on Ev's tab. Portable device for handling BDs. I already uploaded your calibration settings. Not as sophisticated as what we got here, but should do the trick.”

“And it keeps you outta harm's way. Clever.”

“Speaking of harms way, know what I see looking at you,” Judy pins her hands to her hips and gives V that look again, “walking, talking corpses.”

“We needed this recording, just… relax, will you?”

“Relax! If Arasaka finds out you have it, you're dead. I'm dead! If you fuck this up and Arasaka comes knocking on my door!”

“Judy, relax, that’s… not gonna happen,” Evelyn is the one trying to soothe the editors temper again.

“Evelyn, please… no shortcuts. You go that route, city'll always win. So be careful.”

“'Course I will be. Besides, we'll talk in a bit,” Evelyn looks to V, “lets walk.”

V stashes the new BD wreath into her bag and climbs from the chair, following Evelyn out of Judy’s basement space. It’s not like V is heartless or doesn’t know anxiety; but of everyone involved, Judy has the least skin in the game. V can’t spend her time coddling someone who doesn’t have a whole hell of a lot to worry about compared to her, Jackie, or Bug.

“Well? What do you think?” Evelyn asks and V can see that hint of nerves coming back.

“You’re not worried about this coming back on you, if they start looking through everyone he’s been dealing with?”

“They'll have a long list, then. Packed full of big names. Much bigger than mine. You tell me who they check first. Corpo hotshots and cutthroats? Or a little bedroom plaything like me?”

“Well, then... “ V tries to find her words, this all seems, too good, “intel on the heir, on the place, know roughly where the chip is, and how we should get to it… Seems like a perfect plan and job.”

“Mm. Thanks. Now the punch line, please.”

“Seems too good to be true, there’s got to be a catch…”

“Cold feet? Are you looking to get out of it?”

“I want to know you’re in control here; that there’s no secrets, no catches, no surprises that turns this heist from a cakewalk into a bloodbath.”

“V. I have zero reasons to haze you. We’re in this together. Really. Trust me that I got this.”

“Okay, if you say so, what next?”

“V….” there’s nothing good in the way Evelyn pauses, words stuck to her tongue for a moment, “Do this job for me. I mean me alone. No splitting the payout with anyone else. No middlemen. No Dex.”

Of course, of fucking course, there had to be something. Evelyn’s trying to play cutthroat corpo, fucking over a fixer because she has dollar signs in her eyes. But, she’s too damn naïve to the game to know that no merc with the lead in their gun would pull that shit. Greedy mercs who screw over their fixers end up broke on the street at best and swimming with cement shoes at worst. And a high profile one like Dex has the means to destroy her.

“Fucking knew there was a catch, you want to fuck over our fixer.”

“Dex is a middleman. And a useless one at this point.”

“You don't fuck with fixers. That's the one rule every merc in this city knows - and actually follows!”

“But if we're smart…”

“There is no smart to this, a mistake like that will cost me my reputation and without that, a merc is fucking nothing in this city. Are you serious about this?”

“Better ask yourself that question. Do you want to spend the rest of your days blasting scavs? Or become a legend overnight? Your choice.”

“He would put me in the ground, if I pulled some gonk shit like that.”

“I could give you fifty percent, V, . Eddies enough to do whatever the hell you like, without needing Dex for anything. With cred like that, you wouldn’t want for anything, you could retire.”

“It’s not about the money.”

“I thought you were a merc. I thought it was always about the money.”

“No, its not actually. He trusts me, he’s taking a leap with me. And even if he weren’t, I’m not the only person I got to worry about. Bug vouched for me too and Jackie is my partner. I fuck over my fixer, it hurts them too. I’m not going to send them down the river for a bigger cut of the pie.”

“Fine. I never asked. But V?”

“Yeah.”

“I just hope you're as good as you are naive.”

“Pff, you think I’m the naive one, here. Cute.

“If you need me, call. I'll send you my number. Now go. I need a few words with Judy.”

“Later, then.”

And with that V heads back up the stairs, tension draws tight across her shoulders. This whole damn thing with Evelyn throwing her off. The BD and everything seems clear cut, if they get the Flathead, the job might even be easy. But, wanting to fuck over their fixer. Evelyn is not the corpo or femme fatale or whatever she seems to think she is. A doll, V’s sure of that. Evelyn must have deleted the email from Clouds because its’s connected to her and the Mox offer protection to sex workers; must be where she and Yorinobu met. Clouds even has connections to Arasaka through the Tyger Claws. And she managed to become a powerful rich man’s plaything, so now she thinks she’s smart enough to fuck over not only him but Dex too.

She’s a messy client with good intel. V doesn’t want Evelyn to get hurt. The older woman is in over her head and doesn’t know how the merc world works. She doesn’t deserve to get hurt for that, the last thing V wants is for Dex to lose his cool and hurt the woman. But, V also owes it to him to let him know Evelyn put that deal on the table. If she doesn’t, what’s to say Evelyn won’t pull this on another fixer? Or Dex gets another job aligned with her and the next merc she offers this to isn’t so loyal? She has to tell him.

V fumbles with her holo as she walks back through the club, doing some quick research on Konpeki Plaza. Finding their policy on guns. Given the stealth nature of this mission, she can assume the only way they’re getting in is to find a way to get in like regular patrons. Which means they’d be scanned for guns as soon as they get through the door. If something goes south, she doesn’t want her and Jackie left unarmed with a hoard of Arasaka soldiers on their ass.

But they can’t confiscate cyberware.

Might be time to cash in her savings for something. Her holo buzzes in her hand as Dex calls; her stomach drops. Unsure for a moment what to say to him, if she should go ahead and tell him what Evelyn tried to pull. Would he lose his temper? Drop the entire damn heist? Would he hurt her for it? It weighs on her shoulders as she pushes through a blue beaded curtain, considering her options with a finger hovering over the phone.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #johnny silverhand #silverv #(slowburn eventual)#evelyn parker #judy alvarez #aidan becker #aidan v becker #female v

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thedenofravenpuff · 5 years

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Friendship is Magic - Destiny is Power

A ramble I’ve been wanting to make for years now, ever since the major change in status quo of letting the Cutiemark Crusaders earn their cutiemarks, after it being a running gag of them constantly causing trouble in search for their talents.

I know I’m not the first to ask, but I feel we never got true, proper answers to the one, big, lingering question on this whole subject:

What ARE cutiemarks?

Let’s consider what we know.

“Now, can anyone tell me when a pony gets his, or her, cutiemark?” “When she discovers that certain something that makes her SPECIAL!”

The typical take both show and fandoms usually take from what we know about cutiemarks, are that they represent their special TALENTS. Despite the proper introduction in the first season insisted on saying it could be anything, from a trait, a talent, skill or other vague concepts. As long it was something unique to that pony.

Upon discovering this special something themselves, the mark with reveal itself upon their flanks. Forever branding onto them this very special something about them.

The importance of these marks are so heavily branded into the minds of ponies, we never truly see the protection blankflanks need. Unless some quick lesson is needed for the episode’s morale. We witness adults allowing blankflanks used as a bad word against the blankflanked victims, both by peers AND adults. We see no repercussions towards ponies like Diamond Tiara for openly mocking the pre-CMC, as well as later on. Don’t forget her MOTHER, a responsible ADULT, openly talking down about three young fillies for not having their marks yet. Openly calling them low lives with nopony trying to correct her or even comfort the victims of this treatment. Because these marks are THAT important.

Ponies put so much importance to this brand unique to the three tribes, that we see plenty of examples through the shows of them using their marks for identification, signatures, even addresses, than their actual names. In a past ramble I’ve theorized a pony’s name is easy to change due to the nature of focusing their whole identity around their talent or appearance, that it isn’t so odd to see so many ponies fitting their marks and talent through their naming. A name can change purely based on what everyone else calls you as long it fits what they recognize you by.

But the cutiemark, once earned, forever stays the same.

They are not born with a mark, despite they can show their talents and unique traits from the early start. But they are all born with the predestined seed on who they are going to be with what skills, later revealed through the appearance through this magical mark.

But why?

And why only ponies? This very unique to only the known three tribes (plus-minus the bat ponies still left unanswered for show canon with only two vague appearance), no other creatures share this trait. Not even those seemingly somewhat related to the ponies. Kirins, changelings, mules, donkeys, goats, cows, hippogriffs... no matter the discussions we could have on how little or how much they relate to ponies, they do not share this magic trait. Even when confirmed plenty other races DO hold their own magic too.

What is a cutiemark? WHY is a cutiemark?

Even after 8+ years of the FiM show alone, we never truly got a full answer. Why only ponies? By looking at mules, apparently hybrids do not carry the trait. Only pure ponies as far we know. Despite their differences, the three tribes are all intertwined to be sharing this trait, but not with anyone outside these examples.

A pony can, from the moment they are born, show exactly when makes them unique and special is. But first receive their mark upon a special moment of realizing this. How young can a pony earn their cutiemark? How old can they become and still fail to realize their unique trait? So far I do not recall a canon example of an adult pony failing to earn a cutiemark in their youth.

BUT we have a lot of examples of ponies with their earned mark FAILING at recognizing what it stands for. Some even despairing over what they think it means. Some marks so obscure and vague you question whatever force is controlling this process was even thinking!

Not to mention another odd conundrum. Cutiemarks are earned down the line, while a pony can prove their special trait from the moment they are born. The cutiemark doesn’t GIVE them the talent, it is supposed to only represent it. Or is it? Because the in the Cutie-Map episode we are shown that a spell can REMOVE a cutiemark. And upon doing so also remove the pony’s uniqueness.

Is this due to the removal of the mark or an additional effect of the spell upon adding its own brand in replacement? Had Starlight Glimmer made a spell that only removed the mark and not added the equal sign, had ponies just be blank flanked but kept their talents just as before they earned their mark? How much was the change of the victims caused by the meddling of this special nature of themselves and how much was caused by added features of the spells?

A lot of importance rest on cutiemarks and their relations to certain traits of the ponies. We have seen powerful marks like the Princesses’ getting swapped with seemingly no change in the pony itself. We have seen magic drained from a pony also costing them their marks as well as general abilities to even move. How much of that is the excessive drain on their very life energy? How much of it is the very life of the pony is connected to the mark and vice versa?

We never get true answers, other than marks are important. Ponies rely their whole identities on whatever brand is on their butt. This very unique trait for just ponies.

I think the only true answer can only be discovered through none other than the Cutiemark Crusaders themselves.

The CMC, a running gag the early seasons about young foals desperately searching for their destiny. The paradox of earning what makes you unique to ensure you fit in with everypony else.

The CMC have me convinced that indeed SOMETHING, an unknown force, is running this show about magical butt tattoos unique to the three pony tribes. Why?

We have three fillies giving themselves the mission to earn their marks as soon as possible after joining forces. Of course they did so even before meeting, but doubling their efforts knowing they are no longer alone in their efforts.

The CMC earned a lot of knowledge on the subject for their efforts. They tried everything, rushing so fast everypony else had a good guess what their talents would be, but the young fillies taking no time to stop and realize it themselves. And a pony can only earn the mark by coming to the realization themselves. As far we are told.

Most important... what they DID earn

No other point in the show’s run have we been given an example of this kind of display, related to earning your cutiemark. Every other example we have seen, at most, comes with a short flash of light. It can differ in brightness. A lot of times ponies don’t even seem to realize they earned their mark until others point it out. It is sudden, quick and then it’s done.

Not for the CMC. They get a full on light show, floating in the air, colours, flashing and all groggy on the ground as they come to!

Not only that, they all earn the marks TOGETHER, at the same time. And remarkable close to one another in design.

They even claim in this final season that they are canonically the only ponies with matching marks the way they have them. Despite the differences, they are still truly connected in design. The marks recognizes the individual unique of each of them, but still ties them together.

Of course, looking at background ponies, I still say matching cutiemarks happen in plenty. Even if just quick reuses of old designs instead of churning out new ones constantly for bg use. But I digress. The CMC are still unique in earning their marks TOGETHER in every sense of the statement.

But why?

Twilight and pals were connected not just through their friendship, but the very foresight of their destinies together to earning their marks through the same event. Decades before knowing each other, one performing a Sonic Rainboom causing events to occur that lead to each of them to earn their respective marks. An event so important, Starlight Glimmer trying to erase it from history caused the full downfall of the world as we know it... not just for ponies, but for everyone. By denying this preset destiny.

Friendship is Magic. A force wielded by a tight group of friends, connected the Tree of Harmony created by ponies in the past who barely even saw each other as friends, more just as allies.

The Spirit of the Tree, or Spirit of Harmony, proving to be a force much grander than even its creators expected it to become. Still evolving. But I think even that force dwarfs under the light of Destiny.

Friendship is Magic, so is Harmony. Forces to beware of, but proven not unique to ponies as we have seen other than the Mane Six wielding the magic of these concepts. Ponies once known as the New Six from Our Town, before left to be forgotten. And now the Student Six. A group only consisting of ONE pony and representatives of different races.

But Destiny.

Destiny is Power. And tightly bound to cutiemarks.

The Tree has proven to hold a great foresight, upon connecting to the ponies and their cutiemarks. Before fusing with the Mane Six, the Elements were but gems, or rocks, holding mere concepts that together wielded a great force by those worthy to channel it. Merging with the Mane Six the Elements changed forms matching their marks and traits. It evolved its fusion with pony magic through the castle and the Map, a Map using cutiemarks to call ponies to where they are needed. And not just the Mane Six. Even Spike, a non pony finding himself pulled to do its bidding.

But the Tree, or Map, holds no power over ponies and their marks beyond that.

Destiny does.

Their marks and talent seem so very tightly bound to their Destiny. What their part in society is. Ponies cannot imagine a life without marks, even Starlight’s cult ran on by REPLACING the marks instead of just remove them and leave the flanks blank.

Ponies having their marks forcible removed through loss of their magic shows unable to even move. With Tirek stealing the magic from ponies, even removing their marks, we have Luna declare “Ponies will no longer be able to control their world”, at the loss of magic and talents this causes.

Ponies despair at the thought of earning an unwanted mark, to be given a destiny they cannot agree with.

Ponies can stare themselves blind upon their own marks, even tho it is supposedly only earn through recognizing their own potential.

Trouble Shoes thought his mark meant bad luck and had to be TOLD it showed his clumsiness was meant to be used to entertain. Cheerilee had a full on abstract explanation for her mark, all down to “And the SMILES represents the CHEER I hope to bring to my little ponies while they were learning!” when explaining how smiling flowers relates to her deciding to be a teacher. Foals, both already earned their marks and blanks, have to be told once mark earned it’s not the one-way path the rest of your life as one might think with this one-track focus on the mark as part of their whole identity.

The CMC earned experience through chasing their unknown marks, and upon giving up their quest to instead focusing their energy on helping others with their marks, blanks as well as marked ponies, they earned theirs.

With a full on light show ignited by them hoofbumping. Connecting them.

SOMETHING had picked their destiny at that point. SOMETHING bound these fillies together through both magic and marks, in a way that looked more like a full on spell than just any other pony earning their special mark. These fillies are to show the ponies the way, when they stare themselves blind at their own marks and destiny.

WHAT is the force behind Destiny?

I have no idea. But it relates only to ponies, even if the fillies can still provide counseling towards other creatures too (Gabbie, Terramar). Destinies for ponies are somehow connected to their marks. How it binds them to others. Yes, ponies earn their marks based on traits already shown... while others only realize the meaning of their marks much later on. Learning new ways to read their destiny, and still find the path set before them they were already on this whole time.

Something is connecting these marks with their ponies. Something unique to only these tribes. Something so closely connected to the pony’s own magic, their essence, their very destiny.

And it channels through these three fillies as its champions. The grand plan made for them quite clear yet still not fully realized at the same time. Just as the Mane Six were the champions of the Tree of Harmony, now seemingly replaced by the Student Six as their heirs to Harmony to spread beyond just the Three Tribes.

But the Destiny behind cutiemarks is spreading its influence too through three young fillies with their lives set out for them.

Where do Cutiemarks come from? What force is controlling their Destiny? I insist this force is beyond the Elements of Harmony. Yes the Elements are grand and powerful, but looking at the timeline I’ll say the force of Destiny is much older in its influence. The Essence that became Harmony was but a seed planted the Pillars upon Equestria’s founding. But we know ponies held destinies and cutiemarks before leaving the old land to escape the windigoes.

The Three Tribes have always been connected, one way or another, even before Equestria. And same have they been tied to the Destiny of cutiemarks. With yet no story to tell the tale of when all that began. Truly began.

What ARE cutiemarks? WHY are cutiemarks? How? When?

We’ll probably never know. It is such an established concept with such a set yet loose lore, I don’t think we’ll get the answers this close to the end. We can keep theorizing and make our own concepts based on it all we want.

This is just my own thoughts on the concept. I think Destiny is a force out there, still not discovered but ever so present. Older than Harmony, which only came into being after the Three Tribes managing to unite and work together. That seed might already been created even before the Pillars, created by the first Tribe representatives to bury the hatched. But planted by the Pillars, who only saw it as a powerful source for protection, never expecting its full growth.

But before all that... ponies still had Destiny looking over them. No mentions of ponies ever being without cutiemarks.

Well, this was my ramble on my thoughts about Cutiemarks and pony Destiny. Based on what we know. If I overlooked anything or you got your own theories, feel free to share.

If you made it all to the end, thank you VERY much for taking the time to read my thoughts on the subject.

#MLP #PuffBlog #FiM #Magic is Friendship #My Little Pony #Destiny is Power #Ramble #Puffy Rambles #Theory #Cutiemark #CM #Cutiemark Crusaders #Mane Six #New Six #Starlight Glimmer #Student Six #Destiny #Elements of Harmony #Tree of Harmony

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