No one ever said this "relationship" was gonna be easy or comfortable. Still gettin' used to the ins and outs myself. If I had any other option, I'd rather not live out my days as a peeping fuckin' tom following your every thought and deed. You got them omega blockers from the chick with the hair, but we both know those ain't gonna be an option for long.
So you're stuck with me. I'm stuck with you. Let's just try and make the most of it.
Even I gotta admit, though. Pretty sweet ink.
V steps into the shower's warmth, tilting her head into the epicenter of the spray. A soothing rhythm of super-sanitized water patters against her face, tapping a soft drumbeat into her closed eyelids. The blood washes off slow, dribbling in dirty orange trails down her body. Not her blood, leastways not this time. No, this time the lucky winner was a cluster of Tyger Claws she found beating on some everyday residents. She'd stumbled across the scene on her way home from a particularly grueling gig - and she hadn't been in the mood to mind her own business.
Ah well. The Tygers aren't a problem anymore and she scored some eddies off a thankful near-victim. Not bad for a five-minute pit stop along her usual route. Even still, it's gonna take a lot of vinegar and a lot of scrubbing to get the red out of her threads. Problem for another day; her most immediate plans involve a hot hose-off, a too-salty burrito, and maybe a nap.
She trails her hands through her hair, pulling red-black strands from around her eyes. At long last, the heat starts to soothe some of the ache from her bones. Seems like too long since she felt like anything other than a walking slab of expired synthmeat.
"You're spot on there." An all-too-familiar voice sounds out behind her. "A hot shower ain't gonna change that."
"Jesus fuck!" V spins and flings her hands up to cover her more sensitive parts. The Asshole leans against the wall, infuriatingly nonchalant. She attempts to find something to shelter her vulnerability from the absolute last person she wants seeing her buck-ass naked. But there's nothing; no shower curtain, not even a door. She curses not putting one up before now. Then again, before now she never had to worry about a dipshit engram sneaking up on her.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" she exclaims. "Can't I get a fucking minute of privacy?"
"Not sure where you've been." He scrutinizes her from over the rim of his aviators. "But privacy ain't much of an option for either of us."
"So what, you take that as free invitation to perv on me while I'm in the goddamn shower?!"
He sighs and rolls his eyes. "Please. Flattered as I am, you're not my type."
"You're fucked in the head."
"That makes two of us." He removes his frames and glares at her. "V, if you really think I'm ghosting around trying to sneak a peek at your flat chest and flatter ass, then the chip's done more of a number on you than even I thought." He grants her a short shake of his head. "I'm always around, case you hadn't noticed. Doesn't matter if you're eating, takin' a shit, or jerking yourself to sleep at night."
Her arm tightens across her chest. The next words out of her mouth hiss out through gritted teeth. "Fuck you."
"Whatever." With a nonchalant shrug, he folds his arms. "If you want the truth, I was actually eyin' your ink."
That stops her cold. Standing stripped as a Jig-Jig joytoy is suddenly the least of her concerns. The only thought that can run through her mind is a repetitive, Oh shit, oh shit. Their symbiotic connection transmits her dismay to him and he gives her a knowing leer. It tells her all she needs to know: he's pieced it together and he knows everything.
"Big-ass snake," he says, pretending he doesn't know the real reason he's asking. "Symbol of rebirth and immortality. I like it. The ram skull is a mystery though."
"It's..." She licks her lips, refusing to gamble on his ignorance. He's toying with her, she knows. "It's an Aries. Like the zodiac? Stands for vitality and power."
"Preem, preem." He makes a show of inspecting his dirty fingernails. "And what about the lettering? Is there a unique significance to that as well?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." It's a long shot, but she'd rather play the fool while lying through her teeth than to say what he so plainly wants her to say. She shoves past him, ignoring the fact that her flung shoulder hits empty space. He sizzles, then returns without so much as a twitch of the brow. "And turn your goddamn back. I need to get dressed."
"Didn't listen to a thing I said, did you?" He huffs but thankfully shifts away to glare at the wall. "Besides, you're dodging the question."
"Not dodging anything." She snatches up her clothes from where she'd ditched them across the floor and begins yanking them back on. She doggedly ignores that she's still dripping wet from the shower. "You're going senile in your old age."
"Soul invaded with vital force?" he quotes. "It's the animal in my blood?"
He shimmers into sight in front of her the moment she's scurried back into her clothes. He's still grinning.
"Come clean," he says. "You're a fan."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she repeats. She crosses her arms and refuses to meet his delighted gaze. She glances at him only once, then begins a close inspection of the vista outside her window.
"Cut the bullshit, V." He hits her with a skeptical look. "You don't get a full-spread back tat if you don't know what the hell you're doing."
She throws her hands up in the air. "Yeah, I got a fucking Samurai tattoo. So what?"
"Ha!" He blinks out, then flicks back some distance away sitting on her couch. He claps his hands. "Knew it! You're a goddamn groupie!"
"Was," she corrects with a sour look. "Opinions change."
"Horseshit." He snickers. "Tell me, what was your favorite single? Didja stay up all night to catch tele-gigs on holo when you were little enough to still shit yourself? Where'd you stash all your memorabilia? Between the couch cushions?"
"Fuck you, asshole. Y'know what?" She storms over to her wall-length storage spread and yanks open a drawer. "Here you go!"
The space beside her crackles and he cranes his neck down. A tangled pile of old shirts sits inside the open drawer. Ragged as they are, there's no denying they've seen their fair share of time on the street. And there's no mistaking that half-blasted oni mask or the logo plastered below it.
Johnny guffaws. "I fuckin' knew it!"
"Look, it ain't a big thing," she sighs. The drawer slams shut with a thud. "Yeah, I like your tunes. Happy now?"
"Mostly." He grins. "But tell me more anyway."
She rolls her eyes and stomps past him, collapsing onto the couch and hiding behind her hands. "Everyone's got their angsty teenage years and their fave angsty rockerboys to go along with 'em. Back then I was as pissed as everyone else about the state of the world. The music... well it seemed like Samurai was the only band who really got it."
She opens one eye. He's now seated on the coffee table. He nods along with her and mutters, "Damn straight."
She shakes her head. Her eyes stay fixed on the ceiling. "Promise you won't laugh? If you do, I'm never telling you anything like this again."
He presses a spread palm against the ancient shrapnel scars on his flak vest. "Scout's honor."
This is an awful idea. She squeezes her eyes shut before bursting out, "I once bought a guitar just so I could learn to play Never Fade Away. That one was my personal fave."
To his very, very slight credit, he doesn't laugh. Instead, he frowns and cocks his head. She gives him a sidelong glance and shrugs.
"What? That too pitiful even for your narcissistic ass?"
"Actually no." He reclines against the coffee table and rests one boot on his knee. "It's what I always set out to do. Shake the world up, get people walkin' in my same direction. Ain't nothing to be ashamed of. The tunes made you feel somethin' and you did somethin' about it."
"I guess." She returns to her meticulous examination of the ceiling tiles.
"Why'd you give it up?"
"Ugh. Dunno." Her fingers stroke hard against her temples. She's starting to feel the telltale pounding that revs up whenever she spends too much time squabbling with her incorporeal companion. "Guess I just grew out of it."
He scoffs. "You never grow out of it. Once it's got its hooks in, you're sunk for life."
"Might be something to that," she admits. "Been itchin' to feel strings under my fingers again. But that's probably your influence."
"Does it matter?"
"Guess not. It's all gonna mix together like runny fucking eggs soon enough anyway." She casts a glance at him. "I'm about to ask something stupid."
He's looking up into the circling lights of her apartment BD unit, weight back on his palms. "Wouldn't be the first time."
"Wanna hit up a pawn shop? See if they got any preem axes on the wall?"
His head drops down and he stares at her with wide-eyed disbelief. His stubbled features stretch with a slow smile. Then he replaces his blood-red glasses with a leisurely flourish.
"Fuck yes."
"When I'm in the shower I'm afraid to wash my hair, 'cause I might open my eyes and find someone standing there!"
-Rockwell, Somebody's Watching Me
Author's Note: It's a tiny detail, but I always found it funny that (if you make certain choices with the character creator) V has a giant fucking back tattoo featuring Samurai lyrics. Never meet your heroes, right?
I liked the idea that our longsuffering merc was actually a fan long before meeting Johnny. And of course after meeting Johnny, she would deny it until her dying breath.