[ It's several days before Moonlight calls on Emerick again. When he does, he only mentions that his client was very impressed with how organized and thorough the work was. He says nothing about the child of Touma Miura. Instead, Moonlight offers Emerick another gig: this one urgent, requiring immediate availability and almost immediate turn-around. A small-time corpo has stolen a shard, and someone needs to klep it back - otherwise there will be war. Really, no one will notice a particular increase in the amount of bodies on the nightly news, but the eddies are good. Moonlight gets the feeling Emerick needs the eddies, but he wonders how far the man will go for them. Emerick has been nothing but professional, but medias don't usually have good reputations. (Emerick Kline has little in the way of reputation regardless. Moonlight assumes a pseudonym that he hasn't been able to track yet.) It makes him uncomfortable that Emerick has so easily acquired information about him; about a name he has not used in years.
He's nearly ready to return to his apartment for the night when his agent alerts him of a message. Moonlight is a little surprised, both by the time and the text, rather than a call, but decides to wait, all the same. He has nothing pressing to attend to tonight, anyway. ]
[ Emerick was pleased when Moonlight called again with another gig: the compliments felt nice to receive, especially given the work he did with the group received no comment unless things went poorly. The job was another that seemed simple enough on paper: sneak in, klep the chip, sneak out. If he was discovered, throw up enough dust and sneak out in the chaos. He could certainly see it done and get it to Moonlight with such time restrictions.
Things were pretty smooth - at least to start. Getting in was easy enough, but all hell broke loose by the time Emerick got his hand on the shard. He wasn't a huge fan of getting into any firefight but he could certainly hold his own - and did. It wasn't without incident though: he'd been grazed off his forehead and just over his hair line (it bled a lot, looked worse than it was Emerick recalled), another graze along the side of his neck, and there was likely more that Emerick wasn't even aware of. A bullet had found its way into his shoulder. It hurt like a bitch but it was something he could get treated later, after he'd been paid. Because he needed the eddies. Fuck, where did his eddies keep going?
He stepped out of the cab and had to hesitate outside of the door of Moonlight's office. He knew that he looked like hell and he was starting to regret coming here first. He barely looked put together to begin with, he didn't need to show up like this. He did want to get this thing off his hands, though, and turning things around this quickly - even if he looked like hell coming from it - meant more jobs.
The same tentative knock, stepping in once invited. This time, however, he carefully set the shard down on the desk. He'd hesitate to sit back on Moonlight's furniture, bleeding as he was. He did his best to keep his expression light and in the same professional calm as he had before but it was clear that his wounds were bothering him. ]
The shard, as requested. [ A pause, then Emerick realized that with the way he looked it wouldn't be unreasonable if Moonlight thought him sloppy. ] I made sure nobody followed me here. [ He also made sure nobody was left to come looking for him, but his personal well-being wasn't as important, he didn't think. Not in a way that Moonlight probably cared to know. ]
[ He checks the camera when it chimes someone's approach; it's habit, even though he knows it should be Emerick. So by the time Emerick is knocking on the door, Moonlight meets him there, expression one of open surprise - and concern.
Really, it's a little impressive Emerick is as outwardly calm about the whole thing as he is. Head wounds bleed a lot, Moonlight knows that from personal experience, but that isn't the only wound the media is sporting. ]
Sit. [ It's a command that brooks no protest. Moonlight points, and steps around behind his desk. From the cabinet on which his little altar sits, the fixer produces a sizeable first aid kit. He sets it on his desk, glances at Emerick again, then opens it. ] How many injuries? I see three from here. [ He rummages, setting an anesthetic injector out, along with bandages, antiseptic. Moonlight is a far cry from trauma team, but he's no stranger to wounds, either. His pearlescent prosthetic fingers hover over something out of sight in the case. Over his shoulder, ] Anything embedded? Bullets, shrapnel?
[ When the command left Moonlight's lips Emerick stood stupidly for a moment. The command took him by complete surprise: the last thing he expected was to be told to sit down, for Light to pull out a first aid kit. He was honestly expecting no mention of his wounds except for, perhaps, a disappointed look. He does sit - carefully, very clearly trying not to move in such a way that his shoulder troubled him (to no real avail) - though his surprise is still rather plain on his face. ]
Three as far as I know. [ Was this really happening? Was this man, who he barely even knew, really going to go out of his way to treat his wounds? ] I- In my shoulder. I think my subdermal armor caught most of it, but I'm not sure.
[ Emerick shifted a little uncomfortably, wincing as pain shot through his shoulder and arm. He hardly wanted it to turn into this: he just wanted to be paid so that he could go get treatment and then fall face first into bed. ] I- Moonlight, you don't have to, really. I have a ripper I can go to, I just need the eds so I can pay him. [ Never mind he was in a completely different part of town and he'd have to sit through another cab ride to get there - it was clear that he just didn't want to inconvenience Moonlight. He figured the man wanted to get home just as much as he did, not stay late treating him because he failed to klep the chip without being noticed. ]
[ Moonlight nods; three wounds, one bullet. From the quick glance, that matched with what he saw. He seems to not hear Emerick's protests at first, circling back around the desk with the selected supplies, laying them out. He pushes towards the chip toward the relative safety of the other side of his desk, then perches against the side closer to Emerick. He pins back the loose part of his hair, then wipes his hands down with a cloth bearing the sharp scent of something sterilizing. As he does, he surveys Emerick again. ]
Sure, and you'll be lucky not to need a transfusion by the time you get there. I'm going to help you take your shirt off.
[ That is - he thinks - where the most blood is coming from. At least this way, he can survey the damage. Moonlight is both careful and gentle, despite his persona which seems usually lackadaisical and in this moment, clipped and business-like. He does as much as he can so Emerick doesn't have to stretch and strain himself. He's had both a bullet wound and stab wounds in the shoulder, he knows it hurts like a bitch.
Shirt aside, the fixer peers at the wound with a penlight. ] The armor mitigated some of it, but not enough. [ Not an armor-piercing bullet, but he's guessing this one was close range. A shot of local anesthetic to begin to work, and he turns instead to cleaning what he can. ] None of those suits are going to come after you, are they?
[ Emerick thought of protesting more but he knew better. He knew Moonlight had heard him and was opting to not speak as he focused on picking out what he would need. He wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth and risk pissing Moonlight off, but this was already turning into something more than it needed to be. The mention of a transfusion caused whatever additional protests he might have on his tongue to die as a pang of guilt shot through him, though it didn't linger.
The mention of taking his shirt off made Emerick frown with the anticipation of the to do it was about to be. He knew it needed to be done and he even agreed with it but it was sharp even as he just sat here. He moved with Moonlight to get the shirt off, asking for just a moment halfway through as the wound smarted particularly hard. He knew he just had to power through and he found himself wishing it was just a broken rib like he was more accustomed to, but alas. He got out of it and sat still while Light looked at it. ]
Come after me? No, they won't be a problem. [ Emerick's gaze shifted down in an almost guilty way. He had no desire to say out loud that he'd dropped all of the ones that were gonk enough to stick around - hopefully Moonlight could figure that much out on his own. His gaze raised a little so that he could look up at Light, hiding behind lashes. ] I wouldn't be here if I thought it wasn't safe.
[ Whenever Light went to clean the cut at his forehead he would instinctively pull away a little. It wasn't quite so dramatic as a flinch but it was so ingrained in him to shy away from a hand coming from above his head that even now he still shrank away from that type of touch. As if to distract from the motion, Emerick spoke again. His guilt was bleeding through despite his best attempts to keep it calm and professional. ] I really am sorry, I know this is probably the last thing you wanted to do.
[ Moonlight's lip quirks at one corner. ] Good man. [ At least Emerick wouldn't have suits gunning for him as soon as he stepped out the door - and he wouldn't be bringing any trouble to his fixer. Not right now, at least.
The fixer fishes out the bullet with a pair of small forceps with a clinical sort of detached expression; he trusts the anesthetic to keep Emerick from being too miserable. He staunches the fresh rush of blood with gauze, and places a bandage over it. Emerick can shower the rest of the blood off later, Moonlight is hardly a nurse.
He will however clean the blood from Emerick's forehead, at least enough to see what kind of wound he's working with. When Emerick pulls back, Moonlight pauses. His gaze meets Emerick's. For a moment, he's silent, then he returns to his work with a cool expression, gingerly dabbing blood away. ] If I didn't want to help, I wouldn't. I'd give you your eds and put you back in the cab you probably bled all over on your way here. [ He says it plainly, matter-of-fact. ]
[ The anesthesia worked well enough: he felt no real pain, the quirks in his expression more related to the fact he could occasionally feel something digging around in his shoulder. He's otherwise very still so as to not Light any trouble as he worked. He didn't watch Light work, either, keeping his gaze specifically on Light or toward the side to avoid seeing anything. He wasn't particularly squeamish - he'd dug enough glass out of himself to be far beyond that - but something about watching someone else when he couldn't really feel it bothered him. Emerick looked like he was waiting for it to be over with the way his jaw was set and his hands were so very intentionally not gripping at his own legs.
Moonlight's gaze met his after he pulled back and there was something borderline subservient in the way Emerick's gaze lowered and he stayed still when Light returned back to work. He didn't respond immediately to what Light said. Light wanting to help him rather than criticize what would be considered a failure but another fixer he knew threw him off balance. His delicate touch kept him unsteady. Even his own ripperdoc didn't treat him this carefully. ] That... Makes sense.
[ He wanted to ask why Light was willing to bother with it at all. If Emerick did bleed out in the back of a cab then he certainly wouldn't have to worry about the fact that Emerick knew his real name and could dig up history on him - which Emerick hadn't done, and still had no intent to do. Not that Moonlight knew that or could rely on it. Of course, if Emerick didn't die on the way to his ripper or to a hospital, well, that would be par for the course with his expectations when it came to fixers if he were honest. He only trusted that they'd pay him for a job well done, and not much else.
Was this something that Light was doing just to ingratiate himself to Emerick? That didn't make much sense to Emerick - he was the one working for Light, after all, and had to keep doing a good job so that he would keep getting new jobs and keep getting paid. Their relationship was mutualistic, sure, but there were a lot more bodies to complete jobs than hands with jobs that needed completing. This investment into him just didn't make much sense but he wasn't going to question Light's judgement or make the man regret bothering to help. ]
[ He bandages the graze on Emerick's forehead with butterfly tape, and a proper bandage for the one on his neck. He wipes his hands down one last time, and moves to put the rest of the products away. ]
I'd suggest putting that arm in a sling for a few days so you're not making the hole worse by moving around too much. [ He shrugs one shoulder, as the clasps on the first aid kit are clicked closed. ] But you'll do what you do.
[ He slots the shard that Emerick had given him, eyes scanning the data on the screen for a few moments, then walks around to Emerick again, perching once more on the front of his desk. This time, his air is far more casual, now that the other is bandaged. He extends a cred chip between two fingers, but leans forward as he does so. This close, is cologne is obvious, something both clean and floral. He meets Emerick's gaze evenly, voice lower for the close distance between them. ]
Preem work insofar as speed, but let me make one thing clear: I'm not in the habit of sending mercs on a job with the expectation they'll get flatlined. I'm not that kind of fixer. I don't have any pretty ideas about Night City, but I like my working relationships to last. So if shit goes south, you take care of yourself, first. Can't spend eds if you're dead. And then I'd have to go find myself a new merc, too. Understood?
[ It was one of those rare days that nothing of note was going on. There were no pressing jobs he needed to be doing, he didn't have to go anywhere to steal data or pay someone off for doing so for him, he had no therapy appointment. He could stay home ("home") all day, and he did. The biggest perk to the way he did his research was that he could lay in bed or on the couch and do it, and that's what he did. He never really got a day off because he was always scouring the net for leads and info, but this was the closest he could ever allow himself to have. Even when he wasn't reading the news or the forums, he was reading a book.
Which was what he was doing now, curled up on his side in his small, uncomfortable bed. Some political piece that dissected European politics, written more as an academic paper than book meant to be read and enjoyed by someone. Things were quiet, except for his light breathing and the occasional turn of a page, and things were still - both uncharacteristic for the city, but states when Emerick was happiest. He could hear through the walls and would know if someone was coming even if they had lynx paws.
So it made sense that he startled when his agent suddenly announced he had a call. Nobody every really called Emerick. He got notifications when his forum posts or dms were responded to, his normal crew spoke in a group text. Calls were something he normally expected. When he glanced at the caller he was surprised to see it was Moonlight, of all people. With the way things had left off and slowed down he'd figured they were basically done.
He picked up, tone casual, if a little curious. ] Hey, Moonlight. How may I help you?
[ It's rare, now, that Moonlight works the beat himself. Even as a kid, face smeared with dirt and sleeping behind dumpsters, he had often pawned off simple errands to other children for a split of whatever meal or few eurobucks a vendor would pass his way in payment. Occasionally, though, he gets an itch. Aka joked once that it was like Moonlight wanted to remind himself what it felt like to be walking the streets again, to which the fixer had shot back it was at least better than corpos LARPing as poor folk for the thrill. (Aka hadn't commented on it, after that.) This particular gig had been something of personal interest: a group of 6th Street members accused of sabotaging cars in street races, and Moonlight's client wanted to verify the truth of the matter before starting what could very well escalate into a gang war.
Moonlight appreciates the rare judiciousness. More than that, he has a fascination and love for racing, one of the few things he has fondly held onto from his time with the Tyger's Claw.
Even dressed down, Moonlight realizes fairly quickly he looks out of place in this dive bar. Most people stroll by it as though it isn't there, and those that come in wouldn't look out of place in a Western-themed BD... or a military one. Engines outside rumble loudly as they pull in and leave, most of them heavily modified Quadras and Thortons. Moonlight is glad he left his own Japanese make car at home, though he can't say he doesn't think about racing a few of the nicer wheels out in the lot.
He lingers long enough, and looks around enough, that a man with military cybernetics and a camo vest comes over, leans a hand against the back of the moon-shaped booth, and leans into Moonlight's personal space. His breath smells of cheap beer. He demands to know if Moonlight is a cop, to which the fixer snorts - a real enough reaction - and tells him no, just waiting on someone. The man stares a few long, uncomfortable seconds, then returns to his table. After that, Moonlight finds people observing him more than he's observing them. He realizes his precarious situation - leaving alone is dangerous, now. His fingers hover over his contacts a moment later. He couldn't call an actual cop, well-meaning as David was, and Aka would stick out here even worse than Moonlight. ]
Babe! [ Moonlight stretches the word out, playful and reproachful. ] Did you forget we had a date again?
[ Moonlight was met with momentary silence as Emerick processed what he'd just said. He most certainly didn't have a date with Moonlight, and they'd never been on a date before. There was a moment that Emerick started to iterate through possibilities: Moonlight was drunk and hit the wrong contact to call, Moonlight was drunk and this was some admission of interest (what?), Moonlight was not drunk and still hit the wrong contact, Moonlight was in trouble and needed someone to get him out of a dangerous situation.
The last was most likely, Emerick thought, though it still was odd that he was who Moonlight would call, given everything. Was Moonlight's list of contacts truly so short that he'd call Emerick? He thought that Moonlight didn't trust him, either, so why would he trust Emerick with this?
It hardly mattered if this was some test to prove that he really was just a decent guy trying to exist or if Moonlight was actually in some kind of trouble: Emerick would show up regardless. Some piece of him did worry that this might be some kind of trap but that didn't make much sense given Emerick had shown a pattern of more or less being at Moonlight's beck and call. ]
Fuck! I'm so sorry babe... I just got caught up in work and lost track of time again-- [ He sounded incredibly distressed and apologetic, exactly like a man who had neglected a partner one too many times in the past in favor of working late. Who knows who had amplified hearing and was listening in, seeing if Moonlight was bluffing. ] We were gonna check out that one place, right? [ He was fishing for a location, be it a name he could look up or a pin - whatever made sense for the situation the other man was in.
The words fell from his mouth so naturally and would have sounded absolutely genuine to anyone that was listening in, if anyone was. He would hate to ever be called it to his face, but he really was a good liar when push came to shove. Emerick had shifted so that he was sitting up with the book resting against his leg so he could worry at the spine with his finger while he was on the phone, which he did as he waited on Moonlight's response. ]
(ooc -- i rolled deduction to see if this man could figure out what was going on and he rolled a 23, then just for giggles his little performance on the phone: 30. this man i swear)
[ Thank fuck. Moonlight finds himself genuinely impressed by Emerick's ability to act. It doesn't particularly surprise him that the man picked up on the ruse; Emerick is nothing if not clever, in Moonlight's experience.
Initially, the slowdown of gigs had absolutely been distrust on Moonlight's part. He had selected Emerick for very specific jobs. Even if he didn't trust him as far as he could throw him, Moonlight recognized the man's skills and attention to detail. Still, he tried to select jobs that wouldn't get him in trouble - or lose him any eddies - down the line. Eventually, the trickle remained steadily slow, but not for Moonlight's reticence. In all honesty, his mistrustful caution had warmed to something nearing affection. Rather, it was learning Emerick's strengths and weaknesses (the job Emmy had shown up bloody was something Moonlight still thought of; a poor call on his behalf and could have lost him a damn good merc), and fewer jobs that fit his strength coming in. In truth, aside from two that Moonlight had to call on Aka - who was far more suited to stealth and, if it came to it, firefights - Moonlight had relied exclusively on Emerick for gigs that came to him requiring data retrieval in any capacity. Aka and Emerick weren't the only net-savvy mercs he knew, but they were the best. ]
Well, I suppose that's why I love you. [ Moonlight sighs wistfully, the chime of jewelry audible as he leans his hand on his chin. ] Mm-hmm. In North Heywood, off of C street. You wanted to see what they had on tap, right? [ Out of the corner of his eye, Moonlight notices a woman go back to her drink. A couple of others notice that, and return to theirs in turn. The man that had asked if he was a cop is still staring. ] Better hurry, or I might not come home tonight. [ A teasing, light tone, but it might also (hopefully) be read as precisely to the sort of danger he's in; to say nothing of the bar being dead middle of 6th street territory. The gang takes care of their own, mostly, but if Moonlight might be seen as threatening that, well... ]
Yeah, that's right, [ he murmured quietly in response to the tap comment, playing into it. His brows came together at the last comment. If things were that bad, well, he could understand how he fell on the list of people to call. ] I'll be there soon, babe; just promise you won't leave without me babe, no matter how cute they might be. [ Light and playful, though hopefully a clear enough acknowledgement.
Emerick had started moving when he'd gotten the vague location of where Moonlight was. His agent had already picked up on the clue to call for a cab once they hung up, so it was just a matter of getting dressed and waiting. (Emerick didn't even know to be glad analogue clocks didn't really exist anymore: the ticking would drive him nuts in moments like these.) While he wasn't particularly afraid of 6th Street like he was some of the other gangs, he also knew that the small, well-armed militia would certainly cull anything they felt was a threat.
He paid his driver then stepped out in front of the dive. Emerick had contacts in 6th Street - they kept such a close eye on the NCPD he often go his leads from them rather than the net - but he'd never been to this particular dive. He'd always lived more in Valentino territory than 6th Street, really, and he highly doubted he'd be recognized here. Stepping into the bar he felt eyes on him - new person, no affiliation any specific way - and they slid off of him as he moved inside, looking for Moonlight.
It wasn't hard: the man stood out more than he did. He waved, words tumbling out of his mouth as he joined Moonlight in the booth. ] Hey! I'm so sorry! [ There was familiarity in his movements, but it was clear he had no desire to overstep boundaries despite the act. He acted familiar, but anyone watching closely would notice the way Emerick was careful not to touch Moonlight. It was on Moonlight to set the boundaries of how far he wanted this farce to go. Regardless, Moonlight was treated to Emerick's best puppy dog eyes. ] Forgive me?
Hmm, no promises, but I'll try to be good. [ Moonlight sets his phone on the table, folding his hands together, and waits.
The wait, thankfully, is not too long. Emerick spots him before he can much react aside from a warm smile. Emerick doesn't touch, but Moonlight gives little time for anyone to notice that detail. He leans in a faint breeze of warm cologne, fingers curling against the back of Emerick's neck, to pull him into a kiss.
It's not a long kiss, necessarily, but it is hardly a peck, either. He sits with their hips and shoulders still touching when he breaks the kiss, and hums thoughtfully as though considering whether to forgive his impromptu lover. ]
I suppose, [ He says, trailing as though he is not quite finished. He adds then, ] if you go get us both a drink. You know what I like. [ Moonlight is quite aware Emerick has no idea, but he's also fairly sure Emerick wouldn't pick anything too wild and therefore, he wouldn't mind it. ]
[ Perhaps it's a blessing that Moonlight didn't waste time to play this little lie up: it meant that Emerick couldn't overthink anything. The downside of it was that Emerick was caught a little off-guard as Moonlight leaned in and he was awash in that cologne, surprised as Moonlight pulled him so their lips met. As shameful as it may be, he'd thought of this and wondered what it'd be like to kiss Moonlight. It was something he never really entertained for long: he knew that Moonlight existed so far out of his league that it would never happen, but here they were, even if it was all for show and meant nothing.
Emerick could feel himself start to blush - that annoying heat settling in his cheeks and crawling up the back of his neck - and he was embarrassed that it happened at all. He could only hope that Moonlight was the only one who would notice (because he just knew that Moonlight wouldnβt miss it). It was made worse as he realized that there was a selfish part of him that wanted to push this kiss into something more. He was distinctly aware of the fact that this wasnβt an occasion heβd ever have again and that awful little part of him wanted to capitalize on this opportunity, but like everything else in his life: he didnβt. He let it go and hid his disappointment as Moonlight pulled away with a warm smile and more familiar touch. ]
Your wish is my command. [ He gave a slight bow - cheeky, but it felt on point given he was playing for forgiveness. He got up and debated what to get Moonlight as he walked up to the bar, eventually settling on something that was lighter, on the fruity side, and avoiding whiskeys. For his own part, there was an American stout on tap that actually did interest Emerick - clearly that heβd order it surprised the bartender, and the two seemed to have a conversation about it that left Emerick smiling easily as he picked up both glasses and walked back to Moonlight.
He set the glasses down and settled back in next to Moonlight, one arm stretching along the back of the booth behind Moonlight. While he was settling in to be mostly ornamental so that Moonlight could return whatever he was doing, but he was listening to the conversations around them, mostly trying to gauge if they were still under heavy scrutiny or not, taking a sip of his beer to cover his lack of conversation. ]
[ Moonlight eyes the drink and gives Emerick a sidelong smile he doesn't care to hide. 'Light and fruity'... he supposes he gives off that particular vibe, but his preference - somewhat ironically given Emerick's deliberate avoidance - is scotch. (Given he prefers the higher end stuff though, perhaps it's for the better Emerick didn't get it this time.)
Moonlight settles in when Emerick's arm winds around his shoulders, hand drifting to rest on the other's upper thigh. He sips at his drink, gaze tipping towards Emerick's and lingering there. In reality, he's wondering just what the other is doing. To anyone else, it looks like someone just mooning at their lover. Moonlight leans a little, lips nearly brushing Emerick's ear. ]
Is it good? [ He grins a little when he pulls back enough for Emerick to look at him - he knows damn well how to use his charms.
Some attention turned away when Moonlight called Emerick - thanks, no doubt, to Emerick's convincing performance - and more turned away to see the two men greeting each other like lovers. The biggest man in the room is apparently still not convinced, from what Moonlight can see, muttering in annoyance to his buddies in a tone that barely needs audial cyberware to pick up. It mostly amounts to 'I don't trust him' and 'he's got no business bein' here,' to which his buddies are grumbling back in agreement, but also don't seem inclined to act on it. At least, not in the moment. ]
[ It was an evening where Emerick saw Camille. He would never admit it out loud, or even over text, but he counted down the days every time. Seeing Camille was truly the highlight of being in this god forsaken place, and Emerick genuinely couldn't say he'd ever been so head over heels for another. He would do anything for the other man, and he would do an awful lot so that Camille would keep feeding off of him (as disinclined as he was to admit that little fact).
They'd been talking about nothing of import. Emerick had reflected on his own that the two of them seemed experts in that way. Emerick talked about stories he'd tracked or interesting things about Night City itself, but he always artfully danced around talking specifically about himself. While he didn't necessarily mind sharing about himself, Camille never directly asked about him, either, so Emerick just never volunteered the information.
He was, however, running low on his THC carts, and that would spell a disaster when that time came. Emerick started to smoke them less, trying to stretch them out. The unfortunate side effect is he grew closer and closer to sober the more he tried to conserve, and nobody really wanted a sober Emerick. People typically considered Emerick sharp while he was impaired. He paid attention to details and could string together inferences that many couldn't sober. He held his tongue and was a good boy, agreeable and pliable. Everyone knew him as this: a weak little man who feared conflict and bent to whatever whim the person he was with had.
Nobody knew him sober, or near enough to. Nobody knew what interacting with Emerick was like when his emotions didn't pass through a time dilation to reach him, to experience his reactions in real time. Least of all Camille, who he treated with the utmost deference.
So it likely came as a complete shock that after a minute (or two, or three) of silence that Emerick asked what he did when he finally broke his silence. ]
If you could go back in time knowing everything that you know as of right now, would you change anything at all?
[ Emerick didn't seem to be looking at Camille, despite the directness of the question. Perhaps Camille was in his vision in his periphery, but Emerick wasn't asking just to see a reaction. He was genuinely curious. Emerick had always been a man of curiosity, who cared for and was interested in people. The question isn't needling or meant to pry, but genuine curiosity (albeit from seemingly absolutely fucking nowhere). It was clear that Emerick would be willing to answer first if Camille wanted, but he likely wasn't going to just let it go. ]
[ Despite being a kindred, despite the need to keep his secret from society at large, Camille, like most Daeva, is a deeply social creature. After the isolation of his youth and fledgling years, Camille had bloomed. It feels now like he's withering. The City's population is small, and he cannot use any of his talents here to any real effect, which makes him vulnerable. As much as he stands out, as much as those who know him adore him, he requires a certain level of anonymity.
With little choice, visits with his neighbor are frequent, but McGillis does not know Camille, not really. And so, his other companion of less choice but some subconscious necessity, is Emerick, the man for whom he has laid bare his most painful memories. Well, some of them. And the man who dug at him to share, who already carried one secret, so what was one more? It felt a little to Camille like lying on a bed of nails. He cannot control Emerick the way he could back home, if necessary, and that terrifies him. Still, he keeps coming back. He likes Emerick, genuinely, even with the Beast's mistrust and paranoia a constant nag in the back (and sometimes the forefront) of his mind.
The question startles him, enough that the first answer Emerick receives is silence. His first instinct, when his mind catches up, is to laugh sweetly and say oh sure, lots of things. But the City is a strange place, and Camille can see the silver necklace with its silver pendant hanging off a vanity mirror, and he can imagine the smell of spice and leather that the locket inside still bears. The question is a betrayal, to him, and Camille lifts on his elbow, staring incredulously at the other man. His second urge is to lash out, but before he does, he has to know: ]
Why would you ask me that?
[ Camille knows he commanded Emerick forget what happened in the bank's vault, but he also knows Emerick didn't forget all of it. His voice cracks with emotion, high and strained, though he's not loud. ]
[ Emerick had no issue waiting on a response. With each visit to Camille Emerick had grown more comfortable, and by now he was relaxed in Camille's presence, nothing like the first time Camille had called him over. He was calm as he stared into nothing, turning the question over in his mind as he considered it himself. This was one of those empty spaces where Emerick would find his vape and take a pull from it, but he was still instead, listening to the sound of his own breathing.
Emerick's gaze finally turned to Camille when he heard Camille shift position. He met Camille's incredulous expression with confusion, at first, then he felt his anxiety crawling up his throat like bile when he heard Camille's voice. Were he in his normal state he would have flinched when Camille's voice cracked, but not now. The confusion gave way to that usual cowardice, Emerick's absolute terror of conflict, and then it shifts into something uncharacteristic: searching and not shying away from him.
It's Camille's turn to receive an answer of silence, coupled with the shifting in Emerick's expression ending with a clarity that was unlike the Emerick that Camille had come to know. It took a moment for Emerick to recall the bank and the fogginess that surrounded it. Maybe Camille could see the moment that Emerick made that connection, the recognition that perhaps Camille thought that Emerick was trying to fish for what happened there, what had made Camille so upset. It genuinely could not have been further from his mind when he'd asked the question.
He finally spoke slowly, his voice apologetic and gentle. He maintained the eye contact rather than try to dodge around Camille's gaze. ]
It's just something I've been thinking about lately, since all we can do here is sit with our thoughts. [ His gaze shifted away from Camille in his usual nervous submission. ] I was just curious. You don't have to answer if you don't want to.
[ Something he's been thinking about, is it? Then why doesn't he share his own, instead? Camille remains, undecided between sitting up (or walking away entirely) or lying back down.
Resigned, ] It seems you would pick me apart sooner or later. [ For his... what? Amusement? Curiosity? Part of Camille believes Emerick that it was pure interest, but the Beast whispers that it is intentional, needling, the need to pluck out each last heartstring and collect it to use it against him later. Camille, hurt as he is, listens more than he knows he should.
But Emerick's vitae stirs in his old veins, the blood that once kept him alive long since replaced, and the effects of the Kiss have not entirely worn away yet. Emerick is warm, and in those sweet, fleeting moments, Camille feels warm, too. It is hard to let that go so quickly. The Beast calls him spineless even before Camille has laid back down after all.
His shoulder presses into the mattress, but Camille turns and instead lays on his back. It is easier to stare at the ceiling than Emerick. He folds his hands across his stomach, thoughtful in the way one is thoughtful as they pick meticulously at a scab; a detached sort of fascination that is as painful as it is compulsive. ]
What do you imagine is within my power to change? Perhaps knowing what I know now, I would kill myself before that little girl arrived, before she bewitched my parents into handing over their son and heir, worked into a panic that the King's men would kill their only child. At least then, they could have known what happened to me, had a body to bury.
Perhaps I would choose instead to rot in her castle, rather than go out into the world of the living. Or I would choose a different gentleman's club to visit, that I never met Amil, or Halim, that they never became clutched in Madelena's talons. Or perhaps I would have fled, or thrown myself in the sunlight a thousand different times than to live the life I have lived - such as it is. [ Camille's voice is softer than it usually is, but it is strange, too, unsteady and edged with something that calls to mind hysteria. ]
[ The guilt on Emerick's face from the jab certainly would have been proof enough for most that he was being honest, and the question was only out of some curiosity and nothing more. If the question was a betrayal to Camille, Camille's comment was a sucker punch. It stung, but it was something that Emerick was so accustomed to that he opted to let it go. The worst that Camille could do was kill him, and death wasn't permanent here, so who cared at this point. (That wasn't true, really: there were things worse than death.)
It crossed Emerick's mind that even if Camille killed him, or maimed him, or did whatever to him, he would still be loyal. He would forgive and return without condition or complaint. He knew that he would do anything for Camille without a thought. His head was muddled from the Kiss, still, despite being sharper in other ways, so it wasnβt quite hitting him just how absolutely fucked up that was. The thought did have a friction to it that he wasnβt accustomed to feeling, though. He would have to reflect upon it later.
He wanted to pull Camille close and hold him, in truth. Or at least take his hand and hold that - some small symbol of comfort. He did reach out, but hesitated. He didn't know what to do, really. He knew that he'd made Camille upset. There was a strong likelihood that he wanted as little to do with Emerick as possible, and Emerick knew that. The way Camille was speaking, though, made Emerick want to give him something real to focus on and ground himself to. His hand stopped short and came to rest on the bed between them. That he couldn't quite come to touch Camille caused a twinge of pain within his chest. ]
Iβm sorry. [ It was all he could manage to say at first. Soft and gentle, but not so timid. ] Nobody deserves a life where they feel they should have killed themselves to avoid a worse fate. [ Maybe a little funny coming from the guy with scars inside his forearms, whoβd not quite admitted to their origin, but he meant it. He genuinely ached at the answer, but he didn't get so lost in it like he would have before. ] You certainly didn't deserve it.
[ It occurs to Camille that Emerick was younger than he would have been, but he makes no comment. He's not sure whether Emerick remembers he divulged that detail or not.
Camille feels the shift near him, sees the movement in his peripheral vision, but Emerick never makes contact. He waits a moment, before turning his head to find the other's hand between them. Another moment, and Camille exhales, taking Emerick's hand in his own. He isn't sure if he regrets it, a sensation not quite unpleasant, not quite angry, flickering over him. ]
I'm sure I deserve it now, even if I didn't then. [ Camille's tone is conversational, even bland. He doesn't elaborate. He does pat Emerick's hand, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. His tone takes on a dry humor. ] If you meet any other vampires, I wouldn't suggest asking them that question. Most of us aren't kindred because we wanted to be - at least those that I know. [ Camille knows some stories are not so horrible as his... but he also knows some are worse. ]
[ Emerick held Camille's hand, thumb running over the back of his hand gently. It wasn't enough, he realized, but that didn't matter. There was a moment where he allowed himself to notice that he wrapped his own needs up with the dressing of wanting to help or comfort others, and even then he rarely found those needs met. It wasn't worth mentioning though, especially not now that he'd upset Camille.
He inhaled as if to speak directly after Camille said he was sure he deserved it but held his tongue a moment. He's glad he did as Camille continued but by the time Camille had finished speaking he felt more biting words on his tongue. Emerick took a slow breath and made his head slow the fuck down. He spoke again in an even tone, his voice quiet. ]
The point of the question is that there are a lot of things that happen to us that we don't want. I didn't ask my father to break my bones because I took a little too long getting him a beer, or ask him to make sure to remind me multiple times a day how worthless I was. I didn't ask my mother to slap me every time I showed an emotion other than obedience or submission. [ Emerick was tensing with anger, though the hand that held Camille's still stayed relaxed and gentle. ] I didn't ask them to have my sister and force me to give up whatever miserable life I could have had to take care of her.
[ It was the first time he'd ever mentioned he had a sister, and it was with the mention of her that his temper flared. This was the first time Emerick showed an emotion other than nervous submission or a contrived almost but not quite happiness. ]
But by your logic, I deserved all of that anyway, right? Because of all the people I killed in my work? Is that the sum of it?
[ The glare that Camille was receiving was sharp. There was so much pent-up anger behind it that was being pointed at Camille. Camille wasn't the actual target of it, but it wasn't like Emerick could ever take this back to his parents at this point. He'd kept this bottled his entire life and, well, the whole reason he self-medicated was to keep this pushed down as far as it could go so that he never had to look at it. ]
[ He notices the tension, but whether it's in Emerick's body or voice first, Camille can't tell. It's startling to hear the anger, but Camille listens passively. Detached, he considers the effect of the Kiss, the way Emerick's strange behavior has sobered him in much the same way a cold splash of water might sober a drunk.
Camille stands, but the motion is slow, fluid, one that is casual instead of in any flash of anger. He readjusts the robe he wears, and then its tie, and perches back on the edge of the bed, crossing his legs. He turns his head to meet Emerick's gaze evenly, brows lofted slightly. It wasn't the first time someone had been angry at him, even without (seeming) reason, and he certainly won't cow before Emerick, even as tied to him as he is in this miserable place. Coolly, he answers: ]
If I have done something to earn your ire, you may tell me freely. Otherwise, this all seems... misplaced.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2023-08-01 04:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-08-01 01:23 pm (UTC)Things were pretty smooth - at least to start. Getting in was easy enough, but all hell broke loose by the time Emerick got his hand on the shard. He wasn't a huge fan of getting into any firefight but he could certainly hold his own - and did. It wasn't without incident though: he'd been grazed off his forehead and just over his hair line (it bled a lot, looked worse than it was Emerick recalled), another graze along the side of his neck, and there was likely more that Emerick wasn't even aware of. A bullet had found its way into his shoulder. It hurt like a bitch but it was something he could get treated later, after he'd been paid. Because he needed the eddies. Fuck, where did his eddies keep going?
He stepped out of the cab and had to hesitate outside of the door of Moonlight's office. He knew that he looked like hell and he was starting to regret coming here first. He barely looked put together to begin with, he didn't need to show up like this. He did want to get this thing off his hands, though, and turning things around this quickly - even if he looked like hell coming from it - meant more jobs.
The same tentative knock, stepping in once invited. This time, however, he carefully set the shard down on the desk. He'd hesitate to sit back on Moonlight's furniture, bleeding as he was. He did his best to keep his expression light and in the same professional calm as he had before but it was clear that his wounds were bothering him. ]
The shard, as requested. [ A pause, then Emerick realized that with the way he looked it wouldn't be unreasonable if Moonlight thought him sloppy. ] I made sure nobody followed me here. [ He also made sure nobody was left to come looking for him, but his personal well-being wasn't as important, he didn't think. Not in a way that Moonlight probably cared to know. ]
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Date: 2023-08-02 01:40 am (UTC)Really, it's a little impressive Emerick is as outwardly calm about the whole thing as he is. Head wounds bleed a lot, Moonlight knows that from personal experience, but that isn't the only wound the media is sporting. ]
Sit. [ It's a command that brooks no protest. Moonlight points, and steps around behind his desk. From the cabinet on which his little altar sits, the fixer produces a sizeable first aid kit. He sets it on his desk, glances at Emerick again, then opens it. ] How many injuries? I see three from here. [ He rummages, setting an anesthetic injector out, along with bandages, antiseptic. Moonlight is a far cry from trauma team, but he's no stranger to wounds, either. His pearlescent prosthetic fingers hover over something out of sight in the case. Over his shoulder, ] Anything embedded? Bullets, shrapnel?
shoulder bullet can be as bad as you want, for the rp
Date: 2023-08-02 01:52 pm (UTC)Three as far as I know. [ Was this really happening? Was this man, who he barely even knew, really going to go out of his way to treat his wounds? ] I- In my shoulder. I think my subdermal armor caught most of it, but I'm not sure.
[ Emerick shifted a little uncomfortably, wincing as pain shot through his shoulder and arm. He hardly wanted it to turn into this: he just wanted to be paid so that he could go get treatment and then fall face first into bed. ] I- Moonlight, you don't have to, really. I have a ripper I can go to, I just need the eds so I can pay him. [ Never mind he was in a completely different part of town and he'd have to sit through another cab ride to get there - it was clear that he just didn't want to inconvenience Moonlight. He figured the man wanted to get home just as much as he did, not stay late treating him because he failed to klep the chip without being noticed. ]
for the rp!!!
Date: 2023-08-02 03:40 pm (UTC)Sure, and you'll be lucky not to need a transfusion by the time you get there. I'm going to help you take your shirt off.
[ That is - he thinks - where the most blood is coming from. At least this way, he can survey the damage. Moonlight is both careful and gentle, despite his persona which seems usually lackadaisical and in this moment, clipped and business-like. He does as much as he can so Emerick doesn't have to stretch and strain himself. He's had both a bullet wound and stab wounds in the shoulder, he knows it hurts like a bitch.
Shirt aside, the fixer peers at the wound with a penlight. ] The armor mitigated some of it, but not enough. [ Not an armor-piercing bullet, but he's guessing this one was close range. A shot of local anesthetic to begin to work, and he turns instead to cleaning what he can. ] None of those suits are going to come after you, are they?
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Date: 2023-08-02 05:28 pm (UTC)The mention of taking his shirt off made Emerick frown with the anticipation of the to do it was about to be. He knew it needed to be done and he even agreed with it but it was sharp even as he just sat here. He moved with Moonlight to get the shirt off, asking for just a moment halfway through as the wound smarted particularly hard. He knew he just had to power through and he found himself wishing it was just a broken rib like he was more accustomed to, but alas. He got out of it and sat still while Light looked at it. ]
Come after me? No, they won't be a problem. [ Emerick's gaze shifted down in an almost guilty way. He had no desire to say out loud that he'd dropped all of the ones that were gonk enough to stick around - hopefully Moonlight could figure that much out on his own. His gaze raised a little so that he could look up at Light, hiding behind lashes. ] I wouldn't be here if I thought it wasn't safe.
[ Whenever Light went to clean the cut at his forehead he would instinctively pull away a little. It wasn't quite so dramatic as a flinch but it was so ingrained in him to shy away from a hand coming from above his head that even now he still shrank away from that type of touch. As if to distract from the motion, Emerick spoke again. His guilt was bleeding through despite his best attempts to keep it calm and professional. ] I really am sorry, I know this is probably the last thing you wanted to do.
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Date: 2023-08-02 05:46 pm (UTC)The fixer fishes out the bullet with a pair of small forceps with a clinical sort of detached expression; he trusts the anesthetic to keep Emerick from being too miserable. He staunches the fresh rush of blood with gauze, and places a bandage over it. Emerick can shower the rest of the blood off later, Moonlight is hardly a nurse.
He will however clean the blood from Emerick's forehead, at least enough to see what kind of wound he's working with. When Emerick pulls back, Moonlight pauses. His gaze meets Emerick's. For a moment, he's silent, then he returns to his work with a cool expression, gingerly dabbing blood away. ] If I didn't want to help, I wouldn't. I'd give you your eds and put you back in the cab you probably bled all over on your way here. [ He says it plainly, matter-of-fact. ]
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Date: 2023-08-02 09:04 pm (UTC)Moonlight's gaze met his after he pulled back and there was something borderline subservient in the way Emerick's gaze lowered and he stayed still when Light returned back to work. He didn't respond immediately to what Light said. Light wanting to help him rather than criticize what would be considered a failure but another fixer he knew threw him off balance. His delicate touch kept him unsteady. Even his own ripperdoc didn't treat him this carefully. ] That... Makes sense.
[ He wanted to ask why Light was willing to bother with it at all. If Emerick did bleed out in the back of a cab then he certainly wouldn't have to worry about the fact that Emerick knew his real name and could dig up history on him - which Emerick hadn't done, and still had no intent to do. Not that Moonlight knew that or could rely on it. Of course, if Emerick didn't die on the way to his ripper or to a hospital, well, that would be par for the course with his expectations when it came to fixers if he were honest. He only trusted that they'd pay him for a job well done, and not much else.
Was this something that Light was doing just to ingratiate himself to Emerick? That didn't make much sense to Emerick - he was the one working for Light, after all, and had to keep doing a good job so that he would keep getting new jobs and keep getting paid. Their relationship was mutualistic, sure, but there were a lot more bodies to complete jobs than hands with jobs that needed completing. This investment into him just didn't make much sense but he wasn't going to question Light's judgement or make the man regret bothering to help. ]
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Date: 2023-08-02 10:41 pm (UTC)I'd suggest putting that arm in a sling for a few days so you're not making the hole worse by moving around too much. [ He shrugs one shoulder, as the clasps on the first aid kit are clicked closed. ] But you'll do what you do.
[ He slots the shard that Emerick had given him, eyes scanning the data on the screen for a few moments, then walks around to Emerick again, perching once more on the front of his desk. This time, his air is far more casual, now that the other is bandaged. He extends a cred chip between two fingers, but leans forward as he does so. This close, is cologne is obvious, something both clean and floral. He meets Emerick's gaze evenly, voice lower for the close distance between them. ]
Preem work insofar as speed, but let me make one thing clear: I'm not in the habit of sending mercs on a job with the expectation they'll get flatlined. I'm not that kind of fixer. I don't have any pretty ideas about Night City, but I like my working relationships to last. So if shit goes south, you take care of yourself, first. Can't spend eds if you're dead. And then I'd have to go find myself a new merc, too. Understood?
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From:what if we made out at a bar as a distraction βοΉβ
Date: 2023-09-03 03:10 am (UTC)Which was what he was doing now, curled up on his side in his small, uncomfortable bed. Some political piece that dissected European politics, written more as an academic paper than book meant to be read and enjoyed by someone. Things were quiet, except for his light breathing and the occasional turn of a page, and things were still - both uncharacteristic for the city, but states when Emerick was happiest. He could hear through the walls and would know if someone was coming even if they had lynx paws.
So it made sense that he startled when his agent suddenly announced he had a call. Nobody every really called Emerick. He got notifications when his forum posts or dms were responded to, his normal crew spoke in a group text. Calls were something he normally expected. When he glanced at the caller he was surprised to see it was Moonlight, of all people. With the way things had left off and slowed down he'd figured they were basically done.
He picked up, tone casual, if a little curious. ] Hey, Moonlight. How may I help you?
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Date: 2023-09-03 04:02 am (UTC)Moonlight appreciates the rare judiciousness. More than that, he has a fascination and love for racing, one of the few things he has fondly held onto from his time with the Tyger's Claw.
Even dressed down, Moonlight realizes fairly quickly he looks out of place in this dive bar. Most people stroll by it as though it isn't there, and those that come in wouldn't look out of place in a Western-themed BD... or a military one. Engines outside rumble loudly as they pull in and leave, most of them heavily modified Quadras and Thortons. Moonlight is glad he left his own Japanese make car at home, though he can't say he doesn't think about racing a few of the nicer wheels out in the lot.
He lingers long enough, and looks around enough, that a man with military cybernetics and a camo vest comes over, leans a hand against the back of the moon-shaped booth, and leans into Moonlight's personal space. His breath smells of cheap beer. He demands to know if Moonlight is a cop, to which the fixer snorts - a real enough reaction - and tells him no, just waiting on someone. The man stares a few long, uncomfortable seconds, then returns to his table. After that, Moonlight finds people observing him more than he's observing them. He realizes his precarious situation - leaving alone is dangerous, now. His fingers hover over his contacts a moment later. He couldn't call an actual cop, well-meaning as David was, and Aka would stick out here even worse than Moonlight. ]
Babe! [ Moonlight stretches the word out, playful and reproachful. ] Did you forget we had a date again?
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Date: 2023-09-03 04:46 am (UTC)The last was most likely, Emerick thought, though it still was odd that he was who Moonlight would call, given everything. Was Moonlight's list of contacts truly so short that he'd call Emerick? He thought that Moonlight didn't trust him, either, so why would he trust Emerick with this?
It hardly mattered if this was some test to prove that he really was just a decent guy trying to exist or if Moonlight was actually in some kind of trouble: Emerick would show up regardless. Some piece of him did worry that this might be some kind of trap but that didn't make much sense given Emerick had shown a pattern of more or less being at Moonlight's beck and call. ]
Fuck! I'm so sorry babe... I just got caught up in work and lost track of time again-- [ He sounded incredibly distressed and apologetic, exactly like a man who had neglected a partner one too many times in the past in favor of working late. Who knows who had amplified hearing and was listening in, seeing if Moonlight was bluffing. ] We were gonna check out that one place, right? [ He was fishing for a location, be it a name he could look up or a pin - whatever made sense for the situation the other man was in.
The words fell from his mouth so naturally and would have sounded absolutely genuine to anyone that was listening in, if anyone was. He would hate to ever be called it to his face, but he really was a good liar when push came to shove. Emerick had shifted so that he was sitting up with the book resting against his leg so he could worry at the spine with his finger while he was on the phone, which he did as he waited on Moonlight's response. ]
(ooc -- i rolled deduction to see if this man could figure out what was going on and he rolled a 23, then just for giggles his little performance on the phone: 30. this man i swear)
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Date: 2023-09-03 05:30 am (UTC)Initially, the slowdown of gigs had absolutely been distrust on Moonlight's part. He had selected Emerick for very specific jobs. Even if he didn't trust him as far as he could throw him, Moonlight recognized the man's skills and attention to detail. Still, he tried to select jobs that wouldn't get him in trouble - or lose him any eddies - down the line. Eventually, the trickle remained steadily slow, but not for Moonlight's reticence. In all honesty, his mistrustful caution had warmed to something nearing affection. Rather, it was learning Emerick's strengths and weaknesses (the job Emmy had shown up bloody was something Moonlight still thought of; a poor call on his behalf and could have lost him a damn good merc), and fewer jobs that fit his strength coming in. In truth, aside from two that Moonlight had to call on Aka - who was far more suited to stealth and, if it came to it, firefights - Moonlight had relied exclusively on Emerick for gigs that came to him requiring data retrieval in any capacity. Aka and Emerick weren't the only net-savvy mercs he knew, but they were the best. ]
Well, I suppose that's why I love you. [ Moonlight sighs wistfully, the chime of jewelry audible as he leans his hand on his chin. ] Mm-hmm. In North Heywood, off of C street. You wanted to see what they had on tap, right? [ Out of the corner of his eye, Moonlight notices a woman go back to her drink. A couple of others notice that, and return to theirs in turn. The man that had asked if he was a cop is still staring. ] Better hurry, or I might not come home tonight. [ A teasing, light tone, but it might also (hopefully) be read as precisely to the sort of danger he's in; to say nothing of the bar being dead middle of 6th street territory. The gang takes care of their own, mostly, but if Moonlight might be seen as threatening that, well... ]
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Date: 2023-09-03 07:24 pm (UTC)Emerick had started moving when he'd gotten the vague location of where Moonlight was. His agent had already picked up on the clue to call for a cab once they hung up, so it was just a matter of getting dressed and waiting. (Emerick didn't even know to be glad analogue clocks didn't really exist anymore: the ticking would drive him nuts in moments like these.) While he wasn't particularly afraid of 6th Street like he was some of the other gangs, he also knew that the small, well-armed militia would certainly cull anything they felt was a threat.
He paid his driver then stepped out in front of the dive. Emerick had contacts in 6th Street - they kept such a close eye on the NCPD he often go his leads from them rather than the net - but he'd never been to this particular dive. He'd always lived more in Valentino territory than 6th Street, really, and he highly doubted he'd be recognized here. Stepping into the bar he felt eyes on him - new person, no affiliation any specific way - and they slid off of him as he moved inside, looking for Moonlight.
It wasn't hard: the man stood out more than he did. He waved, words tumbling out of his mouth as he joined Moonlight in the booth. ] Hey! I'm so sorry! [ There was familiarity in his movements, but it was clear he had no desire to overstep boundaries despite the act. He acted familiar, but anyone watching closely would notice the way Emerick was careful not to touch Moonlight. It was on Moonlight to set the boundaries of how far he wanted this farce to go. Regardless, Moonlight was treated to Emerick's best puppy dog eyes. ] Forgive me?
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Date: 2023-09-06 11:35 pm (UTC)The wait, thankfully, is not too long. Emerick spots him before he can much react aside from a warm smile. Emerick doesn't touch, but Moonlight gives little time for anyone to notice that detail. He leans in a faint breeze of warm cologne, fingers curling against the back of Emerick's neck, to pull him into a kiss.
It's not a long kiss, necessarily, but it is hardly a peck, either. He sits with their hips and shoulders still touching when he breaks the kiss, and hums thoughtfully as though considering whether to forgive his impromptu lover. ]
I suppose, [ He says, trailing as though he is not quite finished. He adds then, ] if you go get us both a drink. You know what I like. [ Moonlight is quite aware Emerick has no idea, but he's also fairly sure Emerick wouldn't pick anything too wild and therefore, he wouldn't mind it. ]
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Date: 2023-09-08 12:50 am (UTC)Emerick could feel himself start to blush - that annoying heat settling in his cheeks and crawling up the back of his neck - and he was embarrassed that it happened at all. He could only hope that Moonlight was the only one who would notice (because he just knew that Moonlight wouldnβt miss it). It was made worse as he realized that there was a selfish part of him that wanted to push this kiss into something more. He was distinctly aware of the fact that this wasnβt an occasion heβd ever have again and that awful little part of him wanted to capitalize on this opportunity, but like everything else in his life: he didnβt. He let it go and hid his disappointment as Moonlight pulled away with a warm smile and more familiar touch. ]
Your wish is my command. [ He gave a slight bow - cheeky, but it felt on point given he was playing for forgiveness. He got up and debated what to get Moonlight as he walked up to the bar, eventually settling on something that was lighter, on the fruity side, and avoiding whiskeys. For his own part, there was an American stout on tap that actually did interest Emerick - clearly that heβd order it surprised the bartender, and the two seemed to have a conversation about it that left Emerick smiling easily as he picked up both glasses and walked back to Moonlight.
He set the glasses down and settled back in next to Moonlight, one arm stretching along the back of the booth behind Moonlight. While he was settling in to be mostly ornamental so that Moonlight could return whatever he was doing, but he was listening to the conversations around them, mostly trying to gauge if they were still under heavy scrutiny or not, taking a sip of his beer to cover his lack of conversation. ]
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Date: 2023-09-13 07:34 pm (UTC)Moonlight settles in when Emerick's arm winds around his shoulders, hand drifting to rest on the other's upper thigh. He sips at his drink, gaze tipping towards Emerick's and lingering there. In reality, he's wondering just what the other is doing. To anyone else, it looks like someone just mooning at their lover. Moonlight leans a little, lips nearly brushing Emerick's ear. ]
Is it good? [ He grins a little when he pulls back enough for Emerick to look at him - he knows damn well how to use his charms.
Some attention turned away when Moonlight called Emerick - thanks, no doubt, to Emerick's convincing performance - and more turned away to see the two men greeting each other like lovers. The biggest man in the room is apparently still not convinced, from what Moonlight can see, muttering in annoyance to his buddies in a tone that barely needs audial cyberware to pick up. It mostly amounts to 'I don't trust him' and 'he's got no business bein' here,' to which his buddies are grumbling back in agreement, but also don't seem inclined to act on it. At least, not in the moment. ]
i'm too tired to deal with icons rn don't @ me
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From:i never fail to learn from mistakes, still throwing stones
Date: 2023-09-17 04:12 am (UTC)They'd been talking about nothing of import. Emerick had reflected on his own that the two of them seemed experts in that way. Emerick talked about stories he'd tracked or interesting things about Night City itself, but he always artfully danced around talking specifically about himself. While he didn't necessarily mind sharing about himself, Camille never directly asked about him, either, so Emerick just never volunteered the information.
He was, however, running low on his THC carts, and that would spell a disaster when that time came. Emerick started to smoke them less, trying to stretch them out. The unfortunate side effect is he grew closer and closer to sober the more he tried to conserve, and nobody really wanted a sober Emerick. People typically considered Emerick sharp while he was impaired. He paid attention to details and could string together inferences that many couldn't sober. He held his tongue and was a good boy, agreeable and pliable. Everyone knew him as this: a weak little man who feared conflict and bent to whatever whim the person he was with had.
Nobody knew him sober, or near enough to. Nobody knew what interacting with Emerick was like when his emotions didn't pass through a time dilation to reach him, to experience his reactions in real time. Least of all Camille, who he treated with the utmost deference.
So it likely came as a complete shock that after a minute (or two, or three) of silence that Emerick asked what he did when he finally broke his silence. ]
If you could go back in time knowing everything that you know as of right now, would you change anything at all?
[ Emerick didn't seem to be looking at Camille, despite the directness of the question. Perhaps Camille was in his vision in his periphery, but Emerick wasn't asking just to see a reaction. He was genuinely curious. Emerick had always been a man of curiosity, who cared for and was interested in people. The question isn't needling or meant to pry, but genuine curiosity (albeit from seemingly absolutely fucking nowhere). It was clear that Emerick would be willing to answer first if Camille wanted, but he likely wasn't going to just let it go. ]
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Date: 2023-09-17 05:41 am (UTC)With little choice, visits with his neighbor are frequent, but McGillis does not know Camille, not really. And so, his other companion of less choice but some subconscious necessity, is Emerick, the man for whom he has laid bare his most painful memories. Well, some of them. And the man who dug at him to share, who already carried one secret, so what was one more? It felt a little to Camille like lying on a bed of nails. He cannot control Emerick the way he could back home, if necessary, and that terrifies him. Still, he keeps coming back. He likes Emerick, genuinely, even with the Beast's mistrust and paranoia a constant nag in the back (and sometimes the forefront) of his mind.
The question startles him, enough that the first answer Emerick receives is silence. His first instinct, when his mind catches up, is to laugh sweetly and say oh sure, lots of things. But the City is a strange place, and Camille can see the silver necklace with its silver pendant hanging off a vanity mirror, and he can imagine the smell of spice and leather that the locket inside still bears. The question is a betrayal, to him, and Camille lifts on his elbow, staring incredulously at the other man. His second urge is to lash out, but before he does, he has to know: ]
Why would you ask me that?
[ Camille knows he commanded Emerick forget what happened in the bank's vault, but he also knows Emerick didn't forget all of it. His voice cracks with emotion, high and strained, though he's not loud. ]
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Date: 2023-09-17 05:50 pm (UTC)Emerick's gaze finally turned to Camille when he heard Camille shift position. He met Camille's incredulous expression with confusion, at first, then he felt his anxiety crawling up his throat like bile when he heard Camille's voice. Were he in his normal state he would have flinched when Camille's voice cracked, but not now. The confusion gave way to that usual cowardice, Emerick's absolute terror of conflict, and then it shifts into something uncharacteristic: searching and not shying away from him.
It's Camille's turn to receive an answer of silence, coupled with the shifting in Emerick's expression ending with a clarity that was unlike the Emerick that Camille had come to know. It took a moment for Emerick to recall the bank and the fogginess that surrounded it. Maybe Camille could see the moment that Emerick made that connection, the recognition that perhaps Camille thought that Emerick was trying to fish for what happened there, what had made Camille so upset. It genuinely could not have been further from his mind when he'd asked the question.
He finally spoke slowly, his voice apologetic and gentle. He maintained the eye contact rather than try to dodge around Camille's gaze. ]
It's just something I've been thinking about lately, since all we can do here is sit with our thoughts. [ His gaze shifted away from Camille in his usual nervous submission. ] I was just curious. You don't have to answer if you don't want to.
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Date: 2023-09-18 12:54 am (UTC)Resigned, ] It seems you would pick me apart sooner or later. [ For his... what? Amusement? Curiosity? Part of Camille believes Emerick that it was pure interest, but the Beast whispers that it is intentional, needling, the need to pluck out each last heartstring and collect it to use it against him later. Camille, hurt as he is, listens more than he knows he should.
But Emerick's vitae stirs in his old veins, the blood that once kept him alive long since replaced, and the effects of the Kiss have not entirely worn away yet. Emerick is warm, and in those sweet, fleeting moments, Camille feels warm, too. It is hard to let that go so quickly. The Beast calls him spineless even before Camille has laid back down after all.
His shoulder presses into the mattress, but Camille turns and instead lays on his back. It is easier to stare at the ceiling than Emerick. He folds his hands across his stomach, thoughtful in the way one is thoughtful as they pick meticulously at a scab; a detached sort of fascination that is as painful as it is compulsive. ]
What do you imagine is within my power to change? Perhaps knowing what I know now, I would kill myself before that little girl arrived, before she bewitched my parents into handing over their son and heir, worked into a panic that the King's men would kill their only child. At least then, they could have known what happened to me, had a body to bury.
Perhaps I would choose instead to rot in her castle, rather than go out into the world of the living. Or I would choose a different gentleman's club to visit, that I never met Amil, or Halim, that they never became clutched in Madelena's talons. Or perhaps I would have fled, or thrown myself in the sunlight a thousand different times than to live the life I have lived - such as it is. [ Camille's voice is softer than it usually is, but it is strange, too, unsteady and edged with something that calls to mind hysteria. ]
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Date: 2023-09-18 03:16 am (UTC)It crossed Emerick's mind that even if Camille killed him, or maimed him, or did whatever to him, he would still be loyal. He would forgive and return without condition or complaint. He knew that he would do anything for Camille without a thought. His head was muddled from the Kiss, still, despite being sharper in other ways, so it wasnβt quite hitting him just how absolutely fucked up that was. The thought did have a friction to it that he wasnβt accustomed to feeling, though. He would have to reflect upon it later.
He wanted to pull Camille close and hold him, in truth. Or at least take his hand and hold that - some small symbol of comfort. He did reach out, but hesitated. He didn't know what to do, really. He knew that he'd made Camille upset. There was a strong likelihood that he wanted as little to do with Emerick as possible, and Emerick knew that. The way Camille was speaking, though, made Emerick want to give him something real to focus on and ground himself to. His hand stopped short and came to rest on the bed between them. That he couldn't quite come to touch Camille caused a twinge of pain within his chest. ]
Iβm sorry. [ It was all he could manage to say at first. Soft and gentle, but not so timid. ] Nobody deserves a life where they feel they should have killed themselves to avoid a worse fate. [ Maybe a little funny coming from the guy with scars inside his forearms, whoβd not quite admitted to their origin, but he meant it. He genuinely ached at the answer, but he didn't get so lost in it like he would have before. ] You certainly didn't deserve it.
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Date: 2023-09-19 05:39 am (UTC)Camille feels the shift near him, sees the movement in his peripheral vision, but Emerick never makes contact. He waits a moment, before turning his head to find the other's hand between them. Another moment, and Camille exhales, taking Emerick's hand in his own. He isn't sure if he regrets it, a sensation not quite unpleasant, not quite angry, flickering over him. ]
I'm sure I deserve it now, even if I didn't then. [ Camille's tone is conversational, even bland. He doesn't elaborate. He does pat Emerick's hand, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. His tone takes on a dry humor. ] If you meet any other vampires, I wouldn't suggest asking them that question. Most of us aren't kindred because we wanted to be - at least those that I know. [ Camille knows some stories are not so horrible as his... but he also knows some are worse. ]
cw child abuse
Date: 2023-09-19 12:28 pm (UTC)He inhaled as if to speak directly after Camille said he was sure he deserved it but held his tongue a moment. He's glad he did as Camille continued but by the time Camille had finished speaking he felt more biting words on his tongue. Emerick took a slow breath and made his head slow the fuck down. He spoke again in an even tone, his voice quiet. ]
The point of the question is that there are a lot of things that happen to us that we don't want. I didn't ask my father to break my bones because I took a little too long getting him a beer, or ask him to make sure to remind me multiple times a day how worthless I was. I didn't ask my mother to slap me every time I showed an emotion other than obedience or submission. [ Emerick was tensing with anger, though the hand that held Camille's still stayed relaxed and gentle. ] I didn't ask them to have my sister and force me to give up whatever miserable life I could have had to take care of her.
[ It was the first time he'd ever mentioned he had a sister, and it was with the mention of her that his temper flared. This was the first time Emerick showed an emotion other than nervous submission or a contrived almost but not quite happiness. ]
But by your logic, I deserved all of that anyway, right? Because of all the people I killed in my work? Is that the sum of it?
[ The glare that Camille was receiving was sharp. There was so much pent-up anger behind it that was being pointed at Camille. Camille wasn't the actual target of it, but it wasn't like Emerick could ever take this back to his parents at this point. He'd kept this bottled his entire life and, well, the whole reason he self-medicated was to keep this pushed down as far as it could go so that he never had to look at it. ]
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Date: 2023-09-19 01:02 pm (UTC)Camille stands, but the motion is slow, fluid, one that is casual instead of in any flash of anger. He readjusts the robe he wears, and then its tie, and perches back on the edge of the bed, crossing his legs. He turns his head to meet Emerick's gaze evenly, brows lofted slightly. It wasn't the first time someone had been angry at him, even without (seeming) reason, and he certainly won't cow before Emerick, even as tied to him as he is in this miserable place. Coolly, he answers: ]
If I have done something to earn your ire, you may tell me freely. Otherwise, this all seems... misplaced.
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From:lmfao til incredibly chronic weed users literally have issues with agitated irritability when sober
From:lmao yeah that tracks
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