That sounds fucking impossible. Lucy's pretty sure she's capable of being in the present, but her present is constantly dogged by her past and her future. Thoughts of Night City, of David, of Maine's crew. Of Arasaka. Thoughts of potential future, and the code she stole from the Fractured, and the White Phantom -- problems she's willingly taken on to distract herself from everything else. Every still moment is a moment that some other thought is intruding. Night City never had encouraged stillness, not unless you grabbed it for yourself, not unless you found yourself on the top of a skyscraper at midnight, watching the moon and the office building lights and the lone car on the road far, far below.
Letting it all go, she thinks, must be an art.
She won't say no to a drink, though.
"Trade?" she offers, holding out her verve vape. Maybe she can distract herself from thoughts of missions and running, and bury her mind in the soft slope of Musashi's biceps, the droplets of condensation on her skin.
Once the two have been traded, Musashi takes a sip of the Ambrosia. It is preem. Nice and smooth, a fuckton nicer than the bottom-shelf stuff she usually picks out of habit. The glass is fogged from the steam, and it feels luxurious in a way she's never really felt.
"What do you normally do to relax? To... let it all go?"
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That sounds fucking impossible. Lucy's pretty sure she's capable of being in the present, but her present is constantly dogged by her past and her future. Thoughts of Night City, of David, of Maine's crew. Of Arasaka. Thoughts of potential future, and the code she stole from the Fractured, and the White Phantom -- problems she's willingly taken on to distract herself from everything else. Every still moment is a moment that some other thought is intruding. Night City never had encouraged stillness, not unless you grabbed it for yourself, not unless you found yourself on the top of a skyscraper at midnight, watching the moon and the office building lights and the lone car on the road far, far below.
Letting it all go, she thinks, must be an art.
She won't say no to a drink, though.
"Trade?" she offers, holding out her verve vape. Maybe she can distract herself from thoughts of missions and running, and bury her mind in the soft slope of Musashi's biceps, the droplets of condensation on her skin.
Once the two have been traded, Musashi takes a sip of the Ambrosia. It is preem. Nice and smooth, a fuckton nicer than the bottom-shelf stuff she usually picks out of habit. The glass is fogged from the steam, and it feels luxurious in a way she's never really felt.
"What do you normally do to relax? To... let it all go?"