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Her bed was warm, and the polished wooden floor so cold against her bare feet as she stumbled into the bathroom blearily. The chill stung the soles of her feet, running up the length of her spine as she stripped and stepped into the shower. Hot water cascaded down her shoulders, enveloping her in a welcome warmth against the contrasting coolness of the black marble tiles lining the walls and paving the floors.
A slight tilt of her head to the side and her neck cracked with a satisfying pop. Rogue inhaled deeply, held her breath for a beat before letting it out slowly. She repeated the motion, once, twice, three times, feeling the stiffness in her back and shoulders melt away under the heat of the shower with each exhalation.
All those years of being a solo merc were really catching up to her; the ache thrumming through her veins, the soreness flaring up with a change in the weather. And still she preferred her organic body with minimal cyberware and enhancements, even if it meant waking up with an odd strain on her back and the occasional pain shooting along her right arm. But the winter cold had heightened the dull weariness in her body, prickling with every move she made, and it was enough to give her cause to reconsider retirement as a fixer.
She got dressed quickly, pulling the heavy jacket around her just a little tighter as she crossed the carpark towards her beloved Mistral. Pulling out into the street, Rogue sped off towards Watson.
Despite all the luxury she was afforded in her apartment - located within the heart of Downtown and costing an absolute fortune - she felt most at home in the Afterlife, sitting in her dingy booth under flickering neon lights, swirling a bourbon as she brokered deals and sifted through intel.
She stepped out of her car, freezing in her tracks as she felt something cold and wet fall on her cheek. She looked up in surprise, eyes widening in wonder as she watched the snowflakes drift down from the sky, shimmering and sparkling under the sunlight. She inhaled deeply, exhaling and watching her breath unfurl in the air, hands outstretched and palms turned upwards, feeling the prickling against her skin, the slight crunch of fresh, crisp snow under her soles. She gave a small shake of her head, a wry smile on her lips as she recalled the exact moment she had last seen snow - almost 60 years ago when she had first met Johnny Silverhand.
The fucking bastard.
With a low hum, Rogue descended down the stairs.
“Boss,” Emmerick rumbled with a small nod of acknowledgement.
Rogue responded with a nod of her own, giving his arm a gentle pat as she brushed past him.
Stalwart and ever-present, Emmerick had been the Afterlife’s bouncer for the past three years. He had first shown up on her radar when he made a name for himself as one of the Animals’ champion underground fighters, before becoming one of the Animals’ enforcers, simply showing up at the Afterlife one day and shaking down one of her regular mercs over unpaid debt. Although a giant of a man, he had slipped in quietly and unnoticed to most, save for herself - Rogue may appear to be lounging casually in the corner, but nothing in the Afterlife could escape her attention. A few thinly veiled threats coupled with his physique and reputation had been enough for Emmerick to secure the money, and he had then left just as quietly as he had come.
Cool, calm and collected and able to get things done without kicking up a ruckus, she reached out the next day with an offer and he had accepted, not only securing a bouncer for her club, but also forging a closer connection with her network within the Animals’ circle.
The comforting cacophony of chatter and music engulfed her as she stepped under the neon lights. Rogue vaguely registered the familiar guitar riff as Johnny’s voice blasted through the speakers, momentarily sending her several decades into the past when she had attended one of Samurai’s very first concerts. She rounded the corner, almost half-expecting to see the man himself in the flesh.
But there were only the regulars huddled in their respective groups, a bright-eyed merc who gave her a small wave in greeting, and Claire behind the bar, mixing drinks with practised ease and an easy smile as she chatted with the patrons.
Spotting Rogue, she grinned, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter. The patrons to the right shuffled a little ways away to make space for Rogue out of respect.
“Hey Rogue, what can I get for you today?”
"Mm, nothing right now, Claire. I have some business to take care of."
There was a knowing gleam in the bartender's eyes, and she placed both hands on the countertop, gaze flickering across Rogue's face as she searched for confirmation.
She must have found it, because she sighed and straightened up.
"End of an era, huh," Claire murmured.
If Emmerick was the rock, steady and unmovable, then Claire was the wind, free spirited and thrill seeking.
She had mellowed out a lot since they had first met. She had first burst into the Afterlife like a hurricane, all pent up energy and unbridled enthusiasm, face still flush from a third straight win in a car race.
Surrounded by a group of friends and her husband, Claire had pushed her way to the bar and ordered a round for everyone.
And since then, it had become somewhat of ritual, where Claire would swing by after every win with her entourage. There would always be some familiar faces in her group, but Dean had been a constant presence.
That was until one day, he wasn't. And Claire stopped coming around.
It hadn't taken much probing for Rogue to find out about Dean's accident. It had taken Claire much longer to return - too many memories, too much grief and hurt.
Nursing a drink, finding solace and a moment's peace amongst the noise and chaos in the Afterlife. And when she finally asked Rogue if she could stay as a bartender, Rogue agreed without hesitation.
“You always were quite astute.”
“Eh, you’ll still be around,” Claire said with a shrug as she started wiping down the countertop.
"Don't get sappy on me, Russell."
Claire shot her a smirk and Rogue couldn't help but do the same.
“V’s in your usual booth waiting for you,” Claire gave a small jerk of her head and Rogue hummed lightly, tapping the counter with two fingers as she walked away.
V glanced up from her glass of bourbon as Rogue slipped into the spot adjacent to her “Hey, Rogue.”
“V.”
“So, you got a gig for me?”
Rogue leaned back in her seat, one hand resting lightly on the back of the seat. She glanced back out at the bar, gaze lingering on Squama before sweeping across the floor, landing on Nix as he ventured out of his room in a rare appearance.
Rogue had been faintly acquainted with Squama’s father many years ago, and when her previous bodyguard had died in the line of duty, she had hand picked his son, an unassuming but fierce mercenary in his own right. And when Nix had fried her netrunner’s brains and nearly infiltrated her own network, Rogue had tracked him down with her own contacts, and the rest was history.
She had always picked and chosen the people close to her, but she had never had someone like V crash into her life so violently, even if Johnny did give the merc a close run for her money.
V, in her Samurai leather jacket, aviator glasses hanging off of her black shirt, both feet on the table in front of her. Recklessness tempered by experience, fearlessness tempered by death; V reminded Rogue of herself when she was younger, perhaps with a hint of Johnny Silverhand.
V wasn’t her blood, nor was she her protege, but Rogue couldn’t help but feel a connection with this woman.
Taking on Arasaka and Militech, destroying Mikoshi and becoming a living legend all in the span of a few weeks was one of the greatest feats Rogue had ever witnessed. But to have done so by forging alliances with the Moxes and finding a family with the Aldecaldos was heartwarming to say the least. V’s dedication to her friends and fallen comrades was admirable and her loyalty and unwavering principles had gained Rogue’s respect.
An incoming call popped up on her holo and she flicked it away, vaguely registering the name Trace.
Rogue had found her family all through these years and surrounded herself with them in this home called the Afterlife; she hoped V could do the same.
Turning her attention back towards V, the smallest smirk tugged at the corner of Rogue’s lips. “Let’s talk.”
Afterlife, all that goes on here - it was V’s mess now.