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Happy nearly fucking new year to me! Muamar thought to himself with a grin so wide that it almost hurt his cheeks.
He hadn't felt this carefree in a long while, so giddy he almost felt like a kid again. No cars to scrub clean, no Daniels nagging him 'till he died, hell, even no mercs that called to inform him about screwing a gig up! Fucking FINALLY.
Fizzy beer was making its way into Muamar's system, multiple, greedily downed glasses taking a hold of his brain and limbs. If you couldn’t tell yet. The alcohol turned up the temperature in the shitty dive bar he frequented, the one he was in right now.
Only about an hour left of 2073 and it was quiet for a new year's eve. No debauchery or any other related kind of entertainment going on as he scanned the place. There were maybe fifteen other lost souls inside, either by themselves at the bar like him or divided into small groups seated in booths. All sat on crackled synth-leather and the dim lighting above causing long, black shadows on the faces underneath. All the faces were talking, but none of them were actually saying anything interesting whenever he eavesdropped.
Muamar could’ve spent this night at better places but he didn't want to, didn't feel like it for some reason. He had been invited to a get-together or two, even a few full blown parties, but none of them had really enticed him. Strangely enough, he didn't want to be by himself neither, instead choosing for the non-committal company of people that wouldn't talk to him - and a grumpy bartender that didn't exactly like him.
Muamar had a mission tonight, getting a little shitfaced and to be a little shit. It was his way of blowing of steam, the tried and true tested manner of doing so. Besides, he had been working hard and he couldn't wait for this year to be over. He deserved to let loose, or so he thought to himself.
He looked at the drained drink in his hand as he swished the few left over drops in his glass around, and waved his hand towards the direction of the bored looking bartender afterwards.
"Yo, Guevara!" he raised less sober than he had intended to. "Another beer and two shots of bourbon, take one of 'em, I'm feeling generous tonight."
The bartender shot him a look like a thunderstorm and stopped polishing the overpolished glass in his hands for a second, before he shook his head and muttered something under his breath.
"My name's Samuel, puto," he grumbled towards Muamar's general direction without actually looking him in the face. "Told you that a million fucking times already. You've been coming here for longer than I've worked at this bar."
"Ah, riiiight," he agreed with a sneaky smile as he rested his chin on his palm. "It's just that you look so much like that Cuban choom, y'know. Che Gue-"
"-I know who that is, asshole," Samuel interrupted as he was grabbing a fresh glass. "But I'm Puerto Rican, not fucking Cuban. Stop it before I kick you out. Gonk."
"Just teasing, man."
"Hmpf."
Touchy-touchy, he tutted inside of his mind. The bartender really did look a little like Che Guevara, if slightly more hobo-ey than the real deal. He couldn't help it, the teasing. He liked to gauge people's boundaries like that, test them, see what reactions he could shake outta someone or if he could at all. The latter ones were the best, a challenge.
Samuel was no puzzle like the latter mentioned type of person, but Muamar was bored. He also had to cut that shit out for now, didn't really want to get cut off or kicked out as he saw Samuel making his drinks. Well, making... pouring them from one glass container to a smaller glass container. Not exactly a fine art.
The entrance door bell rung behind him but he didn't pay it no mind. A fresh beer and one tragically underpoured shot was set on the bar heavy-handedly, nearly making the already sparse bourbon splash out of the glass. Samuel took his own shot with a sneer still apparent on his face. So much for end-of-year, cheer. Or a thank you.
Muamar already had the stinging burn of the shot disappear from his throat as he saw someone sit down on the barstool next to him. The bell ringer. Some seemingly prim and proper type of lady that didn't exactly match the decor of the establishment.
"Centzon tequila, make it a triple. No ice."
Didn't sound like the drink he had thought she would've ordered. He had imagined something fruity with an umbrella, or something expensive, like Armagnac or Donaghy's.
Samuel had both of his hands rested on the bar in front of the woman, trying his very damnedest to come across as charming, apparently. Muamar was pretty sure that Samuel thought he was charming, despite years of evidence against the damn fact. Women ran away in droves from those unkempt nails of his and the occasional lack of deodorant, sometimes they even ran straight into Muamar's arms because of it. It was some sort of symbiosis that only benefitted Muamar, just how he liked it.
"You sure, little lady?" he asked with a low voice and a... in Samuel's mind... "inviting" smile. "I got a nice tequila tha-"
She held up a single bitchy finger, halting whatever sales pitch the bartender was about to elaborate on. "I'm sure. Didn’t ask for recommendations." A look from the woman that said "fuck you" afterwards.
Muamar had to try and suppress a mean smirk when he saw that. Almost made it, too.
Samuel held up his hands for a moment with an apologetic face before he turned to pour her the drink. Since when was he able to look apologetic like that? Muamar never saw that side from him, that's for damn sure. Probably had to grow a pair of tits and lose his vocal cords before that happened.
The bartender didn't say another word as he put the very full glass in front of her, turning to polish a glass again with slightly burning cheeks. Oh, that poor choom of his. It almost made him feel sympathetic. Almost.
Muamar glanced towards the woman's direction as he took a drink from his beer, taking her in with a bit more detail this time.
If anyone looked out of place in this dump, it was her. Tall with defined muscles, an asymmetrical and sleek, bitch-platinum bob. The outfit looked tear-jerkingly expensive and she had icy, white eyes that closed before she took a big swig from her glass. He knew those irises, an Arasaka staple.
A corpo, he realized as he counted all the features into a final accumulation. What the fuck was an Arasaka corpo doing in an Arroyo dive bar?
He silently took her in after shooting her a judgmental look. Okay, maybe multiple. He liked to think he was self-aware enough to admit that. Sometimes. When it suited him.
But this wasn't about him, it was about the fact that an Arasaka suit had wandered into an Arroyo dive. She would've almost been kinda pretty, if she didn't look so stuck up while flying the company colors. If there was one thing he wanted shot on sight (if he was that sort of person) then it was anyone affiliated with that cesspool called Arasaka.
"What's your problem?" she asked with sharp eyes as she set her glass down, staring daggers into him.
He had been staring daggers of his own for longer than he had realized. Muamar frowned while holding his pint, trying to play off the fact that he got caught.
"Nothing, nothing..." he mused as he cocked his head, a slight shrug accompanying the words, "...just wondering what corpo property is doing in a place like this."
He turned to take the loudest slurp from his beer, wiping a foam mustache off of his upper lip afterwards.
His night just got slightly more interesting. A wasp's nest to poke and prod, prime time entertainment. Normally he probably would've let sleeping corpo dogs lie, but tonight he was feeling annoying and understimulated and, well, inebriated.
"It's a free country, choom," she deflected with an irritated tone, confirming that he had been right in his assumptions about her being a corpo. "They let you out of your cage to come here, didn't they? Even if it's not a corp."
He laughed, short and snidely without his eyes really going along for the ride. "I'm my own man. The only one who controls me, is me," Muamar said with apparent pride, tapping a finger to his chest for emphasis as he looked at her.
The corposuit snorted before raising her glass at him, a sarcastic inflection following the gesture. "Sure, good for you and cheers to that."
She downed the rest of her glass after she said it, her face twisted into a frown as if she hadn't chosen the alcohol herself. Absolutely wincing as the god-awful tequila went down.
He watched her face contort in amusement and thought, fuck it, why not, before downing the rest of his own beer as well.
In for a penny, in for a pint.
She slid her empty glass across the bar, towards Samuel.
"Another," she ordered, not asked. "And whatever swill he's drinking."
The suit added the last part with her head down and a thumb pointing towards Muamar. Either that drink was hitting her like a truck or she hadn't arrived exactly sober.
Muamar shot her a weird look as he swiveled towards her direction on his barstool, leaning an elbow on the bar as he looked at her. His curiosity was sorta taking over the disdain he felt. What else was he supposed to do today, stay quiet and drink in silence? Hell no.
"Free drinks from an Arasaka suit? You coming onto me, princess?" The tone he had used matched the question perfectly, sounding mocking and vindictive.
The woman leant the side of her face on her hand so that the curtain of hair parted, revealing a mean smirk behind it as she eyed him. "Why the free drinks?" she said as she echoed the question in a sing-song voice with some dark look in her eyes. "Maybe so you'll hate-fuck me in a bathroom stall later."
He nearly choked on his own spit when she said that. He had expected a lotta answers but that one sure hadn't been one of them.
"Oh really? I seem the type, huh?" he shot back at her after he regained some composure. "That's a damn grand assumption."
"Well, you do look like a cheap date."
Fuck, that actually made him laugh. He'd never been so disappointed in himself. It wasn't even that good of a joke. Muamar shook his head in mock-disapproval before he mirrored her position without thinking, leaning his elbows on the bar as he looked at her.
"But lemme guess..." she mused as she slid a fresh bourbon to him loudly, taking a sip of her own tequila, a double this time, in between the sentence. "Some kinda mechanic? Cars?"
"Not really," Muamar lied as he took the glass from her. Okay, half lied. He did work on cars. He was kinda interested in how she managed that. "Good try, though."
She pouted at his answer, almost childlike in her disappointment. "Could've sworn I was right."
"Could you now?"
She poked him on his thigh, a spot just above his knee. A nail scraped the fabric of his pants before she pulled her hand back.
"Motor oil. Besides, it's my job to know things like that." The rest of her tequila was washed down after she said it.
"Fine, I'll bite, what do you do besides sucking the soul out of society?"
It was her turn to laugh as he took the shot of bourbon, the alcohol burning in his throat like the laugh did in his mind. It had sounded light as it rang, like little bells. Nothing like he imagined it would've. Much prettier, less deep-bellied and evil like some cartoon villain.
"Counter-intel." She finally answered with a scheming smile, clearly waiting for a reaction.
Oof. Not fucking around, that was probably the worst answer she could’ve given. If any position within a corp was especially shady and murky, it's that one. Besides CEO. Or family of the CEO.
Maybe the hate fucking was a possibility after all, he thought before answering. His dick was outweighing his morality for some reason. Muamar would play along, for now. How very pragmatic of him.
"Aren't you supposed to..." he waved a hand around vaguely, "...I don't know, keep that a secret? Sounds like you're kinda shit at it."
He waved at Samuel for two more whatevers, not sure if it was a bright idea, but doing it anyway. He was already teetering right on the edge of being drunk, he might as well flirt with that edge a little bit more.
"Maybe..." she answered while looking away for a second, rapping her long, long, manicured nails on the bar in quick succession before meeting his eyes again, "...but, shouldn't an anti-corpo fixer know better than to ask?"
His eyes grew wider than he had liked before he collected himself again, Samuel putting two fresh drinks in front of him. He could vaguely notice the bartender looking at them with slightly wide eyes every now and then, as if he was watching a boxing match that was going on. Meanwhile, the corpo was watching Muamar like a hawk, clearly enjoying having the upper hand at the moment.
Seemed that her choice for a bar had been less random than he had imagined at first. Her choice of sitting next to him had been downright targeted like an airstrike.
Muamar eyed her sharply as he slid the tequila to her, yet never lost the easy smile that had appeared on his face.
"Guess you're not here on a social visit, huh?" he asked playfully before holding his own glass out for a toast.
The suit shot him a knowing smile, before shaking her head and clinking her glass to his. "Took you long enough, Muamar."
The both of them took a sip of their drinks instead of shooting them, never looking away until they set their glasses down again. Muamar didn't want to give her any more satisfaction of him being surprised that she knew his name. Or who he was.
He could only guess what it was about. Probably that new netrunner he had for digging around in Arasaka affairs for a project he was starting. He had poked around for information before but never had taken any truly serious stabs at it, until recently.
Lately, he had been more hell bent on getting answers for who had been poisoning Santo Domingo.
He had only confirmed that Arasaka was responsible about a month ago, immediately hiring the best netrunner he could find to figure out who the big boss of the project was, who had signed off on ruining the lives of an entire district. It seemed that the best that he could find wasn't as good as she had sold herself to be. He had been sloppy, believing her word and a few scattered reviews that had floated around NC. Now it was biting him in the ass.
Muamar looked at the corpo next to him with slightly narrowed eyes as he was trying to figure out what her deal was. It intrigued him that she hadn’t just dragged him into some alley before flatlining him, like y'know, Arasaka agents did every damn day. Something was off protocol for her, but he didn't know what it was, or why. Not yet.
It would've been smarter and easier for her had she just lured him away to some quiet spot, before making him say his final prayers. He probably would've fallen for it too, tonight, but she didn't need to know that.
If she was going to flatline him anyway, he would just have to find that out.
He was startled out of his thoughts when a slightly crumpled cigarette appeared in front of his face.
"Do you smoke?" she asked with a half-smile as she looked at him, an equally crumpled-looking pack of Morley cigarettes in her other hand.
Muamar looked at the cig, then at her, and then back at the cig again before he snorted and took it from her hand.
"Only when I'm awake," he answered tongue in cheek.
"Good," she said as she stood up from her barstool, a quick pat on his shoulder before she passed him. "Let's get some fresh air, it stinks in here."
Samuel looked slightly offended as he watched her get up and leave to go outside, Muamar following her with the cig already in his mouth. He wasn't sure where this conversation was going but he wasn't following her into an alley, that's for damn sure. He winked at Samuel before he walked away from the bar.
Even the streets outside were oddly quiet, he noticed it as he closed the door behind him. Most people were on a drunk pilgrimage to the more populated areas of Night City during this time of year, where parties were concentrated like drops of water are in the ocean. At the current location though? Only few groups of people were passing by on the adjoining sidewalk, a few others randomly strewn about, drinking and laughing on benches.
Muamar found the corpo leaning against the wall next to the entrance, smoke already spilling from her lips as she exhaled the fumes. He joined her in leaning against it as he fumbled around his pockets for a lighter. Never could find that damn thing, between all the loose change and crumpled receipts.
"Is my netrunner still alive?" he asked with the cig still stuck between his teeth, rounding the edges of his words to a slight mumble as he filled the silence.
"She'll live."
Fuck.
"That's... not very comforting."
"I don't do comforting."
"Right."
He continued the desperate search for a lighter, wondering if he cared enough to check on a netrunner that all but had screwed him over by fucking up.
Muamar heard her chuckle before the distinct sound of a lighter going aflame rung through the air, the suit holding it out to him.
"C'mere," she ordered with her own cig between her lips, a soft smile pulling at it. "I'm V, by the way."
He obliged, simply glad to feel the nicotine he had been craving flooding his system as she lit it for him. V, what a gonk name. There probably was a story there, somewhere, but he didn't exactly care enough to find out.
"So, V," he finally began before taking another puff, rolling the cig between his thumb and index finger afterwards as he met her eyes. "Is this the moment when you're gonna zero me for your boss?"
She leant her head back against the wall, scanning him with an oddly smug looking face before she answered. "Why, that what you want me to do?"
He pursed his lips for a second as he thought about it, an exaggeratingly pained expression appearing on his face. "Not particularly."
She laughed, short and sweet, left over smoke from a previous inhale leaving her lungs before taking another puff.
"Well, I'm going to be honest, Muamar, I don't really feel like zeroeing anyone today. Just like I didn't feel like going to Arroyo at this fucking hour," she sighed while looking at the night sky. "But here we are."
"Here we are," he agreed with a nod as he looked down for a second, a few, far away, fireworks going off too early in the background. "So what's the plan?"
V looked away as she thought for a moment and blew a raspberry, meeting his gaze again with a lopsided smile. If this was the face she pulled whenever she was going to make someone's day godawful, then he really didn't know how to read people anymore.
"How about..." she mused as she twirled a finger around, "…you lie to me that you're going to stop digging around for whatever you are digging for, or hire someone better to do it?"
"And then?"
She took another long drag of her cig, before flicking away some ashes at the end of it. "Then, I'm going to lie to my boss that I couldn't find you in this ant’s nest of a district, but that I'll keep an eye on it. That last part is also a lie. No offence, but this biz is kinda smalltime for my usual work."
He didn't feel offended. He felt emboldened for a moment and not exactly sure what for, or why, but he pressed his shoulder against hers regardless with a smirk.
"That's a shame, I kinda like the sound of that, you keeping and eye on me," he quipped as he turned his face towards her, so close he could smell the fancy, boutique perfume she was wearing. Flowery, with some other fresh notes he didn't know the names of. "How about I hire you, instead of that other lacking employee of mine?"
He wasn't entirely serious but he also wasn't entirely lying. He had kinda liked her, weird as it was. Liked the way she talked, the way she seemed to prod him just as he did to her. Most importantly, she had the skills to find him at a place he hadn't told anyone he was going to. He could use someone like her in his line of work.
She shook her head as she chuckled, smiling to herself before looking at him again. "You couldn't afford it."
"Ouch," he lamented with an exaggeratedly hurt expression before leaning in a little closer as he eyed her. "You don't fuck around do you?"
There was a fleeting moment as they met each other's gaze so closely, some abstract momentum so apparent he could almost touch it if he wanted to. He looked down at her painted lips and felt like he was at a crossroads for a moment, seeing some springboard into a choice that would be less than wise.
V tilted her head at him with that same smug look she had earlier, her lips moving to answer him, to probably tell him exactly how much she did not fuck around... but any words were drowned out by fireworks setting off in the Night City sky. Multicolored bursts of deafening light flitting in and out of existence as they rained down from the heavens and passed her face. Almost beautiful when he saw pinks and greens appear over her features.
Several, loud and cheerful, "Happy new years!" were shouted from inside the bar and on the street around them, V and Muamar looking both bewildered by the interruption. He looked away, up at the sky for a moment, the smell of gunpowder in the air for something nice for once.
He nearly wanted to comment on it as he turned his face towards V again, but any words he had wanted to utter were stuck in his throat.
Her cig fell to the ground. Her answer finally came as she kissed him with both her hands at the sides of his face while people still cheered around them.
"Happy new year," she murmured casually after she released him, Muamar stunned to silence for a second before a grin grew on his lips.
V had an equally big grin on her face that made him see past the corpo, even if it was for a second. Just another human for a fraction of an impression. Both playing hooky and not doing things they were supposed to do. While explicitly doing things they weren't supposed to do.
She nearly pulled back before he got some impulse and suddenly, he was the kisser now, not just the kissee, pulling her close for a real one. He could feel the warmth of her against his lips, the taste of disgusting tequila, felt one hand fisting the fabric of his collar almost as if she wanted to pull him in even closer against her. Nothing like he had expected her to feel like.
He heard her laugh when he let her go, a slightly flushed, triumphant grin on his face as he pulled away and looked at her.
"Goodbye, V. Happy new year," he finally murmured as he leant against the wall again.
"Mhm," she hummed before she straightened herself out with some mischievous look on her face. "Goodbye, Muamar. Stay out of trouble, now."
He watched her walk off as he took the last puff of his ending cigarette, couldn't look away until she disappeared into a crowd a street away.
2074, here he comes.