skiamakhia

[There's something amusing about a world wherein these two aren't monsters. So here we are in Kyoto, at probably the best restaurant in Japan. Back in the break room, one of the world's foremost leaders in programming and personal technology is lounged over a couch with a tablet, a criminally short skirt and zettai ryouiki for days. Look, she doesn't have to go into an office today, she can wear what she wants.

As to why she's back here, and how she's allowed to just cavalierly flop everywhere, well, you'd have to ask the chef himself.]

[But, well. It was an ordinary, miserable winter's day. Someone went out without waking up the murderer who lives in her house, but she did leave a note to the extent of 'sleep in, I'll be back soon'.

And she is, probably not long after he wakes up, laughing like a fucking hyena.]

Lidaaaan. Liiiidaaaaaaaaan~!

[That is all I have stuck in my head.

But, disregarding that, when last we left flash, two of the most wanted people in the kingdom had hooked up. Today, in a different hideout, in a different town, Myoh opened the door to a harried-looking inquisitor, who dropped a giant stack of files into her arms and ran off laughing hysterically.

So, of course, now she's sitting on the couch and reading them.

For the record, this hideout is more a nice noble's manor home, that she bought legitimately with money not-so-legitimately gained. It's tastefully decorated, but anyone could tell the kitchen, while functional, was barely touched--Myoh cannot cook to save her life. Even so, it's a nice enough place to stay, and maybe stay out of trouble until the Masquerade.]

[Which is to say, in a wholly predictable series of events...Myoh, crazy person that she is, succeeded in what she was trying to do, which means there is a fully sentient cyborg dragon now existing in the world.

This naturally means quite a few people have been trying to kill her. This last incident, whether they were lucky enough to be there when the murderhobo wasn't, or just good enough to make it that close, she got shot. Nonfatally, of course, and then the dragon ate them, but this means she's been basically stuck in bed while she recovers.

It might be unnerving, how much she's sleeping--especially when it's clear that, even while she's asleep, she's aware of what he's doing, through every inch of the house. But hey! Maybe today she'll wake up. The stitches come out today, after all.]

[But perhaps not. As ways to exit the scene gracefully, Myoh had thought she'd done pretty well. It was smooth, and done in the wee hours of the night--several hundred corporate accounts, drained in amounts that would be blamed on the bank's errors, funneled all to her. A couple full ebony credsticks left on the kitchen table, and the lease paid for the next year, a simple note of thanks, and she was gone. Out of the shadows, and out of the slums.

It's been nearly a year. Sure, going legit has been boring, but she invested wisely and has enough money to never have to work for anyone, ever again, so the days were spent building more and more terrifying machines. She rarely ever sold the designs, but the ones she did sent the markets into a tizzy. The place she lived wasn't secret, but the drones that guarded it would destroy just about any intruder short of an army or a dragon.

Or one man she'd left programming in not to attack. The place itself isn't super ostentatious in design, but it's definitely spacious--turns out a girl who's lived in glorified closets most of her life goes for a place with more room than she can figure out how to use.

If she's expecting anyone to have come looking for her, it certainly doesn't show.]

[Shut up.

Anyway, somewhere in the nebulous timestream, wherein a slaughter run became a bit more than they bargained for and Myoh acquired many a shiny, shiny new toy, the run is over, the drop is made, and several ex-cons and fugitives are shooed out of a certain tiny apartment.

In contrast to the last run, the no-longer-tiniest shadowrunner is still, almost serene, sprawled across the couch in an ungraceful pile that she's been in since she first walked back in the foor. Might be time to check for a pulse or, barring that, bother the hell out of the tecnomancer.]

[So. Not so long ago, after a very odd job offer that resulted in getting paid enough not to have to worry about rent for a good while, among other things, and Myoh's poor kicks being irreparably bloodstained, certain murderhobos have trucked their asses home, to reheat and enjoy pizza there was no time for earlier.

Myoh, for one, can't really hold still, and has settled for drumming her fingers on the kitchen counter. Even a charity run gives one hell of a rush after completion, and to be honest, it's probably why she couldn't ever go legit. But at least, this time, she isn't trying to build voltron.

Yet.]

[I had an idea for this one so here we are. Regardless of how we got here or what ridiculous meetings were had with the most naive Johnson on the face of the earth, Myoh spent most of her last week in prison, and has now returned home...and has a prison bus.

So now, at a more reasonable hour of the day, if someone was looking for her they might find her in the garage with tools and paint she either stole or Nellens was feeling really generous about, covered in grease and apparently in the process of replacing the entire starter mechanism. Those who know her might also realize this means she hasn't actually slept at any point.

Either way, she's painted over the marks signifying this as a prison bus and she's got the radio tuned to some absolutely bizarre rock-jazz combo. Clearly now is a good time to bother her.]

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(no subject)

Sure don't have a clever title for this one.

Jojos is not appropriate for myohs and yet.

Let's do this thing.

perhaps a slight au

I didn't spend like five minutes staring at lj-juggler because I forgot her journalname

(no subject)

welp

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July 2016

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