#corpse = a corporate worker; as you might've guessed

[rockerb0y]

     NOT EVEN  the potent cocktail of chemicals in johnny's bloodstream was immune to terminal dilution, beginning to abate about halfway through the setlist of stentorian songs and eventually deadened to a  numbness  which yearned to be renewed to its former glory. the venue and its effervescent crowd had warmly received the tendentious performance, ardently lauded and extolled the visual backdrop of articles from various smear campaigns against him over the past few years — an  eye-catching  and  provocative  accompaniment to his  idiosyncratic  brand of sound. nevertheless, the fervid feedback didn't automatically merit an encore and his expeditious exit outside wasn't susceptible to further vacillation. the show was over because he said it was over and nobody could overturn the  dictatorial  decision.

     ' the night owl '  had procured his patronage over its surrounding competition with its proximity and diminutive clientele. the business hours were arbitrary and open-ended which catered to his particular ambitions for the evening, opting to occupy a seat at the far end of the bar counter away in self-imposed isolation. the view beyond the sheets of glass surrounding the bar would've enticed any wandering eye, as was expected from its location on the top floor of the bay bridge residential hotel; to him, however, the neon graveyard was a tired sight that failed to inveigle  him into any state of admiration. the inherent exigency of the empty whiskey glass in front of him was far more worthwhile of his notice, second only to the sudden movement on his right side as the adjacent seat was no longer subject to vacancy.

@helldwells: ❝ you look lonely. i can fix that. ❞ ( soooo thinking about silverhand during his prime time while ryker is still a corpo and keeping an eye on him heh )

     twitch of a smile denoted acknowledgement of the stranger ahead of a verbal reply, lidded gaze quick to steal a glance and investigate existing suppositions. the other patron's attire and comportment was of a  certain  caliber, an  eminence  that came married with corporate rancidity; its stench was as familiar as it was distinctively deplorable. despite lacking any tangible evidence or confirmation to his working theory, the once-over alone was decidedly enough to profile his counterpart and make an educated assessment.

     ❝  spoken like a true jig-jig street regular. not all that different from them, actually: corpses and joytoys. both are willin' to bend over and be  fucked raw  by their employer if the price is right.  ❞

     wraithlike whisper from  the hand  goaded him to  glass  the unexpected visitor, to accede and temporarily  tranquilize  the urge to maim. violent fantasy fogged over immediate thought for a moment before it was banished from mind, curbed for the time being as the bartender's attention was beckoned with a  knock  of chrome knuckles against the counter. a refill was sorely needed in addition to a suitable beverage for his  esteemed  company.

     ❝  another double whiskey neat here, and a  jersey turnpike  for this compassionate boy scout. my treat.  ❞

     the bartender's bout of hesitation upon hearing the order was expected but a pointed look subsequently resolved any  doubt  of its sincerity. the recipe was straightforward: all the bar mats' residual liquor collectively wrung into a single shot glass — a mixed shooter perfectly  curated  for any  bottom-feeder.

               ❝  take it, and fuck off.  ❞

BLADE RUNNER 2049 PROMPTS