Chapter Text
V was conscious of her reputation - a wild, untamed woman who did what she wanted and never apologised. Never bowed to Corpo PR agencies who told her to tone it down, publicly calling them on their bullshit. Calling anyone on it, really. If she wasn’t raging about corporations laying waste to the earth, she was screaming into a mic about her latest car crash of a relationship. To settle was to die creatively, and she loved that rush when she figured out a new hook or lyrics.
So, when an urgent meeting was called, her label graciously decided to leave her uninformed as to the nature of her summons. Sitting in a plush office chair, V leaned back, setting her leg up on the geometric gold table that spanned most of the chic room. Dirty boots on full show, arms crossed over her chest while she waited with her team of suits. “If they don’t show up in ten minutes do we get to skip this bullshit?” Smirk on her lips, she shifted her hips so that her chair wiggled from side to side. As if on cue, the office door opened, and another team of suits filed in, with Johnny Silverhand coming in last. Shooting each other a disdainful glare, V refused to acknowledge him in any other way.
One of Silverhand’s suits cleared his throat, datapad in his hands. Kept looking down at the thing and then up to Johnny, and V could guess that their lateness had probably been down to some rockerboy theatrics. Johnny Silverhand was famous for doing the exact opposite of what the label wanted him to do, making their lives difficult. Word on the street was they had had enough of it, that his albums weren’t selling enough anymore to justify the work they put in to get him out of bed at the crack of noon just so he could scream at some kids and fuck some groupies.
“We have a proposal.” The suit spoke.
“A proposal for what?” V dipped her finger in a nearby cup of water and flicked it at Johnny with a smirk. He just glared back at her, chrome middle finger aimed at her.
“A business relationship between these two performers. As you may know, both of your sales are declining. Now we’ve run a lot of simulations-“
“Fuckin’ cut to the chase. Can’t take the fuckin’ stench of this bitch.” Johnny spat.
“Oh, because I actually shower and don’t have the scent of au de dickcheese?” V spat right back, flicking water again. Johnny reared up, arms on the table, muscles flexing on his organic one as he stared her down.
“Can smell a desperate cunt, actually. You fuckin’ put me up to this, know it.”
“Don’t know shit, pissbrained gonk.” V got up as well, fists clenched.
“-we propose a marriage. A PR stunt, with no requirements for further interaction after your duties have been fulfilled.” Suit kept talking, only furthering the tense atmosphere in the room.
“No fuckin’ way! Rather have my cock cut off.” Johnny yelled. V just watched, huffing slightly and sitting back down. “Don’t tell me you wanna do this shit?” Johnny demanded, focusing on V again.
“I need this fuckin’ gig, so why don’t you sit down and fuckin’ listen to what they have to say? You can afford to leave the record label now? Well then fuck off.” V glared right back at him; voice no longer raised. Quiet and dangerous, like when the lights were low on stage, and she was winding down. Usually, more screaming would happen after her more toned-down songs. But this time she just let silence take over as Johnny sat back down as well.
“The arrangement will last for six months. After which you’ll both go your separate ways, can make an album each with your side of the story. Contract also stipulates that you collaborate before your marriage, just to drum up some interest. Get tongues wagging, as it were. Some public appearances together, appearing close.” Suit sent the files out, eyes glowing blue. V started to sift through the contract, not understanding some of the legal jargon. Got the gist of it, and if they were right in their estimations, it could be a huge gain. And she’d never even have to talk to Johnny Silverhand again afterwards.
“Our client will look over the terms, as will our legal team.” V’s lawyer spoke up, and they all rose to leave.
“Our client will as well. I assure you there are no hidden clauses that may come back to bite either of the performers. We just want results, and this will produce them.” Johnny’s team also stood up. They left first, V taking a deep breath and finally gulping down her glass of water.
“So? What do you think?” V asked, sobered by the thoughts running through her head.
“It’s an attractive proposal.” Even though her rep was a Corpo to the end, she didn’t think they would lead her into a shitty business decision. And that was what that would be - merely a business arrangement.
“And if I don’t want to do it?” V sighed.
“V, this could be a huge deal. Think it over, there’s no rush.” Her rep laid a hand on her shoulder for a moment, before she stood and left the room, and then the building. Had to get home, had to figure out what she wanted to do, even if in her gut the decision was already made.
***
“Nah, ain’t gonna do it. Not my style, not gonna sell my cock for album sales.” Johnny had been pacing around Kerry’s living room since he’d arrived at North Oak, kicking the door open to loudly announce his presence.
“Johnny you’re gonna be in some deep shit. Bought that shiny Porsche, that new house and you’re partyin’ most of the fuckin’ week away. Could be good for you.” Kerry felt like a hypocrite advocating for some semblance of routine and steady home life when his own marriage had ended the way it did. Honestly, he was tired of worrying about his friend, and Johnny had come to him for advice many times and had only followed what he said a select few times.
“Fat fuckin’ chance it’ll be anythin’ other than some pathetic gossip column shit.” Johnny threw up his hands, theatrics on full show.
“Lotta people like this kind of thing. Two fucked up souls comin’ together and trynna make it work. Hell, I like that shit, too.” Kerry gestured towards the gossip rags on his coffee table. Had got them because he was in them, but also, he liked reading about the fucked up lives of the people who lived around him in the hills of Night City.
“Loada fuckin’ bullshit. Can’t stand that cunt already. Gonna find a way outta this shitstorm.” Johnny’s pacing increased, shoes squeaking on the marble floor as he moved.
“It’s six months. Nobody will know it’s a setup. They’ll just think you married this girl because she’s a great lay or has the same fucked up view of the world as you do. They haven’t said you can’t fuck around during this marriage, so just get some pussy on the side.” Kerry reasoned, unhappy to be the one out of the two who had to be reasonable.
“Yeah, s’pose. Just…fuck! Hate the idea of bein’ married, even for show.” Johnny slumped his shoulders, pensively looking at Kerry like when he had been younger. Same expression, plus some wrinkles.
“Hey, it gets people goin’. You’ll be drowning in cock and cunt so quick you’ll be begging for help.” Kerry picked up his gossip rag, flicking through absently. Johnny flopped down on the opposite sofa, lighting a cigarette and watching the smoke curl and drift upwards.
“True. Most marriages are fucking shams anyway. Nobody really believes that shit. Nobody really knows each other.” He observed the smoke after each long drag, consoling himself. Feeling sorry for himself, too. But resigned to his fate, he dug his phone out of the pocket of his pants and called his law team.