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an endless cycle of vengeance

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Chat: casually plotting world domination

neuromancer: this is ridiculous

mr magenta: you're saying that nOW

mr magenta: BUT LATER

mr magenta: besides, you're new, you don't get a say in this

neuromancer: whatever

neuromancer: what do you want

mr magenta: I have a plan

neuromancer: no

mr magenta: it's a GOOD plan

neuromancer: none of your plans are good

the marquis: mes amis, I'm on a date

the marquis: kindly take this to private

mr magenta: this includes you, laf

neuromancer: this is laf's way of saying piss off

neuromancer: and also mine

mr magenta: and what are YOU doing, dickhead?

neuromancer: on a date too

neuromancer: he's a very skilled artist

mr magenta: alexander 'the tomcat' hamilton

neuromancer: as amusing as you are to annoy, john is cuter

neuromancer: adieu and go to hell

mr magenta: yay for villain cooperation


ɹǝɔuɐɯoɹʌǝu ǝɥʇ

“What is a hero without a villain to oppose them?” the Neuromancer suddenly mused mid-fight.

Angelica rolled her eyes as she parried another attack. “Don't get philosophical on me, Neuromancer. You know better than that.”

He grinned. “One of the perks of villainy.”

“You know what one of the drawbacks of villainy is? Going to prison.”

“For what?” the Neuromancer retorted.

“For breaking the law, you idiot.”

“The law is unjust. The law is morally wrong. The law is discriminatory. I'm going to break the fucking law, and I'd like to see you try to stop me,” he said, eyes flashing as they were wont to do when he was emotional.

“That's,” Angelica thrust her hand in front of her, causing the nearest device to short-circuit and taze one of the Neuromancer's clones into non-existence, “what I'm,” she ducked as another came at her with a dagger, “trying to,” she whirled and used her momentum to kick her enemy into a wall, “do.”

“And how's that working out for you?” the Neuromancer retorted.

“Well,” Angelica smirked, “you're down, aren't you?”

The Neuromancer winked. “That's what you think,” he said, blinking out of existence, leaving her alone in the warehouse.

Fucking criminals.”


ɐʇuǝƃɐɯ ɹɯ

James started as he heard glass shattering, followed by a crash and the sound of cursing. The noises were coming from his bedroom. He put down his book, careful not to bend any pages, then grabbed the nearest object, which happened to be a rolling pin, and crept along the wall to his bedroom door. He peered around the doorway, freezing as he took in the sight before his eyes.

There, in his bedroom, was the supervillain infamously known as Mr Magenta.

“What are you doing in my apartment?” he demanded, then stilled as he took in the blood that covered the front of the supervillain's robe. “Oh, shit, you're hurt!” he rushed to stem the flood of the blood.

Mr Magenta glowered. “Amazing deductive reasoning, James Madison,” he bit back.

“Don't talk,” James admonished him sharply, even as he desperately wanted to know how Mr Magenta came to know his name. The man was creepy enough in full supervillain regalia without the whole omniscient shtick. “Stay there,” he ordered, dashing quickly to his bathroom to retrieve his first-aid kit.

With the help of his high school first-aid classes as well Mr Magenta's biting if useful commentary, he managed to patch up the supervillain and moved him to his bed, ordering him to stay put and not to move unless he wanted to tear his stitches. James himself took a seat on the edge of his bed. He was quiet for a moment, trying to organize the thoughts in his head. “Why are you here?” he eventually asked, unable to wrap his head about the reality of his situation.

Mr Magenta looked down in self-deprecation. “You were the only member of my fan club,” he said quietly, “and I feel like I could trust no one.”

Well. That was awkward. That membership had been mostly ironic – James had lost a bet to Aaron and was given a choice between joining either the fan club of Mr Magenta, or wearing a pride flag for an entire week. Since James did have a little dignity left and wanted to keep it that way, he chose the fan club. Just his luck, then, that the villain in question would take him seriously.

He didn't voice his thoughts. “So you decided to trust a stranger instead of, I don't know, one of the other supervillains in New York?” he inquired instead, keeping his voice polite although a little incredulity still bled through. “What were their names? The Marquis and the Necromancer?”

“The Neuromancer,” Mr Magenta corrected automatically. “And no, I feel like this is a personal matter, with which I cannot trust them. There isn't any love lost between us – especially not between the Neuromancer and myself.”

“I really couldn't tell,” James said sarcastically.

Mr Magenta leered at him. “Darlin',” he drawled, “sarcasm will get you everywhere,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

James blinked. “Are you trying to seduce me, or are you just being your regular evil self? Because I honestly can't tell the difference,” he confessed.

Thomas smirked. “The problem with being evil is that it requires exactly the same characteristics as being seductive: looking hot, snark, smirks, dramatic exits, raised eyebrows, quoting Shakespeare, and so on.”

James paused. “That explains so much,” he finally said, not elaborating further. He then sighed. “I'll go get some medicine, then I have to go to work. Stay in the bed, and try to get some sleep, Mr Magenta.”

“Thomas,” the villain's voice stopped him in his tracks. James blinked. “I think you've earned the right to my real name after bringing me back from the brink of death,” he reached behind his head and untied his mask.

“That's rather dramatical, isn't it?” James responded. “At worst, I patched you up.”

The mask came off, and James found himself staring into dark-brown eyes, a sharp nose, and quite a shapely mouth. James' eyes lingered briefly on the latter before looking back up at Thomas' amused eyes. “I was bleeding all over your carpet,” Thomas reminded James.

“Nothing a little bleach cannot solve.”

Thomas' eyes softened. “You're nice. Too nice to be involved in this. For that, I apologize – and I'd like you to know that I never apologize.”

For some reason, Thomas' words warmed James' heart. He stuttered out an excuse, fleeing the room, followed by Thomas' snickers.


suǝɹʌɐı uɥoɾ

John hadn't expected his job to be anything but boring and ordinary. Boringly ordinary. He had expected to serve coffee, and serve coffee he did. He also served bagels, muffins, bagel-muffins hybrids, and a various assortment of cakes and sandwiches.

He hadn't expected for New York's most reclusive supervillain to stroll in, dripping blood all over the floor as he made his way to the counter. Patrons and staffers alike scattered out of the villain's way upon getting a good look at his thunderous expression.

There was a clear path between the Neuromancer and John. he Neuromancer began walking in his direction, his eyes set with determination. John bit his lip. Rosaline, who was on the same shift as John, gulped and took a step to the left, then another, so as to avoid being anywhere near John when the Neuromancer inevitably arrived. John glowered at her, then focused on their resident supervillain, who had taken a seat at the counter and slammed his head on the counter, all but collapsing in on himself. He cupped his head with his hands. “Coffee,” the Neuromancer said simply.

John raised an eyebrow. “We are a coffee shop. You'll have to specify,” he deadpanned, hoping that his nervousness didn't show in his voice.

The Neuromancer sighed. He sounded a little pathetic, in John's opinion. “Espresso,” he finally decided.

John nodded vigorously, then controlled himself. “One espresso coming right up,” he busied himself with the coffee machine, so as not to have to look at the supervillain.

Once ready, John tentatively offered the espresso to the Neuromancer, who lifted his head and drank the entire drink in one go. He looked pleadingly at John, who obligingly refilled his mug. The Neuromancer sipped at his second drink a little slower, although still faster than humanly possible. A bit like Alexander, actually.

“You look tired,” John remarked when it looked like the Neuromancer wasn't going to say anything, and nobody else was going to move.

The Neuromancer opened one eye in order to study John. “I am tired,” he confirmed, his tone weary. “Try conjuring up no less than twenty-seven corporal illusions, and then having to maintain the fine balance between too much dependence and too much independence between them and the mother mind – in this case, myself. All this while Athena and the Duchess both hit you with electro-magnetism. All in all, not the zenith of my week,” he closed his eye again, letting his head fall on the counter.

John peered at the Neuromancer, his muscles tensing up even before his brain had the time to register what it was seeing. The Neuromancer– he looked familiar. Very familiar, and not just in the I-sketch-you-and-kind-of-know-your-face-I-swear-this-isn't-as-creepy-as-it-sounds way.

The Neuromancer, as though sensing John's inquisitive glances, reluctantly stood up to his full height, which wasn't much, by John's estimation – maybe five foot six, five foot seven at most. “Okay,” he said, “thanks for the coffee, although you should really practice your pep talk–“he rambled, already turning away from John.

“Wait,” John said slowly, a sneaking suspicion growing in his mind, “where are you going?”

The Neuromancer rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Where does it look like I'm going?” he retorted. “Away from here. Away from people,” he sneered, and woah, talk about whiplash.

John frowned. “You still haven't paid for your coffee,” he pointed out.

The Neuromancer gave him a look look that essentially amounted to bitch please. “I am a supervillain,” he said slowly, articulating every word like John was too stupid to understand.

John rolled his eyes. “So what, does that make you exempt from paying for coffee? I didn't see that rule in the Villain Guidebook,” he shot back, mentally bemoaning the fact that conceitedness and self-obsession seemed to be a common trait in villains. “Look, pay for your damn coffee.”

The Neuromancer snickered. “And if I don't?” he asked, giving John pause. Wasn't that the question of the day?

He finally spoke. “Then I'll personally go on a vendetta against you: I'll find out your secret identity, and then I'll share it with the other coffee shops with a note telling them not to serve you because you have a history of not paying for your coffee,” he said passionately. It didn't occur to him that he was getting far too upset over two cups of espresso.

The Neuromancer glared. “You're a dick.”

“Says the person who doesn't pay for their own damn coffee,” John retorted. Any and all respect and fear he might have felt towards the Neuromancer was rapidly being sucked into a black hole, never to be seen from again.

The Neuromancer scoffed. “Fine,” he said. “I'll pay for that damn coffee,” he dug in his pocket – huh, John hadn't known that supersuits even had pockets – and pulled out a bunch of banknotes. “How much do I owe you?”

John rattled off the price, and the Neuromancer obligingly handed him a ten. “Keep the change,” he said casually, swirling on his heels and swaggering – there was really no other word for it – out of the coffee shop, leaving behind a befuddled John and a dazzled manager, who then assured John that his job was more stable than ever because if he could handle moody supervillains, he could handle just about anything.


“You wouldn't believe the morning I've had,” John said in one breath, sliding into the booth next to Alexander. His boyfriend visibly flinched at his sudden presence, then forced himself to relax. John stored it away for future analysis, because his story was more important at the moment. “We need to start an 'I went up against a supervillain and lived' club.”

“You did?” Alexander asked, evidently aiming for curiosity – and missing by a wide shot.

“Yeah,” John nodded. “The Neuromancer came in today, looking a lot like his puppy had been run over by a car, and he asked – well, more like demanded, actually – an espresso, and I gave it to him because he was still a customer – but then the jerk refused to pay for it. That's outrageous!” he had not notice that he had raised his voice until a group of customers from a table over shot John intrigued looks.

“So what did you do?” Alexander asked.

John shrugged. “I more or less exhorted him to pay for the coffee.”

Alexander blinked. “You exhorted a supervillain?” he echoed. “That's insane, John.”

“Not any more insane than climbing onto the roof of a car and yelling at another supervillain to stop being such a traffic nuisance,” John smiled at the memory.

Alexander looked away, a grin forming on his lips. “You're never going to let me forget that one, are you?” he asked.

“Nope,” John said cheerfully, popping the P.

“So what did your manager do?” Alexander asked. “You didn't get fired, did you?” he frowned. “I hope you didn't. This seems to be a lovely place to work at, I mean.”

John shook his head. “No, I still have my job. My manager said that if I can handle– wait a sec,” he trailed off. “I haven't told you that I'm working here, and yet you don't exactly sound surprised,” he drawled, his voice tinted with suspicion.

Alexander winced. “I–“ he began, clearly searching for an excuse, “I assumed you were – I mean, you met me here that first day, and you did say you were on your way to a job interview–“

“No, I didn't,” John interrupted him. “Have you been spying on me?” he demanded.

Alexander looked away. “It's not what you–“ he cut himself off, avoiding John's accusing gaze.

A realization hit him like a train at full speed. He drew in a short breath, staring at Alexander, who was still looking anywhere but at John. “So that's why the Neuromancer looked so familiar this morning,” he said. “Tell me, do all supervillains become such assholes when you put on your costumes, or do only assholes become supervillains?”

Alexander blinked at the non-sequitur, finally meeting John's eyes. “I've never thought about it,” he confessed, mind already going off at speeds unobtainable to John. “The Marquis is probably the nicest guy I've ever met, but he's an even bigger jerk in-costume than the rest of us combined, so I'm leaning towards the first option.”

“You called Mr Magenta 'Thomas',” John tilted his head.

Alexander furrowed his brows. “No, I didn't,” he denied, then backtracked at John's distinctly unimpressed expression. “Did I? When did I do that?”

“On the bridge. You were muttering to yourself, but I heard you.”

“You heard me?” Alexander repeated. “How could you have heard me?”

John snorted, amazed at Alexander's obliviousness. “You were standing on the roof of my taxi, you dork, and all windows were open. It would have been pretty hard not to hear you,” he explained.

“Oh,” Alexander said, cupping his mug with his hands. He peered down into it, sighing as he confirmed that it was indeed empty. “Does this change anything between us?” he asked John cautiously.

John frowned. “What, the fact that you're a supervillain?”

Alexander rolled his eyes. “No, the fact that I'm secretly a Nickelback fan,” the sarcasm in his voice was practically tangible. “Yes, the fact that I'm a supervillain.”

John shrugged. “As long as you don't steal coffee from my coffee shop, I don't see why anything would have to change.”

“But I'm–“ Alexander started.

John put a finger to Alexander's lips, effectively silencing him. Huh, he thought. Handy trick. “I don't mind,” he smiled. “I've noticed that you only seem to target the people who deserve being put away but have found a loophole in the law. You haven't killed a single civilian, despite being active for over a year. It doesn't matter to me,” he reaffirmed, watching in enjoyment as Alexander practically melted before his eyes.

They were having a Moment, with a capital M, John realized with a start, what with John staring lovingly into Alexander's eyes and vice versa.

Naturally, he had to break it. “Are you really a Nickelback fan, though?” he narrowed his eyes mockingly. “Because that might be a dealbreaker.”

Alexander laughed, and the moment was broken.


From: rescue girl
are we still on for tonight?

To: rescue girl
of course ^^
at yours?

From: rescue girl
unless you want to drag 3 bottles of la granja across town
in which case, be my guest

To: rescue girl
how do you drink that shit

From: rescue girl
not all of us have everything handed to us, y'know

To: rescue girl
not being rich is no excuse for a bad taste in wine

From: rescue girl
except that's what it IS
literally

To: rescue girl
at least buy merlot
or sauvignon

From: rescue girl
pretentious tycoon

To: rescue girl
love u too
be right there


suǝɹʌɐı uɥoɾ / sıʍǝl ɐıɹɐɯ

They had a tradition going. (Granted, it was a fairly recent tradition, seeing as they only knew each other for a month, but it was still a tradition they were proud of.) Every Thursday, they would have a little two person get-together where they would eat cheese, drink wine – cheap if Maria bought it, and horridly expensive if John did – and complain about their love lives in particular or just lives in general.

They alternated hosting the party. This time, it was Maria's turn. Maria was yet another example of the classic 'young upstart comes to New York' story, but John found her insights unique. He made himself comfortable on Maria's couch as he waited on his hostess to bring out the alcohol and the cheese – although who was kidding? Of course he waited for the alcohol, especially after the day he's had. First Alexander, then one particularly annoying customer, then Alexander's roommate dropped by and took a full fifteen minutes to choose a coffee – Alexander really hadn't been kidding when he said that Aaron Burr was indecisive – then Alexander again. Well, the Neuromancer, really, but it didn't make much of a difference to John when he had to help him out of a bloodied suit. Alexander assured him that it wasn't his blood, which, not helpful, Hamilton.

John shook his head, as if to physically dispel the thought plaguing his mind. Soon, he would be able to vent to Maria, giving her a slightly edited version of the day's events, and she would listen and give good advise. Maria was awesome like that.

John smiled at the memory of how he had met Maria in the first place, because, now that he thought about it, that was some serious foreshadowing to the mess that his life would shortly become.

It had been a scant few days after he had discovered Alexander's alter ego, and the two of them had eventually gotten around to discussing Alexander's two fellow supervillains. Alexander was all too happy to share every piece of information he had on them, now that he had someone to whom he could complain about them. As a result, John knew more about supervillains – Mr Magenta in particular – than he had ever needed to know – including, John was intrigued to learn, how Thomas Jefferson was in bed.

Apparently, Alexander used to be Thomas' corresponding superhero, back before he became a supervillain – he used to be the superhero The Illusionist (although he was reclusive on the exact details of what made him switch sides). Even Alexander's fellow superheroes remarked that Alexander and Thomas' fights were filled with unresolved sexual tension, so when Thomas once decided to detonate a rum factory because he felt offended by the owners' claims that rum was superior to wine, the resulting fight ended with both Alexander and Thomas being drenched in alcohol in every way imaginable, which then led to lowered inhibitions. One thing led to another, and Alexander woke up in Thomas' bed the next day, his memory of the previous evening's events unfortunately crystal clear.

The fights had become a little awkward for a while afterwards, but Alexander was nothing if not a master of denial and repression.

Another thing John learned was that Thomas Jefferson was even more of a drama queen than he had previously suspected. Alexander claimed that the flamboyance he showed in public was nothing compared to how the man was in private – although all of Alexander's assessments of Mr Magenta should be taken with a pinch of salt.

He was leaning against a wall, casually watching Mr Magenta's newest minions tear into the New York Bank – the man had a thing against banks, though John struggled to figure out what it was. He was confident that the Duchess would arrive any second, which would lead to a gorgeous spectacle that only evenly-matched superfights could produce.

Most people would probably run from the site of what promised to be a perilous altercation, but then again, New Yorkers weren't most people. Their lives were threatened on a daily basis – so what if Mr Magenta decided to go on a crusade against the physical representation of their financial system? Doctor Who was on.

John spotted a young woman crouched behind a car. She viewed Mr Magenta with nothing short of absolute terror. He chuckled as he made his way to her.

“Are you okay?”

The woman nodded, looking dazed.

John smiled. “Chill,” he advised.

“Chill?” the woman repeated numbly.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” John asked. “This happens every day.”

“What the hell is wrong with your city? There’s a supervillain throwing cars around thirty foot away, and you’re completely calm.

What do you mean, ‘it’s Tuesday’? This happens every week? Dear god, how are any of you still alive?”

“This isn't even the worst, though,” John scoffed. “This is a Mr Magenta attack. Wait until you see a Marquis attack. He doesn't focus on civilians, but he is utterly vicious with collateral damage. We're talking millions of dollars' worth of collateral.”

The woman winced. “Well, when you put it like that…” she trailed off. “Still, this doesn't change the fact that you shouldn't be so blasé about this!” she said firmly.

John considered this. “Maybe you're right,” he conceded, “but life is rarely fair,” he shrugged, as if to say 'What can you do?'.

Something flashed out of the corner of John's eye. He turned just in time to see Mr Magenta calmly swagger away from the bank, his cape billowing behind him like an overused trope in an action movie. Incidentally, this put John right into Mr Magenta's path. When Mr Magenta was about halfway between John and the bank, the building in question exploded, framing Mr Magenta's figure in a bright-orange background of flames and debris, and creating a beautiful image that John committed to memory with the intention of painting it later.

Mr Magenta finally spotted John and the woman. He raised an eyebrow, before something akin to recognition flashed through his face. He narrowed his eyes, but before he could take another step towards John, the Duchess showed up, her features set in determination. “Mr Magenta,” she called out. “Come out, you craven.”

Mr Magenta rolled his eyes and turned around. “Eloquent as always,” he drawled, attention drifting away from John.

John looked back at the woman. “I never introduced myself, by the way,” he said. “John Laurens,” he extended his hand.

The woman smiled, although she still looked to be out of her depths. “Maria Lewis,” she shook the proffered hand. “Nice to meet you, though the circumstances could have been better.”

John grinned. “Don't hold out your hope, Maria Lewis.”


John blinked away the memory, focusing on Maria's words.

“So hey,” she said, “I'm probably not supposed to tell you this, Maria was saying, but I just found out my neighbour is Athena, and I may have accidentally invited myself to her apartment and arranged an impromptu date, but I swear I didn't mean for it to happen!” she defended herself.

John blinked. He then snickered, which turned into full-out laughter. Maria frowned. “What?” she retorted, offended. “I'm telling the truth!”

“I believe you,” John waved away her indignation. “It's just that–“ he was once again overcome with laughter. Maria glowered, which just set him off again. Once he calmed down enough for him to speak, he leaned forward. “It's just that my boyfriend is the Neuromancer – you know, Athena's enemy.”

Maria stared at him. She then smirked. “Alex, right?” she asked for confirmation.

John nodded. “Yeah, although he prefers Alexander. What are the odds, right?”

Maria snorted. “If you asked Athena, she'd probably give you the exact mathematics. Anyway, if you'll let me continue?” she said pointedly.

“By all means, do go on,” John indicated with the hand not holding the glass of wine.

Maria grinned. “So she scolded me for keeping her awake at ungodly hours, because it had been the first undisturbed night she had gotten. Apparently, the Neuromancer had been making a nuisance of himself and keeping her awake for over a month.

John winced. “I wish I could have promised that it won't happen again, but let's not kid ourselves – it is going to happen again.”

“Too true,” Maria smirked. She touched her glass against John's with a clink. “I'll drink to that.”

They were quiet for a moment while they pondered on the matter – or at least John did. For all he knew, Maria could have been thinking about her apprenticeship again, or her maybe-girlfriend. Who knew? “Should we tell them?” he eventually asked. “I mean, we're friends, and they are each other's nemeses.”

Maria contemplated this. She exchanged a grin with John. “Nah,” they both said simultaneously.

“They could be at each other's throats for all I care,” she continued. “I'll be damned if that affects us. We,” she indicated herself and John, “work. I like talking to you. Yeah, you're a bit weird, but I knew that since the day I met you – and everyone else in this blasted city seems even worse. Really, you're positively sane in comparison. Besides, I'll need someone to confide in, now that I'm involved in this superhero mess. So yeah, I don't care about what they say. Screw them.

“I hate to be the one to point it out,” John chuckled, “but that's literally what we're doing. Or what I'm doing, at the very least.”

She smirked. “Same here, and let me just say: I definitely got the better part of the deal.”

“You want to fight me on that?” John challenged.

“Dream on, Laurens,” Maria shot him down. “Anyway,” she changed subject again. “There's this thing I've been thinking about ever since talking to Athena, because it got me thinking…” she trailed off.

“Yes?” John prompted. “Unlike just about everyone we socialize with, I don't have any super powers, and I certainly cannot read minds. You'll have to speak out loud.”

“How very witty of you, John,” she deadpanned. “But no, what I was going to say was: has it occurred to you that the Neuromancer is the only one who knows everyone's secret identity?”

John blinked. “Huh?” he looked back at Maria uncomprehensively.

She sighed, as though exasperated by the fact that she had to slow down and elaborate. “It seems to me that all heroes seem to know each other's secret identity, and Athena told me that the Neuromancer used to be a hero back in the day. Now, judging by the way you constantly keep referring to Alexander's two coworkers during our little talks, which I assume to be Mr Magenta and the Marquis, I'm guessing that Alexander knows who they are as well. Ergo, the Neuromancer knows everybody's identity.”

“Fancy,” John smiled.

“Not fancy,” she shrugged. “Basic logic.”

“Okay, Miss Basic Logic. Do you have a point with this?”

“Not really,” she replied. “I just wanted to get it out, because it's been bugging me.”

“You've only known about Alexander for the past five minutes,” John reminded her.

“So what?” she defended herself. “It's been bugging me for the past five minutes. I had to talk about it.”

“You have the patience of a five-year-old,” John complained, sprawling out on the couch.

“You love me for it,” Maria grinned.

“A five year old,” John repeated, voice teasing.

“Fuck you.”

“How about we leave that to Alexander?” John wiggled his eyebrows, to which Maria groaned.


Chat: casually plotting world domination

mr magenta: I almost met your boy toy today

neuromancer: john isn't my boy toy

neuromancer: also, HOW

neuromancer: if you kidnapped him, I am going to neuter you

mr magenta: pur-lease, I have better things to do than stalk your boy toy

neuromancer: nOT MY BOY TOY

mr magenta: he was at the site of my bank attack

mr magenta: talking to some girl

mr magenta: you should watch out, hamilton

neuromancer: unlike SOME PEOPLE, I'm confident enough in my relationship status not to worry about random strangers stealing away my bf

mr magenta: aaaaaand there's the paragraph answer

mr magenta: laf, you owe me ten

neuromancer: you're both dicks

neuromancer: why are you making bets about me?

mr magenta: what else are we supposed to be betting on?

neuromancer: literally aNYTHING ELSE

the marquis: you two need a private chat

neuromancer: if you say dates again, I'm gonna throw up

mr magenta: you have no idea how much it pains me to say it

mr magenta: but I agree with hamilton

mr magenta: and don't you dare quote disney at me again

neuromancer: you're such a jeffersonofabitch

mr magenta: that insult got old three years ago

mr magenta: how you continually manage to stay out of jail, with that level of intelligence, is beyond my comprehension

neuromancer: that doesn't say a lot tho

mr magenta: you bastard

neuromancer: also, I'm charming like that

mr magenta: you mean athena, who used to have a crush on you, takes pity on you

neuromancer: I RESENT THAT

[the marquis left the chat]

neuromancer: SEE WHAT YOU DID