Exit Stage Right

The panties were hooked round Johnny's finger, the first knuckle of the burnished chrome digit poking up through one of the legholes while he waved them slowly back and forth like a flag on the end of a pole. Alt frowned irritably, "D'you really think we've got time for your gonk games right now?" She stood on tiptoes and grasped at them, but Silverhand kept them high out of her reach. He had a funny expression on his face, amused, but also a little vindictive. "I've always got time for games, 'specially when it comes to you."

"You want us to get shot?" She hissed, jumping up to further her reach, the effort making her ass bounce elastically, the little fold where the lower cheek met the upper thigh folding in on itself with a light whap the noise made Alt stop at once, her features taking on a rosy undercurrent; she went to hold herself there, lifting her butt cheeks up from the bottom and looking away. Even with the intruder dead, Alt was feeling too exposes by half. Silverhand may have seen her naked before, but the incident they'd just experienced had rattled her something fierce. She'd been exposed to someone she wouldn't have wanted to expose herself to in either million years or for a million eddies; the memory of his hands on her ass was still running on repeat through her mind's eye, the image of his eyes travelling along her spread legs, inwards to her mostly-hairless pussy...another flush at that thought, her cheeks up top turning a lovely shade of pink. "Like that sound, you know?" Johnny smirked. "Like it even better when I'm the one causin' it."

"Are you done?" Alt brushed her hair back over her shoulder, regarding him coolly. "About ready to give 'em back?"

"Sure, sure...past time you put your big girl panties on, anyways." He angled his finger downwards, letting the white, skimpy garments slip down and off of it, and into Alt's waiting palm. She glared at him, bending over to step into them and pulling them quickly up, then slid her fingers into the waistband and straightened it up. "Alright," she huffed. "Now where are my pants?"

The pants, it transpired, were still in a crumpled heap on the floor next to the couch. Alt quickly pulled them on too, and within half-a-minute she was fully-dressed again; it was easy to forget she'd been pantsless not so long ago, but now Alt looked every bit the cool professional her reputation suggested. Better this way, it'd be hard for anyone in Night City to take her seriously if they knew she'd had to...present herself like that for a common slab of huscle. She shuddered at the memory, figuring it was something she'd be seeing in her nightmares for a while going forward. Johnny looked her up and down, then held up the Malorian, inspecting the chamber before turning and striding back over to the door. He pressed a hand to it, holding the slide mechanism and moving it slowly to the side to circumvent its telltale pneumatic hiss. The hallway outside sounded quiet, truth be told it was the rest of the building Alt was worried about. "You armed?" Johnny asked, still peering out into the hall.

"Nah, nah...figured there'd be no danger. Samurai Gig and all."

"Cute, but too fuckin' trusting by half."

"Don't start on me again."

"Might be you're right. Figure there's time to hash out what needs hashin' out after we blow this joint."

Alt joined him at the door, then squeezed past him, glancing left, then right. Each end was equally empty, equally dingy. One led to a small janitor's closet, she remembered, the other to the venue proper—bar, stage, pit—which sounded like it was where most of the gunfire was coming from. She put her fingers through her belt loops, then hiked her jeans higher up onto her hips, fixing Johnny with a concerned expression. "We fighting head-on, or sneaking out the back?"

Johnny cocked his head, scratching his temple with the barrel of his Malorian. "Hmph. Don't know, you tell me."

Alt felt her eyebrow raise, not even consciously making the gesture herself. "Silverhand letting someone else call the shots? Now I have seen everything."

"No idea whatcha mean, Miss Cunningham." Something curious was twinkling there in his eyes, half-hidden by his sunglasses where they'd slipped at some point during the commotion. He seemed to sense he was giving something of himself away, that he'd left a window open and was baring a little more of his soul than he might have liked, and resettled them further up the bridge of his nose. "I'm famously a bottomless font of compassion and understanding."

"Uh-huh. So, no preference, then?"

Johnny pursed his lips, went to say something, then apparently thought better of it and shook his head. "Nope."

"Alright," Alt tapped the fingers of her metal hand together, making a small series of pings as she mulled it over. "Here's what we're gonna do..."