content warnings: smoking, mentions of alcohol/alcohol bottles, mentions of a blade, aster being a slob
The sun beams down on the Firelight camp as the members go about their morning routines. Older members group together for patrols, kids run about with paint on their hands, paint smudged on their cheek. Happy, smiling, giggling. It brings Aster a sort of happiness that can only come from this, seeing children run about without worrying. Without living the life she did.
She turns away from the window of her shabby hut and steps over the pile of paint splashed canvases towards her nightstand. Or, what is supposed to be a nightstand. It's actually a wooden crate she stole from the docks, piled with an ashtray (that had more cigarettes than anything else), her daggers, and a sad looking vase of violets.
She collapses onto the stained mattress and pulls out her lighter and a crushed pack of cigarettes. She grumbles as the lighter goes flick, flick, flick before a flame eventually appears. She brings it to the cigarette hanging from her lips, sighing in relief as the flame hits. A small puff of smoke leaves her lips as she sits up and grabs the bowl of water at her feet before standing up and gently pouring its contents into the vase.
Smoke curls out from her nostrils as she leans forward against the crate, watching the water sink into the dirt. She feels some sort of satisfaction as she watches this, like she's made amends with the woman she loves by finally doing her fucking job. She wonders if that'll be enough for Violet, her Violet, to forgive her. She doesn't think so. But then again, Aster doesn't think highly of herself at all.
"You know smoking kind of defeats the purpose of taking care of it, right?"
Aster groans around her cigarette and collapses dramatically onto her mattress at the sound of her adopted brother's voice.
"Don't lecture me again, please," she grumbles, earning a small, fond laugh from Ekko as he leans against her doorway, watching her drape an arm over her eyes, further smudging the eyeshadow there.
"Patrol's in 5. I want you leading one through the Lanes and I'll lead one through the sewers," Ekko orders, going back into that fierce leadership mode that Aster is so proud of.
"Shut up and get ready," he retorts, pushing off the doorframe and heading back out to the clearing.
His words make Aster snicker to herself as she gets up and clips her dagger belt to her waist, cigarette hanging loosely from her lips. The dagger handles clink softly together as she maneuvers it around to her liking, clipping and unclipping it until it rests comfortably. Attached to her belt is a flask that reeks of week-old whiskey, though Aster shamelessly takes a swig anyway, and a small satchel next to it. She reaches in and grasps a small rock, adorned with countless scratches from the many times she mindlessly sharpened her blade.
She runs a calloused thumb over the many markings before unsheathing a dagger and running the blade across the stone. She does this even as she kicks aside a pile of whiskey bottles, only stopping to grab her leather vest and shrug it on. Her muscles flex and ripple underneath freckled skin with the movement, the leather sliding easily over her broad shoulders.
She puts out her cigarette (begrudgingly) and pushes open the door, stepping out into the dusty clearing. The sounds of life in the camp reach her ears, louder now as she approaches the clearing. se squints her eyes against the sun as she approaches the older Firelights gathering for patrols. Instinctively, the small gathering parts for her to emerge through in the middle, and their voices go quiet.
Her gaze travels over the various members, their faces set in determined expressions. She's proud of them, but if anyone noticed the flicker of pride on her face, they didn't comment.
"Firelights! It is time for patrol."
Her voice is strong, hardened by a life's worth of grief and hardship. It carries through the clearing easily, bringing the Firelights' attention to her. She begins choosing who will venture with her through the Lanes.
Her choices are carefully made, choosing a team of variety. Some stronger physically, some nimble. Some small, some big. They all come with their own strengths, and Aster uses each one.
Finally, the group begins to disperse, members beginning to break away to prepare for the upcoming patrol. Aster does the same, grabbing her hoverboard from where she left it leaning against the big tree. And then, when her members are ready, they head out.
