“Hey. Hey!” Cayde-6 jogs into the courtyard from the hangar, trying to keep up with a fellow Hunter as he flashes a tiny sheet of paper over his head like a coach presenting a player with red card, “You dropped your, uh... this thing!”
Truth be told, the Hunter in question never dropped anything. Cayde’s just looking for an excuse to get away from paperwork, even if it’s just for a couple minutes. That, and he had an extra coupon for Spicy Ramen that he felt like giving away. Either way, nothing can stop him from ensuring that this coupon finds its way into her possession by the end of this encounter.
deathsdeserters replied to your post: ;; also also; red’s original canon ending...
are you trying to make yue cry or
i’m trying to make yue cry cos of the poetic justice of the war hero dying to protect those who couldn’t & for the fact at the place he fought his first war
Iceni, after returning to the city, had decided they would like to visit Devrim again. Maybe he had updates on Heutte! Maybe they had stories about cuddling Mazan! Nini wanted to hear it all. When they arrived at the church, though, the little ghost had found it deserted. Excitement quickly turned to fear as they zoomed about the rickety structure, noting how even Heutte’s nest had been torn up. What if something terrible had happened? Where had they gone?
Iceni spent hours searching every nook and cranny of the church, shouting Devrim’s name into places a human could not possibly reach (or even fit into). As the time passed, their fear became near hysteric. Nini kept sending a string of messages to Heutte. While the comm line still seemed to be functional, Nini never received a direct response (only adding to their fear).
Nini started to pace the church, flying at impossible speeds from one end to the other. If they were in danger and not in the church, they had to be outside! In the big, scary EDZ. And now it was up to them to save their friends. Oh no! Were they ready for an adventure this big? “Be brave, be brave, be brave,” Iceni repeated to themselves, still pacing in front of the exit. Believing themselves alone, their voice rose to an ear-piercing wail. The remaining glass panes in the church rattled at the high-pitched noise of panic.
“You can finish this adventure! Just find a clue of where they went and then... and then... Oh dear, oh dear. Maybe if I call Boudica she could come and help? Oh, I need Boudica! She would know what to do. She would tell me to calm down and be quiet and be brave and... Oh my, oh my, why can’t I do that right now?”
💗- A memory about a good deed they did (both Osiris and Asher)
Osiris-
There were times when Osiris severely missed the city and it’s people. The bustling life. The noise, the faces and their smiles. He missed the way the Traveler looked at dawn despite his feelings about it. Something about the way the clouds circled around it, dousing it in a faint pink glow, radiant in all it’s glory.
One of the things he missed the most, were the children at the library he frequented. At first, being roped into reading day seemed… a waste of time. Their young minds were in awe of the Vanguard Osiris visiting, but after that initial phase, they were quick to boredom. Uninterested. It felt a joke.
After a while though… testing the waters, seeing what the children really wanted to read, taking the time to dramatize certain parts of the stories he read? Their numbers grew, their eyes full of wonder that made him feel so deeply loved and admired. They would cheer as he used his light (carefully) to make magical effects, or when Sagira would read for other characters, making the conversations more alive.
Osiris missed them. So very dearly. Each and every one of their tiny faces and bright smiles. Maybe someday… someday he would return when the Vex were handled enough for him to sneak away. Just to give that bit of wonder back to the children again.
Asher-
Parties were terrible. People were terrible. Existing around people, was terrible. Asher was never the social type. There were few he felt comfortable around, few he trusted to have his back and understand that he had very, very different social needs. This party? Hit all of his social do not needs. The Knights had discovered a library built before the golden age, still majorly intact, with the books almost perfectly preserved. It was an archaeological leap for the last City, and to be fair, Asher was just as excited about it as the rest of his fireteam.
He was, however, not excited about the party they were throwing in an overcrowded bar in the lower city. One of the Hunters suggested it, of course, despite the sketchy location and seedy patrons. It did serve some interesting drinks that Asher rather enjoyed… but it wasn’t enough to stave off the headache and social exhaustion that overwhelmed him. Finally, enough was enough. He was going home.
Stepping outside into the cold misty rain, he let out a sigh of relief. His agitation waning as he started his casual, perhaps a bit wobbly, stroll home. It was partway that he was pulled out of his relaxing trance by someone calling out for him. He turned to find a woman with a jacket covering over her head and shoulder, obviously dressed for the night-life and not the chilly rain. She seemed scared, not just shaking in the cold. Her position, creeping out from behind a vending machine gave away that she had been in hiding…
“Excuse me…” she began, looking apologetic. “Aren’t you a Guardian?”
“I- yes?” he didn’t understand why she would need to know if he was a Guardian or not.
“I don’t mean to impose, I’m sure you have enough to do, but could you walk me home?” she sounded like she could break into tears at any moment, her eyes welling up. “These boys have been following me for a sector… I hid here and they walked by looking for me. I’m too scared to-” she hiccuped, clearly distraught.
Asher felt far more sober than he was when he left the bar. Swallowing the lump in his throat, understanding exactly the root of her fears, he agreed. She sighed in relief when he offered his arm for her to hold, her hands still shaking as they gripped his elbow tight. He summoned what little contact he had with the solar light that dwelled inside him to help warm her.
Majida was an enjoyable companion to walk with, he found. Once her initial fright was chased away, she settled into a comfortable quiet. Occasionally they would chat, about the rain, the seedy bar, which street they needed to take next. Once he had gotten her to the door of her apartment, surprisingly not too far off from his own, he almost felt sad to see her off. She seemed to feel the same way, giving Pasiphae her contact information. (He was too shy to take it, so Pasiphae took over the social part.)
The Vexed scribe would still write letters to her from Io, one of his few friends he still kept contact with. Her letters always putting a smile on his face, reminding him that he wasn’t alone when he needed someone. That he could solve this.
Tenno grunted as they hauled a fish out of a small lake, their spear through it's scull. They had to admit, it was a fine catch if not an odd fish. But then everything in this Sol system was odd.
After departing last time they had been there, Tenno was sure that this Darkness had something to do with the Void. Mostly impart to their failed jump. So, while Oro figured out what webt wrong, Tenno had been roaming with Nhidus to make sure those grey things (They recaled them being called Taken) posed no threat to a Tenno or their warframe.
They had also been training Imp, the Helminth charger they had hatched. The silver and gold flesh clashed terible with the pink-purple that glowwed from the pockets of infested spores, but Tenno did not think the female could be more beautiful.
Tenno felt a tug on the fish's tail, and saw Imp trying to steal the catch. They chuckled, "No Imp. Not yet. I still need to clean it." The charger growled playfully and Tenno laughed.
"Very well,v they said as the dropped the catch, pulling the bow Dread from their back and aiming into the sky, "Ready?" The pup barked, and Tenno let the arrow fly, "Fetch!"
As the pup ran off, Tenno set back to making their lunch, looking over to their Kubrow hound Stalker, "She's going to be a handful."
Send “⇷” to view a memory from my muse’s past life.
1.
White room. No windows. One table, two chairs. One chair is empty.
Something had been troubling Banshee-1 for the past couple of days. But he couldn't place what it was. After a week of being online, people in white coming and going, asking all sorts of questions and running countless tests, he couldn't help but wonder if it was because of them. Had there been too much of... everything? Or not enough? He can feel that something is wrong. But what is it?
Banshee can't think too hard about it, or he begins to feel hot, and the room starts to spin. He feels as though his head's been stuffed with cotton, and everything's so far away. A button connected to a cord is in his hand. It's red, like Dr. Newberry's pen. He'd been told to press it under certain conditions. But he can't remember what those conditions were. He'll wait until someone comes in, so he can ask. To pass the time, he watches the clock.
Twelve minutes pass, and if Banshee had a sense of smell, he would smell toast burning. He feels worse than he had before. He knows that he was waiting... but what was he waiting for? There's a knock at the door as if to answer, and someone on the other side turns the knob. This is Dr. Newberry, he can tell by the cherry red pen in his breast pocket. But his face looks wrong.
Oh, but the red reminds Banshee. The button, he was going to ask about the button. He begins to open his mouth, raising the item in question to refer to it, but before he can speak, he collapses from his chair and hits the floor.
9.
Clean hallway. No windows. Numbered doors line the walls.
Banshee-9 recalls this moment. The calm before the storm. He walked alongside Dr. Newberry, they were discussing... something. Or, Newberry was talking about something, and Banshee listened, anyway. What it was isn't important now, that's a moment long gone, but one thing still is: The lights began to flicker.
This made Newberry stop, slow down, look up and around. They flickered again. Something outside made a booming sound, thunderous and abrupt. Newberry muttered, "The hell was that?" then the entire building shook. He staggered, almost fell, but Banshee grabbed him. He pulled him aside, kicked the nearest door open-- 3. Another exo was inside, Banshee pulled her aside too, and all three of them huddled under the table.
That was the longest night of their lives. The walls shuddered, the ceiling soon collapsed. Newberry was dead by morning. Banshee and his new companion, Siren, rose from the ruins of a now destroyed facility. The sky was dark.
It's 3:47pm now, two weeks after the incident. Banshee sits beside Siren-3, looking up through a hole in the ceiling. The sky is still dark. It has been this whole time. There are no more stars. Something pushes against the veil."Hey." Siren is the first to break the tense silence. "You alright? You've been... quiet."
For a moment, Banshee doesn't reply. Then, he does, and he says, "Yeah." That's all. "I'm alright. Think we should get moving, though... Those things might come back."
"Good idea." Siren nods her head, and Banshee picks up his rifle.
9.
Year 4, post-Collapse. The sky has become a dark shade of red. The clouds writhe like they're alive. The things that fly are like shadows. This is the darkest hours of humanity.
"You sure you know how to shoot that thing?"
"Banshee, how many years have we been at this? Yes, I'm sure. I know what I'm doing, you just go do your thing."
Banshee tilted his head at Siren as he slung a pack over his shoulder. "Sure in an awful hurry for me to leave."
Siren shakes her head, rolling her eyes with a puff of a laugh. "Sorry, sorry. I just know we've been short on supplies. The sooner we have them, the better."
"Right. I'll be back in a few."
"Don't get lost."
That exchange took place four hours ago. Banshee's been back for two of them. Sat up against the wall of their makeshift shelter, legs drawn in with his elbows resting on his knees. His head rests on his folded arms. He'd returned to find Siren killed, taken apart by scavengers, laid bare in the middle of the floor. Her shotgun was never fired.
After a long period of silence, Banshee stands up, and takes the shotgun.
21.
Four hundred long years have passed since the incident. Some have taken to calling it the Collapse. Banshee-21 can't recall much of his journey now, but as he draws nearer and nearer to the Traveler with a desperate caravan, he feels it's coming to an end soon. Rather than ride with the rest, he walks alongside them with three other guards. Dozens of attacking scavengers have fallen to his rifle. He felt nothing for them. This is only a daily grind.
As they approach sanctuary, Banshee nods to the guard walking beside him, and he breaks from the group to step into the settlement. He doesn't holster his rifle until he sees others with their weapons in hand, standing watch for their fellow survivors, settlers now, as alert as he is. He nods in greeting to some, then tiredly trudges to a campfire. He sits on a carved log, slumps forward. He stares blankly into the crackling fire.
A much larger man-- A Guardian unlike anything Banshee's seen-- approaches and has a seat beside him. Banshee swears he hears the wood creak under the Titan. He hesitates, then looks over, expecting to see a face, but he's instead greeted by a broad chest. He has to crane his neck to even see his helmet where he's slouching there next to him.
"Ah! Banshee. I've been waiting for you." The Titan says, immediately leading Banshee to become curious.
"Yeah?"
"Yes, of course. I heard you have a knack for weaponsmithing, guns in particular. The Consensus have discussed this for some time now, and... well..."
"And, what."
"They think that they'd like for you to be our City's gunsmith."
"Really?"
"Yes! Really. What do you say, my friend? Think you're up for the task?"
"..." Banshee's shoulders shrug. "Hell, sure. I'll see what I can do." He gives a pause, scrutinizing the Titan's horned helmet. He grunts. "What was your name again?"
"Oh, my apologies, I've forgotten to tell you, haven't I?" He extends a hand to Banshee. "Call me Shaxx."
The light behind Banshee's eyes grows just a bit brighter. He shakes Shaxx's hand.
43.
"Fuck you." Banshee-43 spits past his clenched jaw, following a kick delivered to the man's shin in front of the chair he's bound to. "Son of a bitch."
"Kick all you want, you'll only make this drag on longer than it has to." The man, an Awoken in black and green retorts, shaking the pain out of his leg. Banshee spies a bold V printed on his breast pocket. He wants to run his knife through it. If only his hands were free.
Agden Vem, the Awoken, circles behind Banshee, his hard-soled shoes clicking like the Devil's hooves on a marble floor. "Can we get this over with already?" a second voice asks, the source unseen, sounding like her only problem here is that she might miss part of her lunch break. "Right, sure. Hold his head still for me, would you, dear?"
"Wait," Banshee breathes out as a hand cups his chin tightly, drawing his head back to face the ceiling. "Wait. Don't do this... Let me go, and I won't tell anyone what I saw. Not a soul. I've forgotten everything else, I can forget this." His eyes are desperate. He doesn't know how many more reboots he can take before he breaks.
Vem lifts a now gloved finger at this plea, and leans forward to look down into Banshee's eyes. His own are a venomous green. They squint with the slightest raise of an eyebrow. "Of course you'll forget this." he replies, voice smooth as the silk his tie's made of, "That's what I'm here for."
The last thing Banshee feels is a click in the back of his head, and his whole world is switched off.
Name any three things about the rpc that bother you.
be honest . @deathsdeserters . accepting
1 ) there is a lot of unnecessary negativity and passive aggressive behavior. it’s a huge downer for me. it also makes me anxious for personal reasons. i get the attitude behind a lot of those posts and i’m not shaming them at all. from a personal taste perspective it’s something i simply prefer not to see. i have no idea if any of that makes sense.
2) along the same vein as the above, interaction is a two way street. it takes two ( or more ) people to have a conversation. a lot of people in the community are shy or anxious or any number of things. if someone doesn’t interact with you that doesn’t mean they don’t like you. it, more than likely, means they’re having similar problems approaching.
3) anon hate. it’s not necessary. ever. it takes an ugly soul to leave that kind of thing in an inbox. take that energy and reflect on yourself. look at why you’re so angry. i’d bet more often than not it’s not the person you’re hating on that’s really bothering you. it’s something out. it’s a lash out. it’s a way to control something in your life.
"Can I kiss you?" the Awoken Warlock asks Commander Zavala. No, the Warlock isn't doing this on a dare. No, he hasn't lost his mind, either, and he's not on anything or drunk. He's genuinely interested and when Jonathan Martin Severin is interested in someone, he's not one to shy away from voicing his interest. Even if it happens to be a Titan near twice his size who can easily throw him across the City clear over to Bannerfall.
“Uh—”
It was very much clear that Zavala was surprised. And maybe a little bit panicked, too. A Guardian, hitting on him? He had certainly never believed that anyone would be interested in him. And it was also very clear that he did not know how to respond.
Without much thought behind it, the Titan Vanguard picked up the Warlock, and without further ado, promptly yeeted him off the Tower and down into the City below. He would survive that fall. Even if he didn’t, well, his Ghost would rezz him. Either way he hoped it would be lesson learned.
