#fireteamhouston

[sempxr-invicta]

 @fireteamhouston

    It was disappointing to find out his handwritten letter had not been a success. Despite the advice his fire team had given him, he had insisted that the damn thing would work. Perhaps it was a little too old fashioned and he didn’t exactly spell out the Warlock’s name. He thought describing their best features would have been enough.

     Heaving a sigh, the exo Hunter sat nestled in a cluster of branches not too far from one of the many markets in the City. He’d pondered approaching the Warlock in question but had bitten his lip and kept quiet, shuffling awkwardly each time they were anywhere near one another.

    Today, however, he wanted it to be different. Si-3 was counting on his confidence not turning tail and running away. Bright blue optics watched the crowd before he leaped down from his perch and set off down the path that would lead to Fenrir-10′s home. He wasn’t sure if they’d cross paths along the way but he did intend on knocking on the door.

    He also had a small clay trinket in hand, a wolf of sorts. It was well made and paid for, found in a small little shop tucked away near the south end of the City. One of a kind, truly, as the artist had decided not to make anymore.

  “So either he ignores me or I get torched. Maybe... Mmm, keep your cool, Si!”

[voidarrows-blog]

@fireteamhouston

♀ “ oh! you’re that nice warlock who helped me! i never got to properly thank you... ”

[mcvcrick]

Seeker

@fireteamhouston

It’s been roughly a week since his encounter with Mor-7 in a rusting warehouse way out in the wilds. Since then his mood has improved drastically, energy levels running on high with spirits to match. He’s no felt a single joint ache, no uncomfortable muscle pull. Even sleep has been a welcoming addition to his life, something he’s not had in far more years than he can count.

Despite all of this he’s been practically ravenous but he hasn’t a clue what for. Each dish he shovels into his mouth and processes for fuel does nothing to satisfy the nagging hunger that has been quite a distraction as of late. His memory of what sated Mor’s apatite would resurface every so often, especially when blue hues look upon the Titan Vanguard.

The urge he feels to tear flesh and drink of the man’s Light makes him both sick and excited, a volatile mixture that he has to struggle with until he can be excused. Likewise, he’s also noticed that when a Guardian enters the Hall his optics follow them in almost a predatory fashion. By the end of his watch he’s practically clawing at his skull as he disappears into the night.

There have been many excursions into the forests that flank the City, some resulting in injuries that mend themselves in seconds. Whispers do haunt his ears when all is quiet, stray emotions filtering through without cause. They are easy enough to manage, though the day he breaks his leg in a rock slide he realizes they have been quieting down.

Waiting for the torn mesh and broken bone to piece itself back together, Cayde can tell it has slowed considerably. Upon its conclusion, he swallows the lump in his throat and climbs out of the gully. He has to find Mor again, doesn’t he? Allow that wretched, comforting beast to gnaw at his throat one more time. Thoughts are drawn to the smaller mech, distaste mingling with an allure that has him pacing near a cluster of snow capped trees.

“I miss him, don’t I?”         Yes, yes you do. We miss him too.

[theblueguardiangirlsrp]

Closed Starter @fireteamhouston

Selene knew someone was nearby, she was trying to slink slowly and unnoticeably away from the other Guardian pinging on her radar. “Why?” Her Ghost hissed in her helmet. “It’s hardly a big deal.”

“Not in the mood.” She shot back, pausing to survey the path east she’d chosen. There was a ridge ahead, the ground below cascading down in steep gradient, with what appeared to be a thin a path about halfway up it. She strode in the direction, ignoring the sickening squelches of her boots in mud. Hardly stealthy terrain. 

“You’re never in the mood.” Coach was exasperated -Coach was always exasperated, it was nothing new. “That sediment is a different composition from the deposit below it it will be unstable.”

Selene whirred in return, a mocking noise. She shut off the motion tracker in her HUD, satisfied she was moving away from the other blue dot, and not wanting the display in her way, not because her Ghost was right, just because she wanted to see where she was going a bit better. 

She was halfway up the incline before the path seemed to vanish, everything was just layers of mud, and just as she was registering the thought that it would be unstable, one foot lost traction, twisted and slid on the slick hill. Her mind went into a panic, swinging her arms out to try to find any sort of traction she could.

[typhon05-blog]

Horror of Greed

Typhon couldn’t think. His central processes was a horrid amalgamate of routing memories and thoughts. Voices whispering, growling, jeering, laughing and crying in his cranium. Too many to take account, few he recognized and others felt like forgotten familiarities. However, what grew above all were his own. Felt he speaking with another entity.

“What happened…?” He growled, vox emulator popped. “You grew careless.” The Other sneered, disgusted at the situation. It was so dark where he held. Couldn’t move, some kind of powerful magnets were pulling his body back. It was only by the alien materials in his chassis making that he was about to move to the slightest degree, but the constant vibrations of the machine felt like he was being torn apart by the atom. It was disturbing his matrices and flow of Light.

“Fool. You allowed their mercy to catch your guard off.” Typhon could barely remember, not with these feelings. Claws scraped and ground in his skull, worms squirming behind his optics. This place was wretched of the Darkness. He knew this too well. “These...scrappers. They did things. Vile things.”

Occasionally his arc energies popped, giving the ghoulish reveal to what he was trapped.

The barest appearance of things...no, bodies held similarly but at horrid degrees. The screaming skeletal faces of mechs and exos, all gone.

A great sensation ran through Typhon’s body, his spine lurched and his synch-muscles clenched. “By the Traveler!” His popping vocalization gasps. He tried to move his limbs. Legs...arm. No. Just his right arm. He can’t feel his left. In his surges, he recognized one familiar friend among all this. Rage. Unheld rage.

And his glitches of cries ripped into his prison. Felt like hours, days...until he could not holler and scream vengeance with an overworked vox. Consciousness fell, the Other said to not his time. There is no hope. Not yet…

And so, the Exo went into a quasi-sleep. He can’t truly sleep, only enter a mimicry. Shut down to stop any more degradation to his scrambling. Listening. Waiting...and the patience of this torture came with the sound of gears and shifting metal. He almost thought it was his own body being depressed. No. The sliver of light in his glitching readings confirmed. His internal works couldn’t filter the light and it was blinding. These scrappers coming to finish the job finally.

Head dipped with its crackling of ruptured stabilizers along the neck, a coolant dried a long time ago over his scrapped chest. The paint had splatted behind the coffin-like magnet like a splash of careless art, with nothing but his bare frame to show.

@fireteamhouston

[sempxr-invicta]

@fireteamhouston

The bazaar near the south end of the Last City had accumulated quite a crowd that Saturday afternoon. Stalls lined each isle bursting with goods as far as the eye could see. People throughout the city had flocked there, bustling about from merchant to merchant with little care for the dangers that lie just outside the city’s wall. It was, in a way, pleasing to see so many people without worry, without fear. A relief compared to the previous week of playing cat and mouse with an Eliksni field commander.

Amidst the somewhat organized chaos was a particularly short Hunter carrying a bag of what appeared to be chips. He was mostly browsing the wares, allowing blue hues to scan for items of interest. So far, he had yet to make a purchase other than the snack he was currently enjoying. Nearing the end of the isle he was passing through, Si-3 noticed a rather tall figure moving through the sea of busy customers.

Quickening his pace, the Exo slipped in between each person as he sought out gaps to avoid being slowed down. He knew that figure anyway or, at least, he was sure he did. Had to be someone familiar, he could safely say that much without making a fool of himself right? Guess he’d find out once he was close enough to tap them on the shoulder, if he could reach that high.

Might as well throw in a whistle or two, wave a hand covered in the flavoring that coated his chips. Whatever works! If he annoys the folks around him, so be it. They can deal with his attempts at figuring out who the mysterious giant is off in the distance.

[typhon05-blog]

Pleasant Delivery

@Fireteamhouston

The armored supplies shuttle was prepping another customary inventory check before its take-off. It was a tedious thing but necessary to ensure there wasn’t something missing or slipped in. The City need as much of its supplies as anywhere else on Earth’s scattered settlements, but as a bastion of hope for its people, it is willing to extend a hand now and again with a good exchange in tow. To help each other is to help in the great fight, as the Speaker tended to preach. The shipwright Amanda Holliday was going around checking the list and shuttle number, almost brushing against the first of the recruited Guardians.

“Oh, sorry there, Guardian.” She says with a quick smile and off she was without much wait. The Human was never for standing still, even at her desk, she was moving in some form. The Titan dressed under some modified variant of Highlander platemail, but the helmet sported a sharpened horn. His mark fluttered with Discipline. He didn’t need to say anything really, had no reason to.

He didn’t say much and seemed passive, like any of the robotic frames serving as labor or security.

Typhon-05 was his designation, fifth reported time of memory restart. A single well-trained Titan was enough to handle an enemy company, even a single Guardian wasn’t capable of divination (well...that he is aware of). So the Vanguard had the foresight to call in a fireteam to make doubly sure that the exchange is done. The Fallen House of Devils may have been culled with the death of their Archon-to-be and Prime Servitor, but no one is arrogant enough to think their threat was over. Not with their continuous involvement in Old Russia.

So he waited patiently for this new team or individual to assist him.

[sempxr-invicta]

Domestic Guardians

@fireteamhouston

Everyone’s first date is full of butterflies in the stomach and nervous fidgeting. The same can be said for Semper Invicta as he made his way downtown in the City to a quaint little establishment picked out for his first date in years. He’s both excited and shy; hands tucked into the pockets of the worn bomber he’s wearing. Whatever else they plan on doing that day is to be decided and he's looking forward to every bit of it.

Stopping at the double doors, he peers through the window to see if he can spot the familiar shape of pointed ears and broad shoulders. He can’t remember if they decided to meet at the restaurant’s front door or if one of them was going to secure a table once they got there. His night had been spent high up in a tree writing on small scraps of paper to calm his nerves.

Pushing the door open, he stepped inside and stepped up to the podium where an Awoken woman stood with a notepad and printed layout of the restaurant table arrangement. “Ah, I need a table for two. Name’s Si-Three. A booth would be great.”