#askkestrel

☻ ‘Like’ headcanon:

when she can, dust likes to take tons of pictures during her deployments to keep as momentos and send home to her family and such.

♤ ‘Dislike’ headcanon:

going along with the drinking headcanon, dust doesn't like having to deal with heavily inebriated people at all.

☯ 'Pet Peeve' headcanon:

Name: larisa hayes. kestrel insisted she take dust’s family name instead of his.

Gender: female.

General Appearance: short, straight light blond hair cut into a bob. big, bright blue eyes and pale skin.

Personality: mischievous and very smart from a young age, although pretty goofy and likes being around other people.

Special Talents: always seems to be able to get into anything her parents have tried to child-proof after some time.

Who they like better: she loves them both, and would feel bad having to choose. kestrel was more laid back during her childhood, but became a lot stricter when it she began to take an interest in boys.

Who they take after more: she takes more of an interest in her dads activities around the house, since she finds them more exciting.

Personal Headcanon: dust and kestrel trust larisa to stay at home with their dog while they went out grocery shopping or did other quick errands. one day while larisa was home, a burglar entered the house, and she was able to sic the dog on him and scare him off before her parents came home and was left to a worse fate.

I'm slipping this under your door while you're out. By the time you read this, I'll be off the base. I'm not going to be coming back. I'm so sick of watching friends and people who just don't deserve it die and convincing myself that I could have done something to prevent it. I can't stay here. I can't go home...

I'm glad I'll be gone by the time you read this, I know you'd reprimand me for being so weak. I don't need someone else telling me what I've been repeating to myself for the past few weeks, and being as stubborn as I am, I've made my mind up. Hopefully you know what I'm getting at without me having to spell it out.

I've already rambled too much, so I'll end this saying don't come looking for me. Don't tell anyone, make up something if you have to, and get rid of this when you're done with it.

-- Dust.

Jackal shifted uneasily in his chair as the timer reached zero. The television set buzzed with cheers and applause as once again, Great Britain lost the football world cup. Or was it the European league? 'Bah, fuck it' Jackal grumbled to himself as he raised a shaking hand and pressed the 'channel up' button on the small device to his side. 'Bloody foreigners beating us again,' he growled as images of cooking shows, family feuds and daily stocks flashed before his eyes as he changed channels with haste, looking for something to satiate his already-shot concentration. Nothing interested him nowadays; apart from one certain lady, but she was at the local market purchasing tonight's meal – after all, she was the most mobile and the better chef of the two. As the videos of futuristic-looking soldiers leaped and dived their way through virtual-reality environments on the Military Channel, Jackal released the television remote. Scenes of men wearing outfits that looked like wetsuits with armour sheets under the material all stood to attention as a bald-headed man pointed and explained what each part was to the camera. Jackal frowned and reached to his side for his bottle of water

“Stupid new armours...” he said between sips of water “Back in my day Kevlar and your brains was the best you had.” he placed the water back down “Wouldn't you agree, Bailey?”

He paused for an answer before catching himself and letting out a saddened sigh, she had already left for the market. Right. I forgot.

Before Jackal could go back to hating the television show's presenter, there was a knock at the door. Jackal's ears pricked up like a dog's as he rose to his feet, arms trembling as they supported his frail frame. He snatched up his walking stick made from parts of his old rifle and advanced to the door, almost grinning with excitement, 'I can almost taste dinner' Jackal whispered to himself as he unlocked and unbolted the door. He pulled the door open to see a tall gentleman dressed in a dark cloak – a stark contrast to the bright summertime sun.

“...What do you want?” Jackal asked, squinting his eyes slightly as he tried to get a look at the man's face

“Hello, my old friend.” came the man's reply. Jackal was take aback, he recognized the voice from somewhere.

“Do I know you?” he asked, opening the door wider. The man stepped forward

“It would be best if I came in.” he said, lowering the hood that masked his face, “It is rather important news.”

Jackal's mouth fell agape as he realized who he was talking to

“You son of a bitch!” he exclaimed, ushering the man into his house “Come, come in!”

The man silently entered Jackal's house, the door closing shut behind him as Jackal led him into the living room. Jackal motioned for the man to sit as he did the same, sitting into the mold his body has formed in his chair.

Jackal turned the television down as he turned to the man

“...Tell me,” he began, clearing his throat “Why are you here, Kestrel?”

Kestrel smiled gently “I have a confession to make,” the Russian began, his words drawn-out and deliberate “it is more business than pleasure.....and I'm not just Kestrel.” he rose to his feet, and opened his hands in a friendly gesture “I am death.”

Jackal let out a laugh

“You always said you were, you arrogant old git.” Jackal commented “I am become death, destroyer of Chechens!” he mocked in a Russian accent, leaning back into his chair, the moan of old leather agreeing with him. Kestrel chuckled with Jackal before speaking again

“No, no. Not quite.” the Russian lowered his hands “I'm what you imagined death to look like.”

Jackal gave him a 'what the hell are you talking about?' look

“You mean...What I'm seeing now....Is what I wanted the Grim Reaper to look like?” he asked, rubbing his chin. Kestrel nodded slowly. “Well that's a load of bollocks!” Jackal exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air “'cause I always wanted to die with tits smothered over my face!” he exclaimed “Cheers for making my death under-fucking -whelming.”

Kestrel raised an eyebrow

“You're taking this rather...well.” he said, standing up from his seat.

“...Look, Kestrel mate.” Jackal began, slowly standing up with Kestrel “I'm old. I've lived past what I predicted, and don't get me wrong – I'm thankful for each second that I'm living, and every day I wait for my heart to stop beating, or my brain to finally stop sending little bursts of electric into my spine. I have literally lived in waking misery with this knowledge.” Jackal paused, placing a thumb and finger to his eyes and wiped the small pockets of moisture from their corners “So please...Please just let me die in my sleep alongside the woman I love...and I promise I'll come quietly; or however else I'm supposed to go.”

Kestrel lowered his head for a moment

“I understand, my friend.” he said, placing the dark hood over his head “But, I have a tight schedule.”

Jackal took a deep breath “......There's that fucking senior NCO side of you talking.” Jackal pulled his trouser up, and adjusted his shirt “And I can't stand to be late.”

Kestrel placed his hand out in the handshake position

“It has been nice meeting you again, my old friend.” the Russian said as Jackal took his hand and gave it a good shake

“Likewise, you cantankerous old shitbag.”

“I will see you on the other side, Matthew.”

The sound of the front door echoed through the house, drowned out by the sounds of virtual warfare ringing from the front room

Dust stands over Kestrel bed and pulls the covers off him.