#crowblcd

Their conversations had become something he looked forward to. Once a week, scheduled at the same time, at the same place. Free of eyes spying on them, only the queen of the awoken and a rogue lightbearer in mutual understanding and agreement. Mara Sov was an incredible conversation. Intelligent as they come, as expected of someone of her posture. Her goals were crystal clear, even if the steps she took to reach them were not as innocent as one would assume. Drifter could not judge her decision to take such a dangerous path: his was, after all, equally problematic.

Regardless, same hour, same place, most interesting conversations. Mara was a treat for the mind as well as the eye. Her convictions and how she ensure things danced to her tune was something Drifter enjoyed watching from both the closeness of the seat she kindly offered in front of her and from the sidelines.Unfair, she was only allowed to know so little of his plans. Justifiable, regardless.

As a rule Beatrice didn’t dig into the history of the Awoken. She knew, in that vague unconfirmed way, that they were humans. There were enough scattered guardians in the tower to confirm that at least. She knew about the time they came back to earth during the collapse. Ships and logs hard fought to recover told her that much. The rest, the rest was a mystery.

Legs crossed in front of her prize, a pre-golden age monitor that sounded like a pike when starting up, Beatrice carefully typed out her request. It was a long shot, even it getting to the reef was one. Her contact on the shore was more than happy to buy scavenged art, but that was the extent of their relationship. This was a break in protocol.

Queen Mara Sov,

My name is Beatrice Leakes. I’m a historian in the Last City, and I’ve had an unusual request from an Awoken guardian to look into her past before being resurrected. I have traced her to the rough location of where she died, or rather where her body was at the time of resurrection, but I’ve hit a block on my end. Attached is a photo of the guardian. If there is any way to get information on her past life, she is willing to pay for information.

That was a nice surprise to come back to after rounds of Gambit.The Drifter grabbed the box, carefully lowering himself to walk under the gate, and set the box down on the table. Curious hands touched the sophisticated pattern. His ghost couldn’t handle the curiosity and decided to show herself, hovering low, almost unseen. She rushed Drifter to open the box to reveal the Awoken delicacies, which brought him a grin to his face.

Oh, he knew who sent this one. The box, the pattern, the simple note...it all screamed her name.

There’s a moment of blank where he can feel little more than pain gripping tight within his chest. His heart aches. This hurt, it’s unspeakable, unbearable, and without shape or form.

He did not think he would ever hear these words spoken, not to him. Not from her. The North Star. Her Majesty. A shining angel.

With trembling hands that form into fists he forces out a reply.

“So is yours, your grace”.A bow was given -was it sincere, or out of habit? He had found himself visiting her court frequently, without a truthful reason to do so. A deal had been signed in silence where they both would tolerate each other with a promise of help each other’s goals based on...  On what, exactly?

Funny thing about Exo programming, even though their air intake isn’t nearly as vital as an organic’s is, they still end up heaving, gasping for air, and coughing. Their bodies were created in the spitting image of what they used to be and how nature dictated their bodies would function; often times it served only to annoy the Exo currently doubled over. His beat up hide and bloodstained gear was still recognizable but, man, he looked rough.

Normally fighting a Vandal, or what was once a Vandal, was easy. Knife to the throat, sweep the legs, watch out for the pokey stick, elementary! Unfortunately, Cayde was far from being fit enough to even throw the mad max looking fucker off of him without great difficulty. He won though, so there’s that. Much to his dismay, it sounded like something else was on approach and the crude rifle he had in his hands felt like it weighed a ton.

13. What does your character pretend or try to care about?

Ghosts that lost their Guardians when they didn’t have access to Light during the Red War. I have this personal headcanon that the Red War created this whole population of Ghosts with deceased Guardians (really dead-dead, not can-revive dead). The Vanguard and the rest of the people at the tower hardly ever seem to acknowledge their ghosts in canon. It’s always the names of guardians that grace the record books, not the ghost that was there to help them along the way. The ghosts are always lost to history.

It might just be my personal take on it, but I don’t think that the Vanguard or the City would be prepared to deal with dozens or hundreds of depressed ghosts that have lost their purpose for existing. It’s not like they know how to throw out a support network and help them through their loss. Ghosts aren’t humans or any of the other sapient species derived from humans. They have their own way of interacting with the world that requires someone that understands.

Ghosts that haven’t yet found their Guardians are rarely portrayed or mentioned either. No one quite knows how to deal with them, so ghosts of both these natures exist at the fringe of society. They’re not quite outcasts I would say, but they don’t quite fit either. Ghosts that have deceased guardians have it even worse because they’ll never stand a chance of rejoining the mainstream of society. The closest thing that can understand them is Ghosts that haven’t yet found their guardians and vice versa. I headcanon that Ghosts still on the search have kind of taken it on their own shoulders to try and be the support network that ghosts with deceased guardians are deprived of, almost similar to a social obligation to look after widows, orphans, etc.

Heutte honors his obligations to this other estranged fragment of society.

Sorry this one took so long to type. It’s a complicated headcanon/subject.

15. What is your character afraid of?