#distantstcr

Saladin throws his arms around her without a second thought, hugging her close. His head is ducked down over her shoulder, unwilling to let anyone see the expression on his face.

“To be fair, Efrideet, you reappeared after being gone for hundreds of years and immediately complained that I hadn’t made a statue of you. I think I’m entitled to do something similar to you.”

It’s funny, but he can’t exactly laugh. Some of him is still ready to break down and just cry over the utter relief that Efrideet is alive.

The words she says make his heart hurt. He’s also taken aback at how cold and mundane their touch feels - there is no static electricity, no sparks of Arc Light jumping between them - it’s chargeless and lifeless compared to what Saladin is used to. An new reality, without their Light.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs. “I prayed every night that you were safe, wherever you were.” He’d looked to the stars each and every evening and asked for that alone. He’d find a way through whatever came his way, whatever pain there was with being made mortal again. He only wanted Efrideet to be safe - he couldn’t lose her now.

Saladin has been in better shape. It’s clear that the long, Lightless journey to get here took its toll on him and his no-longer-immortal body.

There were few individuals who Cayde could honestly say he looked up to. While he would never say it, he certainly admired his Vanguard brother and sister. They were legends in their own right and he had been there to witness their history-book-making acts. Again, you’d never hear him say it. They didn’t need a verbal confirmation of how much he loved and admired them. They knew.

Then, there were those who had made an impression on the galaxy’s timeline long before he was even born in his human flesh. Efrideet Idris was one of the people. She was powerful, fearless, and had perhaps one of his favorite stories he’d ever had the pleasure of hearing. Not to mention she was a vision to behold. She was the embodiment of everything a Hunter should and needed to be.

Oh but God he couldn’t talk to her. Idris was a legend! She brought life to the warrior class when it was simply just a concept. Now, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried. In fact, he had experienced two false starts; Once he had attempted to approach her on his way to get lunch only to hook a hard right and hide out with Banshee for a good hour. The second time had been during last years Festival of the Lost. This time, Ikora had tried to ease his nerves which, at the time, he had claimed he didn’t have. When she watched him about to tap Efrideet on the shoulder only to turn around last minute and sprint back, he’d admitted her “Warlock powers” sniffed out his lie.

But today would be different. Today, Cayde would finally introduce himself. He had waited until she was alone, knowing if there were guardians around, he would have used it as another out. The Exo strode up to her confidently, though his stomach was doing flips. Once he was close enough he gave a wave.

hc + effie

When Felwinter and Efrideet meet, they’re immediately at odds. He is a warlord-no-more and she is dead-once-because-of-warlords. She is rightfully distrustful of him; nearly all of the wolves are still uncertain about Felwinter.

Felwinter doesn’t form an opinion on her immediately - to make assumptions about her would be foolish, as people, especially Risen, are perpetually surprising. He does assume she shares the optimism, ideals of heroism, that the others do. From their early conversations he learns otherwise. She’s not a child. And she is not hopeful and scattered Radegast, or duty-bound, too-merciful Saladin, sharp and reckless Jolder, or purposeful, indecisive Perun. They’re all so different from each other, in the end, but in this time, both Felwinter and Efrideet on the periphery of the pack. He eventually figures out why - because she thinks like him. And they think differently than the others.

Efrideet doesn’t immediately come across like the keen-minded Timur, the only Iron Lord Felwinter thought he could relate to, but she is much more like him than Felwinter would’ve predicted. She is curious and thoughtful - and she sees beyond the walls that the others seek only to hold.

She’s small, she’s young. Felwinter is careful how he speaks when he is around her. (Felwinter is not in the habit of watching his words, ever.) He takes a good long look at the Lady Efrideet and knows, without a doubt, that if he crosses her, she will throw him off the mountain (his mountain).

Felwinter does wish to avoid that embarrassment for as long as possible, so he picks his words out cautiously for the first time in his life.

Time passes - all of them are more than Felwinter had first thought, but Efrideet shines in a unique way. The eye which watches over them, and a powerful moral compass. She thinks in ways the rest of them don’t. She comes across as naive, but her nature saves them more than once. She is as beloved to him as the rest of his family, not to be lived without, the people he lives and breathes and also dies for. The good in their recovering world.

Efrideet chooses her path, and she leaves, and Felwinter tries to push away the feeling of heartbrokenness. There is some part of him that leaves with her, possibly not to return. Because he also understands - while he and Efrideet could not be more different sometimes, they are a little alike. They don’t think like the others, in perfect tones of optimism. And as she is gone, Felwinter knows she has to find what is right for her. He can’t be solitary anymore - his heart has been warmed by his time with the wolves and he knows that his place is with the Iron Lords, not as anything he used to be. But once upon a time he would’ve said otherwise. And maybe Efrideet’s truest calling simply must take her away from them.

Meme: 3 little word starterStatus: Closed.@distantstcr

  The was being tossed around like he were nothing. His armor was littered with still-burning scorch marks littered against his back, which, his armor wasn’t meant to deal with much damage, considering he was only a scout, he was equipped with lightweight army fatigues. Multiple tiny golf-ball sized holes were lined in a pattern into his synthetic arm, his helmet had been knocked off, his head obviously split open somewhere as blood was seeping out & staining his skin.

   Would you believe it if he told you, that he had pushed an Iron Lord? He had only done so to take an attack that was meant for her, an Cabal infantry foot-soldier’s sword had swiped him in the side, which had quite the impact & force behind it. It had launched him into a wall, leading to a heavy ‘thunk’ as his back slammed against the bricks. Though, in what seemed like a split-second decision, a grenade had been placed between him & the Cabal before he was struck, the main reason he was sent flying against the wall.

  Abruptly, an hand would be placed onto his shoulder, a firm but gentle grip following as it would soon translate into him being pulled into an embrace. The Coyote wasn’t too sure what the reason behind this was, but-- it was welcoming, he wasn’t going to lie about that, he’d like touches like this a lot more than he should.

   “ ..Thank you. “