/ HUNTER

There’s work to be done, out there in the dark— monsters that deserve death, delivered quickly, silently, and without mercy.

animal.     hawk, canary  color.     yellow month.  february      number.     4 day or night.     dawn plant.      yarrow smell.     weapon polish, petrichor gemstone.      season.     winter, just before spring place.     EDZ food.     takoyaki  zodiac.     taurus element.     water

<<Archon is ether-rich, else he loses his size and thus his authority,>> Cybel answers quietly. Things he is sure Shiro knows, but it bears reminding, how this singular view can shape inwards reflection. He watches the drekhs himself, the smallest of them with freshly docked arms. The myth of their Kell of Kells always makes him pause to watch the drekhs. 

<<See how they treat machines? Shanks are not merely tools or weapons to them. They are tended to as they tend their ketches: with much care.>> 

It is perhaps the thing that had first bent Cybel’s heart towards sympathy when he first began spying on the various Houses all those many decades ago: the reverence they show for things made of machinery. No culture or people could be so damned or fall too far if they showed such love to machines. 

They watch the drekhs together silently for a little while longer. Cybel does not point out how they share what little ether they are doled out after a little while, nor the way one drekh carefully tends to the other’s fresh docking wounds. He knows how observant Shiro can be. After a while, he only asks:

<<Will you spare the drekhs and shanks at least?>>

Cybel talks to him like he’s a freshly-risen Hunter. He knows House dynamics, knows the reverence Fallen hold for their machines. It grates, but only slightly. What’s more irritating is that he’s struggling to see the way Cybel wants him to see. What more is there to ether tithing? To religious respect towards House machinery? He could speculate, but any answers he has come up pale compared to how he views them; as factual functionalities. 

They watch in silence together, til light snow cover dusts their cloaks. Dregs move around between each other, tightly knit. One has fresh wounds-- it’ll be less of a threat, then. Only a handful of the shanks are working at their peak capacity. The Captains and Servitors though.. And he still hasn’t found the nest of Vandals yet.

Cybel’s question draws him back from his planning. And makes something in his gut sink. It’s a terrible request-- not because it’s unreasonable, but because he asked. Rightly, even. He’d heard the same question asked of Warlords before, and his sympathies had rested with the civilians. He’s that sort of threat, then. Ruthless. 

<<Let’s go then.>>

Without another word he lets go of Shiro’s shoulder and continues to trek through the snowy path before them, head bowed against the falling flakes. Eventually they reach a point where they have to slow, to creep forth in the smoky stealth that Void and Arc can gift. It pulses over their armor and carbon flesh, prickling and seeping as they creep up to the ridge and look down at the Devil’s camp far below. 

A Captain moves about, his cloak bright, his collar of fur raised high, shanks bobbing about him as he moves. Several vandals and dregs move about the camp, setting up supplies, working at benches on weapons, mines, shanks out of commission. Towards the back of the camp is the servitor, floating beside—

<<Archon sighted.>> 

That’s their target. The one that Shiro will go in to kill. Perhaps they will have to kill the others too. He hopes it’s only a few. A hand is placed on Shiro’s arm again. 

<<Watch the dregs. Tell me what you see.>>

The snow is soft-- a good thing. It helps them mask their movement. They’re not worried about their own tracks, and their enemies’-- no, the Fallen’s-- are easier to make out. Shiro lays on his stomach in it at the edge of the ridge, feeling the cold seep through his armor slowly.

He scans the camp, feeling his heart and Light spike as he confirms Cybel’s sight on the Archon. His mark. He’s done this so many times before, it almost feels like habit. Shiro takes a long, low breath, taking stock of the situation, his ins, the dangers. 

Cybel’s touch pulls his attention back from his target. The dregs? Shiro casts Cybel a look, but complies. This is a mission. He doesn’t want to compromise it. But he has Cybel’s trust and request. He sighs. 

<< What we do… does not allow time for softness to show. >> Cybel’s voice keens in the space between them, a funeral dirge without intelligible words, only functional to Exos and Warminds. << We kill from a distance, drop on them like lightning and vanish just as quickly. >>

Cybel steps forward, closes the gap between them. He is marginally taller than the other Exo; his hand is heavy on Shiro’s shoulder where it lays itself, but it is a warm gesture, and kind. He is not ignorant of the weight of the canary yellow cloak he wears, how it differs so much from his own cloak. His bears the ancient symbol of a House with a name no longer spoken, small and hardened glass beads of stunning intricacy woven into it. Gifts from an old baroness, worn with affection. 

<< We don’t give each other room to breathe. Some enemies can become allies, only if you offer the chance for it. Please think about that today, when we go to watch this group of Devils. >>

Softness needs time to show. In the moments before or after is when it reveals itself. The Fallen have never ceased-- they need to survive. The City needs to survive. To be soft is uncertain. Ruthlessness or extinction. That’s the way their world works.

He sighs. Cybel’s hand rests on his shoulder and he feels both reassured and weighted. Shiro looks out across the snow, eyes scanning for anything to take his mind away for just a moment. He could suffocate in this tension of worlds if he let himself. 

He’d been caught off guard to realize that the other hadn’t been following him for a handful of steps. 

There’s an immediacy to his partner’s voice and stature that makes him check their route as he listens, searching for signs of Fallen or Hive. The snow was fresh and there was no sign of tracks-- nothing’s moving right now.

Ah. That’s not the problem.

Shiro finds himself re-examining what he said-- had it been that shocking? He sets his jaw and turns to face Cybel more fully and listens to their shared language, watches his hands and tries to pair things, tries to discern. He’s always trying to discern.

@awoken-lights | Isiel

He lets go of a soft chuckle as she hugs him, light warming his mouth for just a moment. It's warm, but not bright. Reserved. The world very much could fall apart in one night and they both know it.

But its survival doesn't hinge on his decision to join Isiel tonight. There's a small amount of peace in that. Hunters were always good at that-- at least the ones that circulate the Dens like warm tides, bringing stories, drinks, and laughter with them. He could use a Hunter Den tonight.

He embraces her for one moment longer before letting her go, giving her a small clasp on the shoulder. He'll go.

@oxothnk

"Oh look, trouble's coming my way again." Shiro turns at the call, unlacing his fingers to gesture to his friend before relacing them relaxed. His voice is fond if tired-- the Tower never sits quite right with him when he's fresh from the field. It doesn't with any hunter. It makes Cayde a sight for sore eyes all the more.

@awoken-lights | Isiel

"Things aren't a 9-5 around here." He says it with a chuckle. What she says isn't wrong-- they put their heads down and do what they can, what they need to, every day. And when it's quiet, there's card games, hunter dens, drinking, jokes and laughs. But then it's back to work. Always.

💛send to have a platonic ship with my muse (definitely this one if you're up for it)

💔send for a slow burn romance with my muse (possibly this one but I also know we havent interacted much so ^^;)

💛send to have a platonic ship with my muse

absolutely-- running in the crew together (with Isiel's background) means they've probably had plenty of bonding moments. I would certainly develop this.

💔send for a slow burn romance with my muse

@awoken-lights​ | Isiel "Well—" He watches the chambering mechanism in his hand click and grate, protesting movement as he checks the weapon. Just a test, just kit bashing, but...