orendalogs | IT'S YOUR DESTINY!!!

Talk about not the response you want to hear: I’ll heal fast so it’s okay? The look on Aoba’s face is one stricken by the reply, especially so with the insistence that Aoba be armed anyway.

“Arming me with a weapon I don’t know how to use isn’t going to keep me safe,” he protested, but admittedly weakly, given that Declan insisted. If that was the stance he was taking, Aoba did not presume he might be able to sway him anyway. Still, people had to be trained for months or even years to be proficient at something like that, didn’t they? “If you’re insisting, I can’t exactly tell you 'no', but it sounds like a bad idea to me….”

With that said, Aoba finally saw about getting up from Declan’s surprisingly-comfortable lap, trying not to lean on the man too much but at the same time needing to use his shoulder as a brace as he shuffled himself up and got his feet back on the floor. Standing, and sighing, he looked down at Declan with reluctance, but not mistrust.

“I don’t know anything about any of the things you just described to me. I’ll get started packing my stuff, but you’ll have to pick the…'loadout' for me.”

"...I don't want you to haev to use any weapon at all...but my world, while beautiful, is very dangerous," Declan admitted after a while, saddened by it and more so by not being able to show Aoba a paradise. He'd tried to make the home life comfortable, to shower him with gifts and affection as best he knew how, but the world outside? Much as Declan loved it, it was ravaged and unkind.

"I'll go to the armory and choose things I think will work best. If nothing else, since we won't be far apart, just...think of it as carrying extra weapons for me? Never hurts to have more munitions."

That said, he inclined his head and pulled a gray hoodie on over his shirt, slipping out with a quick "I'll pick up something to eat."

It didn't really take him long at all to come back, a little over an hour at most. He thumped softly back into the apartment, tugged his shoes off, then gestured to Ghost, who used his transmat to materialize several weapon cases, a large briefcase-looking container, and an over-stuffed, slightly grease-stained, large paper bag.

"Gear and food, as promised," the man smiled vaguely, sniffing twice at the myriad aromas wafting from the sack.

"I asked around and got directed to a place that makes 'Chinese' food. I didn't know what to get though, so...I probably overdid it. The woman at the restaurant helped me big things. I hope you like rice and noodles because there seemed to be an awful lot," the Titan mused, eyes widening a bit at his recollection as the bag was filled.

Well…so much for going out for drinks and a meal, Aoba thought, wandering over to examine the bag’s contents—since he really wasn’t interested in ‘gear’ any more than he had to be. Yep, that sure was a lot of food, alright. Enough to cover lunch and dinner, easily, unless Declan particularly felt like indulging himself.

“Rice and noodles are staples back home, too, so I’m sure it’ll be delicious,” Aoba answered, starting to unload containers.

An hour had, in turn, been plenty of time for him to basically re-load the bag Tess had kitted him out with at the start. He’d included the crystalline dagger and, despite protests from Ren, the Prismatic Heart among the items he’d packed. He’d felt oddly compelled to do so, though maybe it wasn’t anything more well-thought-out than an act of defiance. He could say that ‘the hues of his heart’ sounded perfectly appropriate for someone like him, with apparent multiple sides of his personality, but he also just plain liked it, whatever it had done. Aoba though it stood out among his collection, much as the dagger did.

Maybe he’d been a magpie in a past life, heh.

Taking it upon himself to shuffle food to the table for proper eating, his own appetite enticed by the smells after having an uninteresting breakfast, Aoba finally submitted to glancing towards the other bulky, rather foreboding cases. “So…what did you end up choosing?”

Poking through the containers of food and selecting a crispy rangoon, Declan delicately bites off a piece, crunching away with a thoughtful expression.

"I picked out a sidearm, a scout rifle, and a rocket launcher. Scout rifles allow for precision shots and have good scopes, so it should be easy for you. The sidearm, Trespasser, is lightweight, has auto-targeting, motion-tracking, extremely reduced recoil, extended range, and burst firing. It's one of the best sidearms on the market, at all. I bought it from Xur a couple years ago when I was still training in the Cosmodrome."

Crunching away on the rest of the crab rangoon, Declan paced over, flipping open the weapon crates, fingertips running over the metal, wood, and leather like touching a lover. Unsurprising, considering how intimately familiar he was with all weapons. There was a smaller gun, the sidearm he mentioned, the two-handed scout rifle, and a large, surprisingly cutely decorated rocket launcher.

"The scout rifle is Vision of Confluence. It has snapshot sighting, excellent handling, superb target acquisition. Good effective range and recoil control, and can be switched to automatic if you feel confident with it. Otherwise it's great for single shot and short burst firing from a distance. Um, sort of a like...a short range, much easier to handle sniper rifle. Extended magazine and lighter weight makes it more effective, though.I didn't know if you're prefer a sniper rifle or not but...I don't actually own any. That's more Mac's thing," the Titan muttered, rubbing the side of his nose and looking a bit guilty.

"Um. The rocket launcher is Dragon's Breath. It's one of the best rocket-launchers...ever." He shrugged helplessly, patting the big weapon lightly. "If my current one weren't just a little better, I'd still use it. It's got extremely reduced recoil for a rocket launcher and can hold three rounds, which is a lot, since most can only hold one round at a time. It's got a massive blast radius, too. So easy to use. Point it in the general direction of what you want to hit, and no matter how bad your aim is, odds are you're still gonna get the target," Declan smirks faintly, arching a brow at Aoba.

"Easy to use weapons, hard to mess up. If you need to use them, you'll be fine, and if you don't, you're still fine. They won't blow up just being around you."

Declan may well have been speaking another language. Or rather, one that Aoba couldn’t understand despite the whole Chosen business. He spoke of functions and capabilities and there was a meaning communicated in them, but what good were the varying capabilities of the weapons if Aoba had never wielded one in his life? And there was more to it than just the physical act of carrying or shooting a weapon.

He wasn’t thinking it in words precisely, but it was there in an unsettled gut feeling: the understanding that carrying a weapon meant he was being told to kill. Self-defense Aoba knew and had dealt with, and injuring another to protect himself was one thing, but weapons were made to kill.

If someone comes at us, it’s them or us. That’s not a hard choice.

It wasn’t, it really wasn’t, but however rationally it had to be true, it wasn’t a necessity he had to be happy about. It even made it harder to appreciate how much Declan clearly appreciated the weapons themselves. They had names, even.

“If I’m carrying them, I’m carrying them for you. Not for me,” he answered, a duality of meaning that wasn’t lost on him. Settling at the table with chopsticks in hand, quietly appreciating the familiar utensils, he separated a portion of lo mein onto a plate before digging in.

He considered for a moment, opening his mouth to protest before nodding slowly. He could see the unease, understood it. He had never felt it himself, but he wasn't so oblivious not to recognize that not everyone existed for the sole purpose of being a battering ram or assassin for the Light. Some people had the privilege of being free from that responsibility, and he didn't want to take it away.

"For me then. I don't mind. I can protect you." As simple as that. He was used to sacrifice, and Aoba didn't have to do it. He would simply have to be more vigilant, work harder. He could manage; he would have to.

"May I have some?" he asked meekly, closing the containers slowly and wondering if he had overstepped some boundary he hadn't known existed. He left the box of space-ready gear closed, assuming Aoba had as little interest in it as he had the weapons. Maybe...his enthusiasm was offensive, somehow. He would endeavor not to discuss his hobbies in the future, he decided, tapping his fingers on the Dragon's Breath case a moment.

Aoba fell still in a most flattering tableau: noodles trailing out of his mouth, half-supported by the chopsticks, caught in the middle of quietly slurping them up. What was with that face? Why did he feel like he’d just kicked a puppy? (A giant white Samoyed puppy, specifically.)

Whatever Declan thought, Aoba did not think ill of the Guardian. It was just evidence of them being very different, from very different worlds, however well they got on despite it. He did not associate the man’s evident passion for his weapons with anything ulterior, such as thinking Declan by extension enjoyed killing. The thought of weapons in his own hands was simply an uncomfortable one, despite being sensible enough to understand their necessity.

So really, his confusion was quite complete. Why was he asking Aoba to share? There was more food than two people alone could need for a single meal and Declan had bought it, so technically it was all ‘his’. There was just the little portion that Aoba had taken for himself so far, for at least marginally politer manners than eating directly out of the carton.

Surely he wasn’t asking for a bite from Aoba’s plate specifically, was he? No way.

For no other reason than his own overactive imagination, faint spots of color rose to Aoba’s cheeks even as he finished taking in the bite. With his mouth full, all he could manage was a roughly-querying ‘mph?’ as he gestured at the carton with his chopsticks, awkwardly trying to sign an equivalent of ‘there’s plenty more, help yourself!’

Whereas Declan didn't see it as his, at all. He bought it for Aoba, and it was up to Aoba whether or not there was enough for both of them. Even if the Titan bought as much as seemed necessary to support two appetites, he still felt it best to ask. With the indication that it was open season, however, he wasted little time in serving up a plate, getting noodles, fried and white rice because he didn't want to miss out on either, some red colored meat that smelled sweet, some orange meat that had tiny seeds on it, some sort of steamed...pocket...thing...There was a great deal of variety, and Declan didn't shirk vegetables, scooping out broccoli and other things dripping in some unidentified brown sauce.

Then he opened up a pair of chopsticks and just...stopped. How...? Pale eyes slid sidelong, looking at Aoba's hand, trying to mirror the hold. Long white fingers fumbled, a crease forming between his brows as he fought to control digits that usually obeyed him without a thought. Why was it so hard to balance two sticks in one hand? Was there some trick to it he wasn't seeing?

"Aoba...are we supposed to eat this way?" Because it was worth asking, no matter how much he wanted to attempt it.

There we go. That was better. That fit the Declan that Aoba had come to expect. Even the fumbling with the chopsticks.

Aoba chuffed an amused sound, putting down his own and reaching over to assist. He put his hands around Declan’s larger one, repositioning chopsticks and fingers alike for him, something like Aoba imagined had probably been done for him when he’d been very young. Granted, Declan wasn’t anything like young, but wherever they were, it wasn’t Japan.

“Brace with these fingers, and move the top stick with these,” he explained, manually moving Declan’s fingers in demonstration before sitting back, picking up his own set, and displaying the motion himself. Then he chuckled, thoughtlessly using the convenience of Declan’s well-loaded plate to just stab a chicken chunk with the tips of the utensils and holding it up as evidence.

“Or just do it this way, I won’t judge,” Aoba offered with a grin. “We use chopsticks by default where I come from so I’m used to them, but you don’t need to struggle on my account, Declan.”

More interested in the hands around his own than the lesson being taught, Declan still managed a small sense of decorum, holding the chopsticks gingerly and struggling to emulate what Aoba tried to impart. Biting the inside of his lip, he considered teaching the other man to at least use the sidearm; it would give him the opportunity to hold Aoba's hands in turn - maybe even his hips...

Why was he even thing about that? Traveler preserve him.

"You did it, so it must have some significance to you. If this is how this is eaten, I should learn. Just because these places don't exist anymore doesn't make the culture any less significant," the Titan reasoned, squinting hard at the chopsticks as he strained to pick up a piece of chicken, eventually managing to get it to his mouth. The satisfaction over managing to do so was reason enough to keep trying.

"If I take you to the Crucible firing range to practice with a light weapon in a vontrolled environment where you can't possibly hit a living thing, would you consider that? If for no greater reason than learning firearm safety..."

Just because they didn’t….

Well, there went the cuteness of the moment. But they do exist, he wanted to say, though he silenced himself in reflecting upon the fact that if this was Earth’s future, then they didn’t exist anymore.

The portals he had passed through had changed time and distance on him, but up until this sudden moment, Aoba had imagined everything nevertheless existing simultaneously somehow. He was in the future, but he could go back home as soon as he had the right portal. But to anyone else, anyone who was not ‘Chosen’…the past, and all the people in it, were forever out of reach. It was…a very heavy revelation and shift in his manner of thinking to make, so much so that Aoba was kind of glad for the distraction of what Declan asked next.

Aoba sighed softly and then was quiet for a few moments afterwards, not averting his eyes but gazing towards Declan with a look that was reluctant and not happy, but not without understanding.

“…Yeah, okay,” he managed at the end.

"There are too many scenarios I have too consider. If you're alone, if I do something stupid and miss a blind spot, if Ghost is delayed recovering me. You may never have call to use any weapon at all, and with luck that will be the case, but if it comes to pass...your safety is more inportant to me than your sensibilities..."

He paused, expression pained by the words that to him sounded unkind no matter how he said them.

"I'm sorry. I don't like it. I won't force you, but it's a precaution everyone takes in this world. You aren't able to shield yourself with the Light the way Guardians are, so you're at risk. I...don't know what I'd do if something happened to you that I feel like I could have prevented. Especially when the whole point is to get you home safely."

“You don’t—You don’t have to explain it to me,” Aoba answered, awkwardly stammered at first, but without bite. Now his gaze dropped as he poked at his food to avoid seeing that hurt-seeming look on the Guardian’s face.

“I understand why you want me to be armed and I know you’re only looking out for me,”—and Aoba squirmed internally at that painful wording of I don’t know what I’d do—“but I’m never going to be comfortable with weapons that way. It’s not like I’ve never defended myself or hurt other people in a fight, but putting a gun in my hands is just…completely different. A completely different scale of fighting.”

War. The word was war. Not even the territorial fights that gangs like Dry Juice and Benishigure got into approached the level of war that embroiled Declan and the other Guardians.

“I’m not mad or anything, and I’m not going to say ‘no’ just on principle. I’m just not going to like it, either.”

But he did have to explain, because he kept pushing things Aoba didn't want. Whether it was for the man's own good or not, Declan still felt guilty about it. Especially since there was at least a nugget of ulterior motive there. He instantly felt disgusted with himself for thinking those thoughts, anyways.

"Guns don't mean killing," he added after a moment of thought. "You can fire warning shots, you can wound superficially just to give yourself time to get to cover. I don't want you to have to do anything you find morally challenging, either. If you're ever unsure, I make an excellent shield," the Titan pointed out, thumping a fist on his chest with a half smile and tilt of his head.

"And I can erect an actual impenetrable shield as well. So best case scenario, we never see combat and worst case scenario, you fire a warning shot and run. Either way, safety is important, so a quick rundown at the range is necessary. But after that, if you feel confident running, I leave that choice up to you. I'll defer to your judgment, Aoba. I promise, I won't force you to do anything, ever. Really, that includes carrying the weapons, if you're genuinely against it."

Of course guns meant killing, Aoba thought. It was precisely what they were made for. He wasn’t about to argue semantics with Declan, however, and didn’t want to. The semantics of it all weren’t the point, and neither did Aoba have anything like an intention to convince his friend otherwise. He could tell that this was just something they were going to inherently disagree on, however gently, and all he wanted was for Declan to understand why.

The idea of straight up using Declan as a shield made him feel pretty sick, though, lowering a piece of food back to his plate unbitten. Some sort of shield ability was one thing, but as a proverbial meat shield? Armored Titan or not, Aoba could not see himself adding to any risk the Guardian was in that way.

“I said I’ll carry them, and I’ll carry them,” Aoba reiterated, but again without sting. He wasn’t snapping. He was uncomfortable and unhappy with the idea, but as he’d said, he wasn’t angry. “I may not want to use them myself, but at the very least I can carry them for you.”

"You know," Ghost chimed in, breaking the awkward moment up with an even more awkward segue. "In ancient civilizations, like Japan and Rome, carrying another man's weapons often implied an intimate relationship between the two. There had to be a sincere bond of trust between the two, since one protected the other, and the one carrying the weapons was responsible for their safety in the sense that failing to provide those weapons risked their lives. It's good that you two are forming such powerful bonds of trust."

It was easy to see a smile in the construct's tone, and Aoba - more adept at reading people than Declan was - might have heard a slightly sly sound to the words. Hard to tell from a floating ball's one-eyed expressions, though.

Declan blinked a few times, staring wide-eyed from behind the half-curtain of white hair. Lips pursed, puckered in attempt to form a word, fell short, and eventually he looked to Aoba, momentarily speechless before clearing his throat.

"I...I can carry them if you'd rather not. I can switch my gear out to carry more..." He fretted visibly, not wanting to burden Aoba with the weight of the guns or his affections.

Edited 2018-10-18 15:34 (UTC)

Aoba definitely heard the smile and a touch of something else, but after a blink of his own he decided that Ghost could only mean their friendship. It seemed to be the first of any real depth that Declan had ever made, so it made sense for his construct companion to approve.

Ghost's words made a surprising amount of sense, too, in a way that actually made Aoba feel somewhat better about just carrying weapons without being willing to use them. It made it a shared responsibility. Teamwork.

"I said I'd carry them, okay?" he repeated himself one more time, though his own touch of relief seemed to run counter to a greater level of distress on Declan's side. Huh. "Unless... you think I might run off with a weapon when you need it?"

Another thought to reflect on: if he had Declan's weapons, running away from his side wouldn't be an option. Not in Aoba's mind, anyway.

"I won't, I mean. If they're your weapons more than mine, I'm going to be right at your side."

Whatever distress previously radiated from Declan was immediately dashed away in the sudden shock and pleasure he displayed. When Aoba stubbornly insisted he would carry the weapons despite Ghost's (he cast a quick, withering look his way) unnecessary factoids, Declan was confused but happy - and confused by his happiness. Fortunately for them both, Aoba's second statement changed the pace and the Titan snorted a laugh before he could stop.

"Snrk. Ah! I'm sorry. Sorry. I'm not...I mean I'm laughing, but not at you. I just...I don't think you would ever run. Not if you thought for a moment that you could help. I trust you. Trained or not."

…Declan needed to laugh more. Even if it was a little bit at Aoba’s expense.

But it was…good, to hear Declan express that kind of faith in him. What reason did he even have to, really? But he did, anyway, and Aoba was not one to be ungrateful for it. Maybe he wanted nothing to do with war or the weapons thereof, but Declan had become someone important to him. Theirs was a friendship he would absolutely protect.

“Then that’s all settled,” Aoba said, relaxing enough for it to count. It then seemed important to plainly say, “I trust you too, Declan. Even if I ask questions or don’t like something, I’m still going to trust you.”

"Trust isn't about liking everything, just about seeing past it," the Titan shrugged, nodding once and taking a few more bites of food.

"When you're finished, we should get going. We've got to register you properly, we should check my ship in the hangar, and we'll log a couple hours at the range. After we wrap all that up...you want to come with me to the mountains? I need to go to the temple for my...commendation..." He flushes slightly, uncomfortable with the praise thrust upon him. So far as Declan ever saw it, he wasn't doing more than any other Guardian. Any recognition from the Iron Lord, Saladin, was something to talk about.

He didn't want to be talked about.

"I've put it off for a while, but I keep getting summons. I'd skip...but the temple on Felwinter Peak is beautiful, and it's a place still on Earth. A good short trip in the ship for a test run, I'll wrap up business on Earth, then we can head out at first light. What do you think?"

And then there was Aoba, surprised by Declan springing yet another something else on him. Sometimes the Guardian just had no ability to segue, really. Blinking, and mouth full of food again, Aoba had to make a moment to clear his mouth and remind himself what a commendation was.

“That’s like…an award for outstanding service, right?” he asked, having to draw on nothing but a dictionary understanding of the word. Real enthusiasm soon followed. So Declan was getting some proper recognition from his superiors! Aoba had to admit he’d wondered a little bit, but now said wondering took a different angle on things.

If he was putting it off…that probably meant he didn’t think he deserved it. That would fit with him brushing off Aoba’s praise every time he told him what a good person he was. So maybe Declan wasn’t really so underappreciated at all, except by himself….

“…Yes, absolutely! I’ll absolutely go with you, Declan. That sounds like something you shouldn’t put off at all anymore,” Aoba smiled with his reply. It occurred to him then: he’d better do as much as he could to shore up Declan’s self-esteem before he had to go. As much as it was obvious the man had gotten by just fine before Aoba came along, he deserved at least a little healthy pride to stand tall with. Maybe Aoba could impart a little more before he left.

Agreeing that he wasn’t ‘Decker’ was a start, but surely they could achieve more than that.

"Mm...I don't like this sort or thing, really. Having someone to go with will be nice." He meant it all, too. He didn't like being praised for doing what everyone else did, didn't like being noticed for efforts other Guardians made just as well and often. Mac worked more frequently than Declan did and just because Declan was a defender in many of his missions, he got more recognition. It seemed wrong.

Of course Declan also didn't understand that Guardians like himself were far more rare and sought after; his determination to protect others before himself to the point of being an immovable wall against hordes of creatures was indeed commendable. During the mock battles of the Iron Banner, Declan single-handedly carried his team to victory sometimes. Lord Saladin noticed.

"Well...no time like the present..."

When Aoba had enough to eat, the remains (of which there were few with how Declan could eat) were put in the cooler and they headed up the Tower to go over registrations. Aoba was very briefly introduced to the vanguard leaders, including Cayde-6 who kept dodging left and right from ine foot to the other to look around behind a very distressed Declan that kept shielding Aoba with his body. The hunter just wanted to see the supposedly not-at-all-spy portal-jumping not-quite-human that Declan was hording to himself. Cayde wasn't unlike Mac, in a lot of ways. Though he had infinitely more authority. Despite it, he didn't order Declan around or demand Aoba present himself. The vanguard approved Aoba's passage and sent them along with a few murmurs of approval that Declan was going to meet with Saladin.

In the hangar, Declan stepped away to review a checklist of issues handled by Halliday, his ship hovering, engines trimming a low, warm sound, like a large sleeping cat. Other ships whizzed by in and out if the massive center, Aoba able to watch a lot more hustle and bustle than anywhere else on the Tower.

Eventually they were cleared and the two men were transmat ported onto the ship, dropping into the cockpit.

"No time to go over everything, I'll do it later. A storm is kicking up on the mountain so we'll go straight there and wait it out." That said, he slid into one if the seats, flipping switches and tapping away on bright screens with the muscle memory of one who had made flights a thousand thousand times. Soon they were zooming through the sky, though inside the ship it felt no worse than riding a bullet train.

"It shouldn't be more than a half hour...it's just Russia."

To be completely honest, Aoba had no idea why Declan was trying to shelter him like that. He remembered Cayde’s robotic-but-animated face from it peering around Declan’s shoulder on a vid-call or two and was not averse to meeting the Exo in person—enough so that Aoba gave Declan a playful poke in the back as if to say ‘what gives?’, and took the time on his own to present himself properly and indulge some of that curiosity. Aoba had a fair share of his own, after all, so it was an even trade.

Tell you one thing, though…Aoba was leaving transmat teleportation well on the list of things he’d never get used to. It was too eerily instantaneous.

Not that he had long to dwell on it. The ship went up…and up. He didn’t even register the absurdity of a comment like ‘it’s just Russia’.

He was too busy being as plastered to a window as he could get, hastily rousing Ren from sleep mode in his satchel in order to share the moment with his Allmate. Aoba may have never flown before, but they were still inside the atmosphere so it’s didn’t unsettle him. For all he knew (though at the same time he doubted it) an ordinary airplane had a similar view.

“This is incredible…!”

They were flying reasonably low to give Aoba plenty to see anyways. Without the test run of the ship, Declan didn't want to enter the stratosphere just to slingshot for a shorter trip. Thirty minutes wasn't a hassle for him. Besides, it was obviously a good choice, based on how pleased Aoba was.

He spent the trip pointing out different landmarks and abandoned cities. All the old countries they zoomed over.

"We could fly over Japan if you wanted. Anywhere at all. Everywhere is empty anymore...but the marks humanity left behind are still there. I've visited a lot of places, just to see the historical sites. The world isn't a safe place, but it's not lost. Just abandoned."

Just abandoned, he said. Aoba dropped slowly back into his seat, enthusiasm dampened, as he reflected on that. Right…the place they frequently just called The City was The Last City. It was a gigantic place, but half because it was all humanity had left. And the Exos, who were manmade in some forgotten part of their past. Aoba wasn’t sure how the Awoken, like Declan, fit into it though. Human offshoots, something like that?

The whole of the Old Resident Districts and Platinum Jail would have fit inside The Last City with ample room to spare.

“…I’ve never even left the island where I was born,” he said in half-answer, voicing his thoughts allowed. “I mean, before the whole portal mess, obviously. But for ordinary people, unless you’re really rich, it’s just about impossible. My parents got out when I was really young, but I…well, I guess I never really thought about it in depth, but I probably just assumed I’d die there without ever seeing anywhere else. Not the mainland, not anything.”

He propped his chin on a hand, watching the face of the world glide by below them. Vast and abandoned.

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