nopunchline: (Default)
nopunchline ([personal profile] nopunchline) wrote in [community profile] orendalogs2015-12-11 10:38 pm

IT'S YOUR DESTINY!!!

Who: Anyone, everyone? Aoba and Declan to start.
What: Destiny
When: After the House of Wolves, before The Taken King.
Where: Earth, The Last City, The Tower and beyond.
Warnings: Could be sorta zombie stuff (Hive), could be xenophilia? I dunno. Gen warnings, yo.





Earth. 700 years into the future, humanity is all but gone, huddled in a massive city in the mountains, surrounded by gargantuan walls and living in the shadow of the slumbering, perhaps dead, body of The Traveler. The massive being of benevolence and light that came to Earth bearing gifts of knowledge that would bring about the longest Golden Age in Terran history, hovering in geostationary orbit over The Last City of men, protecting what is left from The Darkness beyond with the remains of it's Light.

For those on Earth it is a well-known story. With The Traveler's dying breath it created Ghosts, fragments of living Light that in turn resurrected men and women across the galaxy, bringing to bear the Guardians, warriors to fight the Darkness. Earth and all the nearby planets are populated by humans, the Awoken, Exos and a variety of species of ever more distant origins, some less generous than others. The Guardians make their headquarters in a colossal spire at the edge of The Last City. There, in the Tower, the Vanguard and other factions of humanity work together to hold the line and fight the Darkness and every other threat to the known universe. The little understood Guardians rarely venture beyond the Tower, preferring the company of their brothers and sisters in arms, but all look to the Tower as a beacon of hope.

There is danger and adventure to be had; the likelihood of death and the possibility of rebirth. The future is uncertain, but all who walk in the Light know the Darkness is coming, and the wise life to the fullest.

[ Destiny Wiki ]
scrappyblue: (Periwinkle)

[personal profile] scrappyblue 2018-10-25 12:59 am (UTC)(link)
Aoba jumped like he’d been goosed, looking up and around with eyes back to their default shade of hazel, set in a face that was short on sleep but not red or discolored or anything like that. He saw Declan’s face and saw—nothing to mirror the way he was feeling all eaten up and twisted inside.

Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.

He ignored—himself. Not in a way that equaled unhearing, but just not acknowledging.

“I can’t even figure out what these buckles are for,” he said in response, voice soft and tired, but still waving an arm at his friend in a pitiful show of needing help indeed.

They were still friends, weren’t they?
scrappyblue: (Cerulean)

[personal profile] scrappyblue 2018-10-25 01:47 am (UTC)(link)
If he wants to talk about overthinking then we need to talk about yesterd—

God, not now, okay? Aoba stood patiently in place, eyes closed for a few tired moments before opening again, realizing he’d better pay attention so that he could reproduce this all on his own later. Declan’s hands were efficient and no-nonsense, tugging things into place with all the efficiency of decades or centuries or whatever the hell he’d been a Guardian for, but while Aoba didn’t feel anything untoward about it all, he was still more attentive than professionalism allowed for. It was in a melancholic fashion, though.

Everything felt fine once it was on, though the helmet was strange. It gave Aoba a weird and irrelevant flashback, but his sense of vision was—remarkably unimpaired, despite how it had looked before actually putting it on. He flexed his hands in the gloves, unfamiliar with the way they were reinforced by the various space-age materials, but wandered off towards the mirror. There was a little more heel on the boots than he would have gone for on his own, but the steps didn’t feel too awkward….

And he literally could not recognize himself when he looked in the mirror. Even all of his ponytail had gotten tucked inside and hidden away the protective layers. He looked like some Hunter Guardian, unidentifiably masked.

“Throwing coins to a cat,” he muttered, making experimental little movements. Louder, he said, “I’ve never worn anything like it, but…as far as I can tell, it feels fine.”
scrappyblue: (Sapphire)

[personal profile] scrappyblue 2018-10-25 02:35 am (UTC)(link)
“Will do,” he agreed, apparently on a conservation of words gain as he pulled off the helmet and shook his hair free, leaving it on the top of his un-slept-in bed before heading to the bathroom. Correction. He re-emerged to sidetrack back to the couch, pick up his other clothes from the coffee table, and then retreated to the bathroom as if that had been his intention all along.

The bathroom was still steamy from Declan’s shower. Aoba almost balked right then and there but then pressed on, stripping out of the gear with better ease than he got into it in the first place. Actually getting into the fall of hot water came as a genuine relief, and his following shower wasn’t quite so utilitarian as Declan’s own tended to be. By the time he got out again his body felt better, if not his head or his heart.

He dressed most of the way up again, returning to the kitchen with the helmet in his hands and the gloves inside of it for a makeshift carryall, damp hair loose around his shoulders to dry faster.

[personal profile] scrappyblue 2018-10-25 03:44 am (UTC)(link)
Declan only half-succeeded. He was the first thing Aoba saw, hovering at the table like he was. The plates of omurice were second, and the sight of them was just about a shot through the heart. Aoba looked from them, back to the Guardian, with an open look that did nothing to hide the awkward worry he was feeling.

There was still a muttering in the back of his thoughts, and even though it was just his brain he would swear there was pacing going on back there. It was so bizarre, how foggily doubled everything felt when he allowed it the attention. He’d even taken a dose of his medicine, at his reminder. It hadn’t silenced him, but he was quieter. Clearer, though. A distinct sound at a distance, rather than mumbling up close.

Can we at least try for a hug? came a thread of frustration, an almost shockingly simple request. Aoba wondered if it would even still be okay. They’d both—both, meaning Declan—needed them yesterday morning. Aoba had to admit he could really use one now, too, but wondered if he’d just have to settle for homemade breakfast.

“Cleaner, at least,” he answered, fumbling, knowing that he wanted to make things right again but uncertain of the procedure. If breakfast was already an overture, he had to match it somehow. He put the helmet down on a free spot on the table, fidgeting with his hands briefly, then deciding he’d lost the privilege to do anything but ask. “…Could I…have a hug for the rest?”

Could they just rewind everything to yesterday morning? Start over, try again? But if not…at least he’d know better where they stood, now.

[personal profile] scrappyblue 2018-10-25 01:03 pm (UTC)(link)
Aoba needed it so badly that once he realized those arms were indeed open, he didn’t just stand there to wait for them. He stepped forward between them, not just a polite little apology hug but actively leaning into him, cheek against chest and arms around that sturdy pillar of a waist. A shaky sigh of relief accompanied a leeching of tension from Aoba’s back and shoulders as he closed his eyes, taking in what he was still allowed to have. Home.

“You’re not stupid,” Aoba countered immediately, aghast to hear Declan apologizing to him of all things. “You’re perfect.”

It was Ghost’s word for the man, that one time, thoughtlessly borrowed but also truer than anything else Aoba could have come up with in that moment. Patient, forgiving, supportive. Taking blame he didn’t deserve. Making breakfast.

“You’re even putting up with me when I’m acting like—this. I’m the one that should be begging for patience. I’m not—” Fumbling, hesitating. “…Neither side of me is very good at expressing myself, it seems.”


[personal profile] scrappyblue 2018-10-25 02:58 pm (UTC)(link)
See? He was even humble, therefore he was perfect. The movements of Declan’s hands brushed Aoba’s still-drying hair, but not once did he flinch. Maybe he was still a mess on the inside, but at least he was still a safe, not-being-left-alone mess.

But the pats and the indication of the food seemed like an invitation to part at just the right time between ‘rushed’ and ‘overstaying’, so despite some reluctance, Aoba eased back with a tired but not ingenuine laugh.

“If you can survive my cooking, I don’t think any of us have anything to fear,” he managed, smiling up at the Guardian with a poorly-voiced softness in his eyes before finally lowering his arms. It was a gaze he ultimately had to avert, anyway, in order to set himself into his usual seat to address the prepared breakfast. It looked far better than some of Aoba’s early attempts at the dish, and still smelled good.

[personal profile] scrappyblue 2018-10-26 02:34 pm (UTC)(link)
Whether he was aware of it or not, Declan really knew how to make a person feel…at least closer to normal. Comfort, reassurance, and then basic to business as usual without being dismissive of it. Even that entity called ‘Desire’ in the back of his thoughts simmered down to just the occasional grumbling, as if Aoba found himself in a place where he didn’t want much more than he was already getting. (Was that even how it worked, to have one’s mind divided this way?)

Aoba might have remained fairly subdued after that, but it was recuperation rather than regression. He was attentive to Declan speaking and gave answers where he could, meeting his gaze on occasion and never avoiding it. Frozen meals weren’t going to be a problem, he promised. After being stuck with the Decker gang in Steelport and having nothing but junk food and energy drinks thrown at him, he was never going to resent anything that was still real food, frozen or otherwise. More privately, Aoba reflected on how it suddenly made sense that Declan didn’t need to eat. He was dead, after all.

But it was still so hard to think that of someone who was so warm….

Then the moment was upon them. All their packed-up things had been loaded onto the Mariner, Aoba was clad in every piece of gear (sans helmet) he’d been given, and—this was it. They were going into space. Aoba was still kind of anxious about it, but not nearly so much as he’d been when the idea had first been proposed. Maybe he was just at emotional capacity after everything else, or maybe it just felt normal given how routine it was for Declan himself, but Aoba only felt jittery instead of truly afraid or panicked. He was strapped in, Ren was alert and in his lap, and space awaited them.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he agreed, a soft smile hopefully helping to compensate for another relative lack of words.

[personal profile] scrappyblue 2018-10-26 03:33 pm (UTC)(link)
Aoba could have responded that he’d rarely been in cars, much less ones going up anything resembling a hill, but all he did was nod and sink his fingers into Ren’s fur a little more. Though his little companion had been of even fewer words than himself since yesterday, the comfort he could take from holding him was not refused.

And then…upwards.

It was so unlike the way that space travel was always portrayed in movies that he’d seen that it almost didn’t feel real. A few shakes. Some quiet ‘tinks’ that didn’t even last long enough for him to think the ship had lost some important piece of itself. No nausea, no vertigo. The windows might have been nothing more than highly advanced television screens, or the whole thing might not have been anything other than a simulation in Rhyme. Clouds gave way to stars on a black field, nothing to give him any point of reference or sense of scale.

Not until Declan turned the ship around, that is.

Aoba had never imagined the Earth could look so small. Simple understanding told him that it wasn’t really, and he only had to puzzle at the strange sphere nestled up against it for a brief while to realize that it was the broken shape of the Traveler. So the City was right there. The place that dwarfed the whole of Midorijima, the singular settlement that was all that remained of Earth’s civilian populace, reduced to nothing at all.

He exhaled quietly, heart suddenly heavy.
scrappyblue: (Cobalt)

[personal profile] scrappyblue 2018-10-26 08:12 pm (UTC)(link)
And Aoba thought: what did he really want to come back for?

He observed the Earth, the blue and green whole of it, and how the Traveler itself had gone from a tiny moon directly overhead of the city to a tiny neighbor clinging to the planet's atmosphere. Declan spoke of hope, and it wasn't that Aoba disbelieved him, exactly, but suddenly he called himself into question.

He thought of his own journey, the passage of portals. If Declan found him an expedited way home, then to Aoba it was nothing more than a long walk to complete the circuit from the past Midorijima to the future City. Were his thoughts too trivial? Was he just... infatuated? Was coming back to this war-torn version of the Earth even worth it?

Did he want to come back here only to be protected?

Aoba rubbed his fingers together quietly, very conscious of the second-skin fit of the gloves, of the Hunter's gear shaped to his body. And he thought about the absurdity of his life back home, working as a desk clerk in a junk shop on an island he could never leave.

"You have so many more important things to do," he found himself saying, apologetic in tone. The scale of everything Declan had done, was doing for him, seemed so much vaster now. "... Thank you for the time you've spent on me."
scrappyblue: (Sapphire)

[personal profile] scrappyblue 2018-10-27 01:41 am (UTC)(link)
This guy….

His chest tightened and thoughts stirred. …if you would just say something… they went, but so what if he did? After whatever had exactly transpired the night before, there was just—too much of an overtone. Too much risk of things only being taken a certain way. And the thought of broaching the conversation to clarify everything? Made Aoba squirm uncomfortably.

If Declan said he was happy, Aoba believed him, but it only gave him more to question. Declan couldn’t be wrong, but Aoba didn’t feel worth it. What had he even done?

Especially on the scale of everything that had happened to the world, what had he even done?

“I’m glad,” he said again, trying not to lapse into silence of his own. “Someone like you deserves all the happiness he can get.” And then he suddenly wondered, looking over, even glancing at Ghost for a few moments as well.

Drawing upon Declan’s certainty for the future, rather than his own doubts, he asked, “When you’ve driven back the Darkness…and the world gets to go back to the way it was…what happens to the Guardians?”

[personal profile] scrappyblue 2018-10-27 02:08 am (UTC)(link)
A less reassuring answer than Aoba had hoped for, to be certain, and one that left him frowning.

“So, all the fighting, all the…dying,” he forced, letting Ren down from his lap and slowly imitating the other man in undoing his own seat clasps as he spoke. “You don’t even know if Guardians will be allowed to enjoy the world they fought so hard for?”

Brought back from the dead just to fight, and sent back to the dust afterwards? That was what Aoba imagined in his place of doubt. If the Guardians could look forward to peaceful lives for themselves as well, at least they would have just rewards at the end of everything, but if not? That seemed needlessly cruel! Sure, Ghost not knowing meant they didn’t know, but that was a pretty massive thing to be ignorant about.

For Declan be sure of the world’s future, but not his own….
scrappyblue: (Cobalt)

[personal profile] scrappyblue 2018-10-27 03:13 am (UTC)(link)
Not even that voice in the back of his thoughts had any kind of response for the way Declan’s gaze seemed to rest on him an extra moment or two. Aoba swallowed, hard, wondering if it was appropriate to feel like all the responsibility was being levied onto him. Then, on reflection of Desire’s muddled actions before, he could only assume that was exactly what was being done.

But thinking that had to mean admitting he knew…at least something of what Declan thought of him. Felt for him? Something of refusing Desire’s unsubtle advances, but not completely rejecting—

Aoba looked down at his empty hands. At clothes that fit him like they’d been made for him, but that he didn’t fit at all.

“…There’s always something worth living for,” he said softly. “That’s why it’s so sad to think you might not get that kind of chance. But it’s worse to not question it. That would mean being resigned to whatever comes your way, and that’s not right.”

Aoba’s thoughts were shifting, a new point of reference found. The world’s future, even his own future—these things seemed less important than being sure Declan had one. But if a future for Declan meant the world being freed, being restored, and maybe even meant Aoba had a place in it…hm.

Ren definitely would have accused him of spiraling into overthinking again, if the little Allmate hadn't been fairly preoccupied by a number of things, himself.

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