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It was a bad idea. She shouldn’t have come.
It felt good, doing it. Felt like closure. But then the grief filled up and took over and now Auburn was an emotional wreck in Fallen territory and needed to get out.
She had caught a ride to the Cosmodrome with a friend though, they had parted ways an hour ago and her own ship was currently en route from the tower. So it wasn’t like she could just transmat out if danger came right now. She would have to wait.
And what was worse, Scout was becoming worried.
She needed to collect herself.
He had been hovering politely over her shoulder while she mourned, but when the shaking, silent sobs had started he drifted more in front of her.
“Perhaps we should get back inside the walls. It wouldn’t be pleasant to get stuck out here.”
He didn’t say ‘again.’ She was grateful for that. Not that her mind hadn’t already dragged up the memory.
She still did not move from her spot. He was in her face now, right in front of her eyes. He butted her lightly in the forehead, an attempt to lift her spirits, she knew.
”Auburn please, get up.“
“I’m trying.”
She willed herself to stand, willed her legs to move, willed her arms to prop her up but she stayed, knees in the fresh turned dirt.
Her ghost froze, turned, held his ball perfectly still as the outer geometry whirred around it.
“Fallen.” He whispered urgently. "Put your helmet on, get a gun, come on.”
She sighed angrily. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.” He hissed back, glancing back at her narrowing the pieces over his eye in worry. “It’s nearby, get up-”
He stopped, his singular gaze meeting hers. She heard it too. There was definitely another sound, someone else breathing besides her.
She held her breath.
It rasped from her left, the sound of cold air past a dry mouth.
She turned her head and met it’s eyes.
It was a vandal, shorter than her by maybe a foot, but taller now since she was kneeling. It carried no identifying banners that she could see, and had a finger on the trigger of it’s shock rifle. But the barrel was lowered, nonthreatening. It turned it’s gaze to her ghost and she moved for the first time in what felt like ages, quickly sweeping Scout behind her.
She was not prepared for this, and that realization did not bring fear or nervousness it brought annoyance.
“Go away.” She said. It blinked at her, searching her face. It occurred to her that Fallen probably never saw their faces, never saw a guardian this close and lived. She took the time to study it as well. Too many eyes like it’s too many arms, and horns like a bull’s. Otherwise it was armor and cloth. Not unlike herself.
“Go away.” She repeated, still not eager to get up. Before it was grief, now it was principle. She was mourning. Go away.
It still did not move, still did not reply.
She huffed and glanced back over her shoulder at Scout. “Can it even understand me?”
“It ought to. The Traveler’s blessing and all, you speak the common language of the universe, everything should theoretically understand you including minions of-”
“I understand.” It spoke. Auburn wasn’t sure if there was annoyance in it’s voice or if that was just how all Fallen sounded.
“Okay.” She drawled with carefully measured annoyance. “So why the hell are you still here?” It cocked its head ever so slightly at ‘hell,’ maybe they didn’t have a concept of that. She would like to think it had grasped the overall meaning of the question, but it responded with a question of it’s own.
“What are you doing?”
She set her jaw. “I’m mourning.”
Again, perhaps the translation wasn’t perfect.
“That is a pile of dirt.” It said in a tone that had to be condescending. "And a machine.” An indication to the ancient rusted car that involuntarily functioned as a headstone. “Why is that sad?”
“It is not the dirt I'm sad about, it’s the body that is buried in it.” The grief decided to play with her head and muck up the threatening tone she had been using. “...At least what is left of it after a couple centuries.”
“Why be upset over something so long dead?”
She practically hissed. “Because I loved him.” She prayed and prayed that the vandal was picking up on her subtle fuck off tones.
It made a rumble that didn’t translate in her mind, something she liked to think was a neutral affirmative noise. Akin to an ‘oh.’ Did they even have family, friends? Did they even love?
“What house are you from?” She spat, glaring at the four-armed disgrace. She was nearly ready to get up and rip it’s throat out. She didn’t know why she hadn’t already.
“Exiles.” She tried to tell herself good enough, kill it, but her heart knew it was the Devils she loathed, especially right here, right now. It was the Devils that had killed her and killed him.
She looked away from the thing, back to the grave. “Then just go away.”
“You would have killed me if the answer was different.” Was it a question or a statement? Their tones were so difficult to detect and understand. Was it making an intelligent assumption or was it just too dumb to follow all this?
“Yes. I would have.” She affirmed, more venomous than she had intended. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. “I should be killing you anyway.”
“Were I Devils?” Definitely a question this time, she was sure of it. And it ignored the second half of her comment. But…
“How did you come to that conclusion?” She allowed it a sidelong glance, not quite giving her full attention. Perhaps their intelligence was worth a minor remark.
It rolled it’s lower arms forward. Was that a shrug? “They are the house that has controlled this area for as long as we have been here. They kill all intruders.” It nodded to her and the grave. Yes. Intelligent.
“I am aware.”
It made the shrugging motion again. "They have a High Servitor nearby."
Slowly, Auburn met it's eyes. Had she heard that right?
"It is my job to scout the enemy strongholds." It continued when she voiced no reply. "I found it earlier today."
"Where?"
It gestured back to the wall. "Through the wall again. Down the tunnel past the big circle blades and outside. Right from there, in the place with the many metal boxes and the Hive, many Hive, but not a Hive ship."
"Sounds like Rocketyard." Scout supplied. She took in the information and let it sink in, thinking.
"And you want me to go kill it for you." She concluded after a moment.
"If that isn't a problem."
She placed a hand on the grave, spread her fingers, imagined she felt the dirt though her gloves. High Servitor of the Devils. It's elimination would be a crippling blow to the house's presence here.
"No." She said finally, deliberately. "I don't think it will be a problem at all."
She straightened up, retrieved her helmet from the earth beside her, slipped it on. She grasped her scout rifle and finally stood. The vandal held its ground but seemed to shrink back slightly, seemed mentally prepared to run. She let her visor's emotionless gaze fall on it.
"Thank you."
It did the shrugging thing with its lower arms again.
"Do you think-" It began. "Do you think there can ever be peace? That we can coexist?"
No. She thought. No. Devils or Exiles or Wolves, it doesn’t matter. Your kind has taken our world. You have killed our people. You pillage and scavenge our past greatness. We will never have peace.
"Perhaps." She said. "With time."
She gave it a nod and turned, heading purposefully for the wall. Time to kill.