Chapter Text
January
Sarang kicked a pizza box that had been left on the floor of the food court by one of the miscreants they were calling their teammates. Not that anyone else seemed to be calling the Hex a team, which felt stupid. As much as they'd been alone for most of their long existence, Sarang couldn't really understand how they could be all living here, fighting along side each other, be fairly friendly with long histories, have a bloody edgy team name and not consider themselves a team. Eleanor had laughed at them when they'd asked about it, saying that they were worse than that, they were a family.
The concept of family felt like it flew over Sarang's head a bit, at least, whatever Eleanor meant by that. It'd been too long and the whole idea of it had been shattered by what had happened on the Zariman so that it seemed as alien as the world they found themselves in. The past… so distant and unknown it was almost meaningless to try and pinpoint when they were and what influences could still be seen in their original time. Might as well be a new Duviri, a storybook landscape with imaginary friends.
Speaking of friends, Eleanor, who seemed to like them most out of anyone so far, had given Sarang homework. To get to know her family, to become Sarang to them instead of the Drifter. She thought it'd be good for them all if they got to know them as someone who was… well, probably going to end up adopted if they really were stuck there for the long haul.
With a sigh, Sarang looked at the notepad Eleanor had given them, highlighted with a list of names and usual haunts, all around a scraggly map of the mall they called home. Sarang felt… guilty, they supposed, knowing that there was a room Entrati had set up just for them in what felt like some kind of minor alternate dimension. It was nice, if a bit grungy, but spacious enough to be a proper apartment. And the couches were going to be pretty comfortable to sleep on whenever they managed to stop vibrating emotionally to get some rest. He'd been busy preparing for Sarang's arrival, everything at the ready for them as if to say, welcome home.
Another alien word, "home", another make believe idea of belonging somewhere. Even going to the Zariman to see the Holdfasts had felt less like homecoming and more like… a funeral. Or visiting a graveyard. Helping Kahl, enjoying the little community growing at their camp on Earth was still them being a friendly mercenary more than being a sister to them. The Cavia were their own thing; as much as they loved them, comforted them when they had time, Sarang knew they were on the outside of that trauma circle. Sarang hadn't even bothered trying to embed themselves with the planet side factions. Those belonged to the Operator, to the kid who'd actually earned their place among them. So they'd done as their epithet implied and drifted on to the next thing that the Void had in store for them. Let the kid deal with their balancing act as Number One Space Cop with Mommy Margulis. Sarang could handle the Indifference with the Lotus.
The other talks had gone well, more than well even. Quincy was a flirt but made them laugh. Lettie let them pet their rats and seemed keen to see what their current favourite warframe could do, excited when Sarang had shown them their healing mote. She was already considering the possibilities. Amir was a lot, more than Sarang could follow but when they promised to bring a different speedster frame by for a race, it'd been more than enough to get him on board. And Aoi had just been happy to meet someone who liked On-lyne. Maybe not quite as much as she did, but already knowing all the lyrics of "Party of Your Lifetime" had been an easy in. All that was left was to try and talk to Arthur.
"You know… I don't think it's great for you to be spinning that skana like that. Skana will probably survive but the floor won't." They were going for cheerful, non-threatening, but it had come out mocking, maybe even a little patronizing. Sarang wasn't sure, but also knew that Cavalero was always giving them a hard time for being a mouthy little bitch. He'd liked it, but the others hadn't appreciated it much. It'd earned them a lot of tongue clicking.
Arthur looked up, unimpressed. But he stopped, leaning back on the counter outside of the security guard's station.
"I'm sure the floor won't mind. But what have you got there?" Arthur put his hand out, recognizing the notepad as one of Eleanor's. Sarang hesitated before handing it over, realizing that it must look silly, with their notes now on it detailing what they'd talked to the others about. Little hearts around Eleanor and Aoi, sparkles and stars around Quincy and Amir. A doodle of the healing mote and the rats around Lettie. A child's notepad.
"Ah, I see. My sister's put you up to this then?"
"Yeah. She thinks it'll help me get settled in and uh… help me with my social skills."
"I see. Well then, how can I help?"
"Tell me about yourself."
"What. Just like that?"
"Yeah, isn't that how this is supposed to work?" Sarang could feel the beginnings of sass creep up in their voice, defensive almost as they could feel their embarrassment rising.
"Sweet Sol, you-- Right. Stranded in an alternate dimension. You're less used to 'people' than I am." He'd managed to save himself from blurting out that their newcomer was cute as their cheeks turned pink. They'd both made bad first impressions, and he'd just enough sense to realize calling them cute while they seemed to be awkwardly gripping the notebook like a shield wasn't likely improve things. He'd been impressed by them in what had come after well, stabbing them, but hadn't had much of an opportunity to tell them so.
"How am I supposed to do it?" An earnest question, although Arthur realized that he was in fact probably the worst person to ask. He'd meant it when he said he wasn't particularly used to talking to people either, a lifelong introvert.
"I don't know, ask questions."
"Um.…Favourite colour?"
"Guess."
"Black."
"Heh. No. But that's Eleanor's. Or maybe it's purple? It changes." He couldn't help but smirk, just a little. Did he really seem that edgy? Probably, he was just hanging around with a naked sword in his hand in a mall of all places. Seemed like a dark and broody teenage thing to do.
"I don't know that much about you two, actually. Are--"
"And I'm not about to start unloading family history to you, so don't try," he cut them off. There was real bite to it, a finality that surprised Sarang into giving him wide eyes. He didn't care, he had to set the boundary.
"I don't know you." Sarang nodded, not quite shrinking back but they did take the step, giving him space. He was right, and family was a pretty personal subject. But they couldn't help that it'd stung, that it furrowed their brow and made some part of them want to run and hide and another part want to bite and snarl.
"And with that attitude you won't." They'd wanted to leave with in a huff, get the last word. But they flinched as they'd heard him mutter under his breath as they'd spun on their heels.
"Huge loss."
February
Winter progressed and with it came an increase in people needing help as they avoided more mundane infections. Not a great progression, but it kept Sarang busy as they made the rounds with Lettie. Made them feel useful and they had a growing respect for the team's medic. It was fascinating to watch her work, to heal without magical powers. Sarang felt like a kid, voraciously learning and absorbing Lettie's craft as if they were in school again.
For her part, Lettie appreciated Sarang's willingness to help, and that they'd been thoughtful in their choice of warfarmes. Wisp was strange, alien, but beautiful and a great help to them. They moved quickly while they were out of the mall, making good time, and the little trickle of healing had smoothed over some of the lesser hurts without having to think as hard about the hit to their inventory. It'd been an overall success adding Sarang to Lettie's routine and for the first time in a long time, she felt like she had breathing room.
"Good work today, babas. Although, next time, you don't have to go all fantasmas the second you see a Scaldra worker. Just… avoid them."
"Fair, I guess. I'm just getting used to the idea of stealth being an option. My whole deal's been hack'n'slashing my way through… everything."
"It's okay, you're learning. And you were good with those kids, kept them calm while we got them vaccinated. Your fancy little guitar is handy."
"Ahah, thanks. I stole it from Duviri. Now it's my only hobby besides… reading."
"Oh yeah? You should see if any of this time's music translates well. Maybe you can talk to Aoi about it, she's kind of a audiophile so she'd know better than me."
"Maybe… I'm not sure I'm ready for anyone here to actually hear me play. I'm not very good, self taught and all."
"Ah, that just makes it more impressive, si?" Lettie offered them a rare reassuring smile.
"Anyway… I gotta go. Gotta keep up my training routine or Q will have a real excuse to call me soft. Bye, Lettie."
The combat medic let the little ghost go, frowning as they jumped over the railing to land on the first floor. They seemed to refuse to use stairs, instead jumping and teleporting around with enough speed to give Amir momentary jealousy. He was even more impressed when he found out that the void slinging could be helpful. In his own way, Amir'd taken a real shine to the newcomer, if for no other reason than they seemed to be totally unfazed by his oddity. Apparently, compared to everyone else they'd dealt with, Amir was a delight. Lettie had questions, concerns, curiosities, but also knew that their shy little ghost would probably need time to open up. And she couldn't be chasing them down, she had her own routine to keep on top of.
Training consisted of meditation, stretching, and then forms and guards. Even after they'd abandoned Teshin in Duviri, and that's really how they felt about it, Sarang had kept up with the daily practice of grounding themselves. Maybe it kept the madness at bay, maybe the familiarity was comforting. It probably was out of guilt towards their mentor now that they were freer than they'd ever been while he was forever looping alone except for his rabbit.
"Where'd you learn to fight?" The question startled Sarang, made them flinch so hard they almost sent Moon flying at the end of one of their turns. They turned their head to see Arthur watching them, propped against one of the cement pillars by his shoulder, arms crossed. Heat began to creep up their neck, not exactly sure why they were embarrassed. Being watched should feel natural enough now, what with the Man in the Wall coming to check up on them semi-regularly wearing the kid's skin.
"Mentor of mine, named Teshin." They began again, the circular dance where the two blades they'd been gifted curved through the air, making space, clearing a path forward. "An elite Dax soldier- which I just remember means nothing to you." Sarang spared him a glance and he nodded, go on then.
"I'll summarize. It means he has the patience to put up with me."
"Heh. Sounds like a hell of a tutor. And someone I'd like to meet." Well, you can't, they thought.
"I'd still be lost in Duviri if it weren't for him."
"Sounds like he gave you the push you needed." They could hear him shift, hands coming away from his chest as he relaxed.
"Yeah. And he coached me on how to fight. On how to beat Dominus Thrax."
"Thrax was.…a character from a story, right?" They spun faster, as if trying to beat back Dax here in the mall, relentless waves of them.
"That I accidentally turned into a tyrannical despot who had me executed in creative ways for centuries? Yep." A block. A reflecting swipe. Reflexes ingrained into their bones, the unfading muscle memory of squaring off against Thrax's horde, saved by the best Dax warrior there ever was.
"But… why?" Lua… How could they explain that one to him? Why had they done this to themselves? They almost didn't know why they thought they'd deserved it. Almost.
"Being trapped alone in the Void does weird things to you." Sun cut forward, the last form, a merciful end. Quick. To the point.
"That's fair. How about we come back to it, should we get to that point." The way Arthur was looking at them made their skin itch, or burn, it was hard to say. The flush from their training hid the fact that they'd already been blushing before they'd managed to get their blood up.
"Deal," they said before wiping the sweat away from their forehead. Hopefully he'll forget to follow up.
March
Winter wore on and things were starting to look up for Sarang. In so much that it was starting to warm up, not so bitingly cold. Though they could do without all the wet leaking through everywhere, causing a lot of the pizza to grow mold. They'd taken to bringing back fish once they discovered they could leave, check on the future and come back again. Returning to the future was an escape, but they found themselves missing the Hex, the banter, the comradery. Ordis was fine, but… well, it was different with the Hex.
They found themselves looking forward to spending time with the others between operations. Lettie would let them feed and play with the rats, and they kept trying to get Kalymos to stop looking at them like food. Amir showed them how to build a character in his strange little game, and it was fun imagining a different, better, happier person. Aoi caught Sarang playing their shawzin and suddenly she was bringing by sheet music, trying to get them to do covers of On-lyne's discography. And Eleanor… Eleanor practically cuddled them as they sat and talked about… everything. The Void, the Man in the Wall, the dark and twisty bits of their now overburdened psyches. They'd fallen asleep there, head resting against the couch while Eleanor braided their hair.
Quincy was another matter though, challenging them, teasing them, getting a rise out of them constantly. But at the first suggestion that their clothes were strange and seeing the hurt there, he'd turned up one day with a care package. Three sets of clothes, all a little different, but warm and comfortable. For off hours, he'd said. He'd guessed at their size and style and Sarang was touched to find that they fit. Enough that Quincy earned the longest hug they'd ever given anyone up to that point.
"I could tell you weren't no priss, so I thought these might be more your speed. A good bit of panache in these fits, you might even measure up to Quincy-K." He gave them a playful nudge on the chin with his hand, earning him a swat. He just laughed and put his hands up in surrender.
"Ey, not trying to get you all riled up. Just trying to spoil you a little, cuz."
"Thank you… What do you want in exchange?" Sarang hugged the bundle to their chest, feeling more pleased than they wanted to admit. It was nice, so nice, but they had to wonder what he wanted. Why he was being so kind to them?
"Hah! No'ting this time. Just nothing wrong with a little vanity, innit? Now, gweh, I got a connection to go pay off." He shoo'd them off with a wave, cheerfully trotting off with an armful of duffle bags. Stuffed with guns or money, or cellphones. Maybe all of the above, hard to know with him. Half the time he came back with art and clothes, the other half of the time food. Some salesman he must be.
Later that day, Arthur found himself doing a double take as he passed the food court. Sitting on a table like a hooligan was Sarang, beer in hand and electric guitar in their lap. Exploring around in the more decrepit parts of the mall, Aoi had found it and brought it home in hopes of their new friend transferring their shawzin skills over. He'd heard them distantly trying to relearn where notes were with some frustration. But now they were wearing clothes that made them look less like a space elf, and more like someone Eleanor had brought home from the nearest goth club. Which had always rubbed in just the wrong way.
"What's all this then? Trying to blend in?"
"Sorta. Figured I'd feel less like a freak if I wasn't dressed like I was on my way to fight homegrown aliens and space monsters all the time. Plus these 'jeans' and 'hoodie' are kinda comfy."
"Heh, probably better than your fancy pilot suit you wear like a second skin. Good for you." He leaned against one of the other tables, surprisingly at ease, though he could feel the Drifter eyeing him, sizing him up.
"So…" they began cautiously. He arched an eyebrow at them as they thumbed a string, not making eye contact. They seemed not to like doing that, and he wasn't sure if it was because they were awkward or shy, but they weren't in school, he didn't need to demand eye contact from them.
"What made you want to become a soldier?"
"No." Again, always trying to pry. They'd had a lot of conversations like this, awkwardly begun, quickly ended by him doing his best to keep some semblance of privacy for himself. Some things just had to be private.
"Wait. What?" But it didn't help that whenever he shut Sarang down, he could see the hurt in their eyes. Like a deer in the headlights, suddenly hyper aware they'd messed up with him again.
"Do you think I know you well enough to jump into that?" Boundaries. They had to learn sooner or later about personal boundaries.
"I'm sorry. I'm just trying to get to know you better." Even less eye contact as they looked down at their beer, retreating from the brusqueness of his voice. He sighed, the tension leaking out of his shoulders.
"Going right into my deep personal history isn't the way to do it, mate. You have a to buy a man a few drinks first."
"Drinks first. Then personal questions. Got it." They smiled weakly, and there was the first glimmer of something more playful in their bright eyes. They lifted another beer out of the little cardboard carrying case and offered it to Arthur. So, this is how you make friends with a wounded kubrow, with booze.
"Heh. At least you learn quick." He took it, grateful for something to smooth over his roughness and their awkwardness. He opened it with a trick he'd learned in the army, which apparently delighted Sarang as they ooh'd and attempted to do the same. Failing, he chuckled and opened it for them. It earned him some applause and he had to do his best not too look too bashful himself. Sometimes, he'd catch them awed or wondering about something he took for granted, and they'd make this face that made them look so open and vulnerable. Younger, too. Too young to be here shooting big guns and wielding a sword longer than his skana.
"Figured out how to play that thing yet?" He pointed with his bottle at the guitar balanced on their folded legs.
"Sorta. The fingering is all different, too many strings. And it sounds… squiggly. I might need to restring it and retune it and then… maybe, we'll see." They twiddled their own bottle between their pointer and thumb before downing the whole thing. Arthur might have been impressed as he drank nearly half his own bottle.
"You know, I don't really get why you all like this stuff so much. I've had three bottles of it so far and… it's not growing on me. Tastes like how kubrows smell."
"A what?" He eyed the three empty bottles with mildly rising concern. He had to wonder if they'd actually had alcohol before now. Did that exist in the distant future? Had they had access to it in their personal hell dimension? He could ask but… after he'd just put down such a firm line it felt hypocritical to start poking around for his own answers.
"Kubrow. Like a dog or a wolf but bigger and uglier. And it has human-like fingers instead of regular toes. And a nose like a bat, all squashed and flared. I… can't explain it better than that. When I was a kid, we had proper dogs. Although different than the dogs you have here. The dogs you have here are so... puny."
Arthur grimaced at Sarang's reply. Ask stupid questions, get stupid answers. He watched them open another beer and took it from them.
"That's probably enough for now." He couldn't help but smirk at their pout. They seemed incapable of frowning without it looking like they were sulking. Made it hard to take them seriously. He pushed off in the wake of their protests, drinking his commandeered booze as he made his way back to the security desk he called home. Sarang simply watched him go, admiring the view before they caught themselves. They shook themselves all over and ran their fingers over the six strings, letting the discordant twang bring them back to their senses.