Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Guardian! What brings you here so early?"

Saint-14's slightly tinny voice echoed across the mostly-empty hangar, causing one or two people to turn and look for a moment, before drearily getting back to their own 4 a.m. work.

"Well..."

"Something is wrong?"

"Not... exactly. I'm- hmmm..." the Guardian mumbled, so quietly that Saint leaned in a little nearer.

"Alright, enough stalling," The Guardian finally managed, stepping conspiratorially even closer, hoping the vast metal space would not pick up enough of what followed to embarrass them, "I'd like to ask if you'd... like to..."

"Anything you need for help, I can do." Saint cut in, voice just barely lowered, placing a reassuring hand on the Guardian's shoulder. The Guardian wrung their hands, staring at the ground for a few more agonising moments before finally asking:

"Would you like to be... in a calendar...?"

There was a moment's pause. The Guardian's breath caught.

They looked up. A pigeon had flown up and landed on Saint's shoulder, and the towering Titan was now stroking its head with a single finger, thinking.

"What calendar is this, Guardian?"

"Um. Well, uh. Y'see, the uh... the Eliskni Quarter rather needs some more funding, but without the handy presence of space pirates, the Vanguard's been a bit shot on how exactly they can drum up any money."

The Guardian paused, but Saint gave no comment, so they went on.

"So uh, I had the idea that perhaps if we made something as desirable as pirate... ahem, uh, 'booty', then maybe we could fleece-- I mean, convince other guardians to spend their hard-earned glimmer on it, then send all the proceeds to building up the Eliskni Quarter?"

Saint looked down at the Guardian, contemplating for just a moment before bursting into raucous laughter.

"Huh- what-"

"Guardian! Goodness, I thought you were here to suggest something dangerous! I will gladly do anything to help Misraaks and our Eliskni friends!"

"Now tell me, what exactly do you want me to do for this calendar?"

--

About thirty paces away, Juan José Partinax was typing up some work emails, looking studiously at his screen while straining his ears to hear what The Guardian (Crota's bane!) was saying to Saint-14, as they stood conspicuously huddled together. The enormous, smooth metal hangar was usually too loud to hear anything, but this early in the morning, the sound travelled undisturbed for long enough to just about make out what they were saying.

What he heard soon brought a reddening heat to Juan's cheeks, and it took a few seconds for him to realise he had already sent the final email, though his hands still tapped absent-mindedly at the holographic keys. A heavy clang signalled the docking of an early courier, right as the Hangar-worker took a furtive look at the two legendary figures.

Saint was laughing again, and this time was joined by the Guardian until both lightbearers' knees grew shaky, the Guardian even stumbling before calming down.

"HEY, JUAN! YOU SAID YOU HAD A PACKAGE FOR ME?"

The familiar voice cut through the near-silence of the Hangar, leaving Juan with just one more second of staring, before he turned somewhat reluctantly to shout back at Go Sangbu, the lovely - if very loud - jumpship clamp operator.

--

"Oh, and, Saint?"

"Yes, Guardian?" the Titan boomed, voice still on the very edge of a chuckle.

"Let's have that bet. Ten thousand Glimmer says you can't manage it."

"Ha! You will lose your money, Guardian - I do not wish to part you from your hard-earned Glimmer so easily!"

"Yeah yeah, we'll see. The day anyone manages to convince him to wear so much as a pair of shorts, I'll eat my hat."

And with that, the fellow guardians shook hands, said their farewells, and waved goodbye. Feeling a good deal better about themselves, the Slayer of Gods practically skipped back up the stairs to the main Tower courtyard, barely containing their glee at managing to get the big ole pigeon-lover's support in this silly endeavour.

Saint, meanwhile, was beginning to seriously wonder how he was going to convince Osiris to wear a bikini.

xxxxx

End of Chapter 2! The silliness continues

Next time, on The Vanguard Swimsuit Fic:

Will Lord Shaxx be as easy to convince as the bird-loving Saint? Find out next episode in: "Shaxx's Claymore"!

It was a very nice, bright morning in the Tower Courtyard. Little birds were singing in the trees, people were bustling not too hurriedly to and fro, and Lord Shaxx sat on a stool with his back to a stack of munitions crates, running a whetstone over his new Claymore.

Arcite was doing something on his datapad, emitting the slow drone of a Frame engaging their higher-processing systems. Most likely, it was the matter of recent Crucible donations, which had been flooded the past week due to Shaxx getting a bad cough and needing to call in the only person available at the time - Drifter. For some reason, that had brought people in droves, and the accounting was currently a nightmare because of this.

None of that mattered at the moment, however, as Shaxx sat in the early morning sun and continued sharpening the new blade.

It was a gift from the Dreaming City, sent on his rebirthday with a letter expressing thanks for the bow he had sent Mara Sov for Dawning the year before. A few trusted guardians assured him that the bow had actually seen some use, mostly by Petra Venj, who had given it her seal of approval. But this sword... it was a real beauty. Unlike the crystalline weaponry the other guardians in her direct employ had been bequeathed, the Queen had here sent out an agent to a place once known as "Damasc", to collect a special ore supposedly described in Golden Age material processing documents. Apparently, some of the finer swords in human history had been made there, so it served the Awoken Queen's needs to acquire the material for herself.

The effort still baffled the old Warlord. He had thought that having a bow specially-made and custom-fitted, engraved, and strengthened for field use had been perhaps a little more effort than a simple gift really required, but here he sat with the most breathtaking blade he had ever seen, made from materials once reserved for kings. Or Queens, as it were. Through a complicated process involving melting the ore down, adding just enough extra material, then repeatedly reheating and cooling the steel puck until it reached the desired consistency, the Awoken weaponsmiths had produced a sword whose straight blade looked like the sand at the bottom of a flowing riverbed, covered in delicate swirls of steel grain from tang to tip.

The crossguard was of the same material, threaded with gold and set with a ruby the size of Shaxx's thumb, blending naturally into a long leather-wrapped handle headed by a phoenix-shaped pommel, all with more gold and silver than he had ever seen on any one weapon other than the tacky nonsense Calus had kept foisting on The Guardian, only here the filigree was far more tactful. Elegant, even. Tiny ruby eyes glinting up at him in the early sun, Shaxx kept sharpening.

Unlike most guardians' swords, it was not heavy - the blade, seen from its side, could not be much thicker than a centimetre, if that. Light as a feather in his Titan hands, the sword remained rigid, flexing only a little when used. Some sort of Awoken magic had gone into its creation too, judging by the delicate runes scrawled - ever glowing - on the fuller of the blade. He lifted it now for a moment into the light, admiring the reflections on its surface before one particular mirrored form caused him to look to the side.

There, leaning against the wall, was the Guardian. Just smiling at him, soon splitting into an ear-to-ear grin.

"So, new sword, huh?"

Shaxx took his time replying. He couldn't seem startled, afterall - he had a reputation to keep up! Instead, he set the sword across his lap again and gave it a few more swipes with the stone, before wiping everything down with a dry cloth and standing up. The fact he towered over the Guardian didn't do much to help the giddiness of seeing them again today. It wasn't as if they'd been gone long - only about a week - but the Crucible Handler couldn't be happier to see them again. Although, something about that mischievous grin worried him.

"Ah, Guardian. Ready to see what the Crucible has for you next?"

"Ehhh, that can wait." The Guardian stepped closer. Arguably somewhat closer than was acceptable between folk who were ostensibly mere acquaintances, but with nowhere to step back, Shaxx definitely didn't mind.

"I actually wanted to ask you something, Shaxx~"

This was absolutely not the way to talk to a Tower higher-up, especially not with that breathy, sultry voice, nor the fact that the Guardian now stood so close to Shaxx that they were almost touching. All that said, it was a very happy coincidence that the new shipment of munitions crates formed a wall around the two lightbearers, shielding them from the view of all but Arcite, who was still busily typing away on the datapad.

"I was wondering... would you mind doing something for me?"

"Once more unto the breach."

"I-- what?"

"Don't worry about it. What would you like me to do, dear?"

The Guardian just looked at him for a few seconds, as it dawned on Shaxx what he had just said.

"I MEAN, er, what would you like me to help you with, Guardian?"

The ten-time God Slayer just smiled, placing a hand on Shaxx's chest. Undoubtedly against protocol, but Shaxx merely stood there slowly breathing, waiting for an answer. And he would wait until the mountains ground down to dust, if necessary. No more getting strung around like a donkey on a leash by this lightbearer.

It took him a moment to realise the Guardian had spoken, and suddenly he felt extremely grateful for the helmet on his head to hide the heat rising on his cheeks. A cooling fan whirred to life in the helmet, and Shaxx wanted to scream. The Guardian laughed, a clear note that rang across the Courtyard as they said:

"I asked, Shaxx, if you'd mind being in a swimsuit calendar for me. The Eliskni Quarter needs more funds, and this is a reasonably good way to fleece the other guardians for funds."

"Oh."

A second fan clicked to life, though Shaxx barely heard it. That first sentence kept reverberating in his head, ballooning out of all proportion. They wanted... what? It was about another minute before he realised that the Guardian had spoken again, the ghost of a laugh already dancing across their eyes and lips.

"If you're too nervous, that's alright. Wouldn't want my darling Crucible Handler getting too flustered around Saladin and Saint-14, hm?"

"Wait, you're convinced Saladin to do this??"

"Uh, yeah, my guy. You know how cool I am, and anyways he agreed pretty quick when I mentioned how it was all for charity."

Shaxx stood dumbfounded, marvelling at his Guardian. Convinced Saladin... to do this? How? so many questions bubbled up, but stamping them all out he instead said:

"If they're doing it, then I'm definitely going to. Mark my words, I will outpose every other person there!"

"Good. So it's settled then?"

"Yes, I'll do this for you. But you have to do something for me, now. It's only fair."

"Oh?"

Shaxx leaned in, and whispered something in the Guardian's ear. They giggled, giving his helmet a kiss, before stepping back to a more respectful distance. "Alright, darling. But we'll meet at the tea shop next door first, okay?"

"Absolutely. We'll need the sugar and caffeine. I've heard those films are terribly long."

"Ha! Yeah, that's alllll we'll be doing that night. Nothing else~"

The Guardian gave one last giddy wave before slinking away, probably to go bother somebody else. Shaxx stood where he was for a while, absently rubbing the spot on his helmet where he'd gotten kissed.

Arcite, meanwhile, had heard and watched the whole exchange, and was just sending out a system message proclaiming that the Crucible Handler would not be available for around 12 hours that week, on account of taking a short break.

---

It was a very good thing that Shaxx hadn't inquired further into the Saladin situation, as the Guardian's traipsing soon became a saunter, and then merely a walk. It was going to be a nightmare convincing Saladin to take part, but there was nothing else for it.

For now, however, it was time to go visit the next potential victim: Ada-1.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

End of chapter 3. I hope you enjoyed reading. I fear I may have gone a little too in-depth on the Nameless Sword lore, but I do love talking about swords.

Tune in next time to see how, if at all, the Guardian manages to somehow rope Ada into this mess. It may not be the way in which you expect :)

"Yo Ada, how's it hangin!"

Ada-1 looked up from the Loom's command console, taking in the unusually jolly-looking Guardian coming down the Annex stairs.

"Hello Guardian. Do you have need of my services?"

"Yeah a bit. I've got a few questions actually, so I'll start with the first: can the Loom produce Ether?"

Ada looked back at the Loom, considering the question for a moment. The ambient chittering of nearby Eliksni, once an unnoticed hum, died down to little more than a whisper. The massive steel arms of the Loom thrummed with power as they folded a fresh batch of Synthweave in on itself, the soon-to-be programmed matter tinkling like an ocean of quiet windchimes.

"Yes. I think it could make Ether, but we would need a lot of Glimmer, and a lot of Methane, too."

The room burst into a wave of excited chittering, as Dregs rushed from one side of the room to the other, making extra sure that everyone else had heard what they thought they had heard. The few human workers, tinkering with the processing systems below Ada's balcony, stared around in mixed wonder and confusion. Meanwhile, the Guardian's face had lit up in an incredulous smile.

"You're serious? You could actually make Ether??"

Ada looked stately as ever, unperturbed by the sudden chaos of the room.

"Yes. But, it would take more Glimmer than the Vanguard budget could possibly allow, and more material than I have reach to import. Not to mention the difficulty in acquiring that material to begin with. I'm afraid that short of a miracle, there is nothing I can realistically do."

Her voice cut through the excitement, stamping it out like a flood over a campfire. Previously-elated Eliskni's shoulders slumped, conversation lowered, and one Dreg simply sat down, hard, their legs giving out beneath them. Nobody moved to help. The silence rolled out like a cold blanket, enveloping everyone in the room.

The Guardian broke that silence with another question.

"Ada, d'you have any Black Armoury weapons left over - things you never ended up giving to Guardians?"

Ada shot them a stern look, before returning to her stately repose. This was a subject already extensively discussed, and immediately struck down on every occasion.

"No. No weapons, not anymore." "The most I could give you is a Sparrow model the late Ms. Holliday worked on, but never finished. You should know," she said, again doling out a good dose of her particular brand of side-eye, "that I've parted ways with making weapons of war, Guardian. Permanently."

The Guardian simply nodded, and continued unabated:

"That'll work. I'm going to go upstairs and talk to Zavala about organising a few things, including the possibility of something to do with this."

Ada cocked her head to the side in confusion.

"If you advertise to guardians that - by giving you a certain amount of material and Glimmer over a, say, three-week period - they can get a Black Armoury sparrow which had been personally worked on by Amanda before her death, I think you will see some significant interest."

Ada remained silent, pondering.

"Now, imagine that you tell the guardians who want to participate that what you need is Methane and Glimmer. They will move Heaven and Earth and several other places to get their hands on the last thing our favourite Shipwright worked on."

Ada dipped her head, just a little, conceding the point.

"...I see your reasoning, Guardian. Some preparatory work would need to be done, and the Sparrow would need to be finished, but such a plan could work."

The room exploded with noise. Ada flinched a little, as the volume in the workspace shot through several decibel ranges; having felt a nascent joy, then dark despair, then the thunder-gold of pure renewed jubilation, the Eliskni had all either burst into tears, or into song. The Guardian was smiling so widely it almost hurt, but they, too, were a halfstep from openly crying. Ada affected to take all this calmly, of course, but the shifting of her feet and trembling of her entwined fingers betrayed the ancient exo's true feelings. Everyone, even those who did not understand what had been said, could just as well have danced a jig together, were it not for the constraints of the room's elevation.

Not that that stopped a few particularly eager Eliksni workers, who went capering across the catwalks in the few more moments before, inevitably, Ada asked everyone to calm down a little.

The sound dimmed down again to a gentle murmur, but there was no way to banish the twinge of merriment from every audible voice.

"As I was saying, Guardian, some preparatory work still needs to be done. Since this is your idea, I entreat you to find me a suitable engineer, someone who can faithfully complete Amanda Holliday's work without losing the essence of her hand."

The Guardian's Ghost fizzled into a existence for a moment just to give Ada a wink - or whatever passes for a wink when one only has a single eye (a saucy blink? No, that's the name of an all-Warlock club in the Lower City). Turning to the Guardian, Pebbles just bubbled:

"Noted!"

...before vanishing in a theatrical puff of holographic smoke.

"Hey so on another note, wouldya like to be in a swimsuit calendar?"

The room went dead silent again, every ear straining to hear Ada's answer.

"A what?"

"A swimsuit calendar! You know, the sort where good-looking folk lounge around in photographs with barely anything on?" it had not seemed to occur to the Guardian that hearing this may have some kind of adverse effect on Ada, as they stepped back in surprise when the Loom's Architect gave a most unusual utterance. One could even say it sounded almost like a huff of indignation.

"Absolutely not! I am no exotic creature to be gawked at, Guardian! Out! Out I say!"

The rosy colour of the ancient exo's cheek under-lighting told a slightly different tale, but the Guardian was not about to argue and lose all the goodwill they had just gained from their Sparrow idea. With a nod and a bouncing of feet, they traipsed back up the stairs to the Annexe, leaving Ada to fume on her own.

Yet who would they bump into at the top of those stairs if not the Drifter, who stopped them and pulled the Guardian aside.

"Hey, hot shot, you know you don't have to rope me into this whole mess, right? Ole Drifter's gettin' a bit too old for this--"

"Nuh-huh Drifty, you're going on the front page~" The Guardian said with a wide grin, though their eyes flicked to something in the former Dredgen's hand.

Clasped not-so-tightly in his grip were what looked like brand new Tex Mechanica Sparrow keys, the leather tag still shiny under the lamplight.

"Like what you see, hero? It's yours if you ju--"

"Ooooooh absolutely not. You're not worming your way outta this one. I've already sent Eris and Elsie both a message, so you made extra sure you're there on the day, hear?"

The Drifter visibly wilted under the Guardian's jolly glare, and half-heartedly still tried to peddle the Sparrow at them, but to no avail. Away they went, leaving the grizzled troublemaker to his own thoughts, which went something along the lines of: I'm not getting out of this, am I? in a dejected little voice as Germaine mouthed the words.

----------

Some time later, Ada-1 heard the stomping footfalls of another Guardian, and was just about to politely request they leave her alone when she realised who it was that stumped awkwardly down the narrow descent.

Saint-14, walking with a gait that almost implied fear, if not at least great anxiety, came up to Ada and whispered something to her, in a voice so used to shouting that the words still echoed across the room.

Ada stood and just stared at him for a while, then said:

"Do you at least have his measurements?"

The legendary exo nodded, and passed her a bundle of clothing topped with sheet of paper bearing a few carefully-written sets of numbers.

"Well, alright."

This was going to be a long day.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

:D

Hello and welcome to chapter 4! This has taken a good deal longer to finish than I expected it to, mostly on account of some life stuff getting in the way. I hope you enjoyed the read, and we'll be rejoining our characters in...

Chapter 5: Taming the Wolf

If there's anything you'd like to see, or any character interaction you'd like to have appear, do send me an ask.  <-- while this bit ig still applies, it'll be easier to write a comment on here. i mean, unless you want to go to tumblr

Aight that's all folks, see ya next time !

Oh help oh no it's the gruff-- oh hello

Caiatl's flagship was not a quiet place even at the best of times, but thanks to some modular walls and three layers of soundproofing, Saladin's bedchamber was about as quiet as the heart of an Earth forest, or indeed the old hall of Felwinter Peak. The only discernible sound was the low hum of the ship's engines, or rather the vibration of every flat metal surface connected to the walls, ceiling, or floors.

Saladin's bed was little more than a stacked accoutrement of blankets and furs, into which the old wolf could sink after a long day of manoeuvering around the Cabal Empress and her subordinates' laws and customs. It was not particularly difficult work, per se, but his advisory position was physically and mentally draining nonetheless.

At that moment, Forge was stripped down to the waist, working his way through the forms of the various martial arts he had been impressing upon young Cabal warriors over the past three months. They were good, certainly, but their size lended itself to different movements, and such had been the focus of the Iron Lord's teaching this past week. Now, as then, he was slick with sweat, dark skin shining in the orange light of the room's faux-candles as the old warrior slid smoothly into his next stance, low to the ground and ready for grappling. The quiet ping! of his communicator intruded upon the stoic silence, and the low gong of his doorbell shattered it completely.

Sighing, he toweled off his face and strode over to the door, expecting Ta'raun, the latest recruit to request a private lesson in technique. What he did not expect was the squeal of shock from a fellow Guardian, standing a little shorter than him, followed by an entirely unconvincing coughing fit. Once they were done, Saladin could finally take a look at them, and stared with mounting shock at the face of the Young Wolf themselves, cheeks so red they looked like an elseworlds Awoken, barring of course the glowing eyes.

"Uhm. Uh. Er, hummm..." the Guardian's eyes were locked on Saladin's chest, and their hand - clearly unconsciously - began rising to touch his scarred skin. Palm pressed against the Valus' chest, the Young Wolf's voice petered out into nothing, just staring.

By this point, Saladin had regained his composure, and laid a deceptively gentle hand on the Guardian's wrist, pulling their arm away and stepping back. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Guardian?" he rumbled, affecting ignorance of the situation.

It took a moment for the Guardian to realise he had spoken, and another few moments for them to figure out what had been said. Finally, though, they swallowed and stepped in, still blushing furiously, and mumbled something about having more privacy.

Saladin pressed the door's biometric key, locking them in the room.

"Is this private enough, Young Wolf? Now, what do you want?" his voice was like earth moving over stone, or perhaps silk sliding over iron. The Guardian was in no state to decide exactly which.

"Uhm. Well, I wanted to ask... uh, uhm. Well, uhh - can I see what you wear whenever you go swimming in a lake?"

Saladin stood there for a moment, considering. "Is that all?"

"Uhm, no. I've got something to ask as well, but I want to see your bathing suit first..."

Well, what can you do thought the Old Wolf, untying his leather belt and letting the rest of his clothing drop to the floor.

"AHHH NO THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT-!" the Young Wolf's yelp was almost a scream, and their red blush was now so deep it was almost purple, heat rising visibly along the base of their neck as well.

"Are you alright? Your neck-"

"NO MY NECK IS FINE, THANK YOU" hurriedly, the Guardian clapped a hand over their eyes, shielding their vision from the sight of Saladin in naught but his skin. Well, perhaps not so hurriedly, but certainly with a loud slap of hand against face.

Saladin was quite simply confused. One second he's asked to strip down, the next second he's told that's not what they'd meant? Ridiculous. All these New Age guardians, barely approaching 30, and their new-fangled ways of speaking, got on his nerves. One should say what one means, and be done with it.

"You said you wanted to see how I bathe, yes? Well, you don't exactly bathe fully clothed, do you."

From behind covered eyes came the response: "Granted, but I asked for your swimsuit. Not your bare..." they paused a second, swallowing "...body." The Young Wolf was visibly trembling, blushing, and trying very very hard not to look at the Iron Lord before them. Which was somewhat difficult, seeing as they kept peeking between their fingers and lightly yelping. And made even more difficult by the fact that Saladin made no move to cover up, only folding his arms and leaning back against the nearby seat.

"So. Uhm. Would- Hhhh. Let me... let me try again."

"Take your time."

It was was great difficulty that the Slayer of Gods schooled their face to stillness, closing their eyes for the moment it took to let their hand drop and, finally, opened their eyes to look at Saladin. The blush was back in a heartbeat, but at least this time they didn't squeal.

"Right. Would. You. Like. To. Help. Raise. Funds. For. The. Eliskni. Quarter." Every word was bitten off, the syllables exactly enunciated, as their speaker began to sweat with effort.

"What's this got to do with a swimsuit?"

"A Calendar. Photos. Of you. And others. Sold on earth. And NeoMuna."

Saladin sat on the chair he'd been leaning on, considering.

On the one hand, Saladin was not one to disparage attempts at helping humanity's new allies, whatever that attempt may entail. On the other hand, he did not relish the thought of distracting the denizens of the Last Cities with lewd perspectives on their current leaders, especially where this could easily slide into insubordination.

"No."

"What?!" The Guardian sounded genuinely surprised, as if expecting a different answer. The flusterment was mostly gone, now replaced with disbelief, and no small amount of annoyance.

"Saladin, this is for the Eliksni Quarter! You know how well this would sell among Guardians!" they exclaimed, now upset.

"Yes. That's precisely why I won't be doing it."

With an angry huff, the Young Wolf stalked over, flipped the end of a scarf around the Iron Lord's shoulders, and pulled him in for a hard stare.

"Now you listen here, you big naked oaf - these people bloody well need money, and a single photograph in a calendar is bloody well worth the trouble of getting them some! What, you think people'll stop listening to you just because they've seen you naked! Get over yourself!"

All through this tirade, Saladin's face grew ever stormier until at last he cut in:

"You'd have to do one hell of a job to convince me, Young Wolf." He bit off those last words, turning the title of honour into something close to an insult, bringing forth a completely different flush on the Guardian's face.

"Oh I'll bloody well convince you, you- you... argh! Bloody old bastard!"

Pulling hard on the scarf brought both Lightbearers toppling to the floor, right onto the stacked bed-pelts and furred blankets, muffling the next string of insults in the sound of shifting furs.

~~~~~~~

Saladin lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling. He'd never been wrestled to the ground before, and he'd never been beaten so soundly as to be out of breath. His joints ached, his back hurt, and his legs felt like water. The Young Wolf sat on the room's single chair, massaging their wrists and sipping on a glass of water, looking down at him in triumph.

And triumph it was - distracting though Saladin's lack of clothing had been, it hadn't made any difference in the fight. Point proven, the Guardian simply waited for an answer, staring pointedly at the Old Wolf.

"Hmph. Fine."

"You'll do it?" they instantly brightened up, jumping out of their seat.

"I'll think about it."

It was about as close to an admission as Saladin was willing to get, knowing full well that he was likely being quite unreasonable in his assumptions. Age did not always bely wisdom, as had so very often been proven to the both of them.

"Great! I'll see you there!" the Guardian beamed, face split by a sunny grin, before prancing off to the door, only to be blocked by the biometric lock.

"Allow me." Saladin rolled out of the bedded furs, standing up in a single smooth motion, before making his way over to the Guardian. The tension was palpable, but only for as long as it took for the door to unlock. Then, the Young Wolf stepped out briskly, and set off for the corridor - only to stop suddenly. Turning around, a wicked smile on their face, they whispered:

"Shaxx is bigger than you~"

And sprinted off down the hall before Saladin could make his reply.

"What the f-" he was interrupted, again, but this time by the short ping! of his communicator going off again. Two messages. One from Shaxx, the other from Caiatl.

He opened the one from Shaxx first.

<Make sure Germaine goes to the beach as well> was all it read.

Saladin stood there a long time, not moving until a passing Psion yelped, Sending the image of a midwinter oak. The Valus blinked, turned around, closed his door again, and sat down to think.

xxxxxxxxxx

And that's that for chapter 5!

Goodness gracious, I need to lie down.

That was hella tough to write

See y'all next time!

"...And you want me to clear this?" "Yessir."

The Guardian had always maintained a certain level of respect for Commander Zavala in their frequent interactions, one which had never truly extended to any other member of the Vanguard, Dark or otherwise. Confronted, once, on this point, they had said: "If I had your job, I'd have run away a thousand times by now." Little comfort for the commander now, as he sat beleaguered and worn out at his desk, flipping through the Guardian's unexpected proposal, maintaining the strained silence for a little longer. Oh, how Zavala had missed silence, these past few weeks.

Unfortunately, he could also see the right of it - the Eliksni Quarter was still in need of expansion, proper water diversion, irrigation, and a laundry list of other issues that needed to be solved sooner rather than later; the Dreaming City still remained a mercantile non-entity, only sending aid when it was deemed 'stricly necessary' by the Queen, and attempting to start up interplanetary trade chains with NeoMuna as the city still lay under siege was proving almost too much to handle. And, to top it all off, the Last City's morale had taken a sharp nose dive to an all-time low, given the persistence of the Witness' portal, and the unfortunate rise of rumours about Eris' recent transformation. Now, in a coincidence he may once have attributed to the Will of the Traveller, here lay an answer to all his problems, alongside a neat way to redistribute the pooled wealth of the vast number of Guardians active in the field for whom the Eververse and Ada's synthweave had never quite been desirable enough. The only question now would be getting the participants' permission in an appropriate manner; the marketing would handle itself, given the extensive reach of the guardians' many inter-planetary communications networks. Some of them still pinged data off defunct WAR-SATs, leaving net-traces which Master Rahool had submitted for Vanguard review some years prior. The thought of the lost dignity in doing this flitted through Zavala's mind, but was stamped down with the hard reality of the situation. And so, his attention returned to the official document of proposal. It could have been phrased a little better, but at least the Young Wolf had managed to keep any egregious spelling mistakes out.

"Fine. I will have the Cryptarchy run this out into a proper document, and then we'll set a date."

"But- but they'll tell everyone! You know how bad they are at keeping other people's secrets!"

Zavala smiled. Slayer of Gods or no, this Guardian still had a lot to learn about actually leading people, and using one's resources efficiently. He got out of his chair, and walked to the window, the bright reflections of sunlight throughout the City shining in his eyes.

"That is the point."

"Oh. Okay."

The silence stretched on a little longer, different this time.

"Hey so would you mind b--"

"I have already appended my signature. I will be there, if I have time."

"Oh."

The Guardian's face cracked into a smile, clearly visible even through their watery reflection on the window glass, mirroring the Commander's own as he turned back to face them. The Guardian leapt up, swung on their cloak, and skipped right out the office. From the end of the hall, barely heard in the echo, came a bright

"THANK YOU!"

The Commander sat back down, and sifted through another sheaf of papers. One of these days, he would have to get a new laser printer. But for now, the sun shone on those written words, and the old Titan felt, for the first time in days, quite content.

xxxxxxxxx

Hello and welcome to part 6! Or, part 5.5? Part \\//? Who knows!

Hope you enjoyed this. It's taken me a reeeeeeaaaaally long time to get back into writing these, and I cannot guarantee that part 7 will even come out this year. But.

See y'all next time. Bring a good coat, and a hat.

Elsie Bray sat on an outcrop of Europan ice, overlooking the vast, gently hilly expanse of the frozen moon. She should have been inside, enjoying the warmth, but there was something so tranquil about this place, something she couldn't quite get enough of; even after dozens of timelines, she could always rely on this view to recapture some semblance of inner peace.

The stars only knew she needed it. That madcap plan of Ikora's would have given her a migraine, were it not for being mechanical - and, exo or no, it had been a terribly worrying endeavour. So Elsie sat here, on this subzero cliff, soaking in the calm of this place.

The shimmering sound of a transmat turned her head. Still partway through phasing in, Agnalla - the Young Wolf, the Guardian, Bane of Gods - gave an excited wave, exuding obvious joy even with a helmeted face. Elsie's own split into a smile, as the Guardian joined her on the ledge, dropping down to hang their legs over the side.

For a few moments, they just looked at eachother, basking in the cold light of the sun, and gently swinging their legs over the hundred-foot gap. Agni's hand drifted over to Elsie's, sharing that tiny scrap of warmth. Elsie kept telling Agnalla to get a proper glove.

They kept bringing this one.

It was the exo who first broke the contented silence, pulling the hood off her head and propping herself back on her arms:

"How is Eris?"

"She's tired, but better"

"And how are you?"

The silence returned for a few seconds, as the Guardian looked off into the horizon. Elsie waited patiently, watching her friend organise their thoughts.

"I've been better. What about you?"

"About the same, really. Patrols and cargo runs, Vanguard operations and so forth. I will say - it's been slowing down. Eramis' forces have stopped making trouble, except for resource runs. Almost like they don't want to fight anymore."

"Hm."

Elsie laid her head on the Young Wolf's shoulder, exhaling a long, slow breath. Little gears clicked over the brief flow of warm water vapour, whirring quietly as the mist crystallised into a thin wisp of snow, settling on the ice between them.

"I've missed you."

There was a fizz, and a light movement of air, as Agnalla's helmet dematerialised. Long locks of dark hair tumbled out, a single curl draping roguishly over Elsie's eyes, blurring her view of the Guardian.

"I've missed you t--"

Elsie stopped, moving the hair away. Hot tears had welled up out of nowhere, clouding honey-yellow eyes and tumbling down that skin like oiled mahogany, dripping off their chin and shattering, frozen, against the ground. There came a great hiccough, and a trembling lip, and a ragged sniff of breath.

"I-"

Agni reached for Elsie, to regain composure and stand, except suddenly it was all they could do to hold on, as the tears came hot and loud and all at once. They wept like they hadn't wept in years - blubbering and stumbling over half-formed words, burying themselves in Elsie's chest.

She held Agni close, and did not let go.

----

Some time later, the fog over their eyes cleared, and Agnalla finally regained strength enough to get up off Elsie. Wiping their eyes, they barked a sudden rough-voiced laugh, sniffing fitfully.

"You know, I came here to ask if you wanted to be in a calendar,"

"Well, you still can, Agni"

"Heh, yeah. I know. Would you?"

Elsie turned the idea over in her head, considering. She'd heard about the Calendar - it seemed a funny way to raise money, given the propensity of guardians to maintain unreadable looks and thousand-yard stares in her presence, but truth be told, nothing even remotely similar had ever happened in the other timelines. Maybe, with the local Fallen now so calm, she could go - the view here was nice, yes, but it would make a nice change of pace to visit an Earth beach again.

"Hell, why not. I'll be there."

The Guardian smiled, then got up.

"Oh, make sure Drifter comes along too."

"Germaine? You think he won't come willingly?"

The snow crunched underfoot, and Agnalla stopped. A gust of wind whirled by, whistling past them before dying down.

"Truth, I think he might try weaselling his way out of this. It's why I'm asking you to make sure he comes along."

"Alright. Good luck gathering the team, Guardian."

And with a rush like flowing water, Elsie was alone. It was cold out there. She went inside for some hot tea.

xxxxxxxxx

AAAAAAA hello and welcome to part 7!

Just days after part 6??

Yeah!!

I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it, and I thank you for giving it your time. Speaking of,

Next time, on the VSF: auugh rwubudgah

WELCOME BACK FUCKERS

I AM BACK ON MY BULLSHIT

MISRAAKS HOT. YOU AGREE. TELL ME IF YOU LIKE IT IN REBLOBS OR COMMENTS. NOW: TO THE WRITER-CAVE!

-----

Eido glanced around, suddenly nervous. Shifting through her father's belongings SHOULD have been less stressful, but after finding a note she was clearly never supposed to read, the pressure had continued steadily mounting, and now the scribe of House Light stood crouched, one arm buried entirely in the back of a human-made shelf, primary upper arm searching for her target: a sliver of metal no thicker than a human child's finger, and the key to a Ketch black box dating to a year before the Whirlwind. An invaluable piece of history! If she could just.. reach it--

"Hey Eido! Seen your dad anywhere?"

She sprang up so fast that a whole stack of notes went flying, just as Eido's head met the higher shelf with a dull THUNK.

"Ah.. you okay?"

The Guardian, slayer of gods, toppler of kings, destroyer of metal monsters, interrupter of important work, stood in the doorway, their hands resting easy on hips, and a coy little smile dancing over their face in a way that always made Eido just a slight bit self-conscious.

"I- *ahem* I'm quite well, thank you Guardian. What brings you here?"

A glass rolled off the desk and smashed on the floor, shortly followed by a rather heavy rock, pulverising whatever shards had been left intact.

"Mm-hmm. Well, I'm actually looking for your dad. Seen him around anywhe-- oh my god, is that what I think it is??"

In the blink of a single ancillary eye, the Guardian was hunched over the mountain of fallen objects, forearm working its way down to the rounded edge of what looked like body armour.

"Oh heavens above, it is!! Oh you slutty, slutty man, Misraaks~"

The body armour - for armour it was - had clearly been tampered with, as the entire abdominal section was missing, and the cut had been quite expertly worked back into the cuirass' design, presumably to increase comfort. It looked like the sort of thing younger vandals wore to try and impress their friends, reworked battle-wear designed to accentuate the hardened abdominal muscle carapace, only far finer in make - and absolutely not something the Kell of Light should ever be seen wearing. Even an average Splicer had more decorum than to wear something this... revealing.

"Wait.. what did you call my father?"

"...Hm?"

"What did you call my father, when you picked that up."

The Guardian looked back at her, perfectly innocently, were it not for the betraying twitch of a smile at the corner of their mouth.

"Nothing~"

"No no no, you called him a-"

Unseen, the door to the room slid open, permitting entry to its regular occupant.

"-slutty, slutty man! What do you mea--"

Eido noticed her father.

Misraaks stood in the doorway, stricken expression on his face - though nothing compared to the sheer horror now painting Eido's, as she slowly withdrew her upper prime hand from the cropped plate still in the lightbearer's hands.

"Aeukhh- father, I can explain--"

"We were just looking for this, actually."

Eido glanced at the Guardian, utterly confused.

"We.. akh-- we were?"

"Don't mind her, Misraaks, it's just a bit of a surprise finding out your dad used to wear skimpy shirts to work~"

That evil grin was back, as they brandished the cropped cuirass, basking in the sheer visceral confusion of both Eliksni.

"Say, I do wonder if you'd still fit in it, O Kell~"

They said, striding over to an only-now-recovering Misraaks, to rest a hand against his stomach. Eido could barely even utter a peep, as the Guardian's touch remained there far, far longer than common manners permitted - until her father's eyes grew strange to her, and his lower prime hand slowly moved the lightbearer's own aside, the Kell's usual openness replaced by something quite different.

"What do you want, Guardian?"

"We're gathering funds for that new wing in the Eliksni Quarter. Vanguard's approved it, we'll be distributing here, Neomuna, and a couple trading stations."

"... Distributing what"

"Oh, just photos of yourself and a couple others-"

Here, the Guardian moved in close, until Eido could hear no more.

-----

"...But you've gotta go in this."

Misraaks, Kell of House Light, looked at the Guardian expectantly. It could not be this easy. Not with them.

"Only this."

There it was, the reason for the whispers.

"Why, Guardian?"

"It'll sell like crazy. Plus, I wanted to see you wear it again, O great Kell~"

There was a worrying lilt to the Guardian's voice here, and a hungry look Misraaks hadn't seen in years. Could so simple a solution work? Could this embarrassing little endeavour alleviate the Quarter's construction delays? And how would it feel... to be so under-dressed around the Guardian again, like those times before..?

His upper left prime reached tenderly for that long-abandoned armour, hidden from Eido's view by the Guardian's body, and paused there a moment, to feel the knife-scarred ridges of a life gone by. His claws did not stay, though - onwards, to the Guardian's own armour, coming to a rest likewise upon their chest, a mirror once again. The moment stretched, eyes running up and down the nicks and scratches upon one another's battle-wear, hands feeling the light pulse of warmth beneath the surface.

"Father?"

Snapped back to reality, Misraaks' head whipped back to look at Eido; his wonderful, intelligent daughter, for whom all this unifying work was designed.

A long, slow breath, and-

"As you wish, Guardian," in a voice loud enough to be heard beyond the two of them, "I will help the Eliksni however I am able, by whatever means are best."

"Alrighty! See ya then, big boy~!"

And off pranced the slayer of gods, toppler of kings, seducer of pirates, and destroyer of monstrous machines, into the hallway and out into the greater City.

----

"Eido.. why were you in here to begin with?"

Her heart sank, along with her head and all four arms.

"Father, I was looking for the key you once said you had, the one which opens Ketch black boxes-"

He strode past her, a silent mass, and plucked a thin silver cylinder off the top of a City-work desk. Right in the middle of the room. Impossible to miss.

"Here, daughter."

She left the room quietly.

XXXXXX

Hello again

I am in fact still alive

Idk who's still out here reading

If anyone

But here you go. Part 8, Misraaks included.

Say what, horny about Eliskni? Me? Nawh brou

Part 9 will come when it comes. It may be a while yet or it may be a few days. There's no way to know