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maskormenace inbox and overflow threads

I do a lot of tagging by e-mail, and e-mail commenting doesn't work once Captcha's on. So - personal overflow!

[A neatly-folded piece of paper falls out of a book the next time Ashley goes to open it. It feels as though it has laid outside in the hot sun for hours.

The warmth does not fade as you hold it in your hands; in fact, it never will.

The unexpectedly elegant handwriting is familiar. It reads:]

My Darling Ash,

If you're reading this, it means that the Traveler's called me back to the other end of reality or time or what-have-you. Got a job that needs doin', aliens that need shootin', Humanity needs savin'. I'm sure you of all people understand that.

Look, I never told you this, but, I never knew love in this life. 'Least, that's what I thought 'til I met you. So. Thank you. For that. And in case you were wonderin'—yeah, it was very mutual.

I ain't good at these things ... these good-bye things, you know? I don't do 'em. Don't like thinkin' 'bout them. So ... I won't say it. I'll see you starside, okay?

Yours,

Cayde-6

P.S. Take care of Colonel II, would you? Make sure she gets fresh parsley and clean spring water.

[Ashley knows before unfolding the paper that it's from her love. No one else she knows is able to leave the sun's warmth on something like he does. The greeting in his cursive only vindicates that instinctive knowledge.

[There's a sinking feeling in her stomach as she reads, despite the bloom of affection at the confirmation of their unspoken love being mutual. Still, she tries to reason her way out of it. How could he possibly time this? If he's no longer in this world, how would he know to leave it in this book - on a love poem?

[Something to tease him about, then. A sweet letter, but how was he going to pull this off? She gets out her phone to text him, to invite him over.

[He's not in her contact list any more. She checks it again on the mental network even though she knows they're the same system.

[She'll check again tomorrow. People Port back in all the time. She herself exPorted for three weeks and felt like she was back home for only a week. Maybe he and Sundance are just on a brief visit home.

[The Williams women are a decisive bunch. They do things when they’re ready. Not before, not after.

[And she's not ready to lose him.]

[His side of the bed has been cold for three days. She takes the letter from the easel on his side's bedside table that had previously only displayed an ace of spades playing card, and puts it on his pillow.]

[The letter's in her hand at the supermarket, even though the rest of her grocery list is on her omni-tool. She spends a little too long gazing at the bottled waters. Online, people wonder if she's sponsored by a water brand now.

[The letter's in her pocket as she rips off a piece of parsley and holds it to the hen in her lap, a small bowl and a half empty bottle of spring water before them.]

You're one spoiled chicken, you know.

[Colonel II clucks and snatches the parsley from her hand.]

[She learns the words by heart, without even trying to; she's just reading and rereading the letter that often: At Helix Station when she has to adjust scheduling to account for his absence, at takeaway shops when she checks her order and realizes she's ordered two servings out of habit, at night before her prayers.

[Cayde's been in her prayers since the day he joined Aegis. She looks out for her team that way, calling on the highest power she knows to look out for them. As they got to know each other, she started singling him out, thanking God for bringing him into her life, asking for him to be happy and safe.

These days, she adds a selfish, whispered plea.]

Bring him back to me.

[She knows it's selfish of her, knows his world is full of dangers for humanity, knows his talents are needed by his Earth and his sense of humor and kindness and support are needed by his friends and his mentorship is needed by his Hunters. But with his sunwarmed letter in her hands, kneeling with her elbows on his side of the bed he's left so cold, she needs him too.]

[The letter is the first thing she reaches for when she Steps home from the Porter base, the first thing she wipes a month's worth of dust from - and that dust tells her that he's still gone, even before she tries to confirm it with anyone else or the network. Had he returned in her absence, surely by now he would have replaced it with something more cheerful, or repositioned it, or something.

[Two months gone.

[She sits heavily on her bed, blinded by her broken heart to the slightly different shade of paint on the wall than the one she moved in to. She's been around long enough to notice that when there's as much time as this between people Porting in and out, they don't tend to remember their first time here.]

Okay.

[It comes out more breath than word, and it - she - is very much not okay. In fact, it feels like she might never be okay again, which is just embarrassing when she never wanted to be that sad girl crying over a boy of all things, when a lifetime of moving every few years left her very good at saying goodbye.

[She's not crying, at least. The tears in her eyes aren't falling.

[And they don't fall until nightfall, when she sits outside with Colonel on her lap and the letter in her hand, looking out at the sky. A nice thing about living in the suburbs in the desert is that the light pollution's not as bad here as it is in the main city of Jeopardy. She can see a moon that isn't full of Hive, stars she's gotten used to after three years here instead of on different planets or starships.]

I'll see you starside.

[Her voice is small.]

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maskormenace inbox and overflow threads

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i/?

ii. time is an illusion

iii.

iv.

v. November 1st