#the drifter/eris morn

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Dawning Oasis ILLUSTRATION BY ROBYN!!! *falling over in happiness*

I do not know if there is a greater joy for a writer than for a beloved artist to have drawn something from their words. I was able to commission @haykebyr aka @dredgensimp and of course I begged for Drifteris.

To my great delight she chose to draw a scene from my story A Dawning Oasis.

The Drifter’s eyes shifted as he talked to a visiting guardian in the Annex, tracking movement behind them. For just a moment his entire face lit up in uncharacteristic glee and then he resumed his usual detached-but-friendly expression. His smile never faltered as he accepted the dark chocolate motes being gifted to him.

He nodded appreciatively at the guardian transmatting away and then his eyes flicked back, snake-like, to focus on the silhouette of an additional shadow in the Annex doorway, his smile becoming a delighted grin. Eris Morn stepped out of the darkness, her green glowing orb in her hands.

“And here I thought my Dawning couldn’t get any better!” The Drifter flipped the coin in his hand into the upturned helmet on his work table, landing it perfectly without even looking at it, as he stepped forward, arms wide offering a hug he knew she would decline. “How’s everyone’s favourite former Hive god doin’ today?”

“Germaine,” Eris glanced over her shoulder before walking up to him swiftly until she was close enough to reach out and lay her hand lightly on his wrist. “I have come seeking refuge.”

“Any time, anywhere, Three-Eyes,” he said, his voice flirtatious while his eyes flicked over her face, carefully analyzing. His gloved hand shifted to brush his armoured knuckles up against the inside of her wrist through her own gloves. She did not flinch away.

“I find myself wearing thin, my composure fraying. It is worse than usual this year. I seek solace… a respite from the near-constant persecution.”

A look of concern came over his face. The flirtatious grin was gone. “Of course Moondust,” he said quietly. “Is it… nightmares?”

“No. I can handle those. I can handle the screaming of the Hive through the ascendant plane. I can handle the whispers. What I cannot handle is…” She looked up at him and sighed deeply, her hand on his arm tensing. “...the cookies.”

The Drifter threw his head back and laughed. “Sick of ascendant oatmeal raisin already? Wanna trade? He spread his free hand out and indicated the set of small boxes piled up on his work table. I have enough dark chocolate motes to last me for the next century. Don’t tell our heroes, but I’ve been sneaking down to the Eliksni quarter every night and redistributing the Dawning cheer.”

“I have nowhere to redistribute mine. They are in piles everywhere. On my work tables, on my ritual surfaces, on the bed, the counter, the floor. I trip on them when I wake. I stumble over them when I try to go to sleep. Even now I fear well-meaning guardians will find me here with you and inflict more upon me.” She stepped closer to him, her voice a low whisper. “If I were to never see an ascendent raisin again, or any raisin for that matter, I would not sorrow.”

His eyes glittered in delight at her willing invasion of his personal space.

“Got a gambit match starting in seven minutes,” he said quietly, not wanting her to move away. “Come up to the Derelict with me and watch the show? Best seat in the house, and… not a single cookie on the entire rig.”

He raised an eyebrow enticingly, tilting his head.

“None at all?” Eris asked hopefully.

“Derelict’s a cookie-free zone, Moondust. Not only that but anyone transmitting on board, that ain’t with yours truly, goes straight to the gambit ready room. They won’t be able to find ya if you’re with me. No festivities. No decorations. No well-wishers. And…” He waved his hand with a dramatic flourish. “...not a single baked treat to be found. A veritable oasis in the overwhelming oppression of holiday cheer.”

He grinned and leaned forward playfully as he spoke, expecting her to draw back or bristle in her usual frustration with his constant flirting. She did not move away.

“I would very much appreciate coming with you.” Her three green eyes stared at him earnestly from behind the cloth wrapped around them, her hand still on his wrist, a look of relief on her face apparent even through her perpetual black paracausal tears.

Time seemed to slow as they lingered in each other’s space longer than was necessary or normal for either of them. He caught his breath and leaned in even closer. She still didn’t pull away.

The obnoxious clang of the Drifter’s pre-game alarm rang out and Eris jumped back with a start, her now-free hand frosting over instinctively to defend herself.

He swallowed, blinking, a frustrated smile on his lips over the ruined moment.

“Five minutes till go time,” he explained, wistfully.

Eris relaxed, the frost dissipated from her fingers.

“You comin’ with?”

She nodded.

“All aboard the escape-from-Dawning express!” He held out his hand once more.

She took it eagerly and firmly in a way that made him briefly hold his breath without realizing he was doing it.

The world shimmered around them as the Drifter’s transmat kicked in and transported them. They appeared in a small room with consoles on three sides and sixteen monitors all showing different views of the same area.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back,” he said, squeezing her hand and releasing it with reluctance before walking through the door, out onto the catwalk.

Eris watched him through the doorway, out of view from the people below. The rogue lightbearer stepped up the metal stairs to his usual platform, tumbling his coins across his knuckles.

“All right, all right, all right. Let’s see what we’ve got.” He looked back at her with a grin and a glint in his eyes briefly before turning back to the guardians assembled for the game. “Hive!” He held up the coin. “Bring a sword.”

Eris heard the murmurs from the participants and listened as several of them swapped out their weapons and gear while the Drifter continued with his pregame patter.

“I’ve always wanted a pet Hive.” He said as he tossed a coin from one hand to the other, flipped it in the air and bounced it off of his ankle. “The ascendent plane must have all kinds of…” He spun around with a grin to wink at her before turning back to the group on either side of him. “...I’m oversharing.” He whirled his arms at the elbows and pointed forward. “Transmat is go!”

He sauntered back into the room with a grin.

“A pet Hive?” she asked him. “Really?”

“I mean, outside of the mass-murderin’ psychopathy and universe-spanning genocide, they’re really just overgrown shrimps, right?”

Eris Morn, Bane of the Swarm, from whom the Hive had taken everything, glared at him reproachfully.

“Besides,” he continued as he walked past her, turning to look into her surgically and magically implanted eyes as he moved toward the console, “on the right person, Hive eyes can be weirdly cute.”

Eris tensed and the soulfire-glow in her eyes flared.

“Not to mention,” he continued, “...cook ‘em right and they’re delicious, make ya see colours for days.”

“Watch yourself, Rat,” she growled through clenched teeth.

He picked up a headset and pushed a button by his ear. “Lock and load, hotshot,” he spoke into the microphone. “Bring those motes to the bank.” He pushed the button again.

“Awww don’t be mad-mad, Moondust. You know I only tease you so much cuz I like you.”

She tilted her head in surprise at the forthrightness of his statement. He stepped close to her, gently touching her elbow. She looked down at his hand and back up at him but did not pull away.

“I’ve got maybe two minutes before I have to say somethin’ again.” His voice was warm now, gentle. “Let me make it up to you. Can I start ya some tea?”

She sighed deeply, her irritation leaving her. “An acceptable peace offering. I would like tea, yes.”

“Sit down in the chair. I’ll be right back.” His eyes sparkled as he walked backwards into the hall before slipping through a doorway.

Eris stood still for a moment, considering his offer. Then she walked to the chair at his console and sat down stiffly, resting her soulfire wreathed Ahamkara bone in her lap.

Not much later, the Drifter reappeared beside her to push two buttons which lit up blue when he touched them. He tapped the mute button on his headset. “Hostiles, incoming at the beach!” he barked excitedly into the microphone. Then he hit the button on his headset again.

“Water’s set to boil.” His voice was soft again. “When’s the last time you ate, Crota’s Bane?”

“I… do not remember. Probably this morning? It was this morning, yes.”

He crouched down next to her, folded his arms on the arm rest for the chair she was sitting in, looking up at her. “I got soup in the crock pot. Been cookin’ all day. Hot and ready. I was gonna have some for dinner now. There’s lots. Will you eat it if I bring you some?”

“Is it made of Hive eyeballs?”

“No. It’s made of chicken, lentils, vegetables and a creamy coconut curry. It’s good. You’ll like it. Trust.”

“That… does sound nice.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

He half-stood and reached across the console, leaning across her and bringing his face close to hers. Eris tilted her head quizzically at him but did not move away. He pushed two more buttons which turned blue like the first two. He then pressed the button on his headset, his nose still inches from hers. “Incoming hostiles, at the trees,” he called out before clicking the mute button again.

He stayed there, close, his eyes lingering first on her lips, then looking back into her eyes, and then back to her lips. The corner of her mouth quirked into a half smile. The Drifter’s eyes half-closed and opened his mouth to say something when a shrill continuous whistle pierced their ears from the hallway behind them. They both flinched away from each other in alarm.

He blinked several times, the frustrated smile once more on his face.

“Hmmm…” There was a hint of gentle amusement in her tone.

He opened his mouth as though he were about to say something to her and then shook his head, standing up.

“Incoming tea, from my kettle,” he said it the exact same way he’d have announced it in gambit, as he walked briskly out of the room.

A few moments later he was placing a steaming mug into her gloved hands and pushing more buttons on the console.

“High value target’s on the field. Hunt it down and put some rounds in it,” he said into the headset before re-muting himself.

“Is that team down one person?” Eris asked him, pointing at a screen.

“Yup. The one that jammed out’s getting a warning for that. That’s rude.”

“Do they always lose when they’re only three?”

“Depends on how good the ones are that’s left behind. Mostly yes,” he told her. He pushed the mute button. “Portal’s up. Go say hello!” He waited and then pointed at one of the screens with a grin as Eris watched one of the three-person team run to the other side.

“Embrace the Darkness,” he told the invader.

Eris leaned forward to watch.

“Well done,” she murmured appreciatively as the hunter took out two guardians with headshots from a sniper rifle. Then she gave a small gasp in delight as they danced around the remaining two, dodging and swapping weapons before bringing them both down with a submachine gun.

“Wooo!” The Drifter leaned back and whooped into his un-muted headset.

Eris’ face split into one of her rare open-mouthed smiles at his infectious glee.

“Your invader's back and they just took out the entire opposing team! Glad they're on your side.” He hit the mute button. “With an invader like that, those poor bastards might just pull this off. I’m excited to see how this turns out.”

“As am I,” Eris said quietly, her smile subdued but still present as she watched intently with him, sipping her tea.

He pointed to a progress bar on one of the screens. “When this gets to 100, press this button here,” he reached out, took her hand gently, and placed it on top of the button.

“Won’t you need to know when to talk?” she leaned in as she asked him while he was standing.

Her nose brushed against his ear.

He froze and sucked in a shuddering breath. She smirked and leaned back.

“I um…” He swallowed and gave her a small, almost shy, smile. “I’ll be able to hear it on the feed.”

“Hmmm…” She let her chin rest on her other hand, smiling back at him like she had just won something. “And this is so you can go get the soup?”

He stared back at her, the smooth charismatic mask temporarily gone, his expression uncharacteristically soft. “Yeah,” he said, as though he had forgotten what he was doing entirely and she’d just reminded him.

Shortly after he disappeared into the hallway behind her the number of motes hit 100 and Eris pushed the button, as directed. From down the hall she heard his voice with his usual practiced gambit tone, “Opposing team’s got a primeval. They kill it, they win.”

Eris continued to watch as the other team's mote bank also approached 100 and found a very similar button on that side of the console. As they hit their target she pressed it.

“Ok, you can still win this. Focus on that primeval,” she heard him talking into his microphone behind her. Eris turned to watch him enter the room walking slowly, a bowl of hot soup in each hand. As he placed a bowl on a flat spot in front of her, he silently mouthed the words ‘thank you.’ He placed his own bowl next to hers, flipped a different switch, said “Portal's up. Grab your gun,” to one team and then, with another switch, “Invader's on the field. Get ‘em!” to the other.

Eris smiled at how he always sounded like he was supporting the side he was talking to as she removed her gloves. She ate a spoonful of soup. It was warm and delicious, the taste of it shifting on her tongue, giving her too many flavors at once to process.

“It's very good, but also very complex,“ she said quietly.

“All good curry is,” he whispered before pressing the button on his headset again and continuing to call the match from a stool he’d pulled up next to the chair she was sitting in.

The three-person team had only just begun to damage their primeval when the Drifter pointed out to Eris how their opponents were on the last leg of the primeval damage phase.

“Alas,” she said softly into her soup. “They tried.”

“Oh, it ain’t over yet.” He leaned in closer to her again. “I mean, it might be, but let’s see what our hotshot from earlier can do.” He reached across her and flicked a switch. “Portal’s up,” he said through his headset, “Go make a mess.” He clicked the mute back on.

“There’s no way they can possibly win at this point.”

“Oh yeah? Wanna bet?” His eyes sparkled in glee.

“I have nothing to wager.”

“If the underdogs win, you come over here for dinner tomorrow night. And before you ask, no screeb guts or Hive eyeballs. Actual dinner with actual food.”

She frowned. “A… date?”

“Yeah,” he tilted his head to look her in the eyes. “A date.”

“I do not date.”

“I know. That’s why it’s a bet.” He shook his head side to side slightly to accentuate each word.

She pursed her lips. “And what do I get if the other team wins?”

“Whatever you want,” he said quietly with more intensity than he’d intended.

“Hmmm… if they win…” she began.

“Yeah?”

“You ‘redistribute’ my cookies for me.”

“Deal.”

The four-person team converged on their taken primeval, guns blazing. Eris and the Drifter watched as the primeval’s health indicator decreased rapidly. The hunter from the three-person team ran in, jumped up, and flung two kami into the middle of the fray, summoning a stasis whirlwind.

“Ugh. Too slow,” Eris critiqued. “That will not kill them quickly enough.”

The Drifter reached behind her to flick a switch swapping one of the screens to an over-the-shoulder view of the invader. He left his arm draped over the back of the chair. Eris noted the positioning of his arm while swallowing another spoonful of soup, but said nothing.

The invading hunter switched to their heavy weapon slot, pulling out Xenophage. Eris sat up straighter and smiled grimly as the first opponent fell with one shot, feeding the primeval and raising its health up from a sliver to a still-manageable, but significant chunk.

The Drifter chuckled in her ear as another guardian fell to Xenophage, feeding the Primeval further. “That’s your gun, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice proud. “It is Omar… from my fireteam. His spirit is within it.”

“Still a badass.”

“Yes.” her voice was warm. Then she sighed in disappointment as the invading hunter was taken down by a well-placed punch from a solar titan.

Still holding his soup bowl, the Drifter held up one finger away from it and pointed, drawing Eris’ attention back to the screen focused on the primeval. The stasis whirlwind was still going.

The hunter who had invaded was resurrected on their own side. They immediately began emptying Xenophage into their own primeval from across the map as they ran in. As Eris watched, alerts of the four-person team’s deaths popped up on the screen and their primeval’s health bar skyrocketed back up to full.

“It continues after they are dead!” she said excitedly.

“Yup. There’s a reason people hate stasis hunters more than most in this game.”

The four-person team’s portal came up and their invader ran in, but the three-person team made short work of their primeval, dancing together as the Drifter praised them for their hard-fought win.

Eris leaned back in the chair against his arm. He stumbled over his closing commentary when she touched him. She smiled and finished her soup as the Drifter continued to tell the exiting gambit players how well they would be paid.

With the game over and all participants transmatted away, the Drifter leaned forward and tapped several buttons, killing the feeds and opening up a single screen with a list of people waiting in the queue. He took his headset off and set it beside his empty bowl on the console, his arm still draped over the back of the chair.

“Want more soup?” he asked her gently, leaning in more than was necessary.

“Perhaps later,” she handed him her empty bowl.

He turned back to her after nesting her empty bowl within his just as she leaned forward and their faces once more became far too close together.

They smiled at each other, neither one moving.

“How long until your next match,” she asked, touching his face with her fingertips.

“Ten minutes,” he whispered, staring into her eyes through the cloth that was covering them.

She curled her fingertips slightly and he leaned forward, his eyes fluttering closed as their lips met in a gentle kiss.

After a few moments he pulled back slightly, sucking in a shaking breath. She leaned in further and her hand slid around his neck to press their mouths together again.

Kiss after kiss followed. Reverent. Hungry. Teasing. Soothing. Hard. Gentle. He clung to her as though she might disappear at any moment. She pressed her lips against his tightly, drinking in his affection like he was water in the desert.

Eventually they had to breathe for a bit, but, loath to separate, they instead panted softly against each other’s necks, still holding tight. At some point he had slid off the stool and was partly in her lap, one knee on the floor. Her fingers were laced into his hair. Their breathing was in sync. The Drifter’s hands were soft and trembling, brushing against her face, her neck, pulling her close. Eris’ hands were cool and almost claw-like in how tight she held on to him.

“Hey-o! Drifter! Time for gambit!” someone shouted from one of the platforms in the ready room.

She felt his eyelashes blinking against her skin. He felt her lips smile just behind his ear.

She leaned back, cupping his cheek in her hand, her fingers buried in his beard.

“Driiiiifter!” someone else called.

“You should go start the next match,” she whispered.

“Screw the match,” he whispered back. “Is… is this real?”

She kissed him again. “Yes. Go start the match. I will wait.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

He got up to go and then sank back down to his knees, kissing her one more time before backing away, shaking his head, adjusting his headband, willing the mask of the meretricious rogue back in place.

Cheers echoed through the doorway as he appeared, his coins tumbling on his knuckles once more.

Eris had followed him and stood to watch, just out of sight.

“Took you long enough!” someone called out.

“Ya know what, just for you…” the Drifter pointed and snapped his fingertips, holding out the coin that had appeared with his trademark sleight-of-hand. “Scorn approaching.”

Everyone groaned.

Eris laughed silently and the Drifter’s eyes twinkled as he glanced back at her through the doorway before returning his gaze to the people assembled below.

"Never trust a Scorn!” he told the group as they were preparing for the match. “They're little balls of instinct. Shoot first, talk to it later.”

“You had to piss him off. Scorn are the worst,” someone said on the left.

“You ain’t seen me pissed off, brother.” the Drifter pointed at him. “For both our sakes, let’s hope you never do. Prepare for transmat!" He whirled one arm around his head and sent them off.

Eris handed him the headset as he stepped through the doorway. He put it on and then immediately pulled her into a kiss, pressing his whole body against hers.

He broke away from her lips reluctantly, tapped the side of his headset, spouted off some words of encouragement, and re-muted it so he could sink back into her lips again.

Three matches later, Eris was comfortably snuggled against the Drifter in his lap, pressing buttons for him with calm precision as he called the matches between tender feverish kisses, soft clinging touches.

Here they were, two of the most hardened, vicious, efficient killers, survivors of more horrors than any reasonable person could withstand and, for the first time in longer than either of them could remember, they were both content, smiling, quietly drunk on being gentle with each other.

. . .

The next evening, after a long shift at her post in Sanctuary on the Moon, Eris returned to her living quarters for a few moments of solitude before she would need to leave for the dinner she’d promised to attend for losing her gambit bet: her ‘date’ with the Drifter.

As she entered through her doorway she froze. Something had changed. It took a moment for her to realize what it was. She stood in the middle of her rooms looking around, first in surprise, and then genuinely impressed. There was not the slightest trace of an ascendent oatmeal raisin cookie anywhere.

At some point while she was working, the known thief, conman and criminal she had spent the last evening passionately kissing had snuck in through her perimeter defenses, skulked undetected past the many guardians who had been visiting her all day, bypassed the locks on her doors, and stolen every single one.

“A happy Dawning indeed,” she whispered to herself as she prepared a Hive portal to the Derelict, a small smile on her face.

[kept-confidence]

I spend big girl money on things that will heal my inner child, hehe

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

This explains my unwritten thesis on how Eris Morn is Punk and the Drifter is Goth.

Maybe that's why he's wearing eyeliner in that cutscene in TFS.

I was thinking recently about how "alt" subcultures are so aestheticized now but they used to be much more about your societal views than the clothes you wore or even the bands you listened to, and my brain connected some dots. Idk if this is anything

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Breaking a personal rule here to never point to the evil bird site for this one:

[kept-confidence]

Closing Time

This piece began first as a private daydream, Later, it grew into a daydream shared with a newfound friend (@imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese). With that came a wash of creativity over me that I decided, for once, to fully submerge myself in. This is also now on Ao3, found here. The song that I imagine Drifter singing in this piece is titled "Martha", and is sung by Tom Waits. The song that I imagine being played in the scene — the trumpet and piano duet — is titled “Closing Time”, and is also by Tom Waits. This is a personal favourite of mine. Note: I'd highly recommend putting "Closing Time" on when you're at the montage section — I imagine it'd be a nice experience overall while you imagine the scene being described. There is nothing violent here — only tenderness and kindness founded upon a moment of healing. I am no expert in handling tender moments between individuals, and sometimes struggle to describe them. I make up for it, perhaps, in metaphor. I’m always inspired by music, and I guess that’s where the daydream emerged from in the first place. I also cooked this up in a day which is absolutely hilarious (neurospicy brain things). This is my first fic, which is nice, I think. Hope you enjoyed reading this! Comments are hugely appreciated (and I'd love to meet new folks who are into this ship as much as I am).

The door opened slowly with a gentle push, creaking loudly in response to decades of wear and neglect as it swung open and away from the Drifter. For a place that had been left largely abandoned, forgotten, and untouched — likely intentionally by its owner — any sort of movement and sound felt sacrilegious, like intruding upon a sacred space that should have, perhaps, been left alone. 

Drifter breathed a heavy sigh as he hesitated to take a step into what used to be his old bar. It should feel like a place he owns, one that he feels welcome in, he tells himself. But the air responds otherwise — the dominant scent of stale, damp wood rendering it thick, musty, and overbearing. If anything, the air was weighed down heavily by memories of the Drifter's past — of old selves torn away and discarded, of ghosts he'd rather forget, and of a time that no longer seemed welcome nor accessible. It had been weighed down by the burden of change. 

Why had he come here? A rhetorical question to himself, but one that occupied his mind nonetheless. 

Now restless, the Drifter took to rolling his green coin across his knuckles in a bid to calm his mind. Despite this, there was no denying the fact that his breathing had since grown rather shallow and irregular at the prospect of having to enter this forsaken space. Nonetheless, he figured that he'd lingered outside enough. 

"Eh, gotta go in at some point, I guess," he muttered to himself, words trailing off, as he defaulted to erecting a wall of indifference once more. It was, perhaps, what he thought to be the only way to keep himself safe. 

With soft and quiet steps, the Drifter finally stepped into the bar with a sense of trepidation that he wished he didn't have to feel, especially for a place he knew he once had some attachment to. Though he'd expected things to look different, he had to admit that the space of his bar — though theoretically the same as how he'd left it last — felt different. His heart skipped a beat as his senses slowly became more attuned to the apparent dissonance in the once lively (though chaotic) space he owned. After all, the mind can only prepare one so far — the heart, however, will always be tugged along, albeit unwillingly, in directions undesired and unwanted. For someone who had survived so much, who thrived on instability, chaos, and change as a means of putting up walls and abandoning the past, it would seem that for a rare moment, the Drifter would finally admit to himself that he'd been subconsciously wishing for something in his life to, at least, remain the same. 

The silence was piercing — ringing, even. It was in stark contrast to a sonic memory of a boisterous time once filled with excitement and activity. The Drifter could almost imagine the scene that accompanied it, but as he called forth that memory in his mind, the dissonance grew louder and more discordant. He promptly shut the door to that memory, and instead found himself stemming the discomfort by fixating on the sound of his footfalls as he fidgeted and shifted his feet in a bid to punctuate the silence pressing into him. Grounding, as Eris had once taught him. Where these footfalls had once been crisp and confident, heard in tandem with the voices of comrades and enemies both lost to time, they were instead now faint and muted no thanks to the thick layer of dust that blanketed what used to be dry and clean wooden floorboards. As each step unsettled the caked-on dust on the floor, leaving imprints of his boots, the Drifter directed his attention to his footfalls and simply looked. Dust was gently being dislodged, then lifted, and finally fell off the tips and soles of his boots. He could feel it — that each shift, each step, carried with it the heaviness of time, and its burden laid bare for him to witness. Breathing in deeply, Drifter felt the discomfort ease ever so slightly, as he was finally reminded of why he'd come back to the bar in the first place. 

To learn to embrace change while not abandoning the past. It was an answer to his question from before, but one that he knew, acutely, that its execution would not come as easily as hoped. Ideally, the process would happen on its own, without any need for effort — but that would be nothing more than a lofty dream. By this point, there was perhaps no escaping the fact that it was time for him to face his past, head on. 

Before his mind could stray any further, he felt a buzz from the databad tucked neatly beneath his robes. The Drifter retrieved it, and smiled softly when he saw who the message was from. 

EM: Germaine, you are not on the Derelict.  D: Aw Moondust! Missin' me already? You should've just said so!  EM: Answer the question, Rat. Where are you?  D: I'm at the old bar. The one I used to own? From waaaaaaaay before? The one Efrideet trashed?  EM: It's three in the morning, Germaine. What are you doing there? Are you alright? 

The Drifter's fingers hovered in the air for a moment as he contemplated how to reply to her question — specifically, the latter one. Like always, he decided that he'd ignore it. 

D: Catching up on old times, I guess.  EM: I see. You did not answer the second question. Would you like company? 

Caught. Nothing new — Eris always knew. 

D: Yeah. Thanks, Moondust. Seeya in a bit. 

The gentle smile didn't leave the Drifter's face even as he tucked the datapad back in its place. For him, Eris's company was always welcome. But this was even more so true for today — with the weight of the past and of this space still holding him down like a Sisyphean boulder on his sholders. Though he wasn't expecting her to know more about it, or to help him lift it, he imagined that it would, at least, be nice to have her company while he worked though and unravelled the attachment to this place he had long since buried. There was, after all, comfort to be found in the gentle intimacy of vulnerability they had since learned to share in time. 

Just as he'd finished ruminating, the Drifter felt his arm brush against yet another thick layer of dust as he walked past a large, boxy object. He turned, and let out a tiny, silent gasp of awe as he came to realise what was in front of him — it was a piano. It had been such a long time since he'd played one, not to mention seen one in the first place. The piano was no Steinway, of course. Just an upright Baldwin that had been salvaged from way before. The Drifter chuckled as he recalled just how out of tune it was when he had salvaged it, and how he'd managed to tinker with the piano enough that it at least sounded mostly reasonable. For a moment, he wondered if his work had stood the test of time. Orin was convinced that it would. 

He tensed, and held his coin tightly between his thumb and index finger. It was inevitable that the train of thought would lead him down that road. He'd been the one to salvage the piano and to tinker with it, but it was Orin who witnessed all of this happening — who laughed with him, and groaned at him each time he failed to fix the piano's tuning. She was the one who made the memory feel real when it would've otherwise been like any other memory — a generic piece of paper burnt to a crisp. 

This was the memory he'd come to confront. Right as he was about to fall off the edge into a memory-induced panic, the Drifter caught himself and grounded himself once more. Move the coin across the knuckles. Flip it between these fingers, and then the others. Shifting feet. Fidget a little. Grip the coin, then loosen that grip. In that release, the Drifter's tension eased a little as well. 

He dragged himself back into the present moment. In it, there was a quietude that ached in the space around him, as the Drifter took the time to take in the scene laid in front of him. Slowly, he took a few steps back, and gazed softly at the piano. The sight was, frankly, captivating. Moonlight streamed in from the holes in the roof that had since come to plague the bar, touching — even caressing — the piano ever so slightly. In these beams of moonlight, particles of dust travelling in the air were illuminated. For a space where its stillness initially bordered on suffocation, the Drifter finally felt himself attuned to the sensation and observation of the most minute movements. The way his breathing shifted the dust travelling around him, visible through the rays of moonlight. The way the clouds cast shadows on the ground as they momentarily blocked the moonlight. He felt just a little better about being here.  

Feeling inspired by the sight, he pulled out the piano bench and sat on it. No one would have issues with someone playing a piano at the base of Felwinter Peak at three in the morning, of course. Drifter pulled his gloves off, placing them neatly on the top of the piano. He had done so instinctively, as if wanting to truly feel and reminisce the texture of the keys with his own fingers. As he swiped one finger gently across the surface of the piano’s unopened cover, he was reminded once again of change — of time and age. Parts of the dislodged dust now hung on the tip of his finger. The truth is, he didn’t have to do that. He could’ve simply opened the piano cover. Yet, for the Drifter acknowledging that presence of dust, feeling it, and shifting it away, felt like an active recognition and acceptance of a time long gone. Of change.

The Drifter proceeded to lift the cover of the piano, which took a little bit more than a gentle struggle simply because of how long it had been left unopened. It inspired a simple metaphor in his mind — he thought of how the dust, when left undealt with, would work itself into the seams of the piano like a glue that seals all things shut, making it even harder to pry open. He visualized that momentarily in himself, with the dust that had settled into the seams of his own box that contained his heart and his past. It was, indeed, one that he was also struggling a little to open. He would try today, perhaps.

Beneath the cover lay the piano keys. Some were chipped, and some were stuck in a half-pressed position no thanks to the lack of maintenance. But for the Drifter, it was, in fact, the same as he had left it — it had been untouched for decades, chips consistent with his memory, and the sticky keys were still, well, sticky. There was no fixing those, he remembered, chuckling to himself.

It would become clear eventually that for the Drifter, memory is a muscle, and muscle memory never fails. His hands naturally fell into position, and for some strange reason, prepared themselves in the key of D#. He pressed down on the keys ever so delicately — perhaps to him, they seemed so fragile that they might break under the weight of his burdens.

But they didn't, and instead produced a faint chord in D#. He lifted his fingers, and pressed once more — now confident the keys would not crumble under him. The sensation — both of the keys, and of the sound received — was, to him, extremely familiar. Let memory lead, let memory take charge. The heart knows what it needs, he reminded himself. And from there, notes and chords pieced and flowed together, and the Drifter began to play a tune. He knew not what it was titled, or who had sung it originally, but he only remembered hearing it being played once by a visitor to the bar who had kindly asked for permission to play the piano. All he knew about the tune was that it was from the golden age — a song from a time now long gone, now being revisited in the present. 

As he progressed through the instrumental introduction to the song, Eris slipped quietly into the bar, undetected. The Drifter was too immersed in the moment that Eris refused to even think of interrupting it to announce herself. Gently and ever so silently, she perched herself on a bar stool that was still loosely intact, knees crossed, listening to his performance intently. She couldn't help but smile at the sight she was witnessing — but nothing could prepare her for what would come next, as the Drfiter began to sing. 

“Operator, number please It's been so many years Will she remember my old voice While I fight the tears?

Hello, hello there, is this Martha? This is old Tom Frost And I am calling long distance Don’t worry ‘bout the cost

Cause it’s been 40 years or more Now, Martha, please recall Meet me out for coffee Where we’ll talk about it all”

The words fell out of his mouth so naturally like a confession sung aloud to himself. His singing voice was low and ever so slightly gravelly, but there was a genuine tenderness to it a huge shift from his usually crass and sometimes insufferable modes of expression, Eris thought. It felt like a warm embrace — where words held on tightly to harmony, Eris instinctively found herself drawn towards and into the moment as well. As his gravelly voice continued to be sounded out — brushing against and touching her eardrums — a memory resurfaced. Eris couldn't help but recall the first time she ever placed her hand on his cheek as a gesture of care and love. She remembered how he leaned into her hand in return, and most prominently, the sensation of his beard tickling her palm. This felt similar — and it was comforting. 

At the same time, Eris was sure in this moment that her dear Rat was feeling more than just "old times", as he'd preferred to call it. If the lyrics weren't enough proof of this, the melancholic instrumental lines that accompanied the song were. In this song was nostalgia tinged with grief — a wistfulness of love once found and later lost, of time spent searching to no avail. She took a look around the bar and was met with the same scene of moonlight the Drifter had seen earlier. If he feels it's too much, he will know he's at least surrounded by moonlight, she thought to herself, reassuringly. 

Meanwhile, the Drifter continued: 

“And those were the days of roses, poetry and prose And, Martha, all I had was you, and all you had was me There was no tomorrows, we'd packed away our sorrows And we saved them for a rainy day

And I feel so much older now And you're much older too How's your husband and how's the kids? You know that I got married too?

Lucky that you found someone To make you feel secure Cause we were all so young and foolish Now we are mature”

As the chorus made its first iteration, it was evident by now that Martha, for the Drifter, was undoubtedly Orin. The mood in the air was suffused with a warm, gentle longing to revisit the past, to catch up with an old friend, an old lover. To simply ask, how are you doing? Perhaps it might've seemed that the Drifter was singing this to or for Orin, but Eris knew better than that. Despite the clear dedication to Martha drawn out by the lyrics — the incessant yearning and desire to return to the past — Eris had no doubt that her Rat was instead singing to his memory of Orin and his past experiences with her. He was, through this song, acknowledging the reality of his past — one that he had, at many times, tried to shut away with bursts of denial and detachment. The intention here was indeed very different. 

The chorus looped around a second time, and then:

“And I was always so impulsive I guess that I still am And all that really mattered then Was that I was a man

I guess that our being together Was never meant to be And Martha, Martha I love you, can't you see?”

Eris heard the Drifter stutter a little on the last line, his voice shaking as he held the last note for a second. And then he paused for a moment, hands laid on the keys, but frozen in time.

He said nothing for a while, and ruminated. Eris watched, but chose not to intervene — this was an important moment for him, one reserved for himself, and she would respect that. 

Finally, in the now drawn-out silence, he said to himself, quietly: "I loved you, Orin. This dude who wrote the lyric's still hung up on Martha. But for me? I don't love you. Not anymore. I loved you." Eris held her breath and clutched her Ahamkara bone closer to her chest as she heard the Drifter draw out the end of the word 'loved', clearly juxtaposed against the present, and original 'love' written into the song. She let go of that breath, and smiled. It was not that she needed reassurance — that safety and security had long been found in the foundation of their friendship and relationship. Instead, she simply felt a sense of pride for her dear Rat, who had finally taken active steps to work through the grief he had amassed in his heart from his time with Orin and beyond. It was no wonder that she had grown to love this man so very much — at no point in the time they knew each other did he ever expect her to fix his grief and his heart, and all he ever asked for, as she had now grown accustomed to providing, was her company through it all. 

Picking up his playing once more, the Drifter worked his way through the final chorus, before concluding the song with the words: 

"And I remember quiet evenings Trembling close to you.”

The last note from the piano resonated in the space of the bar, before the song faded into a final, concrete silence. The Drifter exhaled — it was a heavy one, but one that also seemed to bring him relief, as if he'd finally come to terms with what it meant to let go. He removed his hands from the keys, and proceeded to place them by his side as he pressed them softly into the bench. He gazed upwards, looking through one of the holes of the roof where the moonlight seemed to be pouring in from. It was a tiny whisper directed at the ray of moonlight, but one audible enough for Eris to hear from where she was seated. 

"Thanks for keeping me company through it, random ray of moonlight." 

Eris rose from the bar stool, finally making her presence known. And though slightly startled, the Drifter wasn't shocked enough to whip out Trust — he had been expecting her after all, though he had frankly no idea how long she'd been behind him all this while. 

"You're welcome," she said, smiling, while crossing the bar towards him, still seated at the piano. In response, he scooted over to the side as an invitation for her to sit beside him. She does. 

There was a moment of gentle silence — the air was no longer as still as it once was, and it was quiet enough that they could hear each other breathe almost in unison. She placed her hand over his, and he turned his palm over to intertwine their fingers together. He thought about asking her how long she'd been there for, but held back because he could already guess the answer to that. 

"That was beautiful, Germaine. How do you feel?" Eris asked, in hushed tones. 

For a man usually of many words, the Drifter struggled to gather any of a proper response. He simply sighed, and squeezed her hand, gazing at the moonlight through the roof once more. There was a warmth in his gesture, as if to say, I'm working through it still, but thank you for being here. She squeezed his in return, gently drawing circles on his hand with her thumb, as if to respond with take your time, I'm here, and I'll stay. With yet another sigh, he leaned over, and positioned his head on her shoulder, snuggling softly into the space that he'd already claimed as his multiple times. She turned her head to kiss him on his forehead, before simply leaning her head on his. 

It wasn't clear if he had started to cry, or was simply taking in the moment. He might have — but that was something meant only for Eris's eyes, and no one else. A private moment between the two. There was, perhaps, no need to know as well. Not everything needs to be witnessed, not everything needs to be known.

-------

It felt like a scene from a film. A montage of quiet, gentle moments.

scene begins, all dark; "closing time" by tom waits begins to play. a duet between a wistful trumpet and a plangent piano resonates in the air.  cut / close-up shot of the hole in the roof. moonlight is pouring in through it, and a crescent moon can be seen from the hole — clouds drift past in front of it.  cut / various still shots of the bar in disrepair — broken chairs, rotting wood, layers of dust, torn curtains at the windows.  cut / a still shot, now framing the back of the drifter and eris sitting side by side on the piano bench, the drifter's head on her shoulder, her head lying on his in return. cut / a close-up, still shot of fingers interlaced with each other.  cut / return to previous still shot of the drifter and eris on the piano bench, now pulling away with a backwards dolly. the two are now framed in relation to the larger space of the bar — as well as the moonlight. the camera remains in this position for a significant amount of time compared to the previous shots. cut / fade to black. the song is still playing. two sets of footfalls are heard — the heavy sort made from boots, though one is notably softer than the other. the sound of these footfalls pan from the far centre, closer to the front, and finally to the left. a door is heard creaking open, and then closed. the footfalls fade into the distance.  song fades into silence.  end scene. 

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Hey Ikora

Link to Ao3 if you prefer to read it there

VANNET PERSONAL VANTOWGUESTACC/ 6cc842de4888f9899a1f0e9ed97c2efa >> VANCINCLOCK IKORA REY

Hey Ikora,

Three-Eyes says hi. We're going on a scavenger hunt for weird Darkness bullshit and Vanguard's not invited. Back in like a week. Don't freak out.

No salutation entered, “VIP #1315”

.

VANNET PERSONAL REMOTEACCESS/VANTOWGUESTACC/ 6cc842de4888f9899a1f0e9ed97c2efa >> VANCINCLOCK IKORA REY

Hey Ikora,

Apparently we've been workin for you the whole time and she only just told me. My bad. I didn't ask. Anyway, she's left a package for you. Says to send a field agent to come get it. Coordinates attached. Don't send Aunor. We don't like her.

Transmat firing, D

.

VANNET PERSONAL REMOTEACCESS/VANTOWGUESTACC/ 6cc842de4888f9899a1f0e9ed97c2efa >> VANCINCLOCK IKORA REY

Hey Ikora,

You're gonna love this. Did you know there was a small Shadow Legion outpost buried in one of the rings of Saturn? We didn't neither. Fixed that for ya. Might wanna send someone to come clean it up though. We made a mess.

Have fun! Nony Mouse

.

VANNET PERSONAL REMOTEACCESS/VANTOWGUESTACC/ 6cc842de4888f9899a1f0e9ed97c2efa >> VANCINCLOCK IKORA REY

Hey Ikora,

I'm typing this out exactly as she's sayin' it cuz I dunno what in the hell it means:

There is a lay line disturbance which is generating concretions of Darkness energy in the sediment which in turn are creating environmental hazards on the surface of Ganymede.

I think she wants you to send some Guardians to come and shoot it.

Toodles! Deeznutz

.

VANNET PERSONAL REMOTEACCESS/VANTOWGUESTACC/ 6cc842de4888f9899a1f0e9ed97c2efa >> VANCINCLOCK IKORA REY

Hey Ikora,

You've known Moondust for longer than me. If someone wanted to get her something special that'd make her super happy, you got any suggestions? I said something hilarious and she did not agree with how funny it was. She's real pissed at me and I do love making her mad, but not this mad, ya know? Help a fella out?

Transmat firing, D

.

VANNET PERSONAL REMOTEACCESS/VANTOWGUESTACC/ 6cc842de4888f9899a1f0e9ed97c2efa >> VANCINCLOCK IKORA REY

Hey Ikora,

Heard some of your spies went places they shouldn't of and now there's a mess in the Annex. You could'a just asked. Get Aunor to clean it up with a toothbrush or something and we'll call it even.

Later, N. O. Buddy

.

VANNET PERSONAL REMOTEACCESS/VANTOWGUESTACC/ 6cc842de4888f9899a1f0e9ed97c2efa >> VANCINCLOCK IKORA REY

Hey Ikora,

Eris says: The sedge is withered from the lake and no birds sing. Hope you know what that means cuz I sure as hell don't.

Ciao, Noman

.

VANNET PERSONAL REMOTEACCESS/VANTOWGUESTACC/ 6cc842de4888f9899a1f0e9ed97c2efa >> VANCINCLOCK IKORA REY

Hey Ikora,

Want anything from Neomuna while we're out here? Nimbus says hi. Osiris said something too but I stopped listening after he started using words like "weft" and "transmutation." Also Three-Eyes don't hate me no more. Thanks for the help.

Catch you soon, D

.

VANNET PERSONAL VANTOWGUESTACC/ 6cc842de4888f9899a1f0e9ed97c2efa >> VANCINCLOCK IKORA REY

Hey Ikora,

Was quarantining the Annex really necessary? I already got past all those locks and shit your people put up but I need to run a business here. I left your Biohazard, Restricted Access, and No Entry signs in a pile under the stairs.

Transmat firing, 1315 in da house

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Eris Morn & the Drifter

I understand the "I will die for you" ship dynamic, but what about the "I will not let you die, I will not let myself die- we will, at any cost, survive" kind of couple?

[kept-confidence]

i have emerged from the rabbit hole of my teaching career, mid-marking, to say i have finally uploaded a half-new thing

time is so sparse nowadays, but i have been baking a lot and doing my best to enjoy life in the bits that don't always involve work, and there is so much — stares at the pile of scripts i have casually ignored this very funny monday night

enjoy :)

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Destinytober24: Day 2 - Tower

In the Destinypedia article on the Tower of Woe (from the Scarlet Keep strike) there's a quote at the top:

After much investigation, this has been determined to not be an actual quote from anywhere within Destiny that anyone has been able to find.

Link to Ao3 if you prefer to read it there

"Tower of Woah? …It's not that impressive."

"What?"

"You said it was the Tower of Woah. It don't make me go woah."

"There are times when you are completely incomprehensible."

"Pot. Kettle."

"Hmmm…"

"Don't guardians normally have to fight their way in here?"

"Yes."

"But we just walked in right through the Scarlet Keep and no one bothered us."

"Yes."

"And there ain't nothin' shooting us as we go up this elevator right now."

"Correct."

"But when I looked this place up in the Hidden archives there was footage of-"

"You have been infiltrating the Hidden archives? Again?"

"Well you said we were goin' here. I wanted to research it."

"You could have simply asked me and I would have shared the relevant files."

"But then I wouldn't possibly come across any irrelevant files. The amount of times I've stumbled across the most profitable-"

"Do. Not."

"Right. Sorry. Point bein'… the footage I saw had Hive Acolytes shootin' Guardians in this elevator from those holes in the sides."

"Alcoves."

"Sure, whatever. They were in there in those Al-Coves shooting guardians as they came up the tower like they was fish in a barrel. No cover. Shoot before ya get shot. But there ain't no one shooting us here. Last Guardians through can't have got rid of all the Hive in this tower. Those fuckers move back in hours after you clean 'em out. Sometimes five minutes if you time it right."

"Yes. But they are not here now."

"That's my point. Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why ain't they here tryin' to kill us?"

"Because I sent them away."

"You what? You can… command them?"

"The lesser Hive are easily compelled with sufficient magic and force of will, yes. The spell will last for the next four hours, which is more than enough time for us to make a full circuit of the tower and take care of anything we might find."

"Holy shit. I didn't know you could do that. That's… hot."

"Hmmm…"

"Wait… You said the lesser ones. What about the greater ones?"

"This is why I requested your assistance."

"You can't take on the greater Hive?"

"I can, and frequently do. However this is one of those situations you have mentioned before… where it 'makes sense to bring a friend'… just in case."

"Buddy system. I get ya. Surprised you didn't just bring one of the Guardians."

"I usually do. I will in future, if you prefer."

"No. I do not prefer. I like this. You know I like this."

"I do. Hence your invitation."

"Just not used to you… bringin' me along for… Moon shit… that's all. I like it. I hope we do it more. I'm happy to come with ya for anything, you know that."

"I do."

"Hey… wait a sec… is this… a date? This is a date, isn't it?"

"What? No. Why would it be a date? How does that even make any sense?"

"Creepy Hive tower… you scared 'em all off so we can be alone… maybe we fight something nasty together… murder is a form of love for Hive so us killin' something big together is kinda-"

"No. We are here to set wards and confirm the tower's energy is not being put to even more nefarious uses than it is routinely. It is not a… date."

"Not with that attitude."

"Ugh."

.

"Hoo-ee! Four Ogres, six Wizards and nine Hive Knights… It may not be the Tower of Whoa but it sure is the Tower of Ass-kicking today."

"Tsch."

"That was fun. You should take me out on dates like this more often, Moondust. You really do know how to get someone's blood flowing."

"Hmmm… Yes. You should use your ghost for that."

"Nope. Not gonna."

"Do not be ridiculous. You are likely to lose consciousness from blood loss before we even get back to Sanctuary."

"Nah. Brought a first aid kit. Gimme a bit and I'll have myself patched up. It'll be fine."

"A first aid kit? Why would you bring a first aid kit? You have a ghost."

"Because you don't."

"What?"

"Rule number one about hangin' around Lightless, is you bring a first aid kit in case they need it. My ghost can't do shit if you get hurt."

"Do you… always bring a first aid kit when you are… with me?"

"Uh… yup."

"Really."

"Well… yeah, Moondust."

"That is… extremely thoughtful and… kind."

"Really? Wild. It's almost like I like you or something."

"Or something."

"Hey… you sure this ain't a date, Moondust? Cuz when you're up close touchin' my face all gentle like this, it really is very nice… and it almost looks like you might wanna kiss me right about now."

"Do you never stop talking? Even now… with our lips so close together… you are still… talking."

"Yeah well, if you want me to shut my mouth so bad, maybe you should shut it for me."

.

"Ok I take it back. It is the Tower of Whoa."

"Tsch."

Link to the entire month's worth of prompts on Ao3, posted daily.

[kept-confidence]

finally got my Ao3 invite today and thought the first thing to do would be to upload the first drifteris fic I ever wrote! i'll upload the short stuff in time when i'm not... feeling lazy

if you read it on tumblr first (thank you) — you might want read it again because I've made some significant changes especially at the end!

please enjoy my writing, and comments are hugely appreciated! :')

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Eris & Drifter

Yeah... that's like... half my fanfiction... sorry, not sorry.

battle couples has gotta be one of my favorite tropes though. The “you got me?” “Yeah, I got you.” The kiss for good luck. Fighting alongside each other for so long they know every strength and weakness. The dichotomy of being fucking terrifying to their enemies, but so soft with each other. When one is in danger and the other goes feral, protects them at any cost. When everything is over and done, it’s all “let me see where you’re hurt,” and washing off the dirt and blood.

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Destinytober24: Day 4 - Reunion

Always wondered wtf Shin Malphur was doing during Beyond Light. This was as good an excuse as any.

Link to Ao3 if you prefer to read it there

"Looks like Stranger's got company," the Drifter said over his shoulder to Eris Morn, riding behind him on the same sparrow.

It had been dark when they had left with Eris driving, but now the light glinting off the snow was blinding. Days and nights on Europa lasted 85 hours. Due to Eris's excellent night vision and the Drifter's keen eyes during the day, it made the most sense for them to drive a single sparrow together when they were out on patrol through sundown or sunset.

"A guardian, perhaps?" Eris asked.

The Drifter licked his lips and smiled, glad his rebreather was hiding the lower half of his face. The sound of her voice right by his ear was such a turn-on, even with the wind whipping the warmth and steam from her lips away from them.

The Drifter brought their sparrow to a perfect sliding stop sideways next to the other vehicle near Elsie's yurt. His stomach lurched as he looked it over.

"What is it?" Eris asked, feeling him tense.

"I know that sparrow."

"Clearly."

They both disembarked and he put his hand on her arm. "Do me a favour, Moondust?"

"That depends upon what the favour is."

"Let me do the talking and let me stay between you and him."

"Why?"

"Long story. Tell ya later. Please?"

Eris tilted her head. It was the first time he had ever asked her something ending with the word "please." His voice was gentle. Gentler than he ever spoke to her. His eyes were cold. His body had become eerily relaxed, in a way that felt… dangerous. Like a snake, loosely coiled, ready to strike.

Whatever this was, the Drifter was afraid. But… Eris observed… not for himself.

Even now, their friendship only recently and loosely established, their time on Europa only recently begun, Eris could tell when the Drifter was readying himself for… something. She was learning his moods, his body language. His behaviour now was almost… protective.

"Hmmm…" Eris frowned. She loathed being protected. And yet… it was unlike him to behave in such a manner. He had never done so before. This was different.

"Very well."

As they entered the shelter Eris saw Elsie nervously fidgeting with a coffee cup at the small table where they took their meals. A hunter sat across from her. He was dressed in black leather with a wide-brimmed hat tilted low over his face, obscuring it. A cup of coffee sat in front of him on the table, steaming. It looked untouched.

Elsie looked up sharply as the two entered. The glow from her eyes settled first on the Drifter pulling his rebreather off, and then immediately looked behind him to fixate on Eris.

The elder Bray sister was never nervous and yet she clearly was exhibiting symptoms of nervousness now. Her Exo frame was tense with agitation, but Eris only noted this in passing.

Eris' three eyes zeroed in on the man across the table from Elsie, or rather, the tendrils of Darkness she could see wafting around him with her Hive-augmented sight, tendrils in a distinctive shape she'd only ever witnessed coiled around one other person.

"Hey," the Drifter said, his voice friendly as he tossed his rebreather onto a heap of equipment near the door.

Eris watched the Drifter shift his stance as the man at the table turned to look at them. She wondered if the movement to place even more of his body between herself and their new guest was even conscious at this point. She could feel him reverting to instinct. A dangerous wild animal facing off against another of its own kind.

"Hey," the man at the table responded. A gruff practised friendliness. And then his head tilted up slightly and she saw his eyes.

She knew them instantly. "Eyes like mana in the desert," the Drifter had once described them to her. It was an apt metaphor. Eyes that could see through anything. Eyes that could lead a cult. Eyes that could summon the Light with enough power to form a gun that would leave its victim nothing but a shadow on a wall. Captivating. Beautiful. Very old and very young at the same time.

Those eyes bored into her. Eris' mouth formed a thin line. Her three Hive eyes met his gaze through her bandage without flinching and bored right back. Analysing. Observing. Feeling the Darkness within him shifting and writhing.

The two Hunters stared each other down and sized each other up over the rogue Lightbearer's shoulder.

"What'cha up to out here, friend?" the Drifter asked, his voice extremely casual as it broke the tense silence.

"Might ask you the same thing," the man responded.

"Doin' my job. Just like we agreed." Eris noted how the Drifter was careful to keep his empty hands where everyone could see them while simultaneously hiding what her own hands were doing.

"That's funny. I seem to remember your job is runnin' Gambit."

"Gambit's doin' just fine, thanks for askin'. But you didn't come out here just cuz I cancelled a few matches now, did ya? Seems like an awful lot of fuss."

"Nah." The man didn't even look at the Drifter. His eyes never left Eris'. "Just wanted to check in on my friend's new… friends."

Elsie looked back at Eris sharply, concern on her face.

"We're doin' just fine." Eris could feel the Drifter's disarming smile in his tone as he spoke.

"Are you sure about that, friend?" The man at the table leaned forward slowly. The Drifter moved in a way that was barely perceptible. The coffee cup trembled between Elsie's hands.

The tone was gentle but Eris felt the threat behind it. A threat directed not at the Drifter or at Elsie, but squarely at her.

"Yeah… friend," the Drifter replied.

"Wouldn't want you to be getting too attached to anyone out here in the cold," the man at the table continued. "Might compromise your judgement." He continued to start at Eris.

"Why? You gettin' jealous?"

Eris and Elsie both looked at the Drifter in surprise. True to form, it was the last thing Eris had expected to come out of his mouth in this situation.

The man at the table laughed with his mouth but not his eyes, but he did look away from Eris to the Drifter when he did so. "Not of you."

"Always a bridesmaid, never a bride," the Drifter said with a fake wistful tone.

"Yeah, well," the man at the table looked back at Eris. "You ain't the till death do us part type."

"Damn straight. You know how much I like breathin', brother."

"Oh…" The man at the table stood up, or rather, he flowed to his feet. Elsie spilled a small amount of coffee onto her hand. The Drifter took a half-step back, lightly bumping against Eris. Eris rocked onto the balls of her feet and willed her Ahamkara bone to frost over behind the Drifter's back.

The man in black stepped toward the Drifter and Eris.

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees.

Elsie's hand dropped down to rest her fingertips on her No Time to Explain pulse rifle slung over her shoulder.

The Drifter turned slightly, nudging Eris back and to the side with one shoulder, away from the door.

"I'm countin' on it," the man said as he stepped in close to the Drifter, finally staring into his eyes.

The Drifter raised one arm slightly in a shielding motion to the side as he stepped back again. Eris growled quietly but followed the Drifter's lead, stepping away from the door and, as he had requested, keeping him between her and his 'friend.'

"Last thing I want is to have to come clean up your mess," the man said quietly.

"Aww… come on… you know how much I love gettin' dirty." The Drifter punctuated his response with a lascivious smile and a wink.

They stood, their faces inches apart, the Drifter smirking, the other man not reacting at all. Waiting.

"Seriously though, we're fine here," the Drifter broke the silence. "You do not need to be here now, and you don't need to come back. Ever."

The man looked from Drifter's eyes over his shoulder to Eris and then back again.

"See that it stays that way."

The Drifter's lips made an exaggerated kissing motion twice as the gunslinger stepped past him through the door, out into the snow.

The door slid shut and all three of them heard the sound of a sparrow leaving. The Drifter closed his eyes and let out a long slow breath, still leaning slightly into Eris as he relaxed.

"Was that… who I think it was?" Elsie asked.

"Uh… yup," the Drifter answered, blinking slowly. "The one and only." He turned to Eris. "Thanks. I know you probably wanted to stab him in the face."

Eris' three eyes narrowed. "The three of us could have taken him."

"Maybe" The Drifter sighed with a smile and stepped away from her. "Maybe. Still not very good odds. And I am very glad we didn't have to find out."

"Is this normal?" Elsie asked. "Does he just periodically show up and… threaten you?"

"Eh… one man's threat is another man's foreplay. He's… very dramatic. Probably comes with the territory when you're a myth walking around on two legs."

"Hmmm…" Eris intoned as the frost left her Ahamkara bone and the room began to warm up to its regular internal temperature.

"Anyway. That's over. I'm still alive and so are both of you." He pointed his index finger on his left hand at Elsie and the index finger on his right at Eris. "I'm calling that a win." He took another deep breath and let it out slowly. "Fuck I need a drink. Surely we got something in here that's stronger than coffee…"

Link to the entire month's worth of prompts on Ao3, posted daily.

[kept-confidence]

a ray of moonlight, and nothing more [a drifter x eris playlist]

playlists offer us the opportunity to generate narratives guided by self-autonomy. the songs, which i term as chapters, are gifted to us — but what lies in them, and even between them, is filled through the act of interpretation. naturally, it resists definite representation — there is no clear narrative to search for or to identify, only one to weave through your own hands [ears, mind]. that is, perhaps, where part of the joy is found.

the story of drifter and eris that i have weaved within my mind in the making of this playlist tells of forgiveness, tenderness, acceptance, and love. this is the story i daydream of, the one i'd like to sound into existence. this one is intended to be listened to in order — not on shuffle, though i imagine that would create branching narratives. an infinite forest of its own, perhaps.

what would yours be, through these songs, or through others?

in the meantime, please feel free to save the playlist if it resonates!

[if given the time and energy, i might write a series based on this playlist... if. stay tuned, i guess?] [edit: switched out coma/smoke for guitar song — something about musical rhythm that was not following through!]

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Hello! Me again, back to pester you about lore.

So what's going on with The Drifter? For once I know a little about the character, I read 'A Man With No Name', but I still have questions. From how the book read, Drifter convinced Felwinter to get revenge for the destruction of the village. Did that go anywhere? And what did Drifter get up to for the (unspecified very long) timeskip between the book and the game?

And with the modern day, does the Vanguard know he's running a fighting ring out of the basement? Or does every single guardian look away when Zavala tries figuring out where people keep getting these weapons? I guess first rule of fight club and all that. What's he even trying to do? He seems to be pretty against most of the Vanguard's leadership.

Anyway, another invitation to infodump about your other blorbo. I hope you don't mind XD

If you thought I was long-winded about Eris... She's maybe 400 years old whereas the Drifter may be 900... get comfy... this will not be quick.

"Dark Age was wild times."

I adore the Drifter and a good chunk of how and why I adore him is his voice - both the voice acting and the syntax/diction/phrasing used in the writing, but voice alone does not cover why I find his character so utterly enthralling and fantastic.

I wrote a short piece consisting of Eris telling Ikora what she sees in him in my story Finders Keepers. It's basically a personality analysis and some people have (I think probably accurately) accused it of being a love letter to that character. (Reminder: that link is fanfiction - I wrote it - it is not lore, but it is based on lore. However, everything else I list after this is actual lore.)

But, personality aside, ultimately the Drifter's story is what I find most compelling about him and makes him so empathetic. You mentioned you've read A Man with No Name, but there's more. A lot more.

To start, the Drifter is D2's most violent pacifist.

He doesn't want to fight and when he does, it's vicious. The Emissary of the Nine, formerly Orin (his ex-best friend and/or ex-lover, depending upon how you read it) aptly says "He hates violence. He hates it so much he'll murder anyone who tries to inflict it on him."

In A Man with No Name, we see him go from hiding in a town and having it obliterated by warlords, to running a bar at the bottom of Felwinter peak, to getting Lord Felwinter himself to avenge the town. Drifter doesn't fight anywhere in there and gets other people to do his fighting for him, which is a pretty standard tactic for him. And yes, it is strongly implied that Felwinter does indeed murder the fuck out of Lord Dryden when he says "Call Lord Dryden. Prepare my Iron Banner arsenal."

But then we get Dark Age Drifter entries where he's gunning down Fallen attackers with quotes like "He had never brought himself to shoot a human. Or anything even resembling a human. Risen included." (Bonus mention: notice "Alright" repeated here and compare to his standard Gambit opening of Alright, alright, alright...") Where he's slipping away from non-violence, specifying, in particular, that he won't shoot a human but will defend himself from aliens.

And then he becomes something else entirely in these amazing entries with what I've been calling his Breakneck crew:

Now Otto's a Sword man. He's all about "craft." Technique. Precision. It's disgusting, but I don't care how he does it, as long as it gets done, so I just let him do it. And Otto does it so beautifully that, when he's done, you're standing there holding your guts in your hands and thanking him for the show.

Never touches a gun, that girl. She likes to get close. Likes to look right in their eyes and be the last thing they see.

The chumps that run out to stop us are babies. That's the kicker with Warlords—other than ours, there's not a Ghost in sight here. Just civilians who can barely hold their guns without wetting their pants, who can't aim worth a damn, who stick their necks out for the bad guys with eternal life. Real geniuses.

Cenric stood up. That vein of his looked about ready to pop. Drifter let his feet down as he reached for his rifle, asp-quick. "And you know what we do with rats, don't you, brother."

And the thing I love about this is the character development this speaks to where he goes from pacifist who won't fight at all... to someone who will use a machine gun competently, repeating "Alright" and getting himself used to killing, but not humans, never humans... to stone cold vicious murder-Drifter talking about the lightless who die to his crew in ways that make them (and himself) seem no longer human, to gunning down his own crew, people he felt were a perfect team, when they make deals with warlords behind his back and lie to him about it.

The Drifter started out adhering to an ideal of nonviolence and it destroyed him and everyone he cared for. His sense of self, his principles, everything he believed in is eroded until he completely loses all hope and in order to survive the cruelty of the world he lives in he becomes a ruthless monster.

Either before or after his Breakneck-era crew (it's not clear), the Drifter (under the name Eli) joins the Pilgrim Guard, a group of Titans protecting lightless people as they travel to the Last City. He does this out of a desire/need to be near Orin, a Titan with a complicated past and strong ties to both Queen Mara and the Nine. But then after spending time with Eli/Drifter and the Pilgrim Guard, Orin, the one person Drifter's ever had a deep human connection with, the person he considers his best friend, leaves without a word.

It's very telling that the green snakes, the jade coin, and the red string on those same coins that form such profound parts of the Drifter's symbolism and identity all come from Orin. When the Drifter truly cares for someone, he incorporates part of them into himself, into his identity, making them part of who he becomes, so they live on inside of him.

After his time with Orin, we get into the extremely confusing, contradictory mess that is the Drifter's intersection with Shin Malfur-related Rose/Thorn/Lumina lore. And by this I mean that the Drifter, after fighting alongside people doing genuinely noble good work, in the wake of losing Orin, leaves the Pilgrim Guard and eventually ends up joining the evil cult of evil: following in the footsteps of one of the most reviled risen to ever exist - the guardian-killer: Dredgen Yor.

If you're gonna hang with me, you need to know about the Shadows of Yor. They follow the edicts of a very bad man named Dredgen Yor. And what're his Shadows after? Everything the Light can't provide. I thought they could help me find an answer to the battles of Light versus Light that raged during the Dark Age. But the longer I flew with them, the more I saw they're blind as all those who follow the Traveler. One albatross for another. I was done with 'em.

And while in the cult, in some sort of ritual, he communes with the Darkness directly and gets some sort of Darkness powers (possibly Stasis, possibly something else - it's super unclear) and the Darkness whispers to him his Dredgen name: Dredgen Hope, which is particularly brutal in context with this quote from Dredgen Yor himself:

I care only to give hope to the frightened, huddled masses so that when I come upon them they will have more to lose. Their pain will be greater. Their screams more pure… Nothing dies like hope. I cherish it.

But it is also particularly pointed because hope is the thing the Drifter doesn't have. Trust is the thing he doesn't have the ability to do any more because of his experiences (and is also the name of the hand cannon he wears shoved into his pants). He is the most jaded (literally - constantly fidgeting with a jade coin) character in the D2 universe. He loses everything and leans in on it and follows that path to full evil.

And then he walks away. Because evil doesn't work for him either.

But also (either before or after he's completely left the cult - it's ambiguous, but possibly when he's still entangled but it's already fracturing and falling apart) he finds Orin again (he's using the name Wu Ming at this point - either having returned to it, or because he hasn't changed it yet from Felwinter Peak, or perhaps this happens before Felwinter Peak - the order and timeline is somewhat fuzzy).

Orin does not remember who he is when he finds her the second time (she's pretty nuts at this point - her story is filled with madness and tragedy), and is going insane with grief over losing Namqi (the person she left with when she disappeared the first time) as well as her obsession with the Nine. And the Drifter is once more drawn to her and once more connects deeply with her:

Wu Ming leaves his questions by the wayside as he is drawn inexorably into the gravity well of her desperate honesty. Her confessions lower his defenses. He talks of himself. Of his fear. Of his loneliness. How he feels he is one fingernail away from plummeting into an abyss. How he feels vicious resentment every time he is brought back from the dead: He never asked for the gift of the Light... They make excuse after excuse to meet again. Every conversation is colored by excavated truths; every day they feel they will reach some bedrock that will break them to pieces. It is as frightening as it is intoxicating.

But then Orin finds out about him being a Dredgen, terminates their relationship, goes off to become the Emissary of the Nine and, as someone I was talking with once referred to it: 'it was a breakup so bad he had to leave the solar system.'

Things go very poorly the first time the Drifter loses Orin but the second time is far worse. He has a full-on Lovecraftian 'At the Mountains of Madness' style horror-movie-plot experience with a crew he calls his 'best friends' (which may or may not be all ex-Dredgens but there's at least evidence they might be) out on a frozen planet being stalked and driven to insane levels of paranoia by Darkness creatures able to snuff out their light:

I think I mentioned we're all raving psychos at this point. Well, we did what all measured raving psychos would do. We thought we each had been betrayed by the others. We drew on each other.

The Drifter kills them all to keep them from killing him (at least, that's what he says - no one else is alive to argue). Then his ghost, who up until now has been kind of a moralistic asshole, suggests he hunt down the ghosts of his former crew and Frankenstein them together in order to survive:

And the craziest thing happened. My Ghost snapped... But we would need parts. Ghost parts. And we knew where we could get some... The Ghosts of my former crew all fled as soon as their charges hit the dirt. So me'n mine, we hunted them... "Hey. There's always hope. For what it's worth, I'm proud of you." It was the last thing my Ghost ever said, and the last lie it ever told.

The Drifter's ghost is rendered mute from the experience (either mechanically or due to the trauma of hunting down and murdering other ghosts - it's not clear) but the plan works, they survive, and the Drifter builds the Derelict out of scrap, returning to the Tower where he sets up Gambit.

It's super unclear (again, the Shin-related lore is just a mess and deliberately confusing) but it turns out that Drifter going on about how the Man with the Golden Gun is out to get him is actually a deal he made with Shin to set up Gambit (because, spoiler: the leader of the entire Dredgen cult, Dredgen Vale, turns out to be none other than Shin Malphur, the Man with the Golden Gun, who hunts Dredgens and who the Drifter has been saying is out to get him this entire time) to draw out the truly Darkness-corrupted guardians so Shin can kill them. (And this is ultimately why the Vanguard lets him run a fighting ring in the basement - because Shin convinces them it will help find the truly bad guardians so they can be eliminated).

If you find that confusing, that's because it is. Anything to do with Shin Malphur/Dredgen Yor/Rose/Thorn/Lumnia is pretty much an acid-trip, continuity-wise. It hurts my brain.

As for where the Drifter gets the weapons he gives us for Gambit? To the surprise of no one, he's stealing them. Because of course he is. It's him.

While running Gambit, he ends up visited by the Emissary of the Nine (formerly Orin - same body, different person) and has the Haul attached to the Derelict as a 'gift' in this amazing cutscene: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wFtmr___dSw

And he pretty much stays in "shifty morally ambiguous guy in the basement" mode until Arrivals when the pyramids show up on Io and we get one of my favourite lore tabs in all of D2: Whispering slab.

The two sit. They speak. They listen. Linkages forged in Light and Dark of traded secrets as the Derelict hangs in orbit around the Earth. Pacts are made. Soon, there is only the silence of knowing left between them.

"Next time you fly over the Moon, dust your boots. Tracking that crap all over my floors."

Both of the Drifter's deep emotional entanglements with Orin happen when he really genuinely talks to her, and now in Whispering Slab, he's genuinely talking to someone else, plus we get the origin of why he calls that someone else Moondust.

Then, during Arrivals, we get the amazing banter between him and Eris, and in Beyond Light they learn to control Stasis together with the result being (in my highly subjective opinion) the best cutscene in all of D2 : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IQAB-sSi6P0

At the end of Haunted we get Eris' message to him about healing and finding joy , he has this line in Plunder "What we do now matters more than who we were", we end up with the Kept Confidence lore tab during Season of the Witch where the person who previously insisted he trusted no one now is saying: "He didn't trust them. He trusted her" and then in the Gloaming Journeyer tab, he pulls her into a hug and reminds her of what she told him once (in the Prophesy dungeon dialogue): "That we'll live in the night if we have to. We do it for what comes after." (What comes after is dawn, hope, the continuance of existence after the darkest point.)

Someone in a chat I was in once summed up the core dynamic of the Drifter and Eris' relationship perfectly as "He gives her trust. She gives him hope."

There are people online who are very frustrated with the Drifter's character development, feeling that the Drifter has 'had his teeth filed off' and that he 'got his depression cured by getting a goth girlfriend' but I feel that's just people who don't like change. The Drifter has, throughout his entire storyline been constantly changing who he is. Change is part of his many self-constructed identities which he re-creates over and over as his old sense of self is destroyed and remade. Gritty vicious Drifter is still in there and he will be just as brutal as ever if he needs to be.

He doesn't want to be, though. He never has. And as someone who deals with medical-grade depression and who found themselves in a situation where they needed to reconstruct a sense of self to replace the one that was lost, the Drifter finding a way to hope and trust again after all he's been through is an extremely powerful and poignant narrative which speaks to me on many levels.

It's not trite, thoughtless happy fluffy rainbows, friendship-fixes-everything-whee! It's painful and slow and beautiful as the Drifter learns to have healthy relationships with other people. We need stories like this to speak to us at an unconscious level and tell us that even if you're not Eris Morn and you failed, and you gave up, and you didn't make it out of the Hellmouth, and you in fact gave in to despair and completely lost all hope, your experience erasing who it was you were and having that old you replaced with someone else, you can still find hope again. Even if you've been burned so severely by so many, many, negative human interactions that you cannot trust anyone, if you find the right people, you can slowly learn how to trust again.

The Drifter's story has been called a redemption arc, and I guess in a way it is that too but, for me, the essential quality of the Drifter's narrative isn't redemption: it's healing.

Stories have power. We incorporate them into who we are. Dredgen Hope ultimately does live up to his name. Within D2 he is finally starting to heal. I find that idea, of healing in spite of being so altered by one's experiences as to have had to become an entirely different person in order to survive, of being unable to trust and still finding a way to learn how to trust again, to be important and beautiful to have in my subconscious as something to draw from. It is a story that is very much needed by a lot of people. We need to be reminded that we can be irrevocably changed and have everything taken from us and still find a way to trust and hope and love again. That might seem a bit much for a shooty game, but I maintain this is why D2 has some of the best storytelling of any game I've ever played and that the character of the Drifter is a huge part of what makes that storytelling so compelling.

Sorry this took so long to answer. This seriously was as short as I could make it and still say everything that I felt needed to be said. There's more, and more detail, of course, but this is my treatise on why the Drifter is as awesome as I think he is.

That is all.

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

The Drifter... gently and lovingly fumbling to help Eris with her many many strings of charms and beads... memorizing how each loop is placed... learning how to properly wind her strands of charms to her exact specifications... his utter glee when she doesn't instantly redo it but is satisfied he did it correctly... missing her and idly practicing winding her charms around himself with wires or whatever he has lying around to recreate the feeling of being near her via muscle memory and patterns of touch... recalling the sensations of where the beads press against them both when they embrace... eyes closed, softly smiling in the moonlight...

the intimacy of helping someone with their earrings/necklace.. be it putting it on or taking it off.. helping them fix something that got tangled or twisted.. whatever

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

"The names keep comin' in." "There's so many. After what happened earlier I had hoped that would be the last of it." "Me too, Moondust. Me too. Finally won against the big bad scary thing only to get sucker punched from behind while everyone was lookin' the other way." "We should do something." "Ain't nothing we can do. They're already gone. We got no control over this." "I hate being so powerless. They did not deserve this. They worked so hard. They tried. They built something beautiful." "Yeah. It ain't right. Sometimes the bad guys win. All those dreams we had. I don't know if any of them can happen now. I'm gonna be honest with ya, I'm scared." "I am too." "What if the whole world up an dissolves?" "Then we will build a new one." "What if you're taken away from me? I can't handle that." "If that happens, then I will find you again. We'll live in the night if we have to. We are both survivors. We will find a way. If not here, then elsewhere." "It won't be the same." "Of course not. Their loss will be felt everywhere, in all directions, backwards and forwards in time." "Makes you wonder what the point of it all is, if shit like this keeps happenin'." "The point is love." "Love ain't gonna fix this." "No. But the love is still there. We can still love them. We can still appreciate what they did. We can still honour them. We can still make it known that they were here… That they made something beautiful… That what they did was good. We can cherish them in our hearts. We can remember them." "There's so many, Moondust. It hurts." "Do not pull away from the pain. Feel it. It hurts because they mattered, because what they did mattered. It hurts because we love them."