12
On the first day of RoI, my true love gave to me:
A Hive Worm in a pantry!
He didn't trust her. Rule number one of being a Warlock; never trust the Hunters.
So when Sierra said she left him a present for his birthday, a rare material from the Dreadnaught, he naturally, absolutely, DID NOT TRUST HER.
"You weren't home, so I just dumped it in your kitchen." she'd said with a careless wave of her hand. Naturally, he didn't trust that. He strode down the hall, trying to guess what the heck she may have done.
She probably rigged my door to dump something on me again. The disadvantage of being leader of a fireteam was that the leader was the one that always got pranked. He hadn't realized this when accepting this honor, but after several months, it had become apparent to him as to why the Titan in their little group had declined the position.
So Alex had been stuck with it instead, while Carlton was sitting pretty in a living room NOT tarnished by honey stains.
He paused in front of his door, and took a deep breath. Okay, Sierra; what have you got in store for me this time. He took his key out of his pocket, slipped it into the lock(AFTER checking to make sure she hadn't stuffed something into the keyhole or rigged it in any way), turned, and pulled it out quickly, jumping back, not wanting to press his luck.
Holding his breath and moving slowly, he turned the nob. His neighbor, another Warlock, gave him an odd look upon exiting his own home. Alex offered him a sheepish grin.
"Hunters, right?" he explained. The other Warlock shrugged.
"I tend to avoid them." he replied before walking off. Alex returned his focus back to the half-turned nob. He reached up to adjust his Spirit of the Vulture bond, trying to stall himself for time. These Iron Banner robes are brand spanking new; Sierra, I SWEAR if this is honey or something else that doesn't wash out...
To top it off, he'd gone through a lengthy process to find just the right shade of copper-orange to dye his new armor set. He'd succeeded; it created the desired affect of making him look like a Warlock made of fire in full light of the sunset. He believed that a Guardian as beautiful as the sun was more terrifying than a whole skiff full of stealth Fallen. Much like how Sierra was convinced a bladedancer who shone like white diamonds struck more fear into the Darkness than a whole legion of nightstalkers firing from the shadows.
Carlton couldn't care less about fashion. He just wore the armor that made him look as big as he could look.
Slowly, standing as far back as he could, he finished turning the nob, and pushed the door open a crack. He jerked his hand back for fear of ruining his robes, and, with one foot, gave the door a tender kick that pushed it open about halfway. Cautiously, he stuck his head through. He looked up. Huh. No bucket! I'm safe!
Putting on a grin with a 'hmph' of satisfaction, he strode into his home, and closed the door. His was a very quaint place of living. In the main room, the one he'd just walked into, there was a simple, blue couch with a long, pine wood table in front of it. The floor below this furniture was occupied by a blue, red, gray, and white thin-striped rug that reached all the way to the door. On the wall, facing the couch, was a small screen that would display reports from throughout the city. News, any new Traveler activity, the occasional word from the Reef, SRL coverage, and sometimes even one or two old earth entertainment programs.
Pushed against the far wall was his dinning table, made of oak. He was particularly proud of it, as he'd worked on it during his assignment in the Reef, during the hunt for Skolas. He'd done a few scouting missions with the Crows, provided some intelligence, and had been unable to resist taking back the perfect oak log when he'd found it on earth.
Variks had been particularly curios about his carving habits, and he'd shown the Fallen a few of his techniques, the two of them forming a loose friendship. Petra had just though it was weird, and a few people had snickered behind his back(contrary to popular belief, he HAD noticed that) as he and Carlton hauled it onto his ship the day they left.
Near this table was the doorway to his kitchen, also quaint. A few cupboards lined the upper walls, and a window overlooking the north wall sat above his stove, giving him a rather nice view while he cooked. Next to the kitchen was the door to his bedroom, which was bare, save his bed and a desk(with a chair, of course), which had a lamp on it, as well as a small stand for his Ghost to go into sleep mode on. The small computer was a modest three terabytes, and was mostly for recreation; he was writing a murder mystery, and so far, what he'd read to Ikora had impressed her. It was only 100,000 words at this point; nowhere NEAR finished, yet.
The bathroom was also simple; a tub, a showerhead, a toilet and sink. He'd found some rather nice towels down in the city, though; russet, with leaf pattered embroidered on the ends. They accented the place rather nicely.
Ah, everything's where it should be. He thought, standing near the entryway, sighing with satisfaction. Then it hit him; what if something wasn't as it seemed? He might not be safe yet!
Immediately, he got to checking every nook and cranny in the house. He lifted each pillow on his couch; heck, he lifted one end of the couch and checked underneath it! He looked under all his tables, his bed, even under the rug. He checked behind his 'TV', and even checked his computer for random spam from unknown companies. In the end, all that was left was the kitchen, which he dreaded going into.
That's where Sierra said she left me my "present". He barely suppressed the shudder that ran through him. Who KNEW what she had put on there. Cautiously again, he approaching his kitchen. He stuck his head slowly around the corner, and looked around. Nothing seemed changed. The oven was closed, the stove wasn't on, the sink was still shining and clean. There was nothing on the black counters-
Nothing on the counters. There was nothing here; no 'present'. Alright Sierra; what did you do to me?
He suddenly became aware of a noise coming from one of the cupboards. A sort of scraping sound. Cautiously, he approached it. He took up arms in the form of a frying pan that he'd put in the sink to be cleaned. He bit his lip, and backed up a little, stretching his arm as far as it would go to grab the handle of the cupboard. Best to do it quick; like a Band-Aid. The young Warlock thought.
He yanked the door open...
And a Worm fell out with a screech. Louder still, was the girly scream of the Warlock as he beat it repetitively with the frying pan.
Yes, there will be more of this. Yes, maybe every day. It depends on whether or not I forget about this tomorrow.
No, do not expect me to update my other stuff. I kind of lost my steam for Siblings and Who he Was after I started playing Destiny.
YES, oh most certainly YES, there will be a sequel to Fish. Private Hieyaki and the ridiculous immaturities of the Normandy's crew CANNOT, and WILL NOT, be forgotten as we approach Halloween. For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about... well, lets just say, Fish is one of those things you don't read while drinking stuff. Or eating. You WILL choke or spit-take.
This is a far difference from my last Destiny fic, which was all depressing. I play the game more than I write for it. Now, if it's a consistent series you want, you may have seen or heard of my bestie, Jayfeattheris Awesome. If you want destiny comedy, she is the one you go to.
Twelve days to RoI!
Read and REVIEW!