CHAPTER SIX

Guardians didn't spend much time with civilians, excluding Tower personnel. Despite the symbiotic relationship between the two, there was a gulf between regular folks and their gun-toting, planet-hopping protectors. Go figure.

So it was in an abandoned nightclub in the middle of Widow's Ward, not a soul for blocks around, that Cass' memorial was held.

Amanda was there, as well as Holborn, Banshee, and of course Lyra. It had been her idea, after all. She'd spent thirteen hours pinned inside this particular building by a dozen acolytes, the scorched walls and shattered masonry corroborating her story.

Lyra managed to unearth some liquor and soon all of them, except Banshee, were seated at the wood-finished plasteel bar with drinks in hand. The cobalt exo was tinkering with a dead Ghost he had found, cracked open like a white walnut. "Sacrilege", Holborn called it. "Boredom" was Banshee's counter-offer.

Uncomfortable minutes of silence passed. Finally Holborn took it upon himself to talk.

"Perhaps we should say a few words. Something...nice. I suppose".

Banshee, without looking up from his pet project, said, "Princely words, Holborn. Truly inspirational. I congratulate you".

The Titan's broad face, fringed in the dark fur of his collar, reddened at this. "I'm a Guardian not a wordsmith, Banshee. If I'm so useless, why don't you say something?".

"I never professed any aptitude at eulogizing. Just thought you could use some encouragement. You seemed a bit wooden". The exo's synthetic smile was endearing.

"I'll say something", Lyra said, rising to her feet and setting aside the bottle she had been drinking from, drops of amber fluid sloshing onto the countertop. "After fifteen years, I should know enough about Cass to say something".

The cloaked woman stood there for a moment, leaning on the bar, eyes fixed on a point in the middle distance.

"Cass was a good woman. A good Hunter. A good Guardian. She was always something of a leader in the Band of-".

"We never settled on a name!", Holborn cried, cutting her off. "We are not the Band of Wolves, and for the record I'm still in favor of Holborn's Host". He turned his gaze on Banshee. "Back me up here, Ban".

"Well", Banshee said, fingers buried in the inner workings of the Ghost, "We never settled on a name. And Band of Wolves is a terrible name". Holborn let out a harsh bark of laughter, clapping a massive hand on the exo's shoulder. Lyra shot him a poisonous look.

"But", Banshee continued, "So is Holborn's Host. They're all truly terrible".

Holborn's ruddy face fell, and Lyra returned a mocking note of laughter.

"Well", Amanda chimed in, eyes still in her drink. "What do you suggest, Ban?".

Banshee looked up, setting aside the Ghost for a moment and swivelling in his stool to turn towards the rest of the group. His ghostly blue-white eyes swept the faces of his fellow Guardians.

"Banshee's Bandits".

Never had the City heard a more raucous and concerted chorus of dissent. Lyra was shouting "Fuck you" over and over, Holborn had cupped his hand around his mouth like a megaphone as he booed the suggestion, and even Amanda managed a broad grin. All of them were smiling, and laughing, the drink serving to loosen their tongues.

Once the laughter began to die, tears still in the corners of their eyes, cheeks aching from smiles stretched wide, Amanda spoke again.

"How about it though?".

Lyra was the next to regain control of her tongue. "How, uh, how about what?".

"The name. The one she wanted. What's so bad about being the Band of Wolves?".

Lyra, trying to remain somber through her tittering, nodded. "I think it's a good idea. No better reason for a name than honoring a fallen Guardian, right?". Lyra looked around, locking eyes with Holborn, then Banshee. "Would it honestly kill you to have the fireteam not named after you?".

Banshee was quiet. Holborn's eyes found the floor.

"It might kill me a little...", the abashed Titan replied.

"Oh c'mon", Lyra said, sidling over to Amanda's side and throwing an arm over her shoulder. "Look at Miss Mopey over here, wouldja? Look at her sad eyes, and her sad face, and her sad hair", she spoke with a leer. "Fuck you", Amanda muttered, running a hand through her blonde hair.

Holborn pursed his lips. "She does look sad".

Then he broke, shoulders heaving with a sigh. "I'm sorry. I oughta be treating this with a bit more respect, shouldn't I. I know it's been hard on you Amanda, but we're all sore. We're all hurting. Just...you're right, actually. Band of Wolves it is".

They all paused, eyes on Banshee.

He looked up at them, eyes wide with surprise. "Oh, you thought I was actually...no, of course it's Band of Wolves. Banshee's Bandits is a terrible name".

The decision was followed by the clinking of bottles in cheers, and something passing for "hip-hip-hurray!".

There was more drinking, more silence. Guardians weren't the most social animals, even those who operated as part of a fireteam. Dealing with loss was a peculiarity for men and women of their distinction; death in the Guardians' ranks was common enough not to warrant mourning, but they were still human.

"Anyone talk to Achernar?", Lyra asked the room.

Banshee and Amanda shook their heads, but Holborn spoke up. "I did. Saw him yesterday morning. That fancy jumpship he just got himself, the Kestrel or whatnot, it-".

"Kestrel?", Amanda asked rhetorically, cutting him off and raising the bottle to her lips. "Regulus, Holborn. It was a Regulus".

Holborn stared at her for a moment. "Anyways, it got taken down outside the City. Seven tombships he said, through you can never tell with those purple bastards-".

"Holborn!", Lyra hissed, interrupting him again.

"What?".

She stared at him in mild shock. "Purple bastards? What the actual fuck, Holborn?".

"ANYWAYS", he continued, determined to push through to the end of his story.

"Well?", Amanda asked.

"Well what?", Holborn replied.

"You were saying? About Achernar". There was a long pause. "He was shot down outside the City".

Holborn scrunched up his face. You could see him, grasping at the memory as it fled from him, disappearing into the aether.

"Thirteen tombships, ringing any bells?". Lyra could barely believe this.

"It was...no, no he...No, it's gone". Holborn shrugged and cocked his head.

Lyra muttered something in disbelief, taking another drink.

"Well, I hope he's okay", said Amanda. Holborn nodded as if to reassure her.

Banshee rose to his feet, stretching in a gesture learned rather than really necessary. "It's getting late. We've got forty-one hours to get our gear together, get ready to go".

"Oh, piss off, you don't even need to sleep". That was Lyra, her dark cheeks flushed pink. She was well past buzzed at this point in the night - morning, technically.

Banshee rolled his eyes, another human gesture that had taken more time than it was worth to perfect. "True, but you clearly do. And along with sleep, I'd recommend some strong stims and something with lots of carbs".

Banshee turned to leave, and Lyra sent him off with a one-fingered salute. Amanda found it hard to imagine that he wasn't smiling as he walked out the door of the ruined club.

Soon after, Holborn made his excuses, citing a need to get his ship in order. A few minutes after Banshee had left, it was just Amanda and Lyra.

Amanda turned from her drink to see that Lyra was staring at her. Her usually umber eyes were black pools. She had the drawn mouth of someone deciding whether or not to say something. Something important and, no doubt, awkward.

Amanda took another swig, lifting the bottle to her lips and finishing off the last of it. "Did you have something you wanted to tell me, Lyra?".

Lyra was quiet for a second. Amanda could see the woman weighing her words carefully, sounding them out in her head.

"Cass told me", she finally managed.

Now Amanda was given pause. All she could hear was the beating of her heart, the sounds of blood rushing in her ears. It was that white noise that always seemed to descend on her when she knew something bad was going to happen, but couldn't stop it.

"She told you what?", Amanda asked, managing to not be too stony.

"About you. And her".

And there it was. Amanda sighed a deep sigh, her shoulders heaving. She leaned forward imperceptibly, resting a bit more of her weight on the bar. They were the heaviest four words she had ever heard...well, maybe the second heaviest. Just being reminded of it cut at her a bit, reopened the wounds she received when Cass died. Already her grief had started to scar over. Now that work was undone.

"Well, I'll be frank here, I don't know how to respond to that".

Lyra bit her lip. "I know, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up. I just wanted you to know. That I knew. It seemed...fair".

Amanda got up to go. "Fair? Nothing about this situation is fucking fair". She pushed away from her seat, letting her bottle fall and spill its contents over the bar.

Lyra grimaced. "Amanda...I'm sorry, I just thought that I should tell y-".

"You thought?", Amanda railed, turning on her. "You are clearly not thinking bringing this...shit up right now". Heat was welling up behind her eyes, but she fought it down, stamped out the tears before they could spill onto her cheeks.

Lyra was at a loss of words. She was a rash woman, and drunk, which only exacerbated the issue. The Warlock clearly knew she'd made a mistake, but now she couldn't find a way to correct it.

Amanda, her lips twisted into a snarl, turned her back on Lyra and made for the door. "I have a war to go fight".

I hope all of you are still enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it. This one took a while, which is part of why updates died down for a bit there. I hope the more human aspects of this appeal to all the Destiny fans out there; if not, the next one should grab your attention.

Stay tuned, and stay brilliant!