"It would be good for you to go. You could make new friends!"
The guardian scowled, stomping the mud off his boots. "For the last time, Pork. No." He ducked into his makeshift shelter, the ancient boxcar's entrance covered by a tattered camouflage tarp.
The Ghost called Pulled Pork followed, bobbing enthusiastically. "But these are new people, guardian! And they invited you!"
Sour memories make themselves known, shouted words and brandished guns, tear-filled eyes, and him, dying many times. The guardian shook his head, tossing the bundle on his back onto a shelf, unslinging the rifle from his shoulder. "The only reason for that is because they don't know me yet."
Pulled Pork floated closer. "That sounds like it would be ideal! You would then have the chance to-"
"And I want it to stay that way," he snapped, setting down the rifle. A Night Watch, a prize from a Gambit match hosted more than three months ago. Despite the victory, he hadn't tried again. Paying for a ride to the Tangled Shore had cost a month of earnings.
Glowering, he sat down heavily on a metal bench messily welded to the wall. Need some light. The evening light wasn't enough for the dark interior of the boxcar. He turned on the small lantern, illuminating the rusted walls of the metal box that was his home. Towards the back, protected by several layers of waterproofing above it, the silk sheet hung, its alien patterns shimmering in the blue light. The guardian didn't touch it much anymore. He didn't want to get it dirty.
His ghost drifted closer, wilted, the top quarter of his shell lowered. The guardian paused, guilt making itself known. He sighed, the sound distorted by the helmet's modulator. "Pork, I'm sorry." He met the floating being's lone eye. "But you, of all ghosts, know why I don't want to go."
"Yes, guardian," Pork's tone was resigned, his normally unflagging good cheer dampened.
"And it's not even a job," he exclaimed, unbuckling his holster and hanging it up. "It's just a… what was the word she used?"
"A barbecue."
"A barbecue!" The unfamiliar word tasted odd in his mouth. The guardian pulled the hand cannon, a simple Allegro, out of its holster, flipping it in his hand and gesturing the handle at the Ghost. "There's nothing in it for me, not even glimmer."
Pork paused. "The Hunter did imply there would be food."
The guardian paused, then looked down at the box of field rations he had recently purchased. "There is that." He reached down and untied the pouch hidden in his boot. With his other hand, the guardian made a small circuit of arc energy, powering on the small safe under the bench. It opened, and he pulled out the box. It was filled with glimmer, synthesized to fit its container perfectly. Dumping the contents of the bag out, the new crystals of glimmer tumbled out on his bedspread. There! He finally had enough to buy a sparrow, that little Athena he'd been looking at. He'd go to the settlement tomorrow.
"Food would be good," he acknowledged. "But you saw her cloak, the symbol on it. If she knew, I'd be dead before my first bite." He wagged a finger at the Ghost. "And I can't eat with my helmet on, Pork."
The Ghost made a defeated sound. "You're right, Guardian."
"I'm glad you agree." He took off the full-head helmet, a Nea-Thonis Breather, and let it fall to the ground. The guardian leaned back, relaxing for the first time all day, taking deep breaths. His hair was getting longer, but its uneven distinction was still a problem. The glowing yellow eyes and face markings didn't help anything.
"Besides," he stated grimly, "One of these days we'll meet someone that will kill me, and then kill you too, Pork. I'm honestly surprised nobody's tried that yet."
Pork didn't reply.
The guardian had been here for months now, and he was getting more used to the isolation. The loyal ghost had finally gotten him to talk a little more, and he didn't mind it much. The increase in conversation helped, even if the little fellow was rather odd. Pork didn't judge the guardian, didn't hate him, didn't want to see his pain. In fact, it seemed that the ghost known as Pulled Pork was the only being in this entire system that seemed to want the guardian to be happier than he was.
Even if that meant nagging him to go "be social."
The guardian sighed, unlacing his boots. "Pork?"
"Yes, guardian?"
"Did you save that lady hunter's ghost signal?"
"Why yes, I did."
"I told you not to do that."
"I know, guardian. I didn't listen." The guardian smirked. He couldn't summon any energy to be annoyed, and besides, it made Pork more interesting. "Why do you ask regarding the female hunter?"
"Oh, it's not her, it's just, when is this… barbecue?"
"In three days, in the evening."
Three days. Maybe he'd finally get around to getting his hair cut.
"Should I RSVP?" Pork asked.
"I swear, you should have been a Warlock's ghost. It's a Hunter thing, not caring when people show up."
Pork paused, then spun his purple shell once. "I am glad I am your ghost, guardian."
The guardian smiled. It was small, and tired, and very much underused. But Pork liked it when he did it, so he smiled. "I'm glad, too."