Taffer Notes: Bit of an experiment.
For those who haven't read other fics of mine, I often use my fan fiction to try out styles and such. This time I tried to practice my time skips without direct scene transitions. Which I clearly need more practice with. I had fun writing the chapter overall and it got the job done, but I would probably do it differently if I wrote a second draft version of it.
Anyway. Enjoy!
Also, please note my updates may come in slower while I focus a little more effort on my original novel. But they'll keep coming because there is a lot I have planned for Nicole and I don't leave my stories unfinished.
Imagining Dragons
The Winters had not one— nor two, nor three —but a whole four-hundred years between them. A majority of which they'd spent together. Least that was what they told Nicole with a glint shared in their eyes.
Oh, and had she noticed that they had a fascination for things from a bygone era?
Nicole had looked up at the mention of that, her eyes drawn to the shelves lining the tall walls. "I'd made a guess," she'd said.
A wee bit later and she'd found out about how all the rubbish on the shelves had stories tacked to it. Sam and Ariel remembered it all. What Guardian had brought in what. When. And what tale it'd come with. 'course they were oftentimes embellished, but that was part of the charm.
Nicole had listened politely, hard at work not making eye contact and focusing on acquainting herself with the bulky coffee machine instead. Re-acquainting, more like — the thing was ancient. Or at least it pretended to be.
"Look at that," Sam said when the first coffee steamed merrily in its cup, ready to be had. "You did get raised a natural, how about that?"
Nicole winced.
"Mhm," hummed Ariel. "Say, Sam. What sort of Guardian do you think John brought us?"
Nicole glanced at Ghost. He gave a helpless shrug.
"Hard to tell," Sam said, standing about with her finger tapping idly on another one of those computer pad looking things. "She's a bit of a mysterious one, isn't she?"
She's also standing right here.
"Warlock then?"
"Supposedly," Nicole said around a gush of steam from the milk frothy-steamy-thing. Soy milk, it turned out. Ah well. Couldn't have it all.
Ariel and Sam traded looks, but before either could ask just what she'd meant, the front door dinged open, getting everyone's attention. In marched a pair of… of…
"Exos," Ghost said, his voice kept low.
She furrowed her brow at him. This wasn't the first time he'd done that. Told her what she wanted to know without her having to ask the question out loud. Nor was it the first time she'd wondered about it — though to be fair she was probably overthinking it. For all she knew, her general bafflement was written all over her face.
And it probably only got worse once Sam went up to the counter to handle the customers. Take their orders. That sort of thing, because why else would they be here.
Nicole picked up the cup she'd made and got out of the way enough to hope she was out of earshot.
"They drink?" she asked in a whisper.
"And eat," Ghost whispered back. Literally. Instead of dialling down his volume (like he'd done before), he went all the way in.
With her jaw wanting to unhinge, Nicole stared at the pair. They had armour on, she figured, though she couldn't rightfully tell where that ended and they started, what with how their arms and necks and heads were all… plates for skin and exposed tubes for tendons and muscle poking out here and there. All that and the flashing lights…
"How?"
Oh no.
One looked her way. Had they heard her?
Gosh, please no.
She quickly shuffled sideways and raised her coffee to take a sip. Coffee that turned out to be all sorts of alright.
She nibbled on the cup's rim, halfway deep in thought and halfway thinking about the bitter taste on her tongue. "No, wait, let me rephrase: Why?"
"To prevent DER."
Whatnow? "Bless you."
"Dissociative Exomind Rejection," he clarified.
She stared at him from over the rim of the cup. Blankly. About then she noticed how nice the cup was, too. Fragile. Thin. With a faded pattern clinging to the bottom half, forming a skyline she didn't recognise. "That's not helping much."
"It's, ah—" His eye glanced left, then right. "—a condition where the Exo's mind, which was human once and had a human body, can't take the lack of sensory input that it's used to and expects. Things like hunger. Thirst. Breathing. Without those, they often think they're dead or trapped." He dropped his voice even lower. "Or worse. There's records saying some thought they'd died and gone to hell."
Nicole shuddered and put her coffee down.
It'd turned to ash on her tongue.
Ghost rolled from one of his Guardian's shoulders towards the other, grateful for how Ariel Winters picked that moment to show and ask if she could get help lifting heavy boxes. It gave his Guardian a chance to get away from the topic of DER and stopped him from running his voice box about things she clearly didn't want to know.
Even if she should. Know.
Or did she? Did she really need to know all of this?
He looked around. Or was this it? This corner tucked away in the City? The one filled to the brim with memories that'd belong to people long dead and with its air heavy with the scent of coffee — rather than gun oil and blood and sweat?
His shell slanted forward over his eye, projecting a thoughtful frown for everyone to see.
Dear Traveler, I think my Guardian just started work at a coffee shop. For real. I'm not making that up.
He trailed after her as she climbed a tight, winding staircase to the Revive's second-floor storage room. Rows of sealed crates dominated the space, along with a few shelves loaded with spare kitchenware. Ariel pointed out two boxes that needed carrying before vanishing back down the stairs.
His Guardian eyed the first box, huffed, and went to pick it up.
I'm a real shank-brain for letting that bother me, aren't I?
His shell drooped. Yep. Shank-brain.
He should be grateful. Two days ago she'd good as asked him if he could let her die and now here she was, looking surprised when she managed to heft a box from the floor that she'd probably expected to be too heavy for her.
She blinked at him.
"Guardian perks," he reaffirmed, hoping to sound as cheerful as he wanted to. And then he zipped over to angle himself over the second box, ready to cram it into his transmat buffer and bring it along.
"Stop," she blurted, her knuckles all white clinging to the cargo in her arms.
He paused. "What?"
"If you start lugging things for me what am I meant to do?"
"Uh. Not blow your back out by accident? Which, ah, I could fix…"
She scoffed. "Leave it. I'll come back for it."
Ghost puffed himself out. "And what'll I be doing all day? Float around and look pretty?"
"If you like," she said, sounding a little strained now that she was making her way down the stairs. Carefully so. Step by tentative and awkwardly placed step, most barely an inch away from a disaster. His shell twisted, cringing. She was a bit clumsy, wasn't she? Except when she was throwing things at him.
"Or you could—" She stopped with a grunt and peered around the box like she was trying to map out the stairs in front of her. "—I don't know, play music?"
Ghost came to a stuttering halt. "Yes! I mean, ah." Alright, that'd come out a little too desperate, hadn't it? So he followed it up with an exceptional impression of a nonchalant throat clear. "Yes. Of course. I can do that. What would you like me to play? I've got it all."
"All, huh?"
"All," he said, putting on a gravely tone.
"I… don't know," she admitted eventually and began climbing again. Slowly and steadily.
Ghost fired off a query for 2012 to 2018 hits as he rolled after her, flagging anything he'd tagged as reasonably upbeat and discarding the rest. Two shakes later and he took a gamble.
Riiiight as she tripped down the last step with a startled "Frick!" — accompanied by a few muted claps and the first notes of a tune about being at the top of the world by a group that liked to imagine dragons.
His Guardian caught herself. And threw him a look he'd not forget anytime soon. If at all. Ever.
Sentimental sorrow wrapped in surprise. Three meaningful S's that rapped at his core to the beat of the music.
Oh no. He'd messed up, hadn't he?
Did she know it and not like it? Did she know it and like it too much? Had he made it worse? Or better?
Not that he'd find out, because a ding, a hiss, and a crashing from the front of the shop made his Guardian start and choked the music out.
"What was that?" she asked, even as they both hurried forward. To the noise. Like any Guardian and their Ghost ought to do.
Except usually they were armed then and there'd be shouting and shooting. Not, ah. This.
They made it to the front in time to see two unbound Ghosts zip out the door. A third— bearing the same simple white shell he'd only recently swapped out —tumbled through the air over tables and chairs. It led Muffin on a chase, keeping just low enough to let the mountain of fur almost get a swipe in here and there.
"Muffin," Ariel said sternly.
It worked. The cat plodded a final lazy step over the table she'd just climbed and turned to look at Ariel with a quiet meow. As for the Ghost? It changed trajectory sharply and set course across the room. Right at them, to be precise.
His Guardian stiffened behind her box.
The Ghost swung around them. Around her, rather, and came to a swaying halt behind her back. From there, it peered at Muffin. Muffin, in turn, swished her tail and gave a hearty mrrow.
Then, her voice light, the unbound Ghost blurted out a cheerful "Hello!"
Oh dear, he thought, especially when his Guardian traded him a tense look. Her mouth was drawn into a thin line and whatever he'd almost managed to bring out when he'd started playing the music was gone. Dispelled by a single, unbound Ghost.
He didn't like that, and so when he regarded the Ghost he did so with a squint.
"I'm Felicia," she said, ignoring him.
"Nicole," his Guardian replied after a moment's pause.
"I know." Felicia swung forward, her shell flared in a universal display of delight as she flew up in a corkscrew pattern.
His Guardian frowned. "I see," she mumbled mostly to herself (or so he figured) and moved around the cheery Ghost so she could finally set her cargo down. "Looks like everyone's got me at an advantage these days."
Felicia made to follow. Because of course she did and of course he went and got in her way. Except that was easier said than done, wasn't it? Since Ghosts had a lot of space to work with and all that.
Up.
Down.
Sideways.
She deftly dodged around him and kept pace with his Guardian.
His Guardian. The nerve.
Go get your own.
And yeah, so maybe that was a shanky thing to think. Maybe. Probably. Quite likely. Because he'd been there. Searching and searching and searching, sometimes feeling like he was a single patrol away from giving up. But he hadn't. He glanced at his Guardian. His very flighty, very nervous, and exceptionally sad Guardian trying very hard to make this work for herself by making coffee and lugging boxes.
He looked back at Felicia. And here was an unbound Ghost who didn't see a Guardian at all. She saw what he'd been too occupied to notice: a Speaker. A line to the Traveler. A thread to follow back to something they'd all forgotten but still yearned for. He'd done it too. Come back to the City, exhausted and close to defeat, wanting nothing more than for someone to tell him it was okay.
Which was exactly what the Speaker had done — over and over again. Never judging. Never pushing. Never saying he was less just because he was one, rather than two.
Still.
"Can we help you?" Ghost grumbled, feeling awful for the pinch of… what? Jealousy?
"Hmmm? Oh! Oh no! I can help you," she chirped. "But mostly I'd like to invite you."
"Invite us?" He sorted himself between them, very much aware of what he was doing but unable to stop himself. "To what?"
"The Community Theatre!" she proclaimed, a small twirl added on for effect. "There's a play this evening and no one's invited you yet, so I'm here to correct that horrible oversight. Because that's what it is." She leaned forward, her eye flaring brighter. "How has no one invited you yet?"
His Guardian looked rightfully confused. "The what?"
"The Ghost Community Theatre," he explained. "It's, uh, well. Ghosts. Performing theatre."
"It's amazing is what it is," said Felicia. "You should go." Aaand there was another twirl. "You need to go. Will you go?"
His Guardian's eyes darted left. Then right. Her lips twitched, along with her fingers, and for way too long that was all the answer Felicia got. Like the question she'd asked was of great import and had to be carefully weighed.
At the end, his Guardian looked at him. "Will we?"
His core added another crack to its collection, which he did his best not to show. Instead, he shrugged. "Don't see why not. You might like it."
"You'll love it," Felicia insisted.
"We'll go then," his Guardian said. "But now, I— ah—" She looked over her shoulder, back the way she'd come down with the box.
"Now we got work to do," Ghost said.
"Oh! Oh yes. Of course. Silly me." Felicia twirled. Again. How annoying. Which it was. Totally. So, so annoying. Why was she doing that? "I'll see you at the theatre!"
Ghost watched her zip for the door in a zig-zag pattern, where Sam let her out, waving her off as she vanished into the bustling City. A heavy kind of curiosity settled over the entire shop after that, mostly carried by the Winters regarding his Guardian with a load of unasked questions hanging in the air. Even the two Exos eyeballed them from the corners where they'd gone to enjoy their drinks.
And his Guardian did exactly what he'd expect her to under all those curious eyes. She turned around and hurried for the stairs, her hands balled into fists and a wash of confused Light trailing her like an embarrassed afterthought. Least that was how he read it as he followed in its wake.
"That," he said, trying his best to sound level and reassuring, "was strange."
She shrugged and began climbing.
"And by the Traveler's shiny bottom was she cheery. Who's cheery like that? All—" He gave a theatrical twirl. "—You'll love it! and It's amazing. That was a little much, wasn't it? I thought it was. Totally. It was."
They'd reached the top of the stairs when his Guardian promptly stopped. She cocked her head to the side and eyed him. Her lips kicked up into what a whisper might be if it was a grin.
"Honestly? She reminded me of someone," she said.
He bumbled past her, his trajectory angling downward. "Oh?"
"Uh-huh. Perpetually cheery lad, that. Goes on about the Traveler a lot. Like he's got a crush on it. And don't get him started on the City, he'll talk your ear off if you do, he loves it that much." Her hands came up. Formed a… Ghost-sized ball. "About this small."
"Oh ha-ha," he said with a huff and bounced up and around her, his voice coming out a little on the sideways end of things. "That's funny. You're funny. Ijustgetexcited, okay? Nothing wrong with that."
"No. Nothing wrong with that all," she said, that whisper of a grin growing into something a lot more substantial. Something warm. Kind. And if there was a thing he was grateful for, then it was that Ghosts couldn't blush.
Nicole spent the rest of her day at the Revive being regaled with stories of the olden times, carrying things to-and-fro, and making coffee while either Sam or Ariel handled the glimmer. It'd not taken them long to realise she struggled with the concept.
The folk come for snacks seemed to like her coffee though.
She sorted that into an otherwise rather empty shelf labelled My Successes. Which was nice.
And so was not thinking much past the tasks ahead of her and carrying around the sharp smell of coffee grounds on her fingers. Now if only she'd gotten over that sudden spell of self-consciousness about Ghost playing music like a phone left on speakers… because she'd not managed to work up the courage to ask for another song.
Too many what if's in the way.
What if the Winters didn't like the music?
What if the customers didn't?
So she'd worked in silence between awkward conversation, thankful that (for the most part) she got away with listening.
Eventually, the Winters had shooed her from the shop. She'd done great, they'd said, and they were counting on her coming back tomorrow, which Nicole mulled over quietly even now. Now being at the edge of a small crowd surrounding what she could only assume was meant to be a stage. A stage for Ghosts putting on a show, though she'd barely even looked once.
Honestly, she shouldn't have come. This'd been another bad idea amongst many.
While she remained trudging circles around in her head, Ghost floated back down from a brief peek over the heads of everyone in front of them and settled by her shoulder.
"What's eating at you?" he asked.
"Nothing." The answer came quick and easy. On reflex, really.
He hummed as he rolled right under her nose, his eye set right on her. "See this face?"
Nicole furrowed her brow.
"This is my doubt face."
"You don't have a face."
"Ouch," he went with a wee recoil and a mock widening flash of his eye. Though the expression quickly dimmed. The humour fell away. "You don't like being here," he observed.
Nicole, in turn, unfolded her tense arms and looked at the tips of her boots. When her fingers begun to fidget, she shoved her hands into her pockets. Then clap-clap-clap the front of the crowd went and she jerked up as if someone'd popped a firecracker under her bum.
"It's… I don't like crowds."
Ghost glanced around. By the time he'd concluded his sweep of the questionably sized crowd, she'd begun to weave back and forth on her feet.
"And I don't like not knowing what I'm going to do tomorrow. Do I go back to… work?"
Ghost remained quiet, though he floated away from the throng of people gathered around the stage. Nicole followed him, pulled along by a tug seated deep under her heart.
"Or do I want to not wake up?"
She saw his shell slant down when she'd said that.
"If I get up tomorrow and I go to the Revive, what's that mean? That I'm okay with all of this? That I'm accepting it?" Pressure built at the back of her throat. Her eyes burnt. He gave her more silence as he led the way.
"How do I get over dying, Ghost?"
Did she want an answer to that?
Did he have an answer to that?
Why'd no one given him instructions for this sort of thing? Frustrated, and with an ache in his core, Ghost threw a look at the Traveler reflecting mundane light back at the City, while this particular Light felt entirely too small for the situation at hand.
"You can chime in any time you like," his Guardian suddenly said, her tone all kinda shades of dreary.
Crap. So she did want an answer. He mulled it over for a while, keeping quiet and close.
"I don't think you do," he replied eventually, not altogether sure where that'd come from. Or how it ought to help. "Get over dying, I mean. Not when it's cost you a life you lived."
"That is the usual definition of dying," she supplied flatly.
"I— yes. Of course. I'm just, ah." He drew his shell in together tight. Where was he going with that? Oh. Yes. That way: "Remember what Shephard said? How you've got a life behind you, but you also have one in front of you now?"
She nodded.
"See, I think he's right and that maybe it's not about getting over dying. I think it's about living. About finding things worth remembering. Things worth losing. If it ever comes to that. You don't get over what you lost, but you fill what you've got."
His Guardian drew her bottom lip between her teeth and swallowed so hard, he could hear her throat click. But she didn't argue what he'd said. Didn't say another word, in fact.
Not until they'd gotten back to the apartment and she'd shed her shoes and curled up under her blanket, her eyes wide open and brimming with tears.
"I think I'd like to take Ikora up on her offer," she whispered, her voice quavering. "And I think... if you don't mind… I'd like to hear another song?"
He could do that.
Ghost floated closer. He carried his answer with him — a soft and gentle tune stitched together from words bearing pain and comfort alike. His Guardian huddled together tighter. And tighter. And tighter, until she was a knot buried under her blanket. But she looked at him, even as he settled down on a patch of cleared mattress only two shy inches from her pillow.
By the time her eyes fell shut (and didn't flutter open again a second later), she'd let her hand creep out from under the blanket. And when her breathing evened out and sleep took her, she'd rested a finger against his shell.
Taffer Notes: The song Ghost played for Nicole at the end (at least the first one): Dreamer by LaPeer.