Taffer Notes: I said there'd be Guardian training.

Well, John had different plans for the time being and Nicole had to learn a little more about Ghost.

Haunted

Dear Traveler,

Today, my Guardian is going to meet with the Warlock Vanguard. Ikora Rey. You know her. Of course you know her. She's one of your favorite, right? One of mine, too. I wonder if she'll teach my Guardian how to make a Nova Bomb. Oh, can you imagine?

He could. Vividly. Ghosts were very apt at imagining, after all. Or, rather, they were good at simulating the possible outcome of variables provided, down to the most minuscule of details, such as the impact radius and force application numbers — making him conjure a lot more than a simple there'll be a large whump.

It will be amazing, he enthused at himself and cheerfully hopped forward, deftly dodged Darrow on the way, and swung in front of Shephard as he marched them ever forward.

"So, where we going?" he asked. His Guardian looked up and glanced between Shephard and him. She carried that look on her face again. That quiet constant of confusion mixed with bewilderment and a lick of dread.

"To the Tower?" Ghost rolled a quarter of a rotation. "We're going to the Tower, yes?"

John's head leaned slightly left.

"Right to the Vanguard headquarters? Oh!" Ghost's eye cut to his Guardian. "You might meet the other Vanguard, too. Zavala. And Cayde-6." He paused and gave that meeting a bit of thought. "Cayde is a bit of an odd one— but you'll like him. I'm sure."

His Guardian remained lost and exchanged a look with Shephard, a hoard of questions weighing down her brow.

Shephard shook his head just once and made a vague gesture with one hand that pointed inwards to the City. Across chasms and tall houses and barely visible roads in-between. "Nah. We're not going back to the Tower. Ikora said to meet her at one of the less crowded practicing courts. The one over in Drumfort."

Ghost perked his entire self up, his eye looking out over civilisation snug under the Traveler's sheltering… butt. "That's— that's way across the City."

"Mhm."

"How'll we get there? A shuttle? We should take a shuttle, that's the quickest."

"We could," Shephard said coyly. And then he set his eyes on his Guardian. "Have you seen a sparrow yet?"

Ghost registered her faltering; a brief moment of forgetting if now was the time for her left foot or her right foot. Or maybe both.

"She's ridden one!" he blurted.

Shephard's eyes cut to him. "You know, Little Light, she has a mouth to talk with."

Ghost's shell pulled together. "I know. I know. It's just…" He indicated his Guardian with a sideways sway. "She'd have said she's ridden it badly. While the truth is she was really good at it."

She scoffed. Or, rather, she probably tried to. It was a bit of a sideways noise, to be perfectly honest. "I almost crashed it after I first got on." And, after a moment's pause, she winced and added: "I did crash it. Eventually."

"The Fallen made you crash it and it's the first time you'd ridden one. You did great! And, I mean, Guardians always crash their first sparrow. It's tradition."

"He didn't," Darrow said, all matter of factly.

Ghost narrowed his lens into a squint. Darrow gave him a flat stare. And Ghost would have kept up the staring contest (and won — he'd have so won), but something caught his, ah, eye: Shephard's reaction to Darrow's 'not so humble' brag. It was subtle. Like his Guardian's almost-stumble. Even more so, really. It came and went so quick, anyone else would have missed it. But Ghost had recently learned the hard way that paying attention was the only thing that stood between another step forward and ten steps back plus tears.

He was trying though. He really was.

Anyway, here was Shephard, momentarily looking embarrassed. Embarrassed. The Young Wolf. Embarrassed. Like he had anything to ever be embarrassed about again in who knew how many lifetimes he had ahead of him.

He covered it up by putting on a smile. "Guess I had talent for it."

"They're a bit like motorbikes," his Guardian said. Quietly. Of course. The only thing she'd done loudly so far had been to shout at him. Which he'd deserved, but still… "Except they don't got tires. Maybe— maybe you rode bikes? You know." Her voice dropped even further. "Before."

Shephard's smile— the one he'd put on so carefully —froze for a shake. Again, real subtle. But no one was ever going to fool this Ghost ever again.

Shephard's eyes landed right on his Guardian then. "Did they go fast?"

"Hm?" She blinked, looking a bit like she'd drifted back off into her thoughts where all her questions lived.

"The bikes," Shephard said, his plastered on smile turning to something that Ghost thought of as genuine. He couldn't blame him for that. Her getting distracted was endearing.

Wait a second.

"Oh. Yes. I guess." She shrugged. "Not anywhere near as fast as sparrows I'd assume, what with the tires. More friction. I never rode a motorbike before though. I'm…" She cringed. "… was more of a car person. You know, with a crumple zone and all that. Seemed safer. See, I'm not a very exciting person, really."

And while his Guardian rambled on about liking things that didn't dial her blood pressure up, Shephard just sort of… watched her. Quietly. Attentively. And very closely.

Waaaaiiiit a second.

Ghost puffed himself up, the back of his shell spinning, and returned to squinting. This time at Shephard. The Young Wolf. Eyeballing his Guardian.

John took them to an elevator hanging off the outside of the shelves jutting out along the wall. An elevator with a glass wall at the back. Not frosted glass, but very transparent glass as glass so was, which gave Nicole a real good view of the City. And the way down into said City.

Down.

Down.

And down some more.

Granted, it wasn't a sore to look at. The view, by itself, was a wee bit nice. If it'd been printed on a postcard.

There were the unevenly tall pillars for buildings, the sun glancing off their countless windows — and then there was all the green cropping up where concrete and metal made room for what she guessed to be entire forests and farms crammed in here.

Still.

She kept her respectful distance from the glass, her hands shoved into her pockets, while all kinds of flavours of fear came together to collect in a knot at the base of her throat.

"Really don't like heights, hm?" John, for his part, delivered his question from a not so respectful distance. Not his fault though. The elevator wasn't exactly being friends with her. It was small. Way too. Bad elevator.

She hated it.

Nicole shook her head.

"Nothing wrong with that," he said. "I hate needles, personally. I'm not really… scared of them, but I do hate them. Not really sure what it is, actually. Sometimes when I see one, I just… react." He paused. "Maybe it's an old memory," he added, more than a little darkly.

Nicole felt a little taken aback by having something private shared with her so readily. And at a loss of what she ought to say. So she decided not to say a thing at all while the distance to the ground shrunk the last bit and the elevator spat them out into a busy loading area. Or that was what she thought it probably was. Some sort of buffer between the shelves at top— which'd have limited space —and the sprawling City. Vehicles, none with wheels, were parked in some order she couldn't make sense of. Stacks of gear was scattered everywhere else, and the air was full of the buzz, clank, and whirr of tools at work.

John ignored it all. Even the shuttle that took off real close by, its engine huffing so strongly it made the air around Nicole stir before it took off into the forest of concrete and steel buildings of the City.

Buildings that, from down here, were so tall, Nicole worried she'd fall up if she craned her neck back too far. So she made an effort to keep her eyes level.

Not only did that keep her from feeling like her legs would flip up from under her and yank her up by her ankles, but it also helped with keeping her from running into anyone.

John didn't take her closer to the buildings, but rather to the edge of the staging area or workshop or whatever this was. At some point it turned into a road with a subtle upwards curve over a hill — and houses began to crop up around it. These were so much shorter. And a lot more personal, even, with clothes hanging out of windows, balconies with potted plants on, and ropes strung across the road to fly colourful flags.

A flock of pigeons went up in a flurry. Kids chased them. Pots clanked. People laughed. And then a dog barked. Somewhere. Nicole's chin went up and she looked around. It was uncanny, the whole thing. Familiar and yet not, with the architecture still throwing her for a loop and not giving her a chance to place it.

Odd to think that it wasn't the biggest differences that got to her the most. But the small ones. The things that were just off enough that they had her mind itch. Next to the glaringly obvious pieces, of course. The being alive bit. The Traveler bit. And so on.

Like that bit where a sparrow popped out of thin air.

Startled, Nicole made one of her unflattering noises and took half a step back because one of the damned things appeared right under John. It materialised so perfectly aligned, he had a handle gripped tight in one hand the moment it came to be — and had swung his leg over empty air only to smoothly sit in a seat which hadn't been there a split second earlier.

"I'm never going to get used to that." She rubbed at her nose and blinked lamely at sparrow plus John. "The whole transmat thing. What's wrong with pockets?"

"Can't fit a sparrow in a pocket." John leaned back and turned enough to look at her. He had an expectation sitting in the light smile on his lips and it took Nicole a little longer than it probably should have to realise he was waiting for her to get on as well.

On the sparrow. With him.

A sparrow that wasn't anything like the one she'd ridden. It was considerably larger, for one. Wider. Bulkier. But despite the perceived weight it had a sleekness to it, punctuated by its jet-black paint and a few choice red highlights. It also sounded different, even while only idling. Idling off the ground, naturally. Like that was perfectly natural. The hum of its engines wasn't anywhere near as… coughy… as her late first ride, either. This one was steady and deep. Made her think it probably went a lot faster than she'd ever wanted to go.

While sitting on it.

With John.

Yeah, her mind kept rubber banding back to that, no matter how much she tried to pull away from it.

"I promise we won't crash," John said and pulled himself forward a few more inches. Making more room. For her. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Phrasing," Darrow chimed in dryly.

John just frowned and seemed to regret said phrasing. Which was thoughtful, she had to admit. Even if a little too late.

So, how do you get out of this?

How did she?

And why'd she want to?

Because she'd had a few unfortunate dreams about a wolf? One which'd had the wolf snap its jaws shut around her? They were dreams, for crying out loud.

Dreams.

Just. Dreams.

"Uh. What— what about a helmet?" she blurted. Which was a miracle by itself since her voice was so damn heavy she thought it'd get stuck in her throat.

John's brow bounced up a tick.

"Oh, you don't need a helmet," Ghost offered— ever so helpful —as he rolled in front of her. The teal colour she'd slapped on one of his fins reflected the sun with a light sheen — as if its as still wet.

Thanks, Ghost, she thought wryly. It'd been a lame excuse anyway. An excuse to delay her climbing up onto the sparrow.

With John.

"You're welcome," he replied, his shell perking up.

And Nicole's stomach fell through the floor. Had he just—

"Oh, look. She's reasonable. What a breath of fresh air; you're the first reasonable being I've met in years. I can tell you now no one is remotely concerned about safety," Darrow said and appeared with a sway that almost nudged Ghost to the side. "Helmets are a good thing, and yes, you should wear one. So should Shephard, but you might have more luck getting him to not stick something in his mouth for an entire day."

"Phrasing," John sniped, though he did so while subtly ducking his head.

"I'm still carrying over a dozen small lollipops and I'm sorting through those right now trying to find her a helmet," Darrow retorted.

"Just… give her any of them without horns. Or a crest."

"Why no, I was planning to give her the largest horns imaginable." Darrow turned his eye toward her again and said in a tone that actually bordered on friendly, "Hold out your hands."

Dumbly, Nicole did as told — and all of a sudden there was a helmet sitting there. It didn't have horns, thankfully. In fact, it was rather plain. Plain and narrow and almost all in black, with a visor taking up most of the front which held a subtle red tint.

"Aw, I didn't know you kept that," John remarked while Nicole turned it around in her hands.

It had a few scratches and some sections looked to have been painted over at least once, but otherwise it looked to be in perfectly reasonable condition. If anything, the blemishes added character.

"Don't get sentimental; there's no point in wasting good gear," she heard Darrow point out, right as she flipped the helmet around and promptly stuck her head into it.

The world got muffled. The lights dimmed. And everything smelled a little sharp; like a distant memory of crisp ocean waves and a chip of weathered rock.

It was nice.

Nicole exhaled slowly. Asking for the helmet had been a grand idea. The best she'd had yet. Not because it'd stop her from banging her head open (though that was certainly an upside), but also because it'd keep her blush from showing to the general public.

"Thank you," she said. Gosh, her ears had already caught fire. "For the helmet." For a moment she worried no one could hear her through the thing, but Darrow at least seemed to. He acknowledged her with a faint bob before joining John by the sparrow.

And that left her lame excuse sunk, didn't it? Yeah. It did. And getting on that sparrow wasn't going to be the end of the world. She'd missed that by a couple hundred years, supposedly.

"How's the helmet?" Ghost suddenly asked. Loudly. Right in her ear sort of loud. "Are the coms working? They're working, aren't they, you can hear me alright?"

"I can hear you fine." Eyes glued on the sparrow's seat behind John, Nicole swallowed thickly and made her way over there. "Say, I have a question."

"Yeah?"

She focused on what'd made her stomach drop earlier and got her leg over the back of the sparrow. Awkwardly so and with great care to leave a gap between her and John's back.

"Can Ghosts read minds?" God, that sounded ridiculous being said out loud. Almost as ridiculous as she felt sitting here with her hands groping for an edge to hold on to.

Ghost answered with a quiet "Uuh—" before he suddenly went up in his puff of light and reappeared as a solid weight her widest coat pocket. She made a note to get needle and thread and stitch Haunted on the bloody thing.

And while she mulled over what colour thread to use, John looked over his shoulder to regard her with a faint smile. It carried a question, she noticed a second after. That, and a suggestion, namely where he lifted her hand from where she'd latched it on to the side of the sparrow and directed it to his waist instead.

"You'll want to hold on better than that," he said, his voice carrying into the helmet just as easily as Ghost's had. "And, yeah. They can. He didn't mention the neural link between a Guardian and their Ghost?"

Nicole didn't know what scrambled the words knocking around in her head quicker; John having her cling to his waist, or the thought of Ghost can read my mind.

"He seems to have forgot," she managed, her voice flirting with the idea of pitching.

Ghost, in turn, sounded sheepish. "It hasn't really come up? I mean, there's been a lot going on. The memories bit. The Fallen. You showing up. The Speaker thing. Traveler have mercy, so much going on. Plus, I wasn't sure how to, ah, you know. Explain it. Howdoyouexplainit?"

John snorted and leaned forward, making Nicole feel like a stray weed sticking out in the wrong direction. Not to worry though. A second later, the sparrow's engine bared its teeth and let a roar slip through. They lurched forward. Nicole joined John presently, her chest ducked low against his back and her grip on his waist tightening.

Wind snatched at her clothes. The world started rolling by. And Ghost could read her thoughts.

"It's less mind-reading and kind of more... exchanging thoughts," John clarified, sounding like he might've been trying to make it seem appealing. He also leaned a little to the left and so did the sparrow, angling itself up along the road snaking between the houses around them. "Darrow doesn't always know what I think—"

"And I thank the Traveler for it every day." Of course Darrow was in here in the helmet with her too. The thing had started to get crowded.

"—not unless I want him to. It can make a real difference in a firefight when you don't need to spell it all out."

"Ah." She didn't know what else to say. Or to think. Or if she even wanted to think at all, because how did you decide whether or not you wanted those thoughts to be private or not?

Worse, how did you not think? She'd spend her entire life doing nothing but. Nicole squeezed her fingers in frustration and turned her head to the side to watch the last house slide by. The moment it'd gone, leaving the gardens, the fences, and the colourful flags behind, John made the sparrow pick up speed, its engine adding a bite to its roar that it hadn't quite had before.

She clung on a little tighter.

To their left, wide open space unfurled between them and the massive wall rising for the skies. Uneven hills. Crops of trees and bushes that passed in a blur. Even the blue shimmer of a long lake.

A lake so long it was probably—

"A river, yeah," Ghost said. Innocently and carefully. And, right after he'd said that (knocking her thoughts askew again) letters appeared above the river, quickly followed by numbers.

The river's name… and…

"Distance," Ghost said, the innocent tone lost to something sheepish and maybe just a little proud.

"That's you? Painting all over the helmet?"

"It's a HUD, built into the visor. I can send you all sorts of information in there. Liiike—" The numbers and letters winked out to make room for a kitten made of white light, which pranced from the left side of her vision over to the right and vanished. "—that."

Nicole snorted. Her fingers curled tighter again. And because she might as well lean all the way into the madness, she turned her head to the right. Except her eyes caught on John's spiky hair getting ruffled by the wind as he piloted them in a straight line along the road under them. Why'd they have roads if there were no cars? And why was she staring at the back of John's head?

. . .

Nicole pulled herself a little closer to her pilot or driver or whatever it was you called someone who flew and rode a thing, and then looked right. The Last City filled every inch of her vision there, and every time she focused on a section for long enough, more letters and numbers would appear. Whole districts got labels slapped onto of them; Peregrin District. Midtown. And even some buildings got names of their own, especially the biggest ones towards the middle — the real tall ones that seemed to want to reach the Traveler hanging above them. To touch it. To connect.

Unbidden yearning knocked against her heart and Nicole had to bite down on her lip to dispel it. For a moment, she'd have liked to be that tall. Reach that far. Lift herself into a Light that beckoned her. That whispered to her. Called for her. Sung to her.

And sent her visions of wolves and Darkness and oh so much pain.

Shivering, she folded right onto John's back. The armour was a little uncomfortable, sure. But the proximity made the tug against her insides ease up, as if the burning rope connected to her heart gave at least some slack.

Or maybe she just really needed to think about something else. Like the slight pinch of chainlink armour against her chest while her eyes were set forward, fixed over the crest of John's head and on the word Drumfort innocently floating above a patch of land.

The number next to the label shrunk steadily. Tick-tick-tick-tick it went, counting down to whatever waited for her there.