In their world it’s not unusual for weapons to bear honoured names, nor for Guardians themselves to adopt monikers of ancient renown. A weapon named Mjolnir is only interesting; a man named Thor is unremarkable; the fact that potential shifts and dances through the air around him is surely noteworthy. Put all those things together and it becomes blatantly obvious that they’re looking at more than an extremely dedicated homage. The quieter Guardians let Blaze and her guest pass, but the Warlock peers close as they do, only to jerk back suddenly.
“This was not in the file,” he murmurs to the Hunter.
She tilts her head, her pale shining eyes tracking over the passing stranger and his weapons. “Cool.”
“Does Tarana know?” Jie’s asking. Blaze exchanges a look with her Ghost and shakes her head, looking suddenly a little bit sheepish.
“Didn’t think of it. We went straight to- hn, secure him.”
Jie glances back at her for that, perhaps because she sounds troubled by it. They head down the hallway, past a technician in grey cap and uniform stacking boxes in a cubbyhole of shelving. There’s another frame sweeping the steps they climb up to an open concourse. To the right the uppermost floors of the North Tower rise above them; the left overlooks the Traveler and the living City beneath. A cloaked Guardian sits perched on the railing; by the sound of it, he’s tuning an instrument with strings. Beneath woven canopies there are piles of cushions, couches set around braziers where a few people – civilians, mostly – are seeking respite from the chilly air while they gather for a meeting. Somebody’s pouring out smoky tea, the scent wafting past Steve’s small escort as they head toward the doors at the end of the concourse. They pass more technicians, and a few more Guardians, fussing with weapons or chatting over ramen or talking to the old lady setting out embroidered swatches of fabric in her small shop.
Anyone who takes notice of them turns to watch, or stands out of their way. The civilians, perhaps, take more notice of the shrouded figure Thor bears; the Guardians’ attention lingers on the god himself, and his armament. There’s a deeply somber air about the group- somber, but not tragic. They still have reason to hope.
Jie hits the button to call the elevator at the end, then looks back at Thor. He speaks quietly. “You know nothing is guaranteed, right? The Traveler’s blessing isn’t ours to give.”
no subject
“This was not in the file,” he murmurs to the Hunter.
She tilts her head, her pale shining eyes tracking over the passing stranger and his weapons. “Cool.”
“Does Tarana know?” Jie’s asking. Blaze exchanges a look with her Ghost and shakes her head, looking suddenly a little bit sheepish.
“Didn’t think of it. We went straight to- hn, secure him.”
Jie glances back at her for that, perhaps because she sounds troubled by it. They head down the hallway, past a technician in grey cap and uniform stacking boxes in a cubbyhole of shelving. There’s another frame sweeping the steps they climb up to an open concourse. To the right the uppermost floors of the North Tower rise above them; the left overlooks the Traveler and the living City beneath. A cloaked Guardian sits perched on the railing; by the sound of it, he’s tuning an instrument with strings. Beneath woven canopies there are piles of cushions, couches set around braziers where a few people – civilians, mostly – are seeking respite from the chilly air while they gather for a meeting. Somebody’s pouring out smoky tea, the scent wafting past Steve’s small escort as they head toward the doors at the end of the concourse. They pass more technicians, and a few more Guardians, fussing with weapons or chatting over ramen or talking to the old lady setting out embroidered swatches of fabric in her small shop.
Anyone who takes notice of them turns to watch, or stands out of their way. The civilians, perhaps, take more notice of the shrouded figure Thor bears; the Guardians’ attention lingers on the god himself, and his armament. There’s a deeply somber air about the group- somber, but not tragic. They still have reason to hope.
Jie hits the button to call the elevator at the end, then looks back at Thor. He speaks quietly. “You know nothing is guaranteed, right? The Traveler’s blessing isn’t ours to give.”
“
Or withhold,” Ghost says, very softly.