Chapter Text
"And, I mean," the hunter leans forward, shaking his hands for emphasis "Think about what a PR stunt that'd be!!"
His ghost (reluctantly) agrees.
"To be fair, this is the best idea he's had in weeks."
Misraaks looks to the warlock for her input. She is uncertain, thinking of all the ways this could go wrong, no doubt. He is uncertain, himself. He's heard the stories.
Silence stretches on, interrupted only by the hum of the ship's engines and the ghosts' shells moving.
Eventually, the warlock speaks up.
"It would be, you're right ," she signs, but her expression is still unconvinced "but how would you get that approval ?"
"Easy! Our Mithrax here," the hunter pats the kell's back "he's the embodiment of charm. No chance this will fail. No. Chance."
Misraaks moves his mandibles at that, both unconvinced and embarrassed.
"Is Kell-Breaker we speak of." he gives a meaningful look to his crew "Am Kell. Does not sound… good, for me, if…"
"That is exactly why we won't fail!" the hunter exclaims, lifting his hands up, nearly hitting his own ghost (who expertly dives out of the way) "And anyway, if push comes to shove, we could prooobably take him. Right, Nine? "
The warlock, Nine, shakes her head, trying not to laugh.
"I am not fighting Saint-14" she pauses, thinks "not in close combat, at least."
"Well, he's banned from the crucible, anyway. Why is that, i won-"
"Vorobei-4," Misraaks interrupts "you have plan, yes?"
"Oh yes, for sure, for sure," he looks at his fireteam, making sure he’s got their attention "so, first of all, Nine will talk to him."
The warlock lifts one of her eyebrow plates, unimpressed.
"Now don't give me that look, come on. He respects you! If he'll listen to anyone, it's you."
She rolls her eyes. Her brother continues:
"Then, when he is sufficiently open to the idea, we can give him that transponder poetry of yours!"
Vorobei looks to Misraaks, open-handed and bright-eyed, waiting for approval. The kell, despite himself, feels self-conscious. Of course, he made that transponder for others to see. Of course, he chose his words carefully, with intent. Of course, that was only expected. He didn’t think of it as poetry .
"You think...this will work?" he addresses instead, filing his feelings about this not-poetry away for now.
"Sure! You lay the main points out there pretty clearly. "
"I think it will help." Nine says "It’s one thing for me to talk about it, another thing entirely for him to hear your own thoughts."
Misraaks thinks that they are right, of course, but there is a part of him that is hesitant. He files that away, too.
"What...after? "
"You meet in person, of course!"
Logical, of course, Misraaks thinks. He is, of course, terrified at the idea. He adds it to the other filed-away things. Of course. Of course.
He looks to the bright, excited face of the hunter. He nods. It has been settled.
It takes a while for the plan to reach Step Three.
The apprehension he felt at first subsides, a little - from what Nine says, Saint-14 is...not as opposed to the idea as they expected (or, not as eager to headbutt Misraaks to death, at least).
When he hears that the titan requested their meeting himself, a day after receiving the transponder to read trough, however, a whole new set of nerves makes itself at home in his abdomen.
He thinks about his not-poetry. Tries to remember how it went, and tries to imagine how it was perceived by the Kell-Breaker. He hopes it wasn’t taken by him as Poetry. Misraaks was not a Poet. He was a Vandal, a Captain, a Kell, now. But it was not his job to be a Poet. He worries about it, and then berates himself for worrying about the wrong things, and then reminds himself that it no longer matters, really, what his Job is, because he’s breaking all the Unspoken Rules anyways.
He doesn’t think of his Mother. Or of crabs. He polishes his armor, straightens out his cape, and tries not to think at all.
The meeting is to be held on neutral ground (or, out in the EDZ wilderness).
He is with his fireteam. They are relaxed, not expecting trouble; their ghosts keep watch of the perimeter.
It calms his nerves.
The rest of his crew is not here - they are in orbit, waiting. That was Saint-14’s request. Misraaks understood.
(His crew was safer there, anyway.)
Almost exactly on time, the shadow of the Grey Pigeon passes over them. The kell watches the ribbons adorning the ship as it lands. A curious choice. Do they not get lost? Damaged? Perhaps he will ask, in time. If that time ever comes.
He almost forgets to be nervous, preoccupied with the ribbons as he was, until the ship's doors open with a hiss that startles him out of it.
And then, he sees: Legendary Titan, Hero-Of-Six-Fronts, Kell-Breaker… stepping out onto the EDZ ground.
(He is, much like his ship, adorned with ribbons.)
Misraaks bows in greeting, moving his blades in an elegant arc, as is custom.
Saint-14 stays still, except for the slight, stiff nod of his head.
They stand silent, as if unsure what to say.
And, most ridiculously, despite standing in front of the man who went head to head with the Devil’s Kell, the only thing Misraaks can think of is that Saint-14 looks smaller than he imagined. Intimidating, for sure, but… smaller.
He chitters, breathing out, and finally speaks.
"All the wish-well greetings, Saint-14. Am glad you… want to talk? "
He doesn't mean for it to come out as a question. These things rarely go as he plans them.
"Yes, I…" the titan trails off, lifting and then lowering his hand in an aborted gesture. He clears his throat "Hello to you, too. "
Saint-14 comes closer. Misraaks can see, now, that the man reaches just barely above where his secondary arms start. It doesn't make him less nervous.
"Mithrax, kell of...Light, I was told?" he says the last part with a hint of a laugh. Because of disbelief, or contempt, or something else entirely, the kell doesn't know.
"Is… yes. House of Light. "
The titan nods to himself. Then, he looks behind Misraaks, to the other two guardians present, and does a little wave in greeting. The kell assumes they wave back.
"Well, then, Mithrax. Kell of Light. I do not trust you...yet." Saint-14 looks back up at him "But your words made me think. "
He extends a hand, then, in the human gesture of “hand-shaking”, Misraaks knows that much.
The kell extends one of his own in return.
It’s the wrong hand.
Flustered, he quickly adjusts, but the damage has been done - he can hear the titan chuckle as they shake.
His fireteam stays blissfully quiet.
"Always wanted to ask...hard work, managing all those hands, is it? "
Saint-14's tone doesn't sound like he's necessarily making fun of him, but Misraaks still makes a warbling noise in embarrassment, pulls his head in.
"We do not… hand-shake. Honest mistake, Kell-Breaker. "
"Saint, stop giving him a hard time!" comes Vorobei's voice from behind them.
"Ah, what's a little joke between…" the titan pauses, thinking "acquaintances, eh, little hunter? "
He looks behind the kell for a moment. Misraaks turns to look, too, and manages to catch the end of what Nine was saying. Something about talking.
"You're right, of course." Saint-14 says, a little more serious in tone "There was something I wanted to ask, for real now."
The kell cocks his head to the side, waiting for him to continue.
"I understand the summary of your thinking. From the writing Nine gave me. But… "
The titan sighs. It sounds conflicted, heavy, and Misraaks listens with more attention than he thought possible.
"But why come to me ? I don't exactly have a… good reputation with the fallen."
Misraaks thinks. It is true - he's heard stories of the Kell-Breaker, back when they were fresh, and now that they are not. He thinks of his people, and what they did in the Dark Ages. For survival, or just to make a point. What they do, still, to themselves. To others. He thinks of guardians, and what they do in return.
He thinks of the day he found his daughter - still soft and translucent from hatching, fragile against the backdrop of corroded metal. A new life among a field of those lost.
He thinks of his Mother, and of crabs, and of poetry.
"I do not care for what-was." is what he says "It brought us...Here."
He gestures vaguely around them. Hopes his point is clear.
"Ways have to change. Work together. To live. To thrive, in time. A dying people’s hope does not lie in more death." he gestures, then, from himself and towards the titan, as if trying to share what he feels "I come to you, Saint-14, because you are your people’s inspiration. "
The words feel too open as he says them, almost vulnerable. It was one thing to write them and leave them somewhere on a long-abandoned table on Titan, and completely another to speak them out loud, as an explanation, as a request. But they are honest. Chosen carefully, with intent. As is only expected.
"You are good with words, but that shouldn't have surprised me." the titan says, thoughtful, after a long pause.
(Misraaks doesn't think about what that phrase implies)
"You will… help?" the kell asks instead, hopeful and open, embarrassingly so.
"I never thought I would say that." Saint-14 laughs, shaking his head "But yes, Mithrax. I am willing to try. "
With joy and relief, Misraaks insists on shaking hands again (he uses at least three of his own this time).
Afterwards, with this official part done, Vorobei-4 insists that they hold a (surprise) picnic. When both kell and kell-breaker try to decline, he argues that the food has already been made and it would be just a waste not to eat it. Nine agrees, by setting up the makeshift table (a cloth on the ground).
In the end, they have a nice (if somewhat awkward) time.
And Misraaks finds that the legendary titan is, among other things, incredibly good company.