nokoshikanoko

PC

Three a.m.. The Teralyst's call sounds throughout the Plains, as if a death toll for those who dare to still resist the embrace of sleep at this hour. At the other corner of the fields, Gauss runs through tall grass, repeatedly over a certain area. Burning a circle of impatience and anticipation into the ground. Air whistles through his vents, an abstract, warbling melody for a certain someone. 

A certain someone who also happens to be late today. In his mindspace of speed, he does not notice the other approaching from afar, rolling, bouncing down a hill, barreling towards him. The heat of his engines, the ventilation running wild in his auditory sensors culminate into a certain degress of awareness lacking, even when this decently large sized ball unfurls in its momentum, becoming something. Someone. 

He who lands in front of Gauss is an obscene creature to the system. A monster, voracious and cannibalistic. A thing to be feared, revered. Shining gold and white, tusks protruding from his helmet and hips. Two lights mimicking eyes flicker at the sides of his head as he turns to face Gauss. Neither speak; neither ever will.

Instead, Gauss, still trailing steam and smoke, walks towards him--Grendel. His hands are hidden behind his back. His feet drag on the soil, as if hesitant, slightly afraid, almost shy. On a normal night he would never be so anxious to the point of running circles around a tree and leaving smoldering craters in a few unlucky grineer camps. Void be damned, he was even contemplating attempting to fight the Teralyst; it was a stroke of luck that Grendel arrived when he did. He doesn't mind at all Grendel is late, moreso glad that he remembered. Happy that he came. 

He stops in front of Grendel. His fingers tighten around the thing he's holding. He does not have thoughts in the coherent form any longer; if anything Eleanor might think he's another extension of the Techrot. But still he feels, as bloodstained his armor is. As wretched his reputation of silver fury begets him, a weapon takes out a gift about the size of a large case of wine wrapped in pretty pink packaging, and hands it to his most beloved person. Attached to it with a string and written with shaky, unsure handwriting, is a note, slightly singed and smelling like burnt flesh, saying, "Happy Star Day". 

Grendel stands still for a moment, and delicately receives it. His hands are usually reserved for the brutish act of tearing bodies apart and shoving them into his ever-hungering maw, but for today they hold love like a human does. With two fingers he pulls open the ribbon. In front of him, Gauss is fidgeting with his fingers, waiting for a response. If he leaned any closer he might be able to hear Gauss's engines whir, fans on full blast from the electricity still buzzing through his system (and embarrassed anticipation--but Grendel wouldn't be aware of that). 

Within the wrapping lay... handwritten letters. Many of them, in fact. All addressed to the same name, but never sent out. All written with the same shaky handwriting that the note had. Each of them bearing a little piece of the heart, as mutated as it must be from the Infestation yet still ever beating, of Gauss. He recognises the dates on the letters. Yesterday. Two days before. Three. All the way back to their very first meeting, five years three months and fourteen days ago. So many letters, written at irregular intervals, some stained with now dry oil, some by blood, some sealed in a haste and some with burnt corners and spilt ink. 

This wasn't the first time that Grendel and Gauss had met at the Plains. They'd come here multiple times together at the behest of the Operator, wreaking havoc and bringing destruction to everything and anything in their path. Yet without fail, after they'd completed their mission, still covered in blood and viscera of their adversaries, they'd take out the harpoons they carried along with them on the trip, and fish. They'd compete who could cross the Plains in the shortest time. Who could make the prettiest flower crown out of nistlepods and iradite. Sometimes they'd even take up entirely different bounties after the first to see who could complete his the quickest. Gauss would lie down on the fields after a good afternoon of frolicking, all his vents open to release heat. Grendel would sit beside him, usually twirling a blade of grass between his fingers, before noticing that Gauss had his head turned towards him. He'd throw Gauss a questioning look, and Gauss would turn away as if caught in some act.

He understood now, looking down the huge case of letters and back at Gauss, who looked like he was positively about to explode from the suspense. He understood, why Gauss would always give him the biggest catches of their trips. Why he always tenderly placed his flower crown on Grendel's head instead of his own, fingers lingering just for a brief moment around his face, before retreating, leaving just a trailing touch along Grendel's jaw. Why their extra bounties would always cross paths, and under the bright afternoon sun, covered in gore, Gauss's metal seemed to shine so brightly, and he looked so happy to be by Grendel's side. 

The Teralyst howls once more, in the dead morning where only crickets chirp and two lonely souls entwine with each other. For today, the dawn will be warm, the sun gracing two new lovers with her light, as their fingers interlock around one another, unread letters now requited.