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[spaghettiswifts]

Enter: The Scavenger

    “I like it!”

   Boyd’s first glimpse at Trostland left him inspired. Everywhere he looked were rows upon rows of houses and apartments, squashed together, cracked open by time like eggs waiting to spill out the yolk inside. Trees, real live trees, and vines, grass, leaves, moss, more green here than the entirety of the Cosmodrome. With the sun high in the sky pelting everything with its warming rays, the so-called “Dead Zone” couldn’t be more alive if it tried. “This place has excellent energy,” the Hunter explained. “I get real good vibes from it.”

   “That’s the mold spores,” his Ghost remarked in an overly-dramatic monotone. “By the Traveller, it’s so… cramped. Everything is so close together. Why can’t we go back to the steppes, where you could see for miles around and the air was fresher?”

   “Okay first of all Arnie you’re like, uh, a flying magic eight ball. You don’t even breathe air, fresh or otherwise. And secondly, we’ve crawled through too many sewers and Hive tunnels for you to be getting claustrophobic on me now.”

    “I just don’t like how exposed we are here.” The little Ghost twitched his shell nervously, like one of those old world toys with the colored movable squares. “Any one of these broken windows could hide a vandal with a wire rifle.”

   “I’m not worried about the Fallen here. We have a whole new area to explore! To scavenge!”

    The duo had been dropped off just on the outskirts of the town of Trostland, near a church where many Guardians were known gather. They seemed to be in some sort of neighborhood square, surrounded on all sides by townhouses and winding streets except for behind them, where erosion collapsed the once solid ground and sent the houses falling into the banks of the adjacent river. In the center of the square was an unusual sight, a fountain of a decent size that had long since quit working but still held water, probably from the rain. Surrounding the fountain was a ring of marble statues, in surprisingly good shape. Boyd was immediately drawn to them, sliding down the small mound of rubble he had been standing on and sprinting to the statues. His Ghost wobbled anxiously as it was left out in the open and hurried to its Guardian’s side for safety. Arnold was jumpy for a Ghost, cautious about the dangers of the wild. Boyd thought it must have come from being alone for so long in a world filled with Fallen while searching for his Guardian. The poor thing was always scared of being separated. Boyd felt bad for him and had to give him a real name to match his unique personality, instead of just calling him Ghost all the time.

    Arnold spun his shell as they both examined the statues in their own way: the Ghost scanned one to collect data, and Boyd pulled the glove off of his left hand to run his bare fingers along the carefully sculpted rock. It was still so smooth to the touch, even after all these years exposed to the elements. “I’m surprised the Fallen haven’t destroyed these yet,” the little Ghost commented.

   “The Fallen don’t like rock,” Boyd explained with some confidence in his knowledge of Eliksni scavenging habits. As far as he had seen, it was true. Everything the Fallen built was made out of recycled metal and repurposed synthetic materials. He had never known a dreg to bother with a haul of stone, never seen a vandal use a shock knife with a wood handle. The vultures don’t care for anything that can’t be melted down.

   “We should get going, Boyd. I don’t want to be still be out here looking for books when it gets dark.”

   “Hold on, we need a picture for the scrapbook.” The Ghost seemed huff in annoyance with breath it didn’t have before backing away and raising itself up to float higher in the air. “One shot and that’s all, I’m not exposing myself any more.”

   “An overhead shot? Those make me look short.”

   “I can get the fountain and the statues all together this way.”

   “I really appreciate this artistic side of you.” Boyd teased his photographer by winking, and striking a pose with his fingers forming two guns aimed squarely at the camera. A flash of blue light from his Ghost told him the picture was taken, but the little light hovered in his spot. “One more,” he said. “You blinked in this one.”

   “I winked, it looks cool. I thought we were just doing one?”

   “You’re right, this one will have to do.”

   “Wait, I have other poses––”    “Too late, we’re done here.”

   “Aw come on...”

[spaghettiswifts]

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