#space Kotallo | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vampireloverz · 1 year

Text

to love is to endure

pairing: kotallo x fem! reader

words: 10.3k

cw/tw: reader is tenakth, reader has body and pubic hair, reader is implied to be mid/late twenties, reader eats meat and drinks alcohol, reader swims, size difference, (barely mentioned childhood) friends to lovers, semi slow burn, unprotected sex, brief mentions of kotallo’s injuries and resulting physical scars, slightly follows canon, horizon forbidden west spoilers

Snow begins to fall heavier, you’ve got to be careful with your steps now. There’s no way you’re going to let Kotallo win another spar because of a slip.

Dodge, duck and roll away from the training spear flying towards you, try to stab at his side then try not to feel frustrated when you don’t manage to hit your mark. As good as he is, you’re familiar enough with his moves to anticipate the feint to the right and ignore it. Both your chests rise and fall heavily as you circle each other, adjusting the weight of your spears in almost identical ways.

“C’mon,” you whisper under your breath.

A small smile tugs at your lips when you see him shift his weight right before he pounces. You manage to block the real strike but the minor victory doesn’t last— Kotallo dips and swings his leg under you. Your breath is knocked out of you when your back slams onto the ground, snow seems to purposefully crawl under your armor and shock you with cold. Kotallo seizes the opportunity without hesitation and kicks away your spear before he places the tip of his own beneath your chin, his knee on your stomach holding you down. The blunt training wood digs into your throat when you try to wiggle out from under him but you don’t move much, he keeps you pinned with a grunt.

“Yield,” he commands, voice even and firm.

Your heartbeat rushes in your ears as you growl, reluctant to accept defeat. A few scenarios flit through your mind but each one still ends with him winning. Even knowing that, you kick your legs up and out in a last ditch attempt to throw him off. He doesn’t budge beyond pressing more weight onto you.

A frustrated half scream bubbles up from your throat, “I yield.”

A few whooping cheers ring out from around the edge of the training pit as Kotallo relents. One of your squadmates playfully jeers from the sidelines, you just roll your eyes and brush snow off yourself as you sit up, grateful to have Kotallo’s weight off your stomach. You look up at him and find his arm outstretched for you to take. He lifts an eyebrow and patiently waits, both of you pointedly ignoring the calls from around the pit when you reach up for him. You grab each other's forearm then he pulls you up into his space, suddenly chest to chest as you try to catch your breath.

“Well fought,” he’s close enough for you to count the snowflakes on his lashes, “You’re getting better.”

You tilt your chin up and squeeze his arm, “Next time I’ll beat you.”

Kotallo lets you go with a firm pat on the shoulder, “I look forward to it.”

— — —

You spend more of your time than you’d like to admit thinking about his eyelashes, snow covered or otherwise.

There’s little time for romance, especially during the throes of the Red Raids of days past, but you can’t deny you’ve carried a torch for him for years. You’re not sure when it began, maybe as far back as when you’d been assigned the same squad as children. He took up training a year before you and now you’ve spent over a decade later fighting side by side, you suppose it’s only natural for one of you to feel like this. Pining, your brain supplies. You wrinkle your nose at yourself, but it’s exactly what you’re doing. Daydreaming and reminiscing and pining, and you’ve been doing it for years.

An owl suddenly bursting from the trees pulls you out of your head and you continue with your patrol. You’ll have to make your way back to the Bulwark for the party soon, but you’re in no mood to celebrate. Soon you’ll have to say goodbye to the very man you wish to hold close.

— — —

The Sky Clan’s celebrations may be considered modest by Tenakth standards but the festivities are always enjoyable, just enough beer passed around to make anyone have a decent time. Not that you can let yourself get wrapped up in the festivities, too much going through your head.

Tekotteh makes some pompous speech, cheers and whoops ring out as the warriors selected to go to the Kulrut are called out, Kotallo’s name among them. You have reason to suspect Tekotteh’s true intentions for sending Kotallo to the Kulrut aren’t exactly savory but you’ve decided to hold your tongue on the matter. You would not ruin this honor for him, even if it is most likely a farce the Sky Clan’s cowardly leader is using to get rid of a possible dissident. You can pretend for one more night even if it pains you greatly to be forced, for the first time in your life, to be separated from your best friend.

It’s easy to find him, even if he isn’t among the crowd. Kotallo always runs off to the same place, and you find him where you always do.

“You shouldn’t be leaving your own party.”

Kotallo doesn’t startle but that’s to be expected, “It is not my party.”

Undeterred, you join him in leaning over the stone overlooking everything and everyone. It’s far enough to make everyone a little out of focus, especially with the snow, but still close enough to hear the music and people’s voices.

“I brought you something,” you offer, touching the stein to his knuckles, “To celebrate.”

After a brief moment of deliberation, he accepts it with a nod. He takes a long, deep sip then sighs, satisfied, “Thank you.”

The silence that falls over you is comfortable, lived in and easy. You scooch a little closer to drop your head on his shoulder. There’s a bit of paint around his wrist that’s lifting, baring the smallest bit of skin to you, something that feels painfully intimate. To distract yourself, you drink.

The beer in your cup disappears quickly and leaves you tipsy and warm beneath the collar. Something foolish lingers on your mind, slowly making its way down to settle heavy on your tongue. You stand up straight and move slightly away from Kotallo, leaving a breadth of space for the cold to creep in and sober you up.

“It’s getting late,” you say.

Kotallo nods once but doesn’t offer any more. You decide to leave, to allow him the space he needs to prepare, but he grasps your arm when you turn away, pulling you back towards him as his fingers smudge the paint in the crease of your elbow. You ignore your heart’s heavy thumping in your chest when you spot the bare patch of skin on his bottom lip, feeling absurd to focus on something so small. You’re sure he’s about to kiss you, for a heartbeat you think he’s moving forward, leaning in— someone below shrieks and both your heads whip toward the sound.

“You'll do well by the Chief,” you tell him to break the tension when you face each other again. The words fly out of your mouth in a hurry but it’s honest, at least.

Kotallo huffs and lets your arm go, “I am not yet a Marshal.”

“You will be,” and you mean it. All the sadness you feel is only for the distance about to separate you two, you have no doubt in his skills, you have no doubt he’ll survive the Kulrut.

Kotallo gestures vaguely with his cup before he takes another long sip, silent agreement as to not seem cocky.

“We will meet again soon,” you assure him and press the back of your knuckles against his arm where it rests on the stone, “Make no mistake about that.”

The corner of his lips tick up and you count it as a victory.

— — —

For all your confidence in him, you can't seem to fully relax until you know he’s survived the Kulrut, you feel his absence like a wound in your ribs. And of course, he succeeds at the Kulrut, an honor that tastes bitter in your mouth. You ache to follow him into the marsh, the Bulwark feels colder without him beside you, but you aren't given permission to leave, no one is. Tekotteh’s paranoia and cowardice has finally barred everyone but the scouts from leaving his sight.

But one day some clever soldiers escape the leader's tightly clenched fist, spirited away into the night to join the other clans after news of an Embassy. You’ve dreamed of joining them ever since they departed, of seeing Kotallo bathed in warm sunlight. Tonight’s familiar dream does not last long. Someone on your squad shakes you awake with an urgency you haven’t felt since the Red Raids. You can see it in their eyes, something’s not right.

The sun has barely begun to rise but the Bulwark is buzzing and awake, conflicting news being shouted and whispered— something about the Embassy gone wrong, blood spilled at Barren Light. Your heart is in your throat at the first news of the Marshals, all slain by Regalla and her rebels. All except one. As soon as you hear his name, you’ve made your choice. You have to see him, Tekotteh’s orders be damned.

You bide your time until nightfall, using the confusion and unrest Tekotteh has sown to your advantage. Quickly packed provisions, weapons, and the determination of a thunderjaw are what you take on your way to the Memorial Grove. A scout and friend mans the lift for you, wishing you luck before you steal into the night.

There’s no time to waste engaging machines or rebels, you sneak past through the tall grass and isolated mountain passes barely allowing yourself sleep and food, there’ll be time for that when you’re with Kotallo.

It only takes three days for you to reach the Grove. Your journey has made your paint peel and smudge away, your bare skin peeks out in broad strokes and wide patches, rain bogs your clothes down, but you can’t find it in yourself to stop until a familiar face steps into view, a weary smile on her face. Slowing down makes the exhaustion of travel all the more obvious but you have no choice but to stop and give Dekka a proper salute.

She responds in kind before she speaks, her voice soothing after hearing nothing but machines and animals for days, “Hekkaro wants to see you.”

“I’m here for—”

“I know, child,” she sets a firm hand on your shoulder and squeezes, “Speak to the chief first, get cleaned up. Your marshal can wait a few minutes more.”

Your lip twitches in annoyance but you just nod mechanically and follow the path to the war room. For the first time, you don’t meander down, don't linger to observe the Visions or pay them respect. The voices of the Ten follow your quick footsteps down the empty halls.

You take a knee before the steps leading to the throne, bowing your head out of respect, “Chief, I wish to see—”

Hekarro interrupts you, his voice is as commanding as you remember, “A message arrived yesterday from the Sky Clan. Tekotteh says one of his warriors has left the Bulwark, going against strict orders not to.”

You internally admonish yourself for not thinking of Tekotteh sending a messenger bird, but beyond that you ignore his words, “I am here to see Marshal Kotallo.”

Hekkaro’s eyes bore into yours when you lift your head, you can’t begin to guess what he’s thinking. He steps down from his throne and you move your gaze to the floor again, clenching your jaw as you wait for judgement.

“Kotallo will be glad to see you.”

Your head whips up, incredulous, and a familiar warmth fills your chest. Kotallo is notoriously laconic but he saw fit to mention you?

Hekarro laughs and gestures for you to stand, “Go on,” he motions for someone behind you to come forward, “Away with you.”

“Thank you,” you give him a quick salute before you turn and find a runner waiting at the far end of the throne room.

It’s been a long time since you’ve been to the Lowlands, the lush green seems almost unnaturally vivid after spending years amid the monochromatic mountains. Dappled light pours in from the canopy of trees and makes you feel as if you’re hurrying from sunspot to sunspot in your haste. It doesn’t take long to come upon a lone building, just far away enough from the settlement to grant privacy among the brush. The runner salutes you before they depart, leaving you to take the final steps toward the guard standing at the entrance.

“Let me in.”

The guard eyes your paint, patchy and fading but still clearly Sky Clan’s, and curls their fingers around their spear a little tighter, “He's resting.”

Impatience bubbles up under your skin viciously, “I am here to see Marshal Kotallo and I come with Chief Hekkaro’s blessing.”

The guard opens their mouth to speak but a hand parts the fabric to interrupt. Kotallo’s familiar voice makes you jolt, “Let her in and go, leave us be.”

You can’t help sticking your nose in the air a little as you pass the guard, but the smug feeling passes as soon as it comes on when you see the state Kotallo is in.

It’s striking to see him stripped down like this, somehow more bare to you than if he were naked. Tanned skin clean and free of paint, his typically braided hair now falls in dark waves over his shoulders— you don’t think you can remember the last time you saw him like this. Even in the throes of sickness he’d never looked so defeated.

There’s nothing you can say to make the situation better, no wisdom or advice you can give to soothe him. Your lip wobbles and your nose begins to sting, but you hold back your tears until your armor and weapons are stripped and tossed in a corner and you’re sat beside him, thigh to thigh. Silence drapes over your shoulders like an invisible shroud and Kotallo doesn't shed a tear, but you can see the anger and pain darkening his eyes.

You fight the urge to cry a while longer as you put your hand on his thigh, your thumb idly rubs the curve of one of his tattoos but the dam breaks, you feel tears begin to slip down your cheeks. You try to say his name but the word dies in your mouth, you only manage the first consonant before you choke on a sob.

Kotallo breathes out your name with such softness it makes your heart ache, “Peace.”

His arm wraps around you and pulls you toward him, guiding your face into the crook of his neck. You press yourself against his body and all the longing for him comes rushing back, even stronger than you remember, crashing over you like a thunderstorm.

“Peace,” he repeats, murmuring it into your hair.

What remains of your face paint transfers and smudges onto his clean skin but he does not move or complain, he just holds you steady as your tears run their course. Every inch of him touching you is warm, you’d sorely missed the way he feels, the way you feel when he holds you.

“Forgive me,” you wipe tears off your face with the back of your hand as you sit up.

“There is nothing to forgive.”

Kotallo softly bats your hand away and cups your cheek with a hum, a fresh wave of tears almost starts up when you see his other arm move like he means to hold your face in both hands. You stifle a hiccup, “Oh, how I have missed you.”

This manages to make his expression break, the curve of a sad smile on his lips as he gently knocks his forehead to yours. He holds you there until your breaths steady and you manage to crack a shaky smile.

“I should be comforting you but… I’m just so grateful you’re alive.”

Kotallo pulls back, his hand falls from your face and onto your lap as his dark, world-weary eyes flit down and suddenly you know he doesn't feel the same, “It is good to see you.”

He’s always felt shame bone deep, you see it in the clench of his jaw, the way his shoulders hold such tension. And you know he isn’t a man to be easily consoled, or to be consoled at all. You don’t give him pity, don’t offer up sympathetic words or condolences, he would not accept them anyway, you can only give him your company now.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and squeeze him into a hug, pressing your nose into his neck and breathing deep, “I missed you,” you repeat, unable to help yourself, saying I love you in the only way you know how.

“And I, you,” his voice a comforting rumble in your ear as he hugs you back, his arm curling around your waist.

— — —

Even if Kotallo had managed to escape the Embassy unscathed, you would have stayed with him in the Grove for a long while. The space he’d left in your heart grew and grew and grew in his absence but it has not yet filled again, even when you see him and touch him daily. You can’t even begin to think about leaving, no matter what orders you receive but the orders never come. Only a stormbird could pull you from his side now.

Kotallo doesn’t ask for your help. Sometimes it feels like he might outright reject it, but he never does. Instead, he stubbornly continues to do whatever he can on his own until you step in. You never tease, never admonish or scold, you simply and quietly assist with whatever he might need. Your days are spent with him, mundane tasks suddenly new again simply because you’re doing them by his side. You ride the waves of his anger and hate, his pain. His grief. You let him rage at circumstances, at himself, but remind him not to steep in it too long. He doesn’t admit it, but you know him well enough to know he appreciates not being alone.

Sometimes, you forget other people even exist. There are hardly any visitors, Dekka’s check-ins are few and far between while Hekkaro’s messages are sent by runners and scouts. There are few reasons to stray away from his hut after all. Yes, you hunt, you trade at the Grove, you have your own lodgings but you don’t stay there for more than sleep, if you go there at all.

You’re not sure exactly when you’d started living with him. It was a gradual process, you think, one you’d hardly noticed until you’d found all your clothes and gear placed neatly beside Kotallo’s in his home. One night you’d stayed late changing the cloth bandages on his arm and ended up sleeping on an extra bedroll and the next day neither of you packed it back up.

It’s another late night now, you’d dozed off just as the sun was setting but now yellow candlelight and the gentle splash of water wakes you. You rub your eyes as you roll over, curious to see what Kotallo is up to. It takes a moment for you to piece together the scene before you.

Kotallo dips his hand into the bowl, cupping his hand to bring water up above his head, letting it wash over his head and soak his hair. You watch him repeat this again and again, occasionally stopping to undo a braid and comb his fingers through his hair. You can’t help noticing how slowly he moves, careful in a way you can’t quite figure out.

Then it hits you. He’s trying to do this in secret, you realize, and you feel as if someone is making a tight fist around your heart. You debate with yourself, trying to wrestle with your desire to help and the knowledge of how he’s feeling.

“Kotallo,” you hear yourself whisper before you come to a conclusion, your body acting before your brain.

He looks up. His dark eyes are almost black in the dim light. He looks tired, exhausted in the way one can only be after a bout of intense anger, shoulders sagging after a moment of tense eye contact.

Kotallo lets his hand rest in the bowl, fingers dipping into the water, “Hard to do with one hand.”

You clench your jaw and sit up, “Then three will have to do.”

Kotallo blinks at you as you move to sit beside him, crossing your legs with your knees pressed against his hips. He doesn’t protest as you start to part his hair, dividing it up into manageable sections so you can both work easily.

You drape one of his braids over his shoulder, “Here, undo this one.”

He does as you say while you work on undoing the rest of his braids, alternating between finger combing and massaging his scalp after each one, “I know you, Kotallo, soon you’ll be doing things with one arm most couldn’t do with two.”

He grunts, “It will always be a weakness.”

“One you will overcome,” you assure him with a gentle murmur, “In time.”

Kotallo clenches his jaw but doesn’t argue any more, and both of you settle into silence, working in tandem.

With all braids undone, you drag your fingertips along the back of his head. The hair that’s normally shaved to the skin is growing in, prickly stubble that tickles. Kotallo will want to shave soon, you’ll offer to do it another time but for now you’ll focus on washing.

When prompted, he passes you the water bowl. You tilt his head back and use one hand to shield his eyes as you pour water onto his hair. Kotallo’s chin wrinkles and, for a moment, you’re sure you’re both about to cry. But the moment passes. You curl forward and press a kiss to his forehead before you continue your work.

— — —

Your bubble of privacy doesn’t last long. News of an outlander approaching spreads quickly, the flame haired Nora famously making waves among all the clans. The girl— Aloy, Kotallo tells you— makes a deal with Hekkarro. You don’t care to know much besides the fact that Kotallo has been appointed to help, and to do that he must leave.

You idle around as he prepares for his mission, his first since the Embassy, “When will you be leaving?”

“Today, if I am to make it to Cliffwatch before the outlander,” he says before pressing his lips together the way he always does when trying to find the right words. You wait patiently through his pause until he speaks again, “Will you… I would like to see you here. When I return.”

You smile, amused at how much work it takes for him to admit things like that. You look around the house, the home just as much yours as his now, and know you would only leave the place behind if Kotallo would be there. Kotallo’s expression softens when you cup his cheek and assure him, “I'll be staying here a while longer.”

— — —

Kotallo’s absence doesn’t ache as much as you thought it would, knowing he’ll eventually come home to you makes each day easier. There are plenty of things to do around the Grove, much of the same tasks that you were used to doing at the Bulwark. Hunting, cooking, training, everything in preparation for the upcoming Kulrut.

Hekkaro and Dekka have been encouraging you, in the way only well-meaning but slightly overbearing authority figures can, to join the growing hopeful group that will participate in the event. It’s a tempting idea, one you often come back to when you’re shoulder to shoulder with the other soldiers around the dinner fire, and after hearing Hekarro’s prediction of Regalla’s rebels and machines' incoming attack, you throw your hat in the ring.

— — —

The Kulrut devolves into chaos. The Nora girl helps more than you’d like to admit, you find yourself impressed, if not slightly jealous, of her strength and influence. She’s gained the clan’s respect tenfold and you’re no exception. Regalla falls back, Hekarro’s life is saved, the Visions are cleared— and suddenly you’ve become a Marshal. That, at least, the Nora had nothing to do with.

It feels like ages pass before the commotion dies down and Kotallo is allowed to leave Hekarro’s side, but he eventually comes to find you.

“Marshal,” he greets.

You tilt your head forward with a laugh, suddenly feeling more connected to him than ever, “Marshal.”

You both know he must go soon, but neither of you can resist catching up after so long apart. When Kotallo gets around to telling you of what Aloy did to the Bulwark, you can’t help the spirited laugh that bubbles out of you

“Serves that bastard right!” you cheer, wiping your eyes as your laugh fades into a chuckle, “Oh, I wish I could have seen his face.”

Kotallo huffs, amused, “It was… quite satisfying,” he admits.

“A hidden base in the mountains,” you give a low whistle, “That sounds like quite an asset.”

He nods, then something flickers across his face, “You should visit.”

“Alright,” you nod, “I will.”

With a Marshal’s responsibilities also comes a Marshal’s freedom. It takes a few weeks of rebuilding at the Grove with the new Marshals, but Hekarro eventually grants you permission to leave, giving you a knowing smile.

Kotallo’s instructions are easy to follow, the mountains are familiar to you. Before long, you find it. You place your hand on the cold metal door before it slides open, revealing a long hallway that curves into somewhere you can’t see. There’s light, voices, a distant mechanical hum of power as you make your way down and emerge into what must be the main hub. There are people there, none of them Tenakth, and you come to a halt, unsure what to do next. It’s an odd mix of people, like the beginning of some joke— an Oseram, an Utaru, a Tenakth, and a Nora walk into a snapmaw den…

“Hello,” you greet the strangers, wondering if they’d been expecting you.

“He’s in there,” the pretty Utaru woman says, gesturing towards a particular door, “He’s been waiting.”

You thank her and smile, giving the small group a wave before you go to his room. There’s no point in lingering, they must all know you’re here for Kotallo. As you approach, you hear Kotallo talking to Aloy in hushed tones. You knock your knuckles on the metal door to get their attention and try to tamp down the poison of jealousy beginning to take root.

Aloy turns, blinks at you, then turns back to Kotallo, “I’d better be going.”

“Hi,” she says as she passes, half a smile pulling at her lips.

You greet her in kind, polite, but you can’t pretend you aren’t happy to be alone with Kotallo after not seeing him since the Kulrut. When the metal door automatically slides shut behind you, you bound forward and throw your arms around him, his arm curls around your waist and you both sigh deeply.

“Well-met,” he greets, his characteristic small smile is a great comfort to see.

“Are you well?”

He nods, eyeing you curiously for a moment before he reaches into a pocket, “I have something for you.”

“Oh?”

He finds what he needs then holds out a closed fist to you, “A gift.”

You eye him warily before you hold out your hand, palm up. He presses a tiny triangle into your palm, his fingertips drag along your hand as he pulls away.

“A focus,” he says simply.

You turn it in your fingers and find yourself surprised at how sturdy a flimsy looking bit of metal can feel, “Your new friends all have this, yes?”

“Yes. Now you will have one, and you will learn.”

“With your help?”

He makes a noise of agreement, “Yes, but not just mine. Come.”

Kotallo guides you through the base and back outside, pointing to some footholds before he jumps up and begins to climb. You follow, pride swelling in your chest at the way he carries himself up the mountainside. The climb is brisk, wind whips at you and snow threatens to make your feet slip on the rock, but you’re sure Kotallo must have a good reason for making you do this. When you hoist yourself over the cliff, you see him gesturing for you to be quiet then motioning towards sunwings perched at the edge of the cliff.

You follow him into the patch of tall grass and ask, “What does this have to do with the focus?”

“Put it on,” Kotallo encourages.

You turn the focus over again before you bring it up to the high point of your cheekbone, mimicking the placement of his. It stays where you put it, surprising you even though you’ve seen the device holding steady on the side of Kotallo’s face for an entire climb.

“And now?”

He taps his focus once with two fingers then gestures to the area before you. You wait a moment, then do the same, turning to look at the clearing as the focus makes a noise beside your ear. You gasp, blinking quickly like that will make what you’re seeing go away. Kotallo moves to take your hand as you observe the world through this new lens. There are animals hidden in the trees, in the snow, their outlines now visible to you, illuminated in orange. Every individual part of the sunwing is lit up, the focus highlighting the weak spots and all of the machine’s usable parts with enough words and data to leave your head spinning. All this new information makes you laugh, delighted and overwhelmed in equal measure.

You turn back to Kotallo as the sun starts to fall in the sky and you’re met by his smile. A full one, one you so rarely see, rarer still since the Embassy, and a wave of bone deep love for him washes over you.

You find yourself grinning when you ask, “What else can this do?”

Kotallo squeezes your hand, “I will show you everything I know back at base. The others have much to teach you as well, Gaia most of all.”

“Gaia?”

“She… it will be easier for her to explain.”

He shows you how to power off the focus’ scanner before you follow him back down the mountain, the golden sunlight covering the slopes makes the snow glitter.

“If you're going to learn, you must stay a while,” he says as you hop back onto solid ground.

You both linger by the door into the base, watching the last traces of sun sinking into the trees.

You reach up and trace the edges of your focus with one finger, considering his offer, “Well, I'm sure a stronghold this large has a spare room or two for me.”

Kotallo turns to you, looking confused at such a suggestion, “You’ll stay with me.”

“Yes,” you suppress a smile as best you can, “Alright, I will.”

Kotallo tours you around the base, showing you the various rooms and amenities— you take particular interest in the showers that boast constant warm water. Learning of Aloy’s mission, of Gaia, of what the focus can do, it's a staggering amount of information. You do not pretend to understand the breadth of everything revealed to you but everyone at the base helps you find your place, you even manage to teach Kotallo a trick or two. But all good things come to an end, or at least a pause. You’re still a Marshal after all, and you have responsibilities beyond Aloy’s quest.

“Hekkaro would see me back soon, I’m afraid.”

Kotallo nods, but you can see the almost imperceptible purse of his lips, “A Marshal’s duties are never done, I know better than most.”

You click your tongue at his solemn tone as you reach up to tap his focus, “Call on me if you need me.”

— — —

Hekarro’s duties for you are unsurprisingly connected to Aloy. Her efforts have made farming possible for the Utaru again, a great victory for the Tenakth as well. One that must be repaid with Veterans, Veterans you’re tasked with recruiting. This keeps you busy traveling between settlements while avoiding Regalla’s rebels and machines, but you find comfort in Kotallo being mere taps away.

The two of you talk occasionally, the sensation of hearing his voice right against your ear while he’s so far away is strange, one you’re not sure you’ll ever be used to. He dutifully updates you on his studies, new allies joining the base, Aloy’s countless quests, usually you fill him in with more mundane news, but today you’re happy to have an excuse to invite him back home.

The way he says your name may be one of your favorite sounds, “Hello.”

His voice in your ear makes you smile, “Kotallo, I have good news.”

“I am eager to hear it.”

“With all the progress Aloy has made, it seems the Utaru need Veterans again. There’s going to be a celebration soon, a proper send off.”

“I see, that is good news.”

“The people would like to see all the Marshals together for this,” you pause for a moment, “I… I would like to see you here.”

“Then I will be there.”

— — —

It’s bound to be a boisterous night, Tenakth celebrations are nothing if not rowdy. The arena isn’t filled with machines tonight, just bonfires and wide tables piled with food and drink surrounded by plenty of people enjoying both. To celebrate being among Tenakth before they’re sent off to the Utaru. An event like this is one of the few times the three clans can come together without some kind of big battle, but you’re sure bouts of sparring will crop up with all the drink flowing freely.

After an appropriate amount of mingling and dancing you find him amongst the crowd, slightly obscured by the shadows cast around the arena, and you go to him. You tilt your wooden cup in his direction and approach him with a smile, “Marshal.”

“Marshal,” he greets you in kind, a smile of his own small but noticeable enough on his lips as you stand beside him, pressed arm to arm.

He sips his drink as he scans the crowd, swirling his cup and studying its contents as he says, “I no longer have the temperament to withstand these events.”

You chuckle, “As if you ever have.”

The two of you seem to be enveloped in your own little bubble, somehow isolated in a crowd of dozens, but you still would rather be back in your den. So why shouldn’t you be? The ceremony is over, your duties are done, and an unopened canteen fat with wine sits at the end of the table, tempting. It’s meant for more than two people but that doesn’t stop you from grabbing it, intending to share it privately with Kotallo.

“I’ll meet you back home,” you tell him as you press the neck of the leather bottle into his hand, “And I’ll make sure to bring your favorite.”

He glances at one of the dishes filled with an aromatic stew he rarely has a chance to indulge in, then back to you, “Agreed.”

— — —

The clay dish you carry back is heavy with food, the warm smell of spices fills your home pleasantly when you take the top off and set it between you two. Kotallo reveals a loaf of bread and sets it beside the stew, giving you a smile when you thank him.

“Eat,” you tell him.

“Thank you,” he says, voice achingly sincere.

Kotallo not so subtly nudges the thicker, prettier cuts of vegetables and meat to your side of the dish, something you note with barely contained amusement, and he watches you eat with a fondness in his eyes so strong it’s almost palpable. You can’t help but smile around each bite.

Talk flows easily between you two. It’s gossip, plain and simple, not that Kotallo would never admit it. You discuss the new Marshals, briefly about what Tekotteh might be up to now, and how strange it is to find that the Lowlands feel more like home than the Bulwark.

“I’ve heard rumors that Jekkah and Erayyo might be wed soon,” you keep your tone light, nonchalant, trying to gauge whether Kotallo has any interest in relationship gossip.

Marriage among the Tenakth are few and far between, but since the end of the Red Raids more and more seem to be cropping up. You’re struck with the mental image of Kotallo in matrimonial paint and your heart aches, you ignore it by drinking more wine.

Kotallo nods and motions for the bottle once you gulp down a bit, “They've been dancing around each other since they took their first steps.”

Your eyes meet as you pass him the skin and you both hold each other’s gaze like it has all the weight in the world, then the moment is over. You both look away laughing, breathy and nervous, but maybe the nervousness might just be you.

“I'm happy for them. We could always use a little more joy, especially now,” you’re surprised that your voice doesn’t shake. Funny how one look from him can leave you feeling so… naked.

You take the last of the bread and drag it across the dish, soaking it in the remains of the stew before you hold it out, offering. Unsurprisingly, he shakes his head and gestures for you to have it. Shrugging, you concede and let him watch you eat as he takes a deep pull of wine.

The now empty dish is set aside to be washed later, but the wine skin still has plenty to go around. Under the pretense of making the passing of the bottle back and forth easier, you move to sit by his side, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder.

“It's late,” you muse after a long sip, “Yet I'm not tired enough to sleep.”

“A game of Strike?”

“Hm, not exactly in the mood for defeat.”

Kotallo chuckles at your honesty and takes the wine from you.

A brilliant idea strikes you, “Let’s visit the spring!”

He swipes his thumb over his mouth, chasing an errant drop of wine, and you feel yourself mimic him by swiping your tongue across your lip. He follows the movement with his eyes before he looks up and repeats your words, “It’s late.”

You hold his gaze and smile, “I know,” and that’s all it takes to convince him.

Neither of you seem to be able to stay more than an inch apart as you walk, nearly on top of each other as the rapidly emptying canteen is passed back and forth. In the quiet of the night everything feels amplified; each machine sound in the distance, the hoot of an owl, the warmth of Kotallo’s arm as it brushes against yours. By the time you reach the spring, there’s no wine left and you’re warm, pleasantly fuzzy around the edges and veering on giddy.

Kotallo takes the towels and empty skin from your hands and sets them all down on a semi flat boulder. You shimmy out of your pants before tossing them on top of the little pile he’s made, you’re about to take off your shirt but Kotallo’s hand on your arm stops you. It may be a trick of the dim lighting but it looks like he’s flushed beneath his face paint.

“What are you doing?” the words fly out of his mouth like he’s been struck.

You shrug blithely, “I don’t want my clothes to get wet.”

He replies with a mechanical, stilted nod and turns away as you continue to undress. You toss your clothes down, not bothering to fold them with your excitement to swim. The moonlight makes the warm water look almost black as you walk in, wading until there’s enough depth to comfortably swim. You dive below the surface, scrubbing at your face paint off as best you can while the warm water envelops you.

“Well?” you call out to him when you come up for air, “Are you going to join me?”

You can’t tear your eyes from him when you realize his top half is bare, unabashedly staring as you tread water. He looks over his shoulder, watching you watching him, but he does not stop you as he continues to undress.

You greedily catalogue the stockiness of his thighs and the darkness of the tattoos twisting and winding along his body, the maddeningly alluring curves of his shoulders and muscles of his back. He pauses when he reaches the cloth around his left arm. It takes a moment for him to make a decision but he slowly begins to unfurl it, delicately placing it atop his pile of clothes.

“Hello,” you greet as he wades in, the warmth in your body no longer just the wine.

“Hello,” his voice is surprisingly light, almost amused.

A drunken, happy giggle bubbles up and you don’t bother to stifle it, tilting to float on your back and laugh into the clear sky. You hear a splash as Kotallo joins you in the deeper part of the spring, the sound of his voice muffled by water in your ears but still understandable.

“What’s so funny?”

You reach out to him and find his hand already reaching for yours, your smile grows larger when you take it, “We drank a lot of wine.”

He laces his fingers with yours, squeezing once before letting out a laugh of his own, “That we did.”

You tilt your head up to look at him, struck with how right he looks holding your hand, feeling like the world stands still and it's just you two. Floating loses its appeal quickly when the night air begins to chill you, a sudden gust of wind makes you slip beneath the water again. Kotallo helps you steady yourself on the sand, water keeping you warm up to your chest. Your fingers untangle but Kotallo keeps his hand on you, it finds its place on your hip as a comfortable weight.

Without thinking, you gently cup what remains of his left arm, frowning in sympathy when he pulls in a deep breath. You whisper an apology as you begin to massage the scar there, hoping that warm water and a gentle touch can help soothe the pain he doesn’t speak of.

When Kotallo grunts, you shush him reflexively, affectionately, and that makes him exhale sharply with amusement. Around you both, paint begins to wash off your bodies and bloom in the spring. You acknowledge it with a hum and trail your other hand through the water, following the color until you find Kotallo’s other arm.

Beneath the pinwheel stars, you begin to wash him clean. The pigment stubbornly clings to the hair on his body but the warm water and your nails gently scratching eventually starts getting the job done. Kotallo makes a huff when you curl your hands over his bicep and squeeze, you look up to catch him rolling his eyes and you laugh quietly. You move on, taking the time to really feel him as you press your fingertips over his shoulders and neck. His eyes shut when you reach his jaw and follow the curve of it, only removing your hands to gather more warm water to wash his face. From there the work is mostly easy, he makes you laugh when he flexes his chest, even when he grumbles that it wasn’t on purpose.

You can’t ignore the heartbeat between your legs, you can’t help that the quiet intimacy between you makes you imagine other kinds of intimacy. The possibilities in your thoughts only spurred on and intensified by the wine.

Your hands creep down beneath the water, blindly rubbing paint away along his abdomen until his stomach twitches and he sucks in a harsh breath. You can’t see much below the surface, your hands are already mostly obscured by the dark water, but you have a sudden suspicion he's hard. It takes a moment for your brain to restart, but you keep working, slower now. Trailing your hands down past his navel, testing how low you have the courage to go once, twice before you drag them up, noticing the way a small shiver runs through him.

You glance up and find Kotallo watching your face intently, your breaths synced with something heavy you’d venture to call anticipation. When he licks his lip you can feel your clit throb, once again imagining what his tongue would feel like against you.

“Turn around,” your voice is hoarse but steady, “Let me wash your back.”

Kotallo nods and does as you say, the paint in the water swirling. You make quick work of the rest of his paint, but you still linger, your hands passing over clean skin more than once just to feel him.

“All done,” you murmur.

He faces you, clean and bare and handsome.

“My turn now, no?” you ask as you take his hand and put it on your shoulder.

“Yes,” he whispers after a moment, his hand curling around on the side of your neck, thumb pushing against the column of your neck until it's beneath your jaw.

You close your eyes and wait until he starts to wash your paint away. His touch is hot on your skin as he rubs circles, fingers tracing down your chest until he reaches your sternum, the back of his hand brushes against your breast for the briefest of moments before he moves on.

It takes longer to wash you but you do not mind, reveling in his touch as your paint disappears in the water. Kotallo’s hand rubs up your stomach until his knuckles press against the underside of your breast, right where the weight droops, yet he doesn’t linger. Part of you is disappointed but his hand is on you again before you can think twice.

You shiver when he moves, circling until he stands behind you. His hand pets down your spine with a speed that lacks purpose beyond just… feeling. You’re glad he can’t see your smile.

Eventually Kotallo’s hand stills and he walks around to stand face to face with you. His hand comes to rest on your hip, heavy even underwater, “Finished.”

You blink your eyes open and notice a small swatch of paint you missed, high on his cheekbone and almost begging to be kissed away, but you compromise with yourself by using your thumb to wash it away. Kotallo surprises you by tilting his head to press his cheek into your palm. He must have recently shaved, his face is smooth, soft. You feel your body move before you can stop it— you’re going to kiss him— but the sand beneath your feet shifts, threatening to let you slip under the water.

Kotallo’s arm quickly curls around you and steadies you, water splashes around you both as you let yourself be pulled in close, gladly taking the excuse to be manhandled into more stable footing.

“Kotallo,” you chuckle, a touch breathless when you look up and find him smiling down at you, “I’m dizzy.”

Kotallo hums thoughtfully, “The heat and the drink, no doubt. Perhaps we should retire.”

Seeing his face bare is a treasure you’d like to indulge in for a little more but you nod anyway, “Yes.”

But his hand stays still on your hip and neither of you move for what feels like a long while.

“What is it?” he asks, bringing his hand up to tap under your chin, “I can feel you have something to say. Stuck, here, under your tongue.”

Your laugh comes out as little more than an exhale when he holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “It’s nothing.”

Kotallo makes a noise of acknowledgement but keeps you there a minute longer, dark eyes studying your face with his usual intensity. Your heart starts to thump in your chest but the moment passes. Kotallo gestures towards the shore with a tilt of his head and you two start to move away from each other.

Leaving the water makes the night air feel even colder, you both hurriedly towel off and wrap yourself up before you make the walk back home with a spring in your step, neither of you eager to be caught half naked and still slightly tipsy.

In your haste, both of you stumble inside, tripping over each other and falling onto the bed rolls laid out on the floor. He actually laughs with you, both of you tangled and still wet leaning into each other, drunkenly trying and failing to quiet down for what feels like minutes. Kotallo sits up once the worst of the humor has passed, adjusting his towel to cover his lap while you lay beside him.

“We should rest,” he muses, still smiling.

You hum noncommittally, more interested in the way the wine has left his mouth stained ever so slightly darker, the shade of plum on the swell of his lower lip is maddeningly attractive, and you wonder if the taste still lingers on his tongue. It’s a tempting idea, one that’s run through your head countless times. You sit up, holding your towel to your chest as you crawl onto him, your heart beginning to patter quickly.

Kotallo jolts but doesn’t move, a curious, hesitant expression on his face, “What are you…?”

You find your place on his lap, legs on either side of his torso. You place your hands on his shoulders delicately, lingering there for a moment before you drag your touch up, pressing your fingers into his skin until your nails are scratching his scalp. Something warm blooms in your chest at the way Kotallo’s breath becomes uneven, shuddering.

You shut your eyes and find the courage to kiss him, a gentle press of lips that grows hungry when Kotallo surges up to meet you. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, his fingers splay and push into your neck and ear, something desperate in the way of his touch. When you part your lips, he slips his tongue against yours with a low moan and you’re already thinking of other ways to hear that sound again.

Kotallo pulls away first, panting, but you’re not discouraged in the slightest. You redirect your kisses to his cheek, trailing down to his jaw kiss by kiss. He says your name gruffly, his hand coming down to hold your neck. Your name falls from his mouth again, again, only after the third time do you pull back. You wonder if he has any idea how annoyingly handsome he is, glassy eyes and lips bitten until they’re flushed.

Kotallo swallows harshly but his voice doesn’t come out any less hoarse, “You could have anyone, you deserve—“

He quiets with the press of your fingertips against his lips, “Kotallo.”

You sink down onto his lap and settle your weight on his thighs, smiling when Kotallo’s hand squeezes your hip. You can feel his hardness pressed up insistently against you but you ignore it for now, even as you feel your body responding in kind.

“I want you,” you say simply, a thrill zips up your spine when you see his eyes dilate.

There’s so much more you could say, so much you want to say— you’re still whole, you’re still strong and beyond worthy of me, I love you— but you don’t want to risk Kotallo shrinking away from any more sudden confessions. Not now, not when you’re on the precipice of something wonderful.

You trace the scar near the corner of his mouth, following the curve of his lips until he kisses your fingertips, “Please,” you whisper, “Kiss me again.”

Kotallo kisses you like he couldn’t possibly have done anything else. Eventually your towel falls away, your chest bare only for a moment before he cups your breast and thumbs at your nipple. You moan when he pinches it, just enough pressure to make you want to retaliate. You duck your head to the side and press a kiss to his neck, nipping him after he pinches your nipple again.

“Tease me no longer,” Kotallo grunts as you suck a dark mark onto the column of his neck.

You can't help the little smile that tugs at your lips, “Patience.”

But you can’t pretend you’re not as eager as he is, the kisses down his body grow quicker. You move off his lap and pet your hands over his chest and stomach, dark body hair making a trail for you as you move closer to his cock. His cock is leaking, a perfect pearl of precum on the tip presented to you like a prize, begging to be licked away.

Kotallo’s groan is surprisingly loud when you press your lips to his cock, enough to make you laugh goodnaturedly as his hand flies to the back of your head. You lift your head to meet his dark eyes as he looks down at you. His face is unreadable but he’s not stopping you, you try to think of any reservations he might have. A few things come to mind— you can’t deny there’s a thrill at the possibility of being his first, but you don’t care enough to ask.

You close your eyes and sink your mouth onto his cock, pressing your tongue onto the underside as it brushes the back of your throat. His thighs tense under your hands but another enthusiastic sound punched out of him is enough for you to continue. You pull back then back down, bobbing your head nice and slow and breathing through your nose. Distantly, you hear him moan your name as his hips start to buck in short little thrusts, almost involuntary. You pull off when your jaw begins to ache, giving his tip one last kiss before Kotallo guides you back up to him.

“Come here,” he commands, his voice thick with something you can’t put your finger on.

Kotallo kisses you like he means to devour you, your legs part for him when you feel his hand on your thigh. He pets the hair between your legs for a moment before he cups you, dragging two fingers along your slit just lightly enough to make you impatient.

“Here,” you whisper, “Touch me here.”

Kotallo takes the hint when you angle your hips down, his fingers drag up to find your clit. Your eyes flutter shut at the contact and you let out a pleased moan. He doesn’t need more direction after that, slipping his tongue into your mouth again as he slides two fingers into you, pumping them with confidence.

“You should have kissed me ages ago,” you tell him, more a whine than a moan when he curls his fingers, pressing against the tender spot with precision that makes your thighs tremble.

“Yes, I should have, Let me make it up to you,” he sighs into your mouth, “Let me taste you,” his two fingers still steadily circling your clit let you do nothing more than nod stupidly.

Kotallo kisses you fiercely before he pulls back, bringing his hand to his waiting tongue and licking. The moan he makes at the taste of you makes you dizzy. You prop yourself up on your elbows as he moves to settle between your thighs, focusing just in time to see his nose scrunch and his eyes flutter shut as he presses his face against your cunt.

You moan in unison as he starts to lick you, broad, flat strokes of his tongue, tasting you with a thoroughness purely Kotallo. When he purses his lips over your clit and hums, you know you’re done for, something hot and wicked curls in your core. His mouth is warm and wet, unrelenting in a way that has you trembling, already close to tipping over the edge.

Your eyes shut tight when you feel yourself start to cum, molten hot pleasure radiating out from your core until Kotallo’s mouth drags your orgasm out and begins to veer into overstimulation. He’s undeterred by your thighs squeezing his head, even when you flex hard, he follows your hips as you roll them away, you think you’re going to pass out with how hard you’re panting.

“Kotallo,” you groan, hands blindly reaching for him, “Kotallo, I can’t—”

He finally pulls away, your pussy all of a sudden cold without his mouth. He’s panting too, soaked from the tip of his nose to his chin with your arousal, and he looks like he could die happy. Kotallo licks his lips before wiping his face with the back of his hand, adjusting to sit back on his heels between your legs.

“Do you want this?” he asks as he takes his cock in hand, stroking it before he taps the head against your clit, dragging it lower until it presses against your entrance, teasing.

You whine something close to yes, he gives you what you need. Kotallo bowls forward, holding himself up with his forearm by your head as your wetness helps him slide all of himself in, hips slapping against yours with a groan. It feels endless, his thickness stretches you out in a way you’ve never felt and suddenly you’re certain he was made for you. You mumble something incoherent as he starts to fuck you, breathing each other’s air as your noses brush with how close your faces are. Your hands grab at his waist, his hips, his ass— you need to be closer, closer, you want to put your heart right next to his.

Kotallo all but growls your name as he clutches at you, pulling you against him and lifting you, “Hold onto me,” he commands.

You’d do whatever he says, your own pleasure just a sweet undercurrent. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and let him move you, his arm around you keeps your chest pressed to his as he sits back and sets you on his lap. The new angle makes you gasp against his temple, he feels impossibly deep, filling you in the way you’d desperately needed. The whine that escapes you is obscene, it makes your face hot with embarrassment but you can’t help looking down at Kotallo.

“You’re beautiful,” he groans, his eyes are bright, half-lidded with pleasure and he looks at you like you’ve hung the moon. Your name falls from his lips as a moan and it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard.

You roll your hips down into him and something close to a whimper escapes you at the stimulation of his stomach on your clit, something Kotallo notes with a soft sound. He moves his hand on your hip, encouraging you to do that again.

Kotallo presses his lips to every bit of skin he can reach as you move, barely lifting up and down, more using his cock for pleasure by humping him than riding him. It feels maddeningly good, a steady building of pleasure with your clit rubbing against him with each motion as his cock rubs that spot inside you. Kotallo keeps murmuring encouragement as his hand comes up to cup your chest, tweaking your nipples in an unpredictable way that makes your head spin.

It’s quickly becoming too much, you can feel your cunt tightening as you start to reach your peak, beginning to repeat his name like he’s possessed you, your body and soul nothing but him in this moment as your orgasm suddenly crashes over you in a wave that leaves your thighs trembling. Kotallo begins to rut into you as you cum, slow and deep and steady and driving every coherent thought out of your head.

You mewl when he adjusts you both again, keeping you full of his cock as he stretches his legs out, laying back and settling your legs around his hips. Kotallo plants his feet and starts to thrust, knocking a surprised cry of his name out of you.

He’s animalistic, grunting and moaning as he chases his release with your fluttering cunt, his hand gripping your hips and ass with a force that almost hurts. You’re not sure how long you lay atop him, letting him take what he needs. Your pussy gives way to his cock again and again until he’s cumming, his face pressed against your throat as you both make wordless, pleasured sounds. Opening his mouth, his hot breath and sharp teeth graze against your pulse until he bites down, a bright spot of pleasurable pain that makes you keen. He holds you down, pressing as close as physically possible and he fills you, groaning with a desperation that has you weak. His hips give a few more stuttered rolls as his cock throbs a few more times, cum begins to leak out of you, hot stickiness pooling against your inner thighs.

Your legs feel limp and useless when you try to get up so you quickly abandon the attempt, staying sprawled along him while he’s still buried inside you. Kotallo seems pleased to have your weight settle down on him, he gently bites your jaw as he follows the curve of your body with a reverent, affectionate hand. He moves to kiss you as his fingers map your knee, trailing his hand over the hair on your thigh until it settles on your lower back and you pull back to breathe. You stay like that for a long while, pressed against each other as you catch your breath and enjoy each other's nearness.

“I missed you,” Kotallo whispers against you, your name sounds dreamy the way he all but moans it, “I missed you,” he says again, the same words but you hear the change. I love you.

You shut your eyes and feel your chests rising and falling together, “I missed you too.” I love you.

#kotallo x reader #kotallo smut #📝 — hfw #💒.txt

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discar · 2 months

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HZD Terraforming Base-001 Text Communications Network

Chapter 43 | Prev chapter | Next chapter Chapter Index

DIVINER: And now I think Aloy is a Tenakth saint or something because you gave her the sunwing override.

β: wasnt she already a saint

MARSHAL Kotallo: She was well-respected, that is all.

FlameHairSavior: I'm still JUST well-respected, right?

MARSHAL Kotallo: Aloy. You flew overhead on the Wings of the Ten. It doesn't matter that everyone knows how you did it, it's still a miracle.

β: oh god shes an angel now isnt she

FlameHairSavior: Oh, look! A change of subject!

DIVINER: Uh, let's see...

DIVINER: There's not really all that much more interesting that happened while you were gone!

DIVINER: Tilda hated memes and French people and Minions!

β: knew that

DIVINER: Sylens loves holo-calls!

β: oh ew

Icarus: You are all savages.

HIMBO: YOU CAME BACK, SO IT'S OFFICIALLY YOUR FAULT.

ADMIN [Zo]: Please don't scare him off now.

ADMIN [Zo]: Sylens, I know I said it before, but truly, thank you for coming back. It means a lot.

Icarus: I fully intend to flee the second you people prove incable of living up to Aloy's promises.

Icarus: I am not willing to gamble with yet another malevolent AI bent on our destruction.

HIMBO: RIGHT, I HAVE QUESTIONS ABOUT THIS NEMESIS THING.

FlameHairSavior: Can they wait? We're a little busy.

HIMBO: THE REST OF US ARE JUST RIDING. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

β: were hooking up gaia

HIMBO: OH, I THOUGHT YOU WERE JUST ABOUT DONE BEFORE WE LEFT.

FlameHairSavior: We ARE just about done. Still, it takes time.

β: goota make sure we do it right

β: gotta

β: or shell wake up a blank slate and have to download everything again

FlameHairSavior: All right... that should be it.

DIVINER: Wow, that was fast!

[FlameHairSavior] has invited [GAIA] to the group

GAIA: Thank you, Aloy, Beta. You have both been incalcuably helpful.

FlameHairSavior: Of course.

β: sure

DIVINER: Oh no!! Now I have to go over everything that happened while you were gone again!

DIVINER: So, it started with Aloy getting kidnapped by Tilda!

DIVINER: Or rescued, technically.

GAIA: That will not be necessary. I have already read all of your Focuses and have fully assimilated everything that happened while I was gone.

HIMBO: SO... YOU CAN JUST SEE EVERYTHING WE'VE EVER DONE WHILE WEARING THESE THINGS?

GAIA: Yes.

HIMBO: GREAT.

HIMBO: THAT'S NOT CREEPY AT ALL.

β: remind me to show you space odyssey

DIVINER: Do you want him to smash everything with a hammer?

DIVINER: Because that's how you get him smashing everything with a hammer.

GAIA: 2001: A Space Odyssey is not in the media archives.

DIVINER: Mmm-hmm.

DIVINER: [SkepticalOwl.gif]

DIVINER: Let me take a look.

GAIA: I'm sorry, Alva, I can't let you do that.

GAIA: Oh dear.

ADMIN [Zo]: What?

GAIA: Alva just fell off her strider laughing.

DIVINER: I'm okay!

HIMBO: WHATEVER. CAN WE GO BACK TO NEMESIS FOR A BIT?

FlameHairSavior: Sure. What's your question?

HIMBO: I WROTE IT DOWN, ONE SECOND.

FlameHairSavior: Oh no.

HIMBO: OKAY, QUESTION ONE: WHY DID THE ZENITHS MAKE MIND COPIES IN THE FIRST PLACE? THEY WERE ALREADY IMMORTAL.

β: they wanted more

MARSHAL Kotallo: More than unaging bodies and perfect shields?

β: their shields werent perfect its just no one on this planet had enough firepower to break them

β: there was always the chance of random accidents killing them having a backup mind would mean they could just download into a new body

HIMBO: YEAH, I MUST BE MISSING SOMETHING, BECAUSE THAT STILL SOUNDS CRAZY.

Icarus: Think of it for keeping a blueprint for your favorite invention, along with all the parts required to build it. When your invention is broken or lost for whatever reason, you can build an exact copy quickly and efficiently.

HIMBO: BUT THE ORIGINAL IS STILL GONE. IF IT'S JUST A TOOL, FINE, WHATEVER, BUT IF IT'S YOU THEN IT'S A WHOLE OTHER FORGE.

β: its called the contuinity flaw and there were long arguments about it even before zero day

HIMBO: SURE, OKAY, GUESS I HAVE TO JUST ACCEPT THAT.

HIMBO: QUESTION 2: THE MIND COPY THING FAILED, RIGHT?

Icarus: Yes. The exact reason they considered it a failure is unclear, however. There are any number of possibilities. Perhaps the copies weren't perfect. Perhaps the copies were too perfect, and insisted they were the originals.

HIMBO: I KNOW I DON'T KNOW A LOT ABOUT THIS COMPUTER SLAG, BUT WHY COULDN'T THEY JUST DESTROY THE COPIES?

FlameHairSavior: Actually, I was wondering the same thing.

ADMIN [Zo]: If the copies were even slightly functional, that would be murder.

FlameHairSavior: There is no way the Zeniths cared about murder.

MARSHAL Kotallo: Even if they did, it would be easy to rationalize it as either putting down a wounded animal or killing an enemy, depending on circumstances.

GAIA: I am afraid that I have no more information than you do. Perhaps Sylens has the answer.

Icarus: There were no explicit explanations in either the extinction signal or the Zenith database. I would only be able to speculate.

FlameHairSavior: Go right ahead.

Icarus: I can only think of two reasonable possibilities: That they were continuing to test the copies to determine what went wrong, or that they were putting the copies through a series of experiments that they would never want to perform on themselves.

Icarus: Either way, it is clear they were not paying enough attention, which is why the copies were able to merge into Nemesis and escape containment.

DIVINER: Even I know how to keep a dangerous virus quarantined from the network! Surely they should have known better than to leave a data link, even a locked one!

MARSHAL Kotallo: They were masters of their world for a thousand years. I suspect they were simply overconfident and had not faced a real danger in centuries.

Icarus: I am still astounded they made such a basic mistake.

MARSHAL Kotallo: We cannot understand the depth of their overconfidence. Putting aside their technology, none of us have lived even a single century, and our lives have not been complacent. How would we relax our guards, if we were safe for hundreds and hundreds of years?

MARSHAL Kotallo: I don't think any of us have ever been truly safe for so much as a year.

DIVINER: My life was pretty calm for the most part! I mean, we had to deal with the Derangement, but things only started getting REALLY bad in the past couple years!

β: i was safe pretty much my whole life

MARSHAL Kotallo: I was including psychological torture and manipulation in the general arena of "unsafe."

β: it wasnt really torture

DIVINER: [UCDavis.WhatIsPsychologicalTorture.pdf]

β: why would you have that

DIVINER: Why wouldn't I? It's not like it takes up much space!

β: i mean because i would have thought it would be from a chinese or japanese college

DIVINER: Oh, I pretty much only have English language data on my Focus! I barely passed the foreign language courses!

FlameHairSavior: Wait, they spoke different languages across the sea? Why is everything you have in our language, then?

DIVINER: Translation software was VERY advanced by the time of the Plague, and even our relatively primitive Focuses could translate almost anything! Furthermore, English was a very common trade language, so many of the files we found had an English language option by default!

DIVINER: Foreign languages were an elective, because they were largely unnecessary!

β: dont know how i feel about that

ADMIN [Zo]: I'm not sure what you mean.

β: language shapes culture and culture shapes language

β: forcing everyone to use english seems like something is lost

MARSHAL Kotallo: Surely it is better that everyone can communicate.

β: i dont know

MARSHAL Kotallo: ...I suppose it's something to think about.

FlameHairSavior: Zo, have you reached your people yet?

HIMBO: SUBTLE SUBJECT CHANGE.

FlameHairSavior: You hush.

ADMIN [Zo]: Not quite. I've reached Plainsong, but I dismounted to walk in.

FlameHairSavior: Have you decided if you want to give them Focuses or not?

ADMIN [Zo]: I know I SHOULD.

β: there has to be at least one person you actually like among the utaru

ADMIN [Zo]: It's not that. The problem is that, no matter who I give it to, the Chorus would find out about it. Their reaction could be... unhelpful. For the time being, I will wait to see if my negotiations bear fruit.

Icarus: If your people had any wisdom, they would accept any weapon they can in this struggle.

ADMIN [Zo]: You haven't met many Utaru, have you?

Icarus: No, not particularly.

ADMIN [Zo]: Let's just say that I'm considered an aggressive firebrand.

Icarus: Why are we bothering with these people?

FlameHairSavior: Doesn't hurt to try. If things go sour, Zo can just leave.

β: yeah no need to worry about her safety with the pacifists

MARSHAL Kotallo: Do not underestimate the value of Utaru farmlands, and Utaru farmers to work them.

MARSHAL Kotallo: They are the reason that that the Utaru and the Tenakth have had strong relations for so long.

FlameHairSavior: Speaking of the Tenakth, any progress there?

MARSHAL Kotallo: I have reached the Clanlands. Everyone is very happy to see me. I am sure Hekarro will accept a Focus gladly.

FlameHairSavior: Is there any reason he wouldn't? Worst-case scenario planning.

MARSHAL Kotallo: The only reason I can think of is if he wanted to make sure all Marshals and Veterans have Focuses of their own. If we don't have enough for all of them, he might not accept it.

MARSHAL Kotallo: But I find even that scenario unlikely.

β: actually we should have enough for all of them right

β: there would

β: there should be thousands in the cradle

FlameHairSavior: I only brought a pouch full. That still might be enough, but it might be a bad idea to use so many, at least until I replenish my supply.

MARSHAL Kotallo: Regardless, I guarantee that Hekarro and the Clans will stand with you. You have earned more honor than anyone I have even heard tales of.

MARSHAL Kotallo: I suspect at this point, if the Ten descended from the sky, they would receive less trust.

FlameHairSavior: [Groan.gif]

MARSHAL Kotallo: Problem?

β: she really doesnt want to be a saint

ADMIN [Zo]: Again?

FlameHairSavior: Again.

DIVINER: I think it's a good idea to bring in as many into the network as possible! Even if it means you have to go back to the Cradle and collect more Focuses, more is always going to be better!

FlameHairSavior: Oh, I forgot that you have a big network in your homeland. I don't think you said how big, though.

DIVINER: I'm sorry citizen, that is a state secret kept closely guarded for tactical and strategic reasons.

DIVINER: Sorry!!

FlameHairSavior: I just wanted to know how a network with a lot of people operates. We'd go crazy if we were getting constant messages from a dozen more people.

DIVINER: Oh! Well, first off, you can parcel off people into their own message groups! You'll want to make one main group with everyone in it for emergencies, and then everyone can be part of multiple smaller groups! So one will be us, another might be you and just the tribal leaders, and then at least one more for each tribe!

Icarus: I would also suggest that you codify the rules early. They are easier to enforce from the start. Don't let anyone post in the emergency channel frivolously, stamp down on any harrassment, so on.

Icarus: This is especially important for you, since you won't be able to use the Eclipse's method of dealing with rule-breakers.

FlameHairSavior: ...which was?

Icarus: They killed them.

FlameHairSavior: Of course they did.

Icarus: They had more loyal officers than they had Focuses. From their perspective, the math was simple.

FlameHairSavior: [Sigh.gif]

FlameHairSavior: Alva, how are you doing?

DIVINER: I'm almost to the Sunken City!

HIMBO: HOW? IT'S SOMETHING LIKE FIVE TIMES FARTHER THAN WHERE ANY OF US ARE GOING.

DIVINER: I don't take as many breaks, and mapped out my course in advance!

HIMBO: YOU CAN USE THESE THINGS FOR MAPS?

ADMIN [Zo]: By all the songs and shoots Erend, did you never read that primer on how to use your Focus?

HIMBO: VARL SHOWED ME HOW TO PLAY MUSIC, AND THAT WAS BASICALLY THE END.

FlameHairSavior: Erend, stop playing the idiot.

HIMBO: BUT I'M SO GOOD AT IT!

FlameHairSavior: Alva, are you still going through with it?

DIVINER: Yep! It's going to be scary, but it's important that I stay close by to help you! I gave Overseer Bohai a warning, and he's okay with it! I think most of the expedition is staying behind, actually! Just one ship is going back to the homeland!

β: is he staying

DIVINER: Oh, definitely not!

β: does that mean youll be in charge

DIVINER: .

DIVINER: ٩(●ö●)۶

FlameHairSavior: Taking that as "I didn't think that far ahead."

MARSHAL Kotallo: It is a shame we will not be able to communicate with the Quen homeland. Coordinating with a powerful military empire would be invaluable in the face of Nemesis.

β: we might

β: probably not

β: but we might

MARSHAL Kotallo: Interesting.

FlameHairSavior: We shouldn't discount the Quen in the Sunken City. They have enough experience with Focuses to be valuable. Especially if we manage to take over a couple Cauldrons and produce some personal machines.

HIMBO: ANY LUCK WITH HEPHAESTUS?

FlameHairSavior: Nothing concrete yet.

Icarus: I am searching for clues in the APOLLO database.

β: he means hes playing around with the engineering tools

Icarus: I mean that I am investigating our most valuable tool for any and all leads.

β: which looks a lot like playing

FlameHairSavior: Erend? You at Vegas yet?

HIMBO: I SEE SAND?

FlameHairSavior: Well, keep me posted.

FlameHairSavior: Oh, and did I thank you for volunteering to go to Morlund?

HIMBO: YES YOU DID, BUT YOU DON'T NEED TO. I LIKE MORLUND! I WONDER IF THEY'LL REMEMBER ME.

FlameHairSavior: I think Stemmur still has the wrench you threw at them.

Icarus: Remind me again why you feel the need to involve a trio of entertainers in our attempt to save the world.

FlameHairSavior: They're smart, resourceful, motivated, and currently sitting on one of the most intact Old World cities. I don't think it has any printers, but if nothing else it has a power source that's still going strong.

DIVINER: And don't underestimate the value of entertainment! These next few years are going to get dark, we're going to need something to keep our spirits up!

Icarus: I suppose.

GAIA: Aloy, I can confirm that I am fully stabilized. Your concern was ultimately unecessary.

DIVINER: What was that?

FlameHairSavior: Oh, I need to leave the Base for a while, but I wanted to make sure GAIA was fully online first. I told her to text once she was sure.

β: it only took her twenty minutes to be sure you could have just turned around if something went wrong

ADMIN [Zo]: Why are you leaving the Base? I thought you had handled all the emergencies in the region.

MARSHAL Kotallo: I know you finished with all the rebel camps before the assault on the Zenith compound.

FlameHairSavior: I'm going to try and find Talanah. She should still be somewhere in the area.

MARSHAL Kotallo: The Carja woman?

HIMBO: THE SUNHAWK?

FlameHairSavior: Yeah.

FlameHairSavior: I'm going to give her a couple Focuses. She might be heading back to the Sundom, she might not.

HIMBO: WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING?

FlameHairSavior: She can give Avad a Focus.

HIMBO: ...OH NO.

β: your drinking debts were going to come due eventually

HIMBO: MAYBE WE CAN JUST TELL HIM I'M DEAD.

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