Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Zavala stood in the darkened room, hands braced on the central table as he awaited his guests. To his left, sitting on the table was a box of Gjallardoodle cookies left for him from Ikora, but he was in no mood to eat. Hearing footsteps at the door, he turned his head as it slid open, letting light spill in as a cloaked Hunter entered.

"Zavala." Ana Bray said, nodding to him as she strode in, walking around him to take up position to his left. She spied the untouched box of cookies and plucked one out, "Not much of a Crimson Days vibe in here, huh?"

"Anastasia." He acknowledged, though through gritted teeth. "Thank you for answering the call. Is Rasputin ready?"

Ana held out her hand and her ghost appeared, floating out and turning to face them from across the table. "Connections established, though I'm the only one he'll talk to. Think of me as your translator." She said, with what Zavala knew was smugness in her voice. He chose to ignore it.

"Very good. Ghost?" His own ghost transmatted in, and move to float next to Ana's.

"Failsafe is here. On your command." It said in it's most professional tone. Ana snorted.

"Then let us begin."

Both ghosts' eyes lit up, and projection fields surrounded them; Ana's in a pulsing, orange polyhedral pattern representing Rasputin, and his own in a spinning dial that shifted between red and blue hues. Together, they illuminated the room in a mix of colors.

"Hello? Can you hear me?" A cheery and polite Failsafe began.

"Ugh...What do you want now?" The more dreary split personality of Failsafe chimed in.

Zavala cleared his throat. "We've received Intel from the field of Guardians being contacted by an entity that claims to be a Golden Age Craftmind attached to the Yang Liwei colony ship, calling itself 'Medusa'. I've requested both of your assistance because this presents a sensitive issue regarding something we do not fully know or comprehend. What we do know is that it has lied to us already, regarding one Eris Morne, which means anything or everything it says could be an open lie. We need you two to corroborate what this 'Medusa' is saying."

There was a moment of silence where both AIs did not respond, but just as Zavala was about to try more coaxing, Rasputin spoke.

There was a loud, low rumble that filled the room before Rasputin's voice blared, speaking in Old Russian. Ana covered her hands over her ears, but was smiling. Zavala chose to remain still, knowing the warmind's penchant for the grandiose.

When he finally stopped speaking, Ana turned to Zavala, "Rasputin says that he doesn't know of any 'Medusa', but also notes that he's been dormant for some time and not all of his memory banks have been fully functional since the Collapse.

Zavala sighed heavily, "And what about you, Failsafe?"

"There's a lot of junk to go through, Commander. I wasn't made to be an Archivist AI. I'm a Failsafe AI."

Her tone shifted, and she was cheery again, "That is to say, while I do have records and data stored from the past few centuries, I do not have the processing power necessary to search all of them in a timely manner."

"This is what it feels like getting old, something you'd never understand." She finished, voice dropping in pitch to match her sarcastic tone.

"Indeed..."

Ana stepped in, eyes suddenly bright, "Then we've got everything we need! Failsafe has the archives, and Rasputin has all the processing power and more! All we have to do is link the two."

Zavala turned to his ghost, the one representing Failsafe, "Will that work?"

"We could try. What's the worst that could happen?" The AI said in a cheery tone.

"Ya know, aside from completely frying my brain." Her other voice finished sarcastically.

"Then let's do it. Anastasia?"

"Already on it." She replied, typing on a keypad embedded into the table. "Alright, Rasputin. Whenever you're ready."

There was a shout in Old Russian as the warmind acknowledged, and then the shifting blue and red light from Failsafe became the same bright orange as Rasputin.

"Oh my." Failsafe exclaimed.

"What is it? Did he find something already?" Ana asked, not even trying to hide her eagerness.

"The warmind is allowing our identical lines of code to intermingle. I believe you Guardians would liken it to 'holding hands'."

Her tone changed to the lower, sarcastic voice, "He sure is a chummy one..."

Rasputin uttered a swift stream of words, and Zavala could tell Ana was having a difficult time translating. "What did he say?"

She sputtered then turned to him, "I...I can't have heard that right. It sounded like he asked--"

Her explanation was cut off by a new sound that flooded the room; Rasputin's classical music.

"Rasputin has asked if I would like to dance." Failsafe finished for Ana, her cheerful voice bordering on giddy.

"I am soooooo embarrassed."

"I said yes. This will take some time. You two may leave, I will make sure to forward our findings to you once the search is complete."

Zavala shook his head, "I can wait, Failsafe. I had my schedule cleared specifically for this."

The AI's tone shifted as the music volume increased, "Uh, you need to learn how to take a hint, Commander."

Off to his side, Ana couldn't help but laugh. "Come on, Zavala. Let's let them work. I'm sure you've got something you'd like to lecture me on while I'm at the Tower, and you still need to get Ikora something to thank her for those Gjallardoodles. I hear she likes donut holes.

She tugged at his arm and with a sigh, Zavala followed. He looked at the box of cookies from Ikora, and tucked them under his arm as he left. "Gjallardoodles...how did Ikora know?"

***

New Lore Discovered: The Crimson War: Chosen

Ghaul stood before the great machine, a box of gummy glimmer held behind his back.

"The Guardians speak of these...Crimson Days; a time when they celebrate those most important to them. In my quest for this system, I could think of none other more important to me than...." His rumbling voice trailed off.

He revealed the box of candies, nestled in a scarlet box with a bow. His mask could not cover the blush that spread across his alabaster skin as he looked away and mumbled, "D-do you see me now, Traveler?"

~ Excerpt from a crumpled piece of paper found by one of the Tower's sweeper bots.

Chapter Text

Saint noticed a newcomer to his small cadre of pigeons. He tossed a few seeds to coax it closer so he could have a look. It was all white, save for a splotch of red around it's small beak. A dove. He sucked in a breath of surprise.

"What beauty. But what brought you to this city, little dove?"

The dove's response was interrupted by a service Frame that came skittering around the corner; one of Lord Shaxx's Redjacks. The birds spooked, and all took off in various escape routes, the dove coming to rest on the prow of Saint-14's docked ship.

"Bugger." the Frame said before touching it's hand to the side of it's head. "Lord Shaxx, I have located one of the missing doves."

"Good!" Shaxx's voice boomed loud enough for Saint to hear it over the Frame's comm, "Stay there, Arcite. I'll be right down!"

"I did not know Shaxx had taken up dove-keeping in my absence." Saint said offhandedly, drawing Arcite's attention.

"Oh, keeping them was not the intent. Releasing them was!" Arcite paused, determining how much to tell the old Titan. In the end, he decided divulging everything was enough. "Now the Vanguard have tasked us with retrieving the doves to return to their natural habitat."

"Oooh?" Saint asked, bending down to pick up the abandoned seed, "And for what reason did Shaxx need such beauties?"

"For Crimson Days, of course!" Arcite said cheerfully, bending down to assist with clean-up, "Lord Shaxx had vowed to marry--"

"THAT'S ENOUGH OF THAT!" a voice boomed as heavy boots thudded towards them. Shaxx jogged to a halt behind Arcite, placing his fists on his hips disapprovingly. "No need to bother Saint with that story, Arcite. Now, where did you see that dove!?"

Saint's curiosity was too much. This sounded like a story that needed telling. He let a sly tone slip into his deep voice, "You know, I could lend my expertise..." Shaxx's posture shifted as the prospect of a swift retrieval of the doves swept him up, "...for a price."

Shaxx's shoulders sagged, "Ohhh what is it you want, Saint? Another song? Because I do NOT sing!"

"No, no, nothing so embarrassing as singing." Saint soothed, a small chuckle foreshadowing the price of his assistance, "A story."

"A...story?" Shaxx repeated.

"Of why you needed the doves in the first place."

"Of your declaration of matrimony!" Arcite added helpfully.

For a moment Saint thought Shaxx would throw the Frame right through the open hangar doors and off of the Tower, but after a few moments of balled fists and crackling Arc energy, the moment passed and with a sigh, Shaxx relented. "Oh alright. It began with a Vow..."

***

New Lore Discovered: Discarded Stories: Swept
The frame had just finished sweeping the steps down towards the marketplace in the tower when it spotted a crumpled piece of paper. Reaching down, it plucked the crumpled ball to deliver to the nearest recycling bin, but noticed writing scrawled on one side. It smoothed the paper out and began to read aloud.

"Epilogue: Swept Off It's Feet
The broom knew loss before. It remembered being stolen from it's love as a Festival of the Lost prank. But just as in the past, it's gallant sweeper frame had found it once more. The frame held it in a firm yet gentle grasp, letting it's hand slide up to caress the bristles as it leaned closer to--"

The frame stopped reading, and felt it's facial circuitry overheat slightly in what one might call a robotic blush. Looking down at it's broom, the frame hesitated, then gently patted the bristles soothingly, "...We are simply workmates. Nothing more. It could never work between us. I am sorry."