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They had a tentative relationship forming, it seemed. While Bloodhound had been somewhat distant during Elliott’s latest attempt at a relationship, with time, they appeared to soften up. And he was grateful, because after his recent, hard breakup, he really needed it. Just a bit of softness. It wasn’t east to take a week off, a quarter through the season, expecting kisses and flowers. Instead he got emotionally sucker punched with a Dear John voicemail. Seriously, a voicemail.
That, coupled with the feelings he’d been harboring for Bloodhound, made for sweet relief when they got kinder, over the course of his most recent and now former relationship. And it also made it much easier when he had to drag himself back onto the dropship after the legends’ quick week-long break. It was easy to just lay and mope on the couch in the common area, busy feeling sorry for himself. Only the gentle pecking of Arthur really distracted him from his cocoon of self-pity.
“It’s rude to take up a whole couch in a shared space, elskan.” Bloodhound’s familiar modulated voice finds its way between his ears, and begrudgingly, Elliott sits up. Sighs, takes another deep breath, takes in their appearance – same as ever, in their covered state.
“You would too if you felt like shit,” he informs them, moving to make room anyway. They sit down next to him, and Arthur hops down to the cushion between them, reaching out and using her beak to nip at his finger, almost seeming to pull at it.
“She wants you to pet her,” Bloodhound says, voice clearly sparkling with amusement. Elliott obliges, slowly moving his hand towards her and eventually landing on stroking her beak, with no protest from the bird herself. Like a cat, she almost seems to move her face into the touch, and that least makes Elliott feel a little bit less awful.
“How are you Hound?” Elliott asks, glancing between them and the bird, who plops down and settles in content to be admired.
They merely shrug. “Feeling rested. I decided to go on something of a Solace food trip during break. Artie was happy with that too–“ they reach out to ruffle her feathers, chuckling low in response to her sweet caw.
“Food trip,” Elliott repeats; he didn’t peg Bloodhound for the cuisine tourist type, but clearly, he was wrong. He felt a bit intrigued, and ventured to ask, “How far did you travel for that? Like, a real Solace food trip or…just around the city?” They weren’t always chatty, but Elliott was feeling eager for this, for their presence and the distraction. It would be nice to closer to them, he thinks, as close as they would allow.
“Just along a train line at the stops. Lots of good hidden gems if you track down the right people—” they tilt their head in a way that makes Elliott suspect they’re smirking under their mask. “Solace is a lovely melting pot of a planet. But I am certain you know that, Elliott Witt.” He can’t help it – the way they say his name makes his heart squeeze.
And he can’t help smiling either, his cheeks warm, and he responds, “Yeah, there’s uh, a lot of good places. My mom and her friend, they try hit all the hot spots and stuff and I went with them one time to this cute little Fi-Filipino place.” A little sigh, “Crazy how the city changes, b-but I like talking to Makoa about it sometimes. We get nostalgic for the same stuff, it’s like we had the same childhood sometimes.”
They perk up immediately, “Filipino? You must tell me about it sometime,” and Artie seems to squawk as they gravitate closer to Elliott, threatening her spot between them. “You two certainly are local darlings, are you not? This is what I like most about Solace,” a sigh from Bloodhound, “Everyone here… they take honor in being part of it. Of all the places that have hosted the games, here the locals brag the most. It is… invigorating.”
Elliott shifts, watching them move closer, pulling his own legs up onto the couch and relaxing. Arthur moves too, hopping up over his lap and eventually making her way on to his shoulder – and it’s a testament of his willpower not laugh from the borderline-ticklish movement of her quick light hopping.
To Bloodhound he answers, “It’s a great city.” He smiles to himself, “I get to meet fans all the time, and sure, it’s like, exhausting. But it’s also so awesome. Even when I’m tired or just on my way to visit my mom, it’s worth it to see people light up, even the little kids who probably aren’t even allowed to watch actual gameplay footage… they may not watch but they love me. And it’s sweet. I don’t really think of myself, as like, a hometown hero, I guess… but they do. And it feels good to be that for someone. I wish I had had something like that when I was a little.”
Bloodhound’s body language is warm, and open, turned towards him and leaned close as they listen carefully to his fond sharing. “You have a bright future in the games, I think. You have people to fight for. This is what keeps people like us going, felagi.”
The genuineness of their reply is striking, and Elliott looks up at them carefully for a moment.
“Yeah, they do keep me going…” he agrees vaguely, calculating, before he gently nudges Artie off as he starts to get up off the couch. “Do you –¬ do you wanna see something?” They raise their head in a way Elliott imagines signifies a raised brow, and he stands up fully, making his way towards his room on the ship, gesturing for them to follow. It’s difficult to mitigate the mounting excitement as he lets them in.
“People think I’m full of myself,” he says quietly, standing in the middle of his room. All around them is memorabilia, but more than that, there’s art tacked on the walls, and notes. He glances back at Bloodhound. “But I’m not. I’m just – really, really grateful.” There is a moment of them both standing there, before Elliott goes over to his bookshelf, rummaging through trinkets to pull out some books, similar to big bound scrapbooks – he passes one to Hound, gestures for them to sit on the bed with him.
“These ones are letters,” he says softly, “Really nice ones, a lot of them are from the season I debuted. A lot of other legends kinda took me for a joke – not naming names –“ He turns and makes a wheezing sound into the crook of his elbow that suspiciously resembles ‘Caustic’ before continuing, “But a lot of people heard that shit on the reels and wrote me to tell me they thought I was cool. Or not to listen.”
As they flip through the book, he stands, shuffles through his workbench before finding his tablet. He pulls up scans of another letter – this one a much messier scrawl, clearly that of a child. He hands them this one on top of the clear book, gives them the chance to read it over.
“This one’s my favorite,” he says quietly, trying not to get choked up. It was a letter he’d gotten from a kid. They told him all about how they thought his tech was really cool, and that he had a stutter just like them. And that other kids in their grade made fun of their stutter and teased them for playing with holotech toys that were made for kids. And at the end was a messy little drawing of a small child with glasses, and two Mirages, drawn with love the way only a child could.
It was one prized possession among many – among art he had hung up, and letters, and homemade figures in any medium one could imagine: 3D printing, resin casting, knitted stuffed dolls, popsicle sticks. It was easy to get lonely, as a legend and a guy struggling in his dating life – but all of this, it reminded him that he wasn’t quite as alone as he thought.
“Do you know who sent it?” Bloodhound asks when they finish reading the letter on the tablet, gesturing, their own voice a bit thick through the modulation. “Perhaps you could visit. I have a feeling it would mean the world to this little one.”
They sigh, setting down the tablet, closing the scrapbook of letters. “My own fans… Let us just say I do not have many little children being introduced to me.” They chuckle and shake their head, “I do not blame any parents for this, though. There are many other ways admiration for me is shown. I am sure you have seen – making perfect replicas of my mask seems to be quite a popular challenge. That kind of craft and dedication, now that is admirable.”
Elliott grins, elbowing them, so comfortable now just chatting, “The people you have cheering for you are crazy, it’s totally awesome. Have you seen how many cool montages you have on the net?” He shakes his head, “You know what’s cool about you? I mean, hey, maybe you’re not the most approachable legend, but like… You inspire people! In so many weird little ways! I’ve heard about people who learn Icelandic because of you, and they try to learn tracking – people trying to make your crazy outfit and dress like you. Hell, even your outside interests have a way of inspiring… c-c—” A pause as he slides over the word and then tries again, “Conservation efforts for w-wildlife too? Now that’s cool.”
They hum, and nod their agreement, but point out, “There are as many crazy for you as there are for me. This is true for many legends.” They lean back, setting their gloved hands on the bed to prop themselves up, “I still appreciate it. And them. The people learning how to be more like Bloodhound… whatever that may mean, they make me feel… safer in my own identity.
They laugh then. “And I admit, I do enjoy wearing my own merch. Some of it is quite realistic, you know. But in all seriousness, those who better their skills, and gain new ones, in order to help others… Allfather bless them. For that, I am most grateful.”
He laughs a little, because it’s cheesy, but also because they clearly mean it, and also just because… this feels so nice. And he feels like he could live in this moment forever, just him and Bloodhound talking about what keeps them going and what makes them happy and why all this was worth it.
On an impulse, he stands up, returning to his shelf of goodies and shuffling through it – until he finally finds what he’s looking for; picking up a carefully crafted set of wooden figurines attached to the same base. One of the figures was Bloodhound looking stoic with their arms crossed in a common presentational pose for them. The other was a tiny little Mirage, laid on his back, being pecked by Arthur. He grins and returns to sit on the bed and present it to them.
“I think you should have this,” he says softly, his smile only growing wider, “She may like me now but… she sure didn’t back when I got sent this.”
Bloodhound gasps, it was rare to surprise them so, but they accept the figurines with such care, handling it delicately. “This is adorable,” they murmur, and they look up at him for a moment, so still and focused Elliott feels like they could be thinking either kissing him or killing him. (It’s probably just wishful thinking.)
Uncharacteristically sheepish, they seem to hesitate, still holding the figurine gently. “Are you sure that I could have this? I – I will treasure it.”
“Yeah, no – I have the note around here somewhere–“ He turns, as if to get up and retrieve it but thinking better of it; he didn’t think it mattered so much, “Basically, it just said they were still learning how to make stuff like this and making just this one took a long time. They were sorry they couldn’t make one for both of us.” He smiles, and timidly, reaches out to squeeze one of their hands with his own. “Seriously, I think they would be happy we both got a turn to treasure it for a bit… all yours, buddy.”
They look down at the figures, and then back to Elliott, nodding resolutely. “Very well. But please, feel free to ask for its return if you wish to admire it once more.” They lift a hand to squeeze Elliott’s shoulder, firmly. “Thank you, Elliott.”
There they go, saying his name again. He wishes simultaneously they would stop torturing him but also keep saying it forever.
“Don’t mention it,” he says, offering them a little lopsided smile. “Uh – hell, thanks for even coming in here to look. Um, it’s not often I get to share this stuff, y’know, people think…”
They squeeze his shoulder once more. “No, no, I understand. Hazards of a cocky persona shown to the media. Fear not. There is no shame in basking in the fact that you are well loved, Elliott Witt.”
And if Elliott could read minds, he would know that they meant more than just by fans. But he didn’t need to know that. Not yet.