[url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/255163108/0/0]Table of Contents[/url] Three days. After we learned Crimson Days were being canceled, that’s how long Romy lasted before falling into a state of complete hysteria and mental disarray. Welcome to day nine. “Hey, Romy…” I suggest delicately, patting the space beside me on the crate, “How ‘bout you come and sit with me; relax a little?” She barely even falters in her anxious pacing, shaking her head, “I’m fine.” I bite my tongue. She is absolutely not fine. This nervous energy has been surrounding her like an overshield at all times. She can’t even hold still anymore. It doesn’t matter what we do, what we talk about, what we eat, I can tell she can’t stop thinking about Crimson Days. It’s like some kind of Warlock thing -a curse, really- where they just completely overthink and obsess over everything. I don’t understand what the big deal is, it was never a very fun event in the Crucible, but it’s stressing her out a lot. And when she’s stressed, I’m stressed. And I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a Hunter lose their cool, but when we do it’s...it’s not cool. Shut up, I know that sounds stupid. At this point you might understand how desperate I am to save her from her own mind. Warlock brains suck. Were I a Titan I could probably say something so unbearably dumb that it would kill the brain cells she’s using to overthink. But sadly I’m the best Class and incapable of such a feat. All I can do is talk and try to distract her. “Hey, your friend is running...um…” I hold up my wrist to check my watch, then wonder why I would do such a thing because I’ve never worn a watch. Maybe it’s a thing from the life before. “Uh...he’s really late, isn’t he? We’ve been here for, like, an hour.” “One hour, nineteen minutes,” Romy drones distractedly. Oh, Traveler, has she been [i]counting the seconds?![/i] “And he’s not late. We arrived an hour and twenty minutes early. Isn’t that strange, that you just so happened to ask one minute before?” My mouth opens, then closes. I- I can’t- I can’t even- [i][b]WHAT?[/b][/i] Why would she do that?! Just...WHY?! [i]WHYYYYYYY?[/i] This is the mental disarray I was talking about, my girlfriend has lost her mind! Romy turns in her pacing and let’s out a very unsettling giggle, “He is [i]super[/i] punctual. Watch this. Ten, nine, eight-” The blue light of transmat fires off to my side and the form of a Guardian materializes. His boots tap on the ground as he alights gracefully, his Warlock robes falling into place behind him. “Almost,” Romy shrugs. [i]IF SHE KNEW HE WOULD ARRIVE RIGHT ON TIME WHY WOULD SHE MAKE ME SIT AROUND FOR AN HOUR WAITING?[/i] The Warlock takes us both in and nods a greeting, “Romy, Janko.” I squint. Do I know this guy? “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.” I groan and bury my face in my hands. The oh-so-polite finishing blow. Hive gods, looking down on me from your -um- Hive Heaven? Please kill me now. Romy bows like the adorable queen she is, but her mouth is already firing faster than a submachine gun, “Heyit’sbeenawhilehowareyou?” The Warlock -who I’m definitely sure I’ve never seen before- starts, then looks her up and down. Her unstable state has been manifesting itself in her physical appearance, and she looks more than a little disheveled. “Light, girl, what happened to you?” “Canceled Days.” I mumble through my fingers. The Warlock tilts his head at me, “Canceled what?” “Canceled Days,” I explain, “Because Crimson Days were canceled.” He frowns, “Don’t call it that.” I cross my arms and pout silently. I thought it was a rather clever bit of wordplay when I came up with it, but I suppose non-Hunters wouldn’t recognize my genius. Our guest turns back to Romy, “So, wait, did you just realize or something?” “Nine days ago.” I chip in. Nine long days. “Nine?” He rolls his shoulders, calculating, then visibly weighs his next words before continuing with the best good-natured tone he can muster, “You know you noticed super late, right? Crimson Days would have already started, like, five days before that. How did you not notice?” Romy goes rigid. “Wh-wha…” Oh, Traveler, her lip’s quivering! She’s a complete wreck! Her eyes start to water and she puts a hand up to her mouth. “I don’t know when it’s supposed to start! Time is a stupid construct, it’s all relative and [i]stupid![/i]” The Warlock awkwardly reaches out to touch her shoulder. “Shhh, it’s alright Romy, I know it’s a construct.” Okay, hands off my woman. I rise from my seat and come to Romy’s side, rubbing her back to comfort her. Go home, Warlock scum, I know you Warlocks all want my perfect Warlock girl for yourselves but she’s Hunter property now. “We could go find some clocks and smash ‘em, if that’ll make ya feel better. Would you like that?” Both give me puzzled looks. “It’s crazy you didn’t find out sooner,” the Warlock says, disregarding my offer, “I figured you’d have seen when they made the announcement in the VanNet.” “No,” Romy sniffs, “I don’t- I usually don’t look at the VanNet.” “Really? Not even to keep up with Crucible news?” She shakes her head, “No. It’s just full of, um, full of…” “Salty jerks.” I fill in. “Yeah.” “Wise guys,” I list off effortlessly, “Whiney babies, idiots, weirdos.” Romy hiccups, “Mhm.” One more pops into my head and I grimace. “Guys who think Hive Witches are hot.” The Warlock jerks his head back, shocked and repulsed. “What in the hell-“ Not wanting to go into it, I move on, “Have you seen their nicknames or whatever?” He wisely drops the Witch subject as well and plays along, “Oh, Traveler, yes. The usernames alone are enough to convince me the Darkness should have finished the job during the Collapse.” I nod somberly, “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” “Yeah, I just use my name like a sensible person.” “Ah,” I freeze for a fraction of a second, prompted to remember his name and coming up with nothing, but I very quickly cover it up, “Uh, yeah, me too.” His eyes narrow, a subtle wrinkle forming at the bridge of his nose. He noticed. And is apparently so keen at analyzing human expression that he was able to quickly deduce the reason for my stumble. Wow, that’s just ridiculous and very unlucky for me in this specific situation. At first he’s silent and I think he’s going to let it lie, but then he asks the killing question. “Hold on, what’s my name? Say it.” “Um…” I’m doomed. But I know drawing this out will only make things worse, so I blurt out the first name that pops into my head. “Arach?” [i]TRAVELER’S. VANILLA. CRACK. YOU IDIOT! That’s not even a name, it’s a title! A Dead Orbit title! You couldn’t even think of an actual name?! Worst of all now he’s gonna think you’re some nihilistic poetry-writing, gothic lowlife who pines over Jalaal and star charts![/i] The Warlock inhales sharply, folding his hands and holding them up to his lips, “Okay…Um, wow. You were actually kinda close and that somehow made it infinitely worse. Um, hi Janko, my name’s Asahi.” He pauses, then extends an index finger from his hand-knot to point at me, “And you can go stick your head in a Warbeast. I don’t care which end.” I grimace at the implication, “Well [i]that’s[/i] disgusting.” “It is.” Asahi concurs. “But I earned it.” I accept. I’m Hunter enough to own up to my mistakes and know when I deserve to be insulted. “You did.” Asahi nods. “Can’t believe you couldn’t remember my name after all this time.” I decide to go with full honesty. “Uh, about that. I don’t remember you at all.” Asahi sighs. Now he’s just disappointed. “Seriously? I see you, like, every week in the Crucible. And I hang out with Romy sometimes.” I shrug. Romy knows everyone in the Crucible, and I can’t be bothered to keep track of any Warlock that isn’t her. Speaking of Romy...I glance her way to find her slumped against the wall, quietly rubbing away her tears. This is seriously not good. “Well-” Asahi cuts off and looks past me, “Ah, hey cutie. You’re late.” Oh, thank the Traveler he didn’t just call [i]me[/i] a cutie, that would have been weird. “Sorry for having a life,” a woman’s voice replies curtly behind me, ignoring the compliment. A foreboding chill runs down my spine. I know that voice. Turning to the new arrival, my eyes are immediately assaulted by an offensive clash of intense pink and yellow. Only one person I know is tasteless enough to wear that accursed armor. Isabelle, the bunny-hopping Huntress and Crucible addict, crosses her arms and leans to the side to strike a disinterested pose. “‘Sup, degenerates.”