Log:Farewell, Hunter Hughes

2019/11/11 Annie Hunter 1

Annie's learned a number of thing in the last few days. While her supported and encouraged gleeful fun with Emperor Snoot was, indeed fun, it was also informative. Minions who work for money? Not reliable. The asparagi were good at following orders, and there were alot of them. They just weren't quite enough. Annie, while more than enough... also only has so much of themselves to go around. Literally. Spawning Mini-Yuns takes alot out of them. As in kilos of flesh. So, a little from column A, a little from column B... they need more, bigger friends. Loyal friends. Friends like themselves. Of course, now they're down one, too.

Making friends can be hard, so first there are tests. Dead people won't cut you off or run away screaming before making them friends, so that was the perfect place to start. Conveniently, there's a recent glut in the supply! That's what brought them to the impromptu morgue at StarGuard. What they didn't expect was to get a few new friends in and run into an old one. Maybe one of the longest and one of the possibly maybe still friends.

Plans were cut short, and one Willy Waggler Hunter was removed from his not final resting place. All to be brought here, to the rocky shorts and lapping waves that was their favorite place to be together (so they say, and can't argue now, can he?)

It's definitely hard to argue when you're dead. Hunter's body was still bagged with all his gear on, left in refrigeration with all the other bodies still to be sorted. They did at least remove his helm to attempt to ID him, which allowed him to be recognized by his old high school friend-turned-bored-villain. The glassteel helmet had a line smashed in with some charge weapon that it only barely stopped.

The rest of Hunter is dressed in a way Annie wouldn't expect. Dark clothing, somewhat paramilitary with some armored plating and titanium tri-weave, a utility belt full of all sorts of strange toys, and a sword sheathe on his back, but no sword. Maybe that was taken away and stored in evidence for now. He looks like he's dressed for a fight.

And lost. There's some abrasions from the helm that got destroyed, laser marks that were close calls an scorch the armored areas, and small cuts. Shrapnel maybe? None of them are significant enough to kill a man, but the two inch cut through the body armor in the center of his chest is. It even has a matching cut in the back.

Once he was recognized, the bag was zipped closed before being carried off here. With limbs, leverage, and means of propulsion note a problem, he's carried up the rocky shore to somewhere between the lighthouse and the aging prison. The middle of the main road is far too busy for anything proper, and Annie does really feel like clearing out a swath of random people for that privacy at the moment.

He's set down gently near a large stone either natural or broken off from a prison fortification. The bag is removed, now that it's served its purpose of keeping him together, clean, and mostly dry. All the better to look over him. She clucks her tongue. "Sure, -now- you had to grow a pair... and we didn't even get to see..." The slice into his chest immediately brings back a few memories: mostly those of sword-wielding assassins trying to kill him; the look on his face when she ran into one of those swords with him, though she only got a brief look after her head stopped rolling, and it wasn't the best angle. "You look good, Midge."

Maybe now the assassins make some sense. They weren't after him because of who he knew.

"Thanks, so do you," Hunter doesn't say. He's beyond the point of rigor mortis, so he just rests as he's positioned. Aside from, you know, the pallid discoloration, he doesn't look that bad at all. Almost heroic, especially with the injuries, since most 'ros get those.

Annie kneeling by him a few conveniently grown tentacles with broad, hardened ends, begin to excavate the space opposite her, between him and the stone. Her head tilts as she now thinks of the memories in the context of his current attire. "So... you had secrets, didn't you? And you never told us..." Annie isn't sure how that makes her feel. Maybe a bit proud, that he wasn't quite the midge she thought he was, and he even kept secrets from her! Sad that he never had the chance, or the desire, to share any of that. "We always thought you were so ...normal."

Normal...and boring. And secretive. A liar? A vigilante? Far from a hero. And not one to share anything he was actually going through.

A grave is dug without her needing to pay the labor much mind. Instead she simply ... looks at him. A smile forms, not the leering or mischevious one she knows would make him worry or fret, but one from the simple amusement of remembering his face from the ones in the past that did.

"So good at those secrets, we didn't even notice.... but you weren't the only one with secrets. We were never 'normal'..." Her eyes close for a long moment, during which her slight smile becomes a line of concentration. The digging limbs droop, then curl. Some retract into her while others just drop, their bases falling from her and the length melting away. Her form ripples and forms, broadening and darkening into a mousy, average, and contrastingly boring brunette, bangs dangling over most of plain brown eyes. A form perhaps only he would ever recognize as not random.

"...but there were times I wanted to be, because I envied you." She whispers as she leans over to plant a kiss on his forehead: nothing less, nothing more. "I'll miss you, Hunter."

Even as she straighten up, her form revers to more usual Annie, though only in form and without any crisp definition or color. Appendages respawn to slide under him to lift and gently deposit him in the grave before releasing.

Hunter's body settles into the grave as he's released. It's quiet out here, save for the waves and a distant bouy bell ringing slowly. The last time they were out here, they'd been drinking some stolen booze, and Annie briefly revealed that form with the mousy brown hair. The one Hunter liked just as well as her blonde form. It didn't matter to him then. And now that it's over, it still doesn't.

Dirt is pushed back in to cover him as she gets one last look, though compared to the prior, the groundwork is rather impersonal. Rather briskly, all is covered and roughly smoothed. "We're not like you, Hunny. We can't pretend so well, and there's no reason to try anymore."

They then turn their eyes to the stone, considering. In the end, he is left to take the secrets he so zealously guarded to his grave. Tentacles wave and tips brush against the large stone's surface, etching deeply into it with thick trails of molecular acid left in their wake. It may cause him to roll over, as they not something he would never consider himself, and something they never seemed to acknowledge openly, at least not without their assistance. They pivot to return to the rocky shore and then into the bay, leaving four short words still smoldering in the stone.

HERE

LIES

A

HERO