It's awkward. There's no way around it, being shown great personal care by a stranger is awkward at the best of times. It's even worse when you're someone who takes not requiring this kind of care as a major part of personal identity. Cayde is rugged, resourceful, hard-wearing, and above all independent. The best way he can manage his discomfort is to talk, when he can. When left alone it's hard to relax and he fiddles with the comm, or just thinks, wishing he could pace or that he had a pen and paper. Being able to talk to Peter is better.
He asks about what's being done, even if he can't always get the technical parts. He knows some things about how he works, which he shares because when Cayde picks a course of action, he commits. But, increasingly, as Peter finds the groove in processes and it just becomes time consuming instead of requiring deep thought and quiet, he just talks. He meanders from topic to topic, because even telling one story tends to require a couple layers of explanation for somebody so far back in time. This isn't as bad off as he's been, he just had Sundance before. You should've seen him the time one of his arms came off during the run to chase — Gary? No, Dominus Ghaul, out of the City. Dominus Ghaul? He was the chief Cabal bastard. Dammit, gotta talk about the Cabal, too. Big alien empire, no good for nobody, laid siege to the City and tried to steal the Light of the Traveler. The Traveler...
As Cayde keeps the air filled and takes questions, he sketches out a picture of the world he's from. The Last City on Earth, under the unexplained protection of the inscrutably silent Traveler. The Guardians of the city, the Hunters, the Titans, the Warlocks. The Vanguard. ("I'm not really cut out for the job. That's not a secret, everybody knew that when I got it. I'm loud, and they all got ears.")
As much as being cooped up in the Tower frustrated him, he finds himself getting a little wistful. Cayde knows that it's more likely than not he'll never see it again. Even if the nebulous promise of going back where he came from is kept, Saint-14 has confirmed what Cayde already knew in his heart: he died in the Prison of Elders, ambushed by vengeful Fallen and Uldren Sov.
Being homesick is one thing when you're just away from home. It's another thing when you know you may never return, and realize how little you appreciated what you had while you had it. Being pulled away from this line of thought by needing to move so Peter can reach something, to answer a different question, or to confirm that something's working is a welcome distraction whenever it comes. He's sat up, lain down, and been on one side or the other all through this process. Each time something has been "finished" he's been eager to escape, but each time he's been gently convinced that they might as well get as much done as possible here. He sighs, settles back in, and they carry on.
It's awkward, sure. He doesn't like feeling like he's going to owe something for this (and no amount of Peter's assurance has been able to make headway on centuries of instinct on that point.) It's weird being touched and examined and repaired, especially having Peter working around his eyes and facial plates. But it's also... not terrible.
It's maybe the first thing since waking up here that hasn't been terrible.
"Alright, move over," he says as he rights himself once more, swinging now significantly more functional legs over the side. (With some cajoling, he'd been forced to admit what was wrong with the opposite ankle too.) Cayde's disconnected jaw hangs motionless, but his vocal synth has never really needed it for him to speak and the orange throat lamp lights up like it always has.
"I should probably be worried about timeline problems from letting you get a sneak peek at all this stuff humanity figured out before everything went to hell, but mostly I'm just glad I don't have to put up with scraping when I move anymore."
no subject
He asks about what's being done, even if he can't always get the technical parts. He knows some things about how he works, which he shares because when Cayde picks a course of action, he commits. But, increasingly, as Peter finds the groove in processes and it just becomes time consuming instead of requiring deep thought and quiet, he just talks. He meanders from topic to topic, because even telling one story tends to require a couple layers of explanation for somebody so far back in time. This isn't as bad off as he's been, he just had Sundance before. You should've seen him the time one of his arms came off during the run to chase — Gary? No, Dominus Ghaul, out of the City. Dominus Ghaul? He was the chief Cabal bastard. Dammit, gotta talk about the Cabal, too. Big alien empire, no good for nobody, laid siege to the City and tried to steal the Light of the Traveler. The Traveler...
As Cayde keeps the air filled and takes questions, he sketches out a picture of the world he's from. The Last City on Earth, under the unexplained protection of the inscrutably silent Traveler. The Guardians of the city, the Hunters, the Titans, the Warlocks. The Vanguard. ("I'm not really cut out for the job. That's not a secret, everybody knew that when I got it. I'm loud, and they all got ears.")
As much as being cooped up in the Tower frustrated him, he finds himself getting a little wistful. Cayde knows that it's more likely than not he'll never see it again. Even if the nebulous promise of going back where he came from is kept, Saint-14 has confirmed what Cayde already knew in his heart: he died in the Prison of Elders, ambushed by vengeful Fallen and Uldren Sov.
Being homesick is one thing when you're just away from home. It's another thing when you know you may never return, and realize how little you appreciated what you had while you had it. Being pulled away from this line of thought by needing to move so Peter can reach something, to answer a different question, or to confirm that something's working is a welcome distraction whenever it comes. He's sat up, lain down, and been on one side or the other all through this process. Each time something has been "finished" he's been eager to escape, but each time he's been gently convinced that they might as well get as much done as possible here. He sighs, settles back in, and they carry on.
It's awkward, sure. He doesn't like feeling like he's going to owe something for this (and no amount of Peter's assurance has been able to make headway on centuries of instinct on that point.) It's weird being touched and examined and repaired, especially having Peter working around his eyes and facial plates. But it's also... not terrible.
It's maybe the first thing since waking up here that hasn't been terrible.
"Alright, move over," he says as he rights himself once more, swinging now significantly more functional legs over the side. (With some cajoling, he'd been forced to admit what was wrong with the opposite ankle too.) Cayde's disconnected jaw hangs motionless, but his vocal synth has never really needed it for him to speak and the orange throat lamp lights up like it always has.
"I should probably be worried about timeline problems from letting you get a sneak peek at all this stuff humanity figured out before everything went to hell, but mostly I'm just glad I don't have to put up with scraping when I move anymore."