[twitter prompt] shindrift - tale

[tanyart]

The latest retelling of Shin’s sob story came in the form of a campy musical, with songs that played constantly over multiple radio stations. This wasn’t anything new. Every couple of years brought about some kind of movie or entertainment program about Yor and Shin and the whole melodramatic bit. Drifter has long since abandoned any awareness of pop culture unless it suited him to know.

Or was impossible to escape.

The Dwindler’s Ridge Duet was impossible to escape. Drifter would have every radio shut off in blissful silence and then some fireteam would blast it over their comms during a Gambit match and that damned earworm was in Drifter’s brain faster than Savathun’s little ditty.

He wouldn’t be caught dead humming it under his breath, but he was starting to like the excuse of annoying Shin if it gave that Hunter any grief.

Unfortunately, Shin had no real opinion about it. Other than it was ‘fine’ and ‘not as catchy as the one from the soap opera ten years ago where he was blond, ripped, and hot’.

Drifter grimly searched for that soap opera in the City’s media archives and had to admit Shin was right. But now he had two Shin-related songs stuck in his head and that was on him.

“I bet,” Drifter began, belligerent from his own mistake and taking it out on Shin, “You like these movies and comics and shows. Narcissistic sicko.”

“And why shouldn’t I? Serves a purpose, don’t they?” Shin said, from where he was cleaning out his gun on the floor. “Strokes the ego, maybe, but those movies keep the tale in circulation so I don’t have to have to work twice as hard bein’ the Man—” He mimed shooting a Golden Gun with his thumb and finger.

It was such a candid and reasonable take on the situation that Drifter wanted to puke. It didn’t escape him that he’d also helped Shin keep that boogeyman story alive. He still did.

“Bet you don’t even remember what’s real or what’s some other schmuck’s version,” Drifter said as a parting shot. He was firing blind with that statement, but he saw Shin pause. For a moment, Drifter thanked his lucky stars that Shin’s gun was already dismantled.

“Maybe I don’t,” Shin said, staring hard at the scattered pieces. “It’s been hundreds of years. ‘Course I don’t remember all the details.” He glanced up at Drifter. “But I remember the feeing. I remember every single emotion I felt when I killed him.”

His eyes have gone to pinpoint pupils — bright, golden gaze directed at Drifter, and it wasn’t hard to guess what all those emotions could’ve been.

Drifter’s entire body wanted to jump out of its skin. His hands don’t shake, but before he could even think about taking a step back, Shin looked back down. Started putting his gun back together again like nothing happened.

After a moment, Shin’s head went up, expression wry. “You gonna play those songs again, or what?”

Drifter numbly turned the radio on.