thearchangel | IC INBOX || Abraxas

So...

[The message comes just as the sun is tipping towards the first touches of sunset. It isn't dark yet, not even dim, but there's a quality to the air— drowsy, sort-of golden. The day settling in for a last long sigh, before rest.]

I was promised a date, you know. Star-gazing, all my drinks comped, whole package deal. And here I stand, sober and unromanced.

[She is teasing you, Garrus.]

Story off my life: I gotta do everything myself. You wanna meet me at the gates?

[Crap. He knew he forgot something.]

[Be smooth. You've got this!!]

Maybe I was just making you wait to anticipate the moment?

[He does not got this.]

I mean, yeah. Yeah, the gates sound good.

A lot has been going on...

[Alright, maybe she's being a little mean, too. But nevermind that. Garrus arrives just as the light is getting properly rosy, the sky our past the western gate shifting subtly towards pink. The very first stars are starting to show, very dimly, almost invisible at sky's edge.]

Hey, Garrus. You got a minute? [There's a basket, with a couple of winebottles peeking out, conspicuously. She's clearly planned this.] I set up a camp. Thought you might want to get out of here for a night.

[Not a lot of privacy, in their normal accommodations, and the Horizon was... fine. But not the same as reality.]

Hey, there was the whole corpse wall decor thing going on.

[Okay, they're joking now. That's good. He's not in the doghouse - which he's learned can accommodate so many differently shaped animals, all called dogs.]

[And when he arrives, he snorts, amused - ] I don't know. I have some calibrations to pretend to finish. [Because they're in the Horizon. What a comedian.] But, yeah. Let's go. Now you've got me all curious.

I don't know, I've seen you work. If anybody can bring that place in line, it'll be you.

[She cocks her head, pointing with eyes and chin; let's walk.

It's not a terribly long walk, really. The nights have been getting colder, but the weather has trended warm all week, one last gasp of heat before winter tightens her grasp. Cadens is a glow at their backs, the sunset in their faces. It's dangerous to be out here alone, if you don't know what you're doing, but... Shepard's never been one to let fear make her decisions for her. More than anything else, it's quiet, private, and increasingly dark.]

If we were back home, I guess we'd go out to a bar, somewhere. Maybe go dancing. Get something to eat, somewhere, and probably get kicked out. [She and Garrus never really argue, but any discussion they have inevitably turns towards work, and most people don't take kill-counts as acceptable conversation in public.] But I figure you're probably just as sick of listening to the rest of them tell us what to do and where to be as I am.

[The camp is a small fire, carefully banked, bedding, and a lean-to tent to ward against the chill dew. The stars are winking into view above them, a display of such blazing glory that ought not to exist on any inhabited planet.]

Hope you like the wine. I'm not making a Commander's salary anymore.

Damn, now I have expectations to live up to.

[But he's walking. It's hard not to fall into the usual formation with her, behind, slightly to one side. He lengthens his step a little more, so he's even with her instead. This isn't a mission.]

[Speaking of... He lets an arm loop around her waist. So unseemly! Hah - something to learn. It's way more normal for humans in public than a turian couple. Besides, it's getting colder, and she's a lot warmer.]

Shepard, I have to say, no matter where we are, I don't think we would ever go dancing. [Maybe they'd get lucky like at that one ball, but probably not.] You are pretty good at building campsites, though.

[A scoff, and his forehead presses to the side of hers.] After the "vigilante salary" alcohol? I think I'll live.

Everybody's a critic. At least I know how to have fun with it.

[This is a blatant lie; she does not know how to have fun. Shepard does know how to get drunk, which is about as close as she gets to truly switching off, but... Garrus makes a move, so casual and assured of his place that Shepard loops her own arm around him in return without thinking. The heat of him goes up her side like the weight of sunlight, when she does— when had it gotten this chilly?]

We're setting the bar at a lack of food poisoning? Thanks. [It's sarcastic, but she can't really stop the softness in her voice, or the smile. Easier to be open out here, without so many prying eyes.] But tell me that again in the morning, and we'll see if I still come up to your high standards.

Edited 2023-11-28 06:26 (UTC)

That's fun? If that's fun, then I owe Joker credits when I see him again.

[When. Always 'when'. There's not an 'if' in his mind. Not when Shepard is here. When she's here, anything is possible - that's just the way things are. That's just how the galaxy works.]

[It feels right, this little moment, the way they fit. The way the words come out easier.] I'm not sure food poisoning is a thing anymore - not like it used to be.

[When it could have been allergies. He's lucky, a mild case. Wrong food, wrong drink, just itchy scales, hives. But that's not an issue anymore. And neither will be the cold, once he maneuvers them both to sit near the fire, pulling a convenient blanket around both of them.] Lucky me.

Well we've both been pretty lucky, there— I barely react to dextro. Mordin gave me a whole speech, with diagrams and pamphlets about how to not die from sleeping with a Turian. Turns out, he needn't have bothered.

[She let shim draw her down, the padding making the ground tolerable soft, and the dimness of it all only more intimate under his fussing. Lucky me, he'd said, but she can't help but feel it too, with frightening sincerity. On one hand, it'd been months since the pit, the fungal darkness, and the gnawing, mind-crumbling hunger. On the other... She thought about it nearly once a day, even now. It'd fade, eventually...

...But she wondered if he was thinking about it now, with the way he tucked them in so carefully.]

Here. [She fishes in the basket for one of the winebottles, and passes it to him. Enough was enough; she was fed and he was warm, and there was dinner enough for two meals in that basket as well. They would be fine. There was nothing worth fearing, out here, or nothing worse than the two of them; Archangel and Commander Shepard. The Varren ought to run away from them in the dark, if they were smart.] First toast goes to you. What'll we drink to?

... he didn't. [There's something of a disbelieving groan in the statement. It's not a question. It's not even a plea.] He gave me the same speech. In reverse.

[It's kind of sad to think about, now. The weird, eccentric salarian who casually experimented on the Collector Swarm, made the occasional announcement about life-threatening studies he was performing... the man who engineered part of the damn genophage... was gone. Just like that. Mordin, Thane - hell, so many worlds were obliterated already, but it was the crew that hit hardest.]

[It's not the pit he thinks about, right now, when he tightens his grip a fraction. It's the two years of floundering, the six months of uncertainty. The blank space of pure survival mode between Earth going dark and the handclasp on Manae.]

Hm? [Glass clicking pulls him out of it, and his mandibles flex in a grin. It'll always be slanted to one side - he could have had it repaired on Palaven, but warning people against an incoming Reaper horde had taken priority.] Well... since we're talking about it.

To - 'do not ingest', and all well intentioned medical advice?

[Yeah, he had to go there. Mordin probably would have been amused.]

To Mordin's advice. And to ingesting... whatever the hell we want.

[Cheers. Shepard salutes the glorious starscape with the bottle in her fist, takes a generous swig and then leans back on a satisfied sigh. Alright. This... this was nice.]

Wonder what he'd think of all this. Magic. The Horizon. All these... old gods. Every time I thought I had Mordin figured out, he'd throw me for a loop.

Whatever the hell we want.

[He'll drink to that. Literally. How do turians drink if they don't close their mouths all the way? We just don't know.]

He'd have a lab already set up, trying to disprove magic, and probably have seven theories in twenty minutes.

And then, probably sing about it.

And then he'd go marching into somebody's office demanding to be let into some quarantine area so he can cure the next plague. Hell, maybe he'd get into the magic stuff. If anybody can figure out how all this makes sense, it'd be him.

[Say whatever you want about Mordin, and someone probably had, but he wasn't a coward, and he was always smarter than you'd think.]

Been a couple of times I'd have liked to have a Krogan or two with us. Oh, and you know who'd love this place? Kasumi. She got into the fantasy stuff, had all these paper books in her quarters...

[Maudlin, that's what this is. That's why we drink.]

Mordin slinging around magic. I'm not sure if that's a good image or a terrifying one. Or both.

[Mordin the Magic Man. He'd probably like the alliteration.]

Only a couple? I must be falling behind. I think I'm up to five. [He snorts, around another quick drink.] Okay, now, Kasumi and magic. I'm not sure anyone is ready for that.

There's a reason she's not biotic.

[Shepard laughs at that. Kasumi would probably hate being a biotic. Or maybe she'd find some new way to pick locks with it. If anyone would, or could, it'd be Kasumi Goto.

Well, none of it mattered. Shepard lets herself slump a little sideways, shoulder to shoulder under the blanket, relying on Garrus' body-heat and superior bulk for shelter.]

I wonder if... whatever makes Levo digestible for you here, would work for Tali. Keep her from getting sick. She can probably make a suit filter last until the sun burns out, if she has to, but... [But if Tali were here, would she even need a suit? Or would she be able to take off that helmet and all her armor, and live free? Would she even have a choice? It's not like clothing had traveled with either of them, come to think of it.]

Mostly, I'm just glad I'm not here on my own. And if it's got to be anyone, I'm glad it's you.

[She would pick every lock with the right application of biotics. She'd be pioneering new stealth techniques and no one would stop her.]

[Shoulder-to-shoulder means he can shift the arm around her. Tuck the blanket in a little more. The better to keep the body heat in.]

Don't - ever tell her I said this. [Because she'd never let him live it down.] But, I'd hope like hell she'd be able to take the mask off. Just for a while.

[He's come a long way since those first elevator conversations with her. Tali is crew, is family. If anyone deserves that, it's her.]

Not interested in trading me for a krogan?

There might've been a couple of times...

[She nudges him a little, and then relents and puts her own arm around him in turn, completing the embrace.]

...No, not really. Can you imagine trying to keep the peace around here with Grunt running around? Hell, if they even were in Free Cities. [Wrex could handle himself, and so could Grunt, come to think of it. Probably. But without someone like Shepard to run interference for Krogan impulses— Thorne had a nasty reputation.] At least I can trust you not to take somebody's head off unless they actually deserve it.

I'll remember that.

[But the undertone of amusement to the words is obvious. As is the hum of approval.]

Oh hell, don't say that. We'd have to petition to move - or something. [Is that even allowed? Can they do that? Or would Wrex bring the Thorne castle down around everyone's ears.] Did I tell you Wrex managed to bully his way onto Sur'Kesh?

The Salarian home-world? No. What the hell was he doing there? I know we've got a couple of friends in the STG, but—

[But a Krogan clan-chief on Sur'Kesh is asking for trouble. Shepard takes back the winebottle to fortify herself against the inevitable carnage.]

Alright, this sounds like a story. How'd it go?

You managed to get my people and Wrex's to have a conversation. Granted, it was about how we needed to pull our heads out of our asses to stop the Reapers, but still.

Wrex wanted a favor before he let the krogan forces help fight on Palaven. [And from his tone, if it had been anyone but Urdnot Wrex, Garrus would probably have had a lower opinion about the whole thing.] His favor entailed pulling krogan women out of an STG base on Sur'Kesh.

[He waits, to let that settle. He waits, and takes a drink. Wrex. The salarian homeworld. Wrex, on the salarian homeworld, at an STG base.]

Apparently the Dalatrass didn't pass on the message fast enough, so they tried to hold off our shuttle landing. Wrex... decided to show off a 'krogan air drop'.

Really. He had the Turian homeworld over a barrel and what he asked for was a hostage release? [Not that he wouldn't— the way Wrex spoke about Krogan women was about as respectful as he ever got. It just wasn't what she'd have guessed.] I'm surprised he didn't just go all-in and demand you cure the Genophage.

[Touchy as the subject was, Wrex's whole life had been defined by fertility issues, and what arose from them. Maybe these women were fertile? Hell, that'd be worth kicking some dust up about.]

Oh, I'm sure they loved that. How many holes did they try to put in him before it got ironed out?

[His head cants to one side, jaw lolling in a grin.] Funny you mention the Genophage. [It's not, she's Shepard.] The women Wrex wanted released? Fertile. Probably slightly resistant to the whole damn thing to start with.

Someone in the STG leaked to Wrex the salarians were holding them for... research.

[He's having fun with this, the pointy bastard.]

Oh, they tried to turn him into a window. Him and the shuttle, both, until the clearance came through. Then they wouldn't let him into the base, kept him under armed guard. Wrex... decided to start reciting recipes.

[For salarian-meat dishes.] I might've helped, but, they really were assholes.

You haven't changed a bit. Three years later and you're still playing with fire in a moving elevator.

[Really, it's a miracle he's only got as few scars as he does. But does Shepard mind? She's grinning right back. Yeah, it's funny as hell. Show up on the Salarian homeworld, kick in the door, threaten to eat the residents, and never apologize for a thing. Classic Wrex. And Garrus was helping, because naturally he would.]

You know, I'm not looking forward to it, but if there's a silver lining to any of the Reaper crap it's the amount of times I'm gonna get to tell somebody important'I told you so, and that they're gonna have to do as they're told, for once.

To petty victories. [Another toast, this time toward Garrus himself. Cheers.] And I'll be Wrex would feel the same way.

Well, the salarians weren't promising to drop troops like Grunt on my homeworld to kick the Reapers out. Plus, what can I say? Wrex has such a winning personality.

[And Garrus, according to Wrex, is the one turian who thinks he's funny. Neither of them are wrong. They're absolutely not wrong. Of course he'd chimed in a bit.]

[He snorts.]

I think we've got a running tally on the Normandy of just how many times you said something along those lines. The 'I told so-and-so' tally. Joker's even got credits riding on the total when we win. [If. If they win. It's something they all know. They all leave unsaid.]

[Instead of saying it, even here, he just raises his bottle too.] The pettiest victories.

[If she let herself think about it, about how many people would get to die, simply because people don't listen when she speaks, she'll be too angry to function. On the other hand, if she has to turn rogue SPECTRE, then doing it by strangling the council with her bare fucking hands is at least a novel way to do it.

Shepard snorts a quiet, bitter little breath of humor at that, and drinks again, a little deeper, feeling it settling in her belly, making the night seem warmer than it is.]

They're proud to be on the Normandy. I'd be flattered if I didn't know Alliance soldiers will bet on anything. [She's not immune to that either, of course. She's just... What's fine for the crew is unseemly in the commander.] You get in on that? I gotta know, what's Garrus Vakarian's totals estimate on galactic leadership having to eat their words and fall in line?

IC INBOX || Abraxas

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