“You waltz in here and then ask me for favors?” She barks an unamused laugh. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
“It’s not so much a favor as information.” Nihlus clenches his jaw at her arched brow, forcing himself to relax and watch his words. “You have eyes and ears everywhere. You might know anyone that goes against the norm of this place. Someone who actually gives a shit what happens to people here.”
He knows he has just bitten past her elegant, asari interior and into the rotten core as she stiffens and lets a flicker of biotics shimmer across her form. “Your fucking stupidity will get you killed.” She relaxes, face shifting into the expressionless mask of indifference. “You won’t find anyone here of that nature. Omega only has mercs, and not a damn one of them would just help you out of the kindness of their hearts.” She snorts and says, “They’d just as soon kill you as help.”
Fighting not to sigh in disappointment, Nihlus balls his hands into fists. He knew there wouldn’t be a single person on this pathetic station, but he admits to having a fraction of naive hope. It’s better to grant himself some hope at times or suffer the fate of a tattered psyche like his mentor from decades of beating down any trace of faith.
He hears Aria sigh loudly, her shoulders bouncing in exaggeration. “Fine. Since you look like an absolutely pathetic child sitting there, I’ll give you one name to look into. Archangel.”
Blinking in surprise at the very human name, he rumbles curiously. He knows of a human religion involving otherworldly beings by the name, but doesn’t expect it to make any sort of appearance here, in this place of living decay. Still, he’ll accept the little bit of information given.
“Archangel.” Testing his luck, he flicks his mandibles and hums softly. “Is there anything else you’d tell me?”
She makes an insufferable grumble as she flicks her eyes up to the ceiling before looking back down to him. “He’s some kind of vigilante with a fucking deathwish. He has a band of other idiots who all think they can – fuck, I don’t know what the hell they’re thinking they can accomplish. They make it a habit of getting in the ways of the Blood Pack, Blue Suns, and Eclipse, to name a few.” She shrugs, obviously having no opinion of Archangel one way or another. “Ask the dancers for information. I’m not your fucking informant.”
question for my fellow writers: how to you decide what you wanna write?!
flip a coin? random number generator? rituals?
Hope and pray? No, don’t do that. It doesn’t work.
I tend to go off of what fic has my attention the most. If there are multiple, then I do a random number generator or ask others which I should do. Next, I get a playlist going, get music to get me in the mindset of what I need to write out. If it’s a WIP, I usually read what I already have to get back in the mood, but if it’s new, then I’m weird and give a day or two to just think about it. Usually, as I’m trying to sleep, I let it play like a movie in my head. Or daydream, that works too, albeit it’s a bit more awkward if anyone finds you doing it.
I kinda want to try my hand at [spoiler ]Nocturni Garrus, but they’re based on @saphistar ’s Rockies and I have no idea how to emulate that style. Haha
It’s been years since the end of the Reaper war and the disappearance of the Vakarian war heroes from prosecution. The galaxy slowly rebuilds without them, intent to see them as war criminals thanks to the Council, but there’s something coming out of the darkness once again. Garrus and Jane must save a galaxy that’d sooner see them imprisoned, but they aren’t alone.
Tell me a character HC and I’ll rate it between 1 and 10 for accuracy
@darthvega said “Even though she flirts a lot with others, Garrus isn’t really the jealous type. Conversely, Jane gets pretty grumps if Garrus turns up the charm on someone else. :3”
Actually, Garrus IS jealous, in his own right. He knows Jane is a shameless flirt, but oh boy, you better not flirt back with her unless Garrus really knows you mean just about as much with it as she does. James flirting, he’s okay with, because he knows Jane has no sexual attraction to him at all. And, really, Garrus knows she has a bigger attraction to turians anyways. Now, if a turian hits on her? That guy (or girl) is going to be in for it. That, or he’ll just prove to Jane what she’d be missing out if she followed up with that flirting 😉 (and this might or might not be one of the letters in the ABCs)
Jane, we all know is absolutely, no doubt, jealous. She’s horribly jealous and Garrus loves it. That such a little woman can get so angry over him makes him proud to no end. He’s never had someone treat him like he’s valuable enough to defend the right to. He likes that bit of possessiveness because he wants to be able to return it with her and not feel like he’s overstepping. She admits it might be bad to be so jealous – and she’d stop if he told her to – but he’s so damn important to her in a way that she’d gladly fight for him.
Blue, crystalline eyes open to take in an unknown room keep dark by heavy blinds, from the ambient lights outside to guide the way through the Virmire streets at night. Scents of sex, liquor, and smoke fill the room, but the combined smell feels just as much like home as the tang of biotics and gun oil to Damocles. It’s just another pre-dawn morning for him, mind hazy from the night before and throat sore from the heavy drinking coupled with strong cigarettes he rarely let’s himself have.
Sitting, Damocles looks to the other form in the bed, an asari whose name he can’t remember. It doesn’t quite matter because he won’t be around when she wakes for any small – and awkward – small talk. He doesn’t need to see her trying to stifle herself from reacting to waking up next to the Vakarian freak, the man that shouldn’t biologically exist. He’s seen the look and heard the stilted words enough to know it’s just better if he slips out before their regret can set in.
He may be a good fuck, but he’s not worth facing the morning after.
Humming at the thought and at his resulting acceptance after so many years, Damocles reaches for the half empty glass of something amber with a scent of alcohol and downs it. Let it wash away the truth.
SquigglySquidd's Parables 