Chapter 1: Damocles
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.
He doesn't need the thin beams of outside light that peek through the shades to guide him, able to see in the dark thanks to his father's genetics in comparison to the blinder species. Even if the woman on the table wakes up, he's quiet enough to dress and be gone before she notices he's still here
He finds his pants at the foot of the bed and pulls them on, then shoving his feet into his tight boots. His undershirt isn't far away, the fabric taut around his broad form with nowhere near any semblance of a turian body shape. The thicker muscles make his own father's above average build look lean and wiry in comparison, and he has his mother's human genes to thank for it. Surprisingly enough, it's the one thing he isn't ashamed of, the sheer size of himself a boon on the battlefield and intimidating enough to make anyone pause.
As much as he despises the differences in his body at times of weakness, he's covered himself in sprawling images and geometric forms much like humans do. Each one means something to him, from his father's Archangel insignia, to a human shaped 'heart' for his mother, and purple chrysanthemum for Cassia - her favorite - to those whose meaning may not be obvious to anyone but himself. It's all in effort to make himself proud of his form, something his sister makes seem so natural and easy, but it's still a daily struggle not to drag a blade across those extra pieces that don't belong.
Sometimes he does, letting the pain be his outlet for the torment within.
His jacket's out in the main room of the apartment, laying over the back of a sleek black couch. Grabbing it, he slides it over his arms, but doesn't bother to close it across his chest because his first thing on his mind is to get home and shower to wash away all traces of last night. Sex is good in the moment where his blood boils and body cries for release, but he doesn't always like evidence of his night left on his hide and plates to stick around him the rest of the day. With it so strong in his own nose, he knows he smells twice as bad to any other turian around. While not always his problem whether or not he smells like sex, he's found that rumor spreads like wildfire, and any bed partner he usually has doesn't want to be haunted with their night with him as they go about their day.
Damocles slips out of the apartment complex under the still of the early morning hours. He knows there's an occasional Wraith about, not everyone living on the same time schedule as the majority of the compound, but if any of those people live here, he doesn't come across any. Just as well for him because he'd much rather not have the asari back in the apartment after him once someone able to smell and recognize her on him alerts her to just who she had spent the night with. He's had enough of those angry revelations turn back on him the morning after.
Not like I took advantage of the assholes. They just don't want to face the facts of what they did now that the alcohol and drugs have worn off.
He exhales heavily through his nose, mandibles flicking in annoyance at the thought. Being everyone's dirty secret grates on his nerves, often making him wish he could manage to drink enough to truly block out the night, but his biotics burn the effects off faster than his partners. Everything is still glimpses, nothing but sudden flashes of jumbled images, but he knows enough that he can't just forget the very real sex he's had. The very willing partners that were so excited to take him to bed when they would very well deny the entire thing because they were intoxicated.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Damocles walks in silence with head down and mind racing no matter how much he tries to shove away the unhelpful thoughts. He's wasted years lamenting his birth, what his is, and likes to feign acceptance, but there are always doubts. He can't go back and keep his conception from ever happening and he can't just stick a gun down his throat. What would death get him now at his age?
Nothing beyond a waste of his fucking time, is what. He's twenty-two years old, and all the time he spent trying to get to a position where he could, he no longer wants to. Not when he can take all he's learned, everything he's trained for, and fuck someone else's life up? What better stress relief than to go out in the universe and kill 'the bad guys' - as his mother likes to say - however he wants to, as brutally as he sees fit?
He even gets paid to do it.
At least my looks get me shit out there. The fear I get out there is where I want it, in the eyes of every poor, fucking bastard in my way. I'm the last thing someone sees before I kill them, and being a monster just makes it better.
When he reaches the more open grounds of the more important Wraiths' homes - mainly his family's - Damocles stops and looks out over the water where the very edges of light glow on the horizon, painting the sky a lighter shade of blue from the water. A few small paddle boats rest on the smooth surface, Wraith fishermen out even earlier than himself as they start their long days. He knows there are only three large boats in the compound, ones that go into the deeper waters far out from the shore, but they leave much earlier when the sky hasn't even begun to lighten and drown out the stars.
Watching the silhouettes of fishermen move about on their small boats, Damocles wonders if he can recognize and pick out the one he actually knows. It shouldn't be too difficult considering the fact that his friend has to be the only turian stupid enough to go out to sea with nothing but a small floatation vest on. Sure, he knows how to swim well enough to be able to get back to a boat if he falls over, but a full blooded turian taking to the seas never ceases to amuse him.
Still, he can't pick his target out at this distance and he considers that maybe it's not such a bad thing. There wouldn't be much he could do from the dock but watch and he'd much rather clean off and get some food before then. Heading to the house, he kicks off his shoes on the porch to knock the sand off of later before heading inside.
He immediately hears the pounding of feet coming from the living room and huffs a laugh at Xero, his varren companion since when they were both children in their own rights. Damocles rumbles roughly, matching Xero's energetic growls and huffs, and kneels to cup the varren's head. He gives Xero's head a firm shake before smiling and scratching his talons under Xero's chin. Xero's seemingly vicious snarl is anything but as he snaps his jaws and licks at Damocles' hands.
"Alright, alright," Damocles says, growling at the slimy saliva on his palms as it strings between his finger. "You win."
Flicking his mandible at the added smell to his already unappealing scent, Damocles wipes some of the saliva on Xero's back as he stands up. If Xero knew those ulterior motives to the pet he chuffs happily over, he doesn't show it.
Damocles hears movement in the kitchen and climbs up the steps into the main area of the house from the entryway to investigate. He expects his mother or father, but finds Cassia instead, murmuring something pleasant sounding under her breath as she digs in the cabinets.
"What are you doing?" he asks, lifting a brow plate at her when she turns back to him.
Instead of answer, she makes a trilling snarl and wrinkles her nose. "Spirits!" She slaps her hand over her nose and mouth. "Did you bathe in it?"
He hums and flicks his mandible out, rolling his eyes. "I'm surprised you can even recognize the smell with all the no drinking you do."
Coming over to see what she's been doing, he finds that she's made her own breakfast - if that's what it could be called. He rumbles in dubious question at the sparsely full plate of some slices of rye toast, jelly, and sliced spice meat.
"What?" She scoffs and shoves him away, making an exaggerated show of waving at the air above her plate. "And get away from my breakfast with your stink."
"Don't 'what' me." Stepping away, he watches as she grabs her plate and opens the fridge. "That looks like something kunkle will eat."
She snorts at what he knows is the memory of when they once visited kunkle and were giving some weird dish for breakfast - that he made them make themselves. Cassia takes out a bottle of Tupari Lite before bumping the fridge closed with a hip as she shakes her head.
"No, it doesn't look like something we'd eat at kunkle's." She stops and looks at the plate in her hand when he gives her a skeptical buzz with his vocals. Watching her back, he grins when she tenses up and huffs. "So maybe it does look that way," she says and she turns back to him, foregoing her original plan to sit at the table and setting her breakfast on the breakfast bar instead. "Why do you even care what I eat?"
"Because I know you'll eat that and be hungry in an hour." He stands across from her, the bar between them, and plucks a slice of meat from the top of her 'meal.' She squawks at him, swatting his hand, but he merely grins as he pops the spicy slice in his mouth. "Is good."
She narrows her eyes and at and pulls her plate closer to her chest. "Ass …. Go make your own food." Picking up a slice, she stops and flutters her mandibles. "Actually, go get clean first. You stink." She chuckles and lifts the slice of jellied bread to her mouth, speaking to the contrary when she says, "It's very unappetizing."
Damocles hums and smiles as he watches her take a big bite of her breakfast despite her protests to his scent. As much as she likes to deny, she's just like him when food's involved - there being nothing that can stand in the way. When she responds with her own happy chirp as she pauses to taste the food, he snorts and shakes his head.
"Make all the noise you want," he says as he turns away to head for his room and shower, "But that's still not breakfast."
"What breakfast?" Their mom walks into the room, already dressed in her clothes for the day. Shocking for how much she abhors early mornings, but Damocles is even more surprised when his dad walks dressed too.
Dad stops and Damocles watches as his nose plates shift before he gives Damocles a knowing - very dad - look. While neither of his parents have shown concern for his nights so long as he's safe, it's obvious that his dad shares the same sentiments as Cassia over the smell. It's a lucky thing mom can't smell as well as they can, because Damocles is pretty sure she'd be much more vocal about it than dad and Cass.
"Oh, Jesus," mom says as she waves a hand in front of her face once she passes Damocles. Apparently, he stinks enough to get her attention, which usually means he got something on his clothes too. "Damo, you smell like shit. Hurry up and shower."
"Hurry?" Cass sets down her bottle of lightly colored Tupari and trills in curiosity. "Why hurry?"
Mom starts to make herself a cup of tea, clicking on the heating unit to boil some water for her mug. Dad answers instead as he walks to the fridge and fetches a bottle of water. "The Normandy's still needing some work, so we're taking the Revenant to Tuchanka."
The Revenant. The Wraith-designed big sister to the Normandy hidden in plain sight under the guise of a turian cruiser. She lacked the high speed of the Normandy, but made up for it with a heavier arsenal. Both could slip in and out of enemy detection with their specialized drive cores, and thanks to EDI's blueprints and Liara's Shadow Broker information, the two stealth sisters were better than anything the Alliance or Hierarchy has made to replace the Normandy Damocles' parents took with them into obscurity.
This trip to Tuchanka to visit their krogan family was to be the Revenant's maiden voyage. Damocles knows it's mostly to show off on his parent's part, but he can't blame them when making the Revenant had been their initial idea. He can only imagine Wrex's face when the sleek, jet black ship slices through Tuchanka's atmosphere and lands right on his doorstep. If he thought the Normandy's black repaint made it intimidating, then Damocles is willing to bet adding a cruiser's size into the mix will convince any other krogan from getting the smart idea to fuck with the Vakarians on their first return to Tuchanka since Orkamor Urik nearly killed Damocles and his sister.
He's also pretty sure dad and uncle Wrex have a kind of pissing contest going on about who has the most impressive ship ever since Tuchanka started buying shipwrecks left from the war and repairing them. That, or mom is the one competing with the older krogan. Damocles wouldn't put it past either of his parents, and can't blame them for being proud and wanting to show off the Revenant after it being made in secret for years.
Cass whines and sets her elbow on the counter, dropping her chin in her palm as she frowns. "But I was going to spend the day at the markets with my friends." Her eyes widen and she sits up straight, grinning as she looks to him. "And Damo was going to hang out with Aeson! Right?" she asks, making it obvious that she wants him to back her up.
He nods, not seeing why she feels the need to convince him because she isn't lying. Damocles really did have plans to watch a pirated version of the newest Scarlet Sun and Cobalt Blood, the popular crime drama only showing on the Citadel. Luckily for them, control of media is so lack on the Citadel thanks to most efforts at policing going towards monitoring station repair efforts from looters or citizens still angered from the war losses.
It's been so many years, but so many are still trying to repair what's left - or giving up completely to build anew - and Damocles thanks his parents for just getting away and building on a completely new slate here on Virmire. Sure, they had the occasional pirate gang or organization trying to stake a claim on the planet come into Wraith territory, but anyone stupid enough not to turn away immediately at the sight of the Wraith's makeshift fleet didn't last very long when they refused to head warning communications.
Dad rumbles apologetically and leans a hip back against the opposite counter. "I know. And I'm sorry, but we had received an interesting bit of information from our armory R&D team about a possible manufacturer of armors and weapons. If we can convince them into doing business, the team can work on enhancements and mods for the new equipment."
Cassia, seemingly interested, lifts a brow plate as she looks between their parents. "What makes you think they'll agree to work under the table?"
"Liara has some information that the head might still be sympathetic to two grand war heroes," mom says wistfully into her mug, feigning awe before sighing as she dabs the tea bag into the steaming water. "She seems to think that they'll at least talk to us without alerting someone to come arrest us on sight."
Humming, dad nods and stands up from the counter. "We can talk about this on the Normandy. Damocles, go get clean and give yourself enough time to talk with Aeson about the unexpected leave."
"I still don't know why we have to go so early," Cass protests weakly, tapping a talon tip on the edge of her plate. "Can't we wait until when we said we'd leave?"
"Because," mom answers, turning back to mirror dad as she leans a hip back against the counter. Holding the mug between her two hands, she blows over the top of it's surface before speaking again. "We want to speak with this company before we have to be on Tuchanka by your cousin's Rite."
Damocles doesn't mind the early leave. He's frustrated over having to change his plans - sure - but he can always set up a comm-link with Aeson to watch their show. Cass, however, hates using comms with her friends. She'll use them when she has no other choice, but she's an exact opposite to Damocles when it comes to time out walking the commercial district of the compound with friends. He'd much rather leave her to get out in the crowds while he stays close to home, keeping himself and Aeson company without having to dive into the claustrophobic areas where everyone flocks to.
Despite her protests, Cass doesn't push on the matter. She probably knows that more time lamenting the fact takes away from the short time she can spend speaking with said friends. Damocles leaves before he can really hear the exacts of the new conversation in the kitchen, heading upstairs to get clean before he has to contact Aeson about the disappointing change of plans.
His things are already packed from earlier in the week when he had set out things for when they had actually scheduled this trip. He just needs to shove in another outfit or so before he carries the bag downstairs once he's done with his shower and dressed. Mom and dad are already working with two other Wraiths to pack up what's already packed and set out by the door onto sand buggies, saving them the effort of having to carrying their heavy equipment across the beach to Normandy and Revenant's private dock.
Dropping his bag on the top of the loaded cart, Damocles walks out onto the porch and watches as dad guides everyone on where and how to stack their things in the most efficient manner. It's so very much like dad that Damocles isn't even surprised to see the hint of exasperation on mom's face when dad tells her to move something she's thrown haphazardly on the pile. Still, he chuckles at his mom's frustrated swearing when dad gives up on giving directions and moves items as he pleases.
Damocles shoves his feet into his boots left out on the porch and the sound attracts Xero's attention from where he's being very unhelpful in the packing by getting in everyone's way. The big varren gallops over and takes that steps two at a time as he skids to a stop before Damocles, dense chest bumping Damocles' shins.
"Want to go with me to the docks?" Damocles asks, though he knows Xero will go wherever Damocles does if there isn't a door to block his path or command to stay given. Rumbling, Damocles rubs the varren's head before scratching his talons behind the first thin spike on Xero's head. "Come on. Hopefully, Aeson isn't out yet."
Dad gives a nod in greeting as Damocles leaves them all to their packing and turns towards the beach. A paved road leads from the private homes and into the compound, branching one direction to travel deeper into the Wraith 'city' and another towards the public docks. He takes the less populated path for this time of day, glad that the morning is still so young that so many people wouldn't imagine going to the beach. There's the occasional runner that passes, but Damocles and Xero are alone for the most part on their walk to the docks.
By some luck, it seems that either Aeson is late to work or has returned to the docks for some reason. Damocles chuckles himself as he watches his smaller friend messing with a net that seems to be tangled for a moment before dropping his arms with an obvious huff.
"Need help?" he asks as he comes up on Aeson grumbling in frustration over the net. "Did you forget to use your fancy rolling thing for it?"
Aeson chuffs through his nose and flaps his mandibles once against his jaw with a click. "My other one has a large slice in the center, so I have to use this one." He turns and holds out some of the net to Damocles and the larger turian takes it, holding it as Aeson takes the bottom end and steps back so they can work at untangling it. "I'm starting to think someone sabotaged it."
Damocles growls, hands clenching around the rope of the net for a moment until Aeson jerks it to get it attention. Sighing, Damocles relaxes his hold on the net so his friend can work. "You know how much I fucking hate assholes like that. This is, what, the fifth time someone's sabotaged your gear?"
Aeson shrugs and Damocles can't understand how his does it, how the smaller man just accept the fact that others don't like him. Damocles has a suspicion that it's because of Aeson's success at his age that the other fishermen try to ruin his gear, but there's always the other possibility that some turians - usually the younger bastards that haven't learned what a good beating is - that still use Aeson's family heritage against him.
It isn't easy being the Primarch's nephew on one side and the son of a scarred traitor on the other. Not to mention Aeson's smaller stature and shimmering golden color that stands out just as much as Damocles' larger size and too many digits.
Apparently noticing his irritation, Aeson tugs the net out of Damocles' hands as he rolls it up on a small barrel he's turned into a piece of useful equipment to save himself time out on the water in his small boat. Damocles hums and flicks his mandibles in effort to wash away his anger, but Aeson doesn't acknowledge it as he continues to pack his small boat. It takes a bit of time, but Damocles' blood begins to cool as he watches his friend work, laying out rods, a large tackle box, and three cage traps.
"How can you go out there without any fear?" Damocles asks, still astounded that his friend had the idiotic idea to be the only turian out on the ocean trying to fish. "You're going to get yourself killed if you go over."
Aeson rumbles in amusement, standing up straight and patting a thin vest that loops over his shoulders and down his chest. "I have a floatation vest."
"That thing is tiny, Aeson. I doubt it can keep you above water."
His friend snorts and plays with a handle connected to the side of the vest. "It's inflatable. Just pull this and out it comes." Shrugging, he chuckles. "I'd show you, but then I'd have to waste even more time trying to fold deflate it and get it back down."
Damocles buzzes at the logic, even if it still seems like Aeson's putting too much faith on it. He can't even float on his own, for fuck's sake. Exhaling heavily through his nose, he lifts his head to the sky before lowering it and shaking his head. "You don't even eat anything you catch. It's all levo."
"Yeah, but I can sell it, then buy something I can eat. You wouldn't believe how many credits I can get with one lockjaw." He looks up at Damocles, as if expecting a reaction. "A lockjaw, Damo." He huffs a laugh. "It's a type of fish that's really rare to catch. Let's put it that way." He looks around before leaning closer and Damocles lowers his head as if to hear when Aeson mock whispers. "And I know just how to catch them."
Damocles hums, knowing he should be impressed. He is, of course, but he doesn't really know anything to compare catching whatever the hell a lockjaw is with. When Aeson gives him a look of annoyance, clearly reading the lack of understanding.
"Sorry," Damocles admits, chuckling as he grins. "I have no idea what that fish is, what the hell is so special about it, or what I should compare catching it to." He lays a hand on Aeson's shoulder. "But I'm impressed?"
Aeson flicks a mandible in a turian equivalent to an eye roll as he huffs. "Alright, alright." Smiling though he just acted offended, he motions his boat. "I don't know how much I'll catch being so late into the water, though."
Damocles grunts at the reminder that someone fucked Aeson over from getting a good enough haul to make some credits, he steps back and offers a hand to help his friend into the bobbing boat. "So," he says, the hesitation easily picked up on by Aeson as the younger turian rumbles in question. Damocles trills apologetically and smiles weakly. "I have to head out earlier than planned. Mom and dad decided to take the Revenant instead and they have some plan to meet with an armor and weapons manufacturer before we get to Tuchanka."
Aeson's expression falls. "Really?" He sighs when Damocles nods. "Well, that sucks …." Pausing as he settles himself down in the boat, he hums and grins as he seems to have an idea. "What about you ping me later tonight and we stream? I'm sure the Revenant has something as equally unhealthy as my place."
Damocles snorts and chuckles as he kneels down to untie Aeson's boat. "It better. Or I'm taking a shuttle all the way back here."
Aeson laughs and catches the rope once Damocles tosses it over to him. Pushing his friend off from the dock, Damocles stands and smiles to Aeson grabbing the oar to paddle out into the water. "I'll keep Virmire standard time and comm you, then." Aeson gives him a nod as he swings his boat around and towards the deeper waters. Damocles watches his friend as the small boat glides across the soft waves before turning to Xero. "Let's get back before mom decides to strangle dad."