Author's note: Reviews and constructive criticism are much appreciated. As for the franchise I'm sure it's clear that I do not claim any aspect of the games created by Bioware. The only things belonging to me are character names.
Chapter 1
Old Friend and Drinks
"We'll get you your order in just one minute!"
The sight of a turian in full armor was completely unnoticed in a club such as Chora's Den. Rugulation would say that only C-Sec or other authorized personnel were allowed to carry firearms, but quite frankly they'd given up keeping track of small arms for quite some time. Hence why no one took so much as a second glance at the weapon strapped to his side. Typically speaking such turians were either C-Sec or military so no one assume that this one was any different. If they looked however they'd notice he wore no rank or symbol of his affiliation.
He however didn't act as if he were doing anything wrong. Isolated on a table on across from the bar this turian was completely nonchalant about his being there. His face was made up in a mixture of blue and whites that were painted across his chitinous face in arching streaks. His eyes were a dark shade of blue which seemed to give him an air of strength; someone who looked docile and harmless, but already had everything in life planned out the way he wanted it to. Such mannerisms didn't come from ignorance. They came from experience.
"Ice", as he so often referred to himself, was an unusual breed of gambler, only playing with his life instead of credits. A rogue by nature he'd broken from his military family years ago choosing to live on the edge; fraternizing with many different species in manners his parents would have found deplorable. He was no longer accepted as a member of his family, or of turian nobility…
Thus far Ice still hadn't found any reason for him to regret his actions.
A human waitress approached garbed in the typical exploitive garb the club entailed; a form of latex, the lingerie reflected the glow of the club's many flashing lights. In her hand she carried a tray with four shot glasses.
"Ah! So I finally get some service!" he exclaimed in the common, human language. "I was beginning to think that the day would never come; that my tongue would remain as parched as a desert." Already he was studying the waitress.
Normally a human female in such position would seemingly glide across the floor in their high-heeled shoes; their hips delicately swishing from side to side, which was something human men supposedly found highly attractive. This waiter on the other hand had an awkward, straight pace behind her movements that was impractical for the shoes she wore.
In fact, when Ice thought about it, everything she did (other than possessing an admirable physique) was in a way: off.
Unlike other humans who worked the club her flesh wasn't smooth or soft. Instead it was tense with subtle grooves of muscle; a scar ran down her right thigh on the front of her body. It was mostly healed, but the turian could distinguish it from his seat. Whatever she had done it had been hard. She had wounds to prove it.
Her face was almost like a mask, showing no emotion. Now, most exotic entertainers have little to no expression, but as Ice observed, her expression wasn't "Well, here goes another day on the job with the chance of some drunk copping a feel" but instead read: "If shit hits the fan I'm going to fuck someone up." That type of aura made for a huge difference even for one as expose as her.
What most notably made her stand out as a "don't fuck with me" character were her forest green eyes. They were narrow, with small pupils, but had a quality that was almost like that of a snake. Like a cobra she appeared ready to strike at a moment's hesitation.
Anyone who had been in the frontier would tell that she wasn't any sleazy drink vender, though she did have many of the traits a human male would find attractive. An hour glass figure, flat stomach, prominent breasts that with her uniform exhibited cleavage – all the things the human male would be turned on by. She had a beast hidden within beauty; a lethal combination for anyone who couldn't see the signs.
This is how Ice was sure she wasn't any old bar girl. Ice had come to discovered everything he needed to know about showgirls (and he knew loads of them): Typically speaking girls are hired for their abilities to please. Not to intimidate.
"Your drinks, sir," she grumbled in a shallow, hardly audible over the club's speakers monotone.
"I accept this kindly." Ice thanked her with a nod and a smile. For him her voice was almost like the cool wave of pleasure one might feel when recalling a good childhood memory.
"This is a good look for you; I commend any gal who can wake up every morning and shimmy on into something like that." he commented as she set the tray down. Instead of acknowledging his pipe or simply walking away she pulled out the seat across from him. Ice wasn't surprised; he only cast a larger grin in her direction. "But I always felt your body fit different uniform better."
He grabbed one of the shots from the tray and downed it in a single gulp.
"What the fuck do you want, Ice?" she asked, hardly batting an eye at the turian. Her hand slid between her breasts and retrieved a blue-paper rolled cigarette.
Ice deeply exhaled letting the effects of the drink sink in for a moment before acknowledging her question. "You keep anything else hidden in there?" He teased. Ice knew the woman well enough to know it would upset her, but not be enough for her to break his jaw.
"Look like I have any other place?" she snorted sarcastically, now pulling a chrome lighter inscribed with flaming trails from the same crevice. "Some fool forgot to think of pockets when they thought up the concept of female exploitation." Once the cigarette was lit and firmly clenched between her teeth she gazed the turian in the eye.
"I'm no expert on the subject, but I'm certain you humans have many ways of using your bodies as vessels utilized in concealing foreign objects." He cocked a bony brow. "You don't suppose I need to perform a full-body search before this chat? After all, I do think we should still be meeting as friends, even after all that time we've been apart."
"Har-de-fucking-har-har," she responded before blowing ropey strand of smoke in his direction. He sarcasm was like a knife, but not one intended to scathe. "How funny: you know, your lines never get old, you know that, Ice?"
"I know, but neither do you, as it would seem...Clover." Her call-name was one that the turian hadn't uttered in four years. It was a delight to feel the term fly off the tip of his tongue once more.
"For someone who doesn't seem to get sarcasm you sure do enjoy partaking in the art of flatter," she exhaled again, crossing her right leg over her left. "Ignore the get-up I'm wearing, sugar, because I'm the same gal you knew before you disappeared to God knows where all those years ago."
"I only say what I see." Ice's three fingers delicately twirled an empty shot glass. "And now that I'm back I want to get some things done right.
"Is there a reason you came to visit or do you just want some fucking laughs?"
"Both." He gave his awkward grin, mandibles slightly spread apart. His playful disposition had been something that had constantly held him back in the view of the public. It had him removed from both the fleet and Spectre candidacy…but those are things he had long since chosen to forget.
She sighed, returning the lighter to that dark space between her breasts. "I'm too old for this schoolyard banter, Ice. Spit out what you came here for or else I'm leaving."
"Alright, listen here, Clover, I won't lie to you: I need you to fly with me again." He took a second shot of the green liquor. When he finished he held it alongside the other glass in his right-hand. Slowly he spun both between his digits simultaneously. "You're the only human I've ever seen take down two krogans by their self and I can't sail again without your support."
Clover laughed. "Cut the shit. I haven't fired a weapon since your last mission went to hell…There are plenty of gals hungry enough for adventure that they'd hop alongside you while also saving you the pain in the ass." She exhaled another cloud in the direction of Ice. "I'm washed up…just like you."
"I thought while I was on the Citadel I should offer you an invitation." Ice set both glasses down. "This is the chance of the lifetime, Clover. I wouldn't think of doing it without you. I can't do it without my tightest group of associates."
"There is no 'team' anymore, Ice! The gang caput, gone, finished! Stone got killed by that Spectre Saren…Green is living on some backwater shithole. Pop is rotting in some Alliance prison…And Jala is probably working some crap tech job."
There was a crash in the background which the turian took a moment to look out to. Seeing it was only a drunk being escorted out the door by a krogan bouncer he returned his attention the human, who still sat unflinching, cigarette between sealed lips. Ice knew that he was taking a great chance by stopping at the Citadel, but he knew that this had to be done.
"I think I've known you long enough to know you don't like being chained up in here for the amusement of others." Ice was more concentrated this time in expression and tone. His conversation was changing to a more solemn mood. The conversation had to be ended soon; he suddenly realized he'd been out in the open far longer than he had intended.
"There are a lot of things you don't yet know about me, Ice. That you'll never know about me." Angrily Clover flicked away the ashes of her smoke.
There was a moment of silence as both shared a long, somber glance at the other. Both seemed stoic in stance, but their wits were treating the situation as a game of chess where any move could be their last. Ice was confident, because he knew something Clover didn't. He also knew what would coax her out into this battle of wills.
"You give any shows?" the turian asked. Returning to a nonchalant posture he leaned into his chair. He had to bring out a new tactic.
"Do I what?" Clover was shocked, which was emphasized by her widening eyes and arched eyebrows.
Ice smiled. She was taking the bate.
"Shows." He waved a hand to indicate her wardrobe; then another to indicate the exotic dancers that performed around the club. "I'm sure all those years on the verge have left you mighty flexible – an ideal showgirl! Bet you could boil a human male's blood with ease."
"Excuse me?!" She was flabbergasted. "You think I would demean my-…I'm a waitress! This is a shit job, but I'm not so desperate as to..." She couldn't finish her sentence.
She had nothing.
"Why do you stay in such good shape? Waitresses don't need to handle unruly drunks do they?" Ice knew he had her where he wanted her. It would only be a matter of time now.
"Of course not!"
"Alright…" Ice suddenly slammed a fist on the table, rattling the drinks. "Then what's the point in being here?!"
His sudden raise in voice caught her off guard (just as he had intended). She couldn't give him an adequate answer, so she continued to sit in silence. She didn't even take the care to notice the lumbering figure that approached the turian from behind.
"This guy bothering you, Liz?" the krogan bouncer asked.
"Huh? – No. This guy?" Clover said, shaking her head a tad. Then she pointed to Ice with her thumb. "Don't worry about me. I could wear this guy's entrails for a suit if I wanted to. He's an old friend, if you get my drift."
"I'm sure said garment would be more for the smell than your personal comfort…" Ice piped under his breath. His display of rage had completely evaporated; he was once more unavoidably docile.
"He's just here to exchange some jokes," Clover added in when she noticed he companion's comments hadn't pleased the bouncer. "He'll be going as soon as he's finished his drinks.
Eyes ablaze with scrutiny the krogan gave a long, hard glace towards Stunttan, not seeming to be capable of deciding whether the smartass patron was a threat in need of an attitude adjustment or just someone who couldn't shut his mouth.
"I'll let you handle this, Liz," he finally snorted. "Just let your friend know I'm keeping an eye on him." With that he made his departure.
Once more the two were silent, only instead of "chess silent" this time it was just an awkward silence where neither one of them really knew how best to continue to conversation. Ice had no idea that his performance would draw that much attention, but apparently all the years he'd been away hadn't helped to improve his social awareness.
"Liz?" Ice asked with a curious raise of his right brow finally breaking the silence.
"It's my mother's name." She blinking rapidly three times.
"Ah…"
They both laughed for a good three minutes. It was the first time Clover's face lit up the entire conversation. Now that the tension was broken they could return to civilized conversation…though Ice had taken note to keep theatrics to a minimum.
"I forgot how easy to frighten Citadel krogans are," Ice said with a smirk. "Where I've last been they wouldn't have done anything unless I waved a gun at you; even then they probably would blow it off."
"Just tell me what your big plan is, Ice." Clover said, still smiling.
"You'll have to come to the docks to meet me. We leave tomorrow…Can't say my plan out loud or else I could be recognized.
Clover laughed again. "I don't even know your plan, Ice! I'm not a fool to go off on any adventure you might throw my way."
"Trust me," he lifted his final glass. "Once you hear this you won't back down… The others certainly didn't."
"The…others?" She leaned in. For the first time in the span of five Earth minutes she was interested in what he had to say.
"The entire surviving crew…plus some new faces, of course." He smiled calmly. Isn't there a human song about getting by with help from one's friends?, Ice thought to himself.
"But…How?" She stamped out her cigarette.
Ice only smiled in return, setting the glass down. "Oh, just a backwater shithole colony, a technical manufacturing plant, and an Alliance parole office that made some mistakes – but I've got Pop, Green, and Jala waiting to leave before C-Sec gets nosy."
Clover's only response was to stare in awe. She must have thought he was crazy for a second, but then realization swept across her face. "You're not making this up…you're really fucking serious."
"Damn straight, so don't you think I'm leaving my first officer out of the action." He extended the final glass to her. "Will you give this blue faced idiot one last chance on the open frontier?" Ice had never been one to lie to acquaintances. He certainly wasn't lying to his former colleague now.
For a few moments Clover looked around the club, leaving Ice in a needless sense of suspense. She couldn't possibly want to stay here so what is she looking for? Ice thought.
"What the hell: this place was getting boring anyhow," she finally said with a smile. Taking the drink she downed it even faster than even Ice was capable.
"That's good to hear…very good to hear." He had to conceal a sigh of relief. Ice didn't know why, but for some reason he honestly feared that she would choose to stay as a sight for sore eyes over choosing to go out with him on some fool-hardy space adventure.
"When do we meet?"
"At the docks in two hours; you should get everything you need before then."
Clover stood up from the table, slamming the glass on its surface as she did. "I'll see you at the docks then...Two hours." With that she returned to the bar.
"Two hours…yes, two hours," Ice nodded to himself. How did he know that those two hours would feel like weeks?