-Billet on the Anvil-
Author's Note: This will be slightly left of canon. One, because there is a whole lot of dialogue to try and remember, and I know I'd fail. And two, because I want to! lols, no seriously, I like the idea of using the basic, bare necessities lines from the game and opening the dialogue up myself.
On that count. I do write with the presumption that my readers have played the games. So, don't come crying to me about spoilers. Suck it up and go play. Or take your ball and go home.
Secondary note: There is a fair amount of military terminology within that I use without explaining how it works. If you don't know any, I apologize ahead of time. And no, I won't fix it. Go learn about it.
Character Bio/Background: Kelandra Mae Shepard, Colony born, Sole survivor, Engineer. ME1 Half Paragon/Half Renegade
Sitting in the neat and orderly office, Commander Kelly Shepard looks around and wonders. What is it with psych officers and them all having the same boring books, various boring nic-naks, and why do all of them have the meditative sand rake thing, and the clacking balls? Granted, the ball toy is at least fun.
Having done this review on a yearly basis for the past eleven years. You would think by now they would just write a note 'Commander Shepard, cleared for duty' and be done with it.
Truth be told, this visit is out of the ordinary. She had her yearly visit three months ago. Her gaze wanders out the view port in the bulkhead. The view is a nice one. Looking down at the gas giant, Themis. Shepard stands and walks to the view port. Leaning on the dense glass she watches the swirl of the red and brown gasses in the atmosphere.
"What an ugly planet." She mutters to the glass.
"Generally gas giants very rarely have an appealing aesthetic." A male voice comes from behind her. She turns around to see him clearly.
He is an inch or two shorter than her five feet and seven inches. He has unremarkable brown hair, pale eyes, and that stupid 'understanding' empty smile that all shrinks have. He extends his hand to her. "Lieutenant Andrews, Commander."
Military custom dictates that they should salute. But in Naval Evaluations Unit custom mostly goes out the window.
She shakes his firmly. She has to resist rolling her eyes at his weak and slick grip. She politely lets go as quick as possible. "A pleasure, sir." Custom or no, eleven years of military training keeps her back straight, and courtesy to a fellow officer.
"At ease." He sits at his desk, a plain, boring tan metal monstrosity. "Please, have a seat." He gestures to the chair placed directly in front of him.
She doesn't move from by the window. "I'd rather not. Will this take long?"
"Hard to say." She watches him pick up a data pad from his desk and pull up her file. He proceeds to thumb through it briefly. "I see your last evaluation was only a few months ago. All seems in order."
She tries not to fidget, "Sounds good. May I go now? I have things to do."
"No, you may not." The tone in his voice bothers her. Like a reproachful father.
"Alright then." She steps away from the window and leans slightly against the back of the chair. "Can I ask why we're having this little chat then?"
"Captain Anderson has requested you to operate as his Executive Officer for the maiden voyage of his new vessel. Given the nature of the job. It is in the Alliances best interest to evaluate any, ah, issues, certain candidates might have. Any mental instabilities that impede on their ability to perform the duties required, must be addressed."
This time she really does roll her eyes, sagging momentarily against the chair. "Really? I get a promotion and the first thing you want to do is revisit my 'Mental stability'? Haven't I proven in eleven years that there are no problems. I'm good!" She waves her hand dismissively at the file, "So write in there that I'm good to go and send me on my way. If I'm to do this, there is a great deal that needs to be done. I've got no time to fuss around with you lot."
She is amused when the Lieutenant actually sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Very well then. You continue to exhibit signs of mental stability, even with your tendency for insubordination."
She chuckles and half shrugs her shoulders, "What's a girl to do?"
He rubs his forehead then enters his assessment into her file. "You may go. You've been cleared for duty."
She only nods his way then swiftly exits the office. "Gods above." She moans as she briskly walks the halls of Arcturus station back towards her quarters. Once there she enters the code for her door and steps inside. She sighs happily as she thumbs the lights up. Her quarters are small, one room only. But they are hers. Used to living on ships most of the time, to have her own quarters is nice. Even if it's the half the size of a dorm room. A rack, desk and head is all she needs. Alliance base housing provides the rest.
To a stranger looking around her room, it would seem plain, bare and spartan. To her, she may have only few possessions, but each holds a meaning. The small photo frame on top of her locker holds a blurred, stained photograph. In it is a young family. The tiny woman holding a baby girl in the crook of her right arm, and the hand of a boy in her left hand. The man has one arm holding the boy to him, and the other draped around the woman. It's the only photo Shepard has of her family. She took it a few years ago from a census of Mindoir's residents that was recorded some twenty years ago.
Next to it sits a canvas painting of a hazy blue and lavender tree resembling a willow. She bought it her first time on the Citadel from an Asari artist. There is something about the way the lines move and the vague blurs to it that comfort her. Those are her only two personal belongings. Having been on the move after Mindoir, she never bothered with collecting anything that would just be cumbersome to pack repeatedly.
She has a couple of civvy outfits, though she rarely wears anything but her uniform. The only civvy clothes that see the outside of her foot locker regularly are the blue jeans, and leather jacket she wears to the bar off duty. The rest are only there because people keep giving her gifts.
She sets her cover by the door and sits down at her desk with a sigh, resting her head in her hands. What a waste of time.
Though to be selected for an XO position would be a big improvement to just being another extra gun who's handy with a wrench. Maybe this will be a good step up in her career. It sure would beat crap assignments of escorting diplomat ships across the 'verse. Unable to resist the temptation she pulls up her terminal and accesses her messages. She has three. An invite to a new club that's opened up. It's from Ellen. That woman sure has a sense of humor. Her, Shepard, in a club? Ridiculous. She deletes the message, vowing to get payback on Ellen. The next is a notice that a part for her pistol has arrived and will be available and reqs to pick up. The last gets her attention, and is the one she was hoping would be there. Simply flagged 'ATTENTION: Ship reassignment'. She expands it to read the message. It is the format of a normal ship assignment notice. But when she reads the name of the ship, she can't help but let out a squeal of joy, the Normandy. The most advanced ship in the Alliance. Under the command of Captain David Anderson. One of the most respected captains in the fleet, his service record is miles long and decorated with many war and peacetime medals.
She quickly sends a reply confirming the requested ship assignment. Agreeing on the appointed time to show herself to the captain for briefing, tomorrow at oh nine hundred at the Normandy's dock, D2.
She logs off and spins her chair in glee. Captain Anderson wants her as his XO. She can't believe her luck and sends a quick threat to The Trickster that if he fucks up this chance for her. There will be hell to pay.
