A FORNAX PRODUCTION

By: Mothbanquet

Scene Two

The hold of the slaver vessel was a dank, filthy pit of metal and rust. Hazy shafts of sickly light spilled across the deck, highlighting vile stains of brown and green, as well as dark scars where vorcha had sunk their claws in, struggling against their captors. It was a place filled with the hollow clanks of machinery and rattling of chains, where despair bled from the dirty walls and the terrified cries of slaves past could be heard as ghostly echoes in the silence.

Orea Lovewind gazed around, her normally stoic expression now filled with a burning hatred of the men who held her. An asari Justicar would be a valuable prize in any slaver's collection and she was forced to recall every one of her sutras in an effort to think of a way out. The tenets of the Code were her tools and yet when she grasped for them, they slipped just out of reach. It was maddening and yet Orea knew whatever the pirate crew had in store for her, it would not be pretty. She had to escape, and quickly.

Her knees had begun to ache after the long hours on the cold ground. Orea tested her restraints but she had little room for movement and any small shift seemed to push more of her smooth, blue skin out of the tight, red combat suit clinging to her ample chest. She pursed her lips and worked her bound hands back and forth behind her back, trying to loosen the cuffs that held them together. It was a futile gesture. The bindings were strong and all she had succeeded in doing was to wrench her arms painfully in their sockets.

Casting her eyes to the ground, Orea fought against her fear as she felt it creep up inside her.

'There is light at the end of even the darkest tunnel,' she murmured softly, her voice little more than a hum in the empty air. 'The embrace of the Goddess awaits me, even should I fail. The Code guides my actions but it does not gift me with strength. That I must find within myself.'

Orea's words returned to her, echoing from the bare walls. She closed her eyes sadly at their quivering resonance, at the lack of control in them. A Justicar was supposed to be in a state of perpetual calm, a collected figure of peace and clear-thinking, no matter how dire the circumstances. Perhaps it was simply her surroundings, meant to break the wills of all inside, or maybe it was simply her own will ebbing away. Neither possibility gave her much hope.

Suddenly, a loud clang sliced the air and a great bar of gold spilled across the floor as the cargo bay's main doors opened with a metallic squeal. Orea narrowed her eyes against the glare, though made sure to keep them slightly open, a crack through which she could watch her enemy enter the room. Even if Orea could not see the distinctive floating shadow set against the blinding light, the lack of heavy footsteps on the ground would have betrayed Captain Fisty in moments.

The hanar moved slowly, his aqueous flank rippling with well-deserved pride as he approached his prisoner.

'This one hopes you have enjoyed its hospitality, Justicar,' Fisty intoned. The pirate's voice was an ethereal drone from the depths of his soft body and each sound was accompanied by a gentle flash of purple light. 'One such as yourself will make a fine addition to this one's collection.'

Orea's reply was low and smooth, though it threatened to break at any moment. 'I've heard all about your 'collections', Captain. I swear by the Goddess, I will not let you make me a part of them.'

'You know of its reputation,' Fisty replied, unaffected by her resolve. 'You know it is not one whose patience should be tested, nor one whose will can be ignored.'

Indeed Orea knew of the hanar's appetites. Every figure of law enforcement in the galaxy held a simultaneous disgust and grudging respect for the infamous captain, his cleverness and remarkable tactical prowess tainted by his desire for all things alien and female. It was well known that when a colony had been stripped of all its women, Captain Fisty was the one responsible. The evil of this particular jelly brought up a welling of anger deep within Orea and she turned her icy gaze up to him with barely restrained malevolence.

'I would rather die,' she hissed. The answer was the wrong one, and Orea immediately regretted it as Fisty raised shimmering tentacle to caress her face sensually.

'That would serve no one, least of all this one.'

The tentacle moved down and slithered beneath Orea's combat suit. The asari grimaced, helpless against the writhing, foreign presence on her skin and to her despair, she felt her cheeks flush. Fisty's movements became firmer and Orea tried to stifle a gasp of pleasure as the tentacle probed and rubbed against her body, a worming line under the pliable red material of her suit. As much as it repulsed her, her body betrayed the knowledge Fisty seemed to possess. Every motion was calculated to excite. He was gentle in one moment, then harsh in the next and always in just the right spots. To Orea's horror, she found herself aching for him to continue.

Orea shuddered as her suit fell from her shoulders and the frigid air hit her exposed flesh like a wave.

'You bastard,' she said, shivering with both cold and pleasure. Though it was impossible to truly tell, she could have sworn Fisty was smiling as he raised another tentacle to her mouth.

'Prepare to be boarded. Justicar.'

Orea tried to resist but the feel of Fisty's slick appendages on her body had awakened desires she had long since buried after taking her oaths. She felt them now, like hands on her back, pushing her to embrace her wants and accept the pleasure the pirate king could bring. Slowly, reluctantly, Orea opened her mouth.

Suddenly, Dana stopped. Something was off. Her eyes darted about the set and her professional instincts screamed at her for doing so but it was certainly there; something was definitely amiss. Closing her lips, she leaned forward towards Pallo's outstretched limb and took a deep sniff. That was it.

Cringing, she pulled back. 'Ew, Pallo! Wrong tentacle!'

The hanar immediately shrunk back, horrified and his voice shook. 'This one is sorry! It was certain it had the correct one! It cannot begin to apologise enough!'

'Cut!' Freeman groaned. At the edge of the set, perched on a small and desperately uncomfortable director's chair, he ran a hand over his face to massage the loose, pasty flesh.

'And here I thought we were doing so well.' He gestured to his right, where Moxi tinkered with a camera bot, his very body language betraying the fact that he had no clue what he was doing. 'Moxi had the cameras rolling for once, Dana was being her usual, gloriously slutty self and best of all, it's not even one of Garn's scenes. Of course it was all too good to be true. Something had to go wrong somewhere, though the source of disaster surprises even me. In all the space-sets in all the galaxy, I didn't expect Pallo of all people to present the potty-tentacle.'

As Freeman continued to mourn the loss of another take, Pallo lowered himself slowly to the ground. He shivered gently, relaying in the way of the hanar his own distress and mortification as he helped scoop up Dana's costume from the ground. 'Please accept its apologies, Dana, this one doesn't know what came over it. Usually it can tell which tentacle is which, but-'

'Just forget it,' the asari snapped, unable to contain her irritation. Instantly she closed her eyes, wincing at her lack of grace. 'Sorry, I just need a break. This has been a really long day and I didn't get much sleep last night.'

'This one understands. Please, it compels you to get some rest. It does not think Freeman will mind a short delay.'

Freeman's voice snapped out across the set as the slaver hold backdrop fizzled out of view behind them to reveal drab grey studio walls. 'Oh no you don't! We've got a scant forty-eight hours to turn this disaster into a movie and I'm not wasting any more time. Besides, I didn't get that batarian drunk by accident, you know. I worked hard to nick those slave cuffs and collar and we're bloody well going to use them! Get back to your marks, we're rolling straight away.'

Dana sighed angrily and shook her head. The pressures of being a professional were great at times.

'Let's just get this over with,' she muttered. Shuffling on the spot to relieve her aching knees, she allowed another comment to Pallo as the hanar floated gently away. 'At least this'll all be over in a couple of days, one way or another.'

Pallo stopped in his weightless tracks. Turning, his voice held a great degree of concern. 'Really? What have you heard?'

***AFP***

Xantar struggled to hide his frustration, even behind his expressionless, leathery grey features. His massive arms were bunched with tension, two pillars of solid muscle that looked capable of caving a soft salarian skull in. It was an image Rima couldn't get out of his mind as his writing partner Listor continued to ramble, oblivious to the elcor's growing anger; which, considering their species complete lack of emotional indicators, was quite a feat in itself.

'It's not ethical,' the salarian complained haughtily. His brown skin glistened as his head moved from side to side, shaking with every syllable he produced. 'History is littered with stories of the deprived, the oppressed and the downtrodden and I assure you, Xantar, this affront will be remembered as one such injustice, one that will go down in history as a true example of deprivation, oppression and…downtreading!'

'With barely-concealed anger,' Xantar rumbled, 'the cessation of your supply of Tupari sports drink was a necessity. Aside from the obvious implications the beverage was having on your health, the rate of consumption far exceeded our budget. That you have so readily admitted to the purchases of such vast quantities is the only reason I am not looking more closely into the matter. Bluntly; if you want more Tupari sports drink, you will have to earn it.'

'What do you mean 'earn' it?' Listor bit back, waving his arm in the air. 'Have we not earned it already? Thanks to us, you have a masterpiece of a script, worthy of Dilinaga's epics! Need I remind you of the ass relay joke in scene three? Or the rapier wit employed by General Maximus just before battering Captain Fisty to death with his own multi-tentacle strap-on?'

Sighing, Xantar shook his head. 'Dismissively; the words "go fuck yourself – literally" can hardly be called wit. And pointedly; all of Matriarch Dalinaga's writings had endings. And titles.'

'This is an outrage!' Listor replied. He was growing more agitated and Rima glanced at him with increasing exasperation. 'Not only do you deprive us of sweet, delicious Tupari sports drink, but besmirch our talents as writers too! That's it – we're on strike!'

Quickly, Rima took hold of Listor's thin wrist and offered Xantar a placating smile. 'Please, mighty producer, don't take my friend here too seriously. He's just been up all night and he's a little bit cranky. We'll get along just fine without the Tupari for now.'

Xantar inclined his massive head. 'Curiously; salarians only need one galactic hour's rest per night. What kept him awake?'

Rima's fleshy pink lips drew back meekly. 'Uh…Tupari sports drink.'

Groaning, Xantar turned from the pair of salarians and lumbered away, muttered to himself in his bass tones. 'Wearily; I'm getting too old for this.'

As the heavy thump of elcor footsteps receded, Rima gave Listor a firm slap on the back of his head.

'Look, I told you before about this. All that Tupari is rotting your brain and those additives are driving you crazy! If you don't get help soon then we'll be out of a job forever!' The salarian turned his dark eyes up to the ceiling in lamentation. 'Of all the things to get addicted to, why did you choose a freaking energy drink? Why couldn't you do red sand? At least then you'd have a shot at getting in deep with the big wigs, but no. Instead you get hopelessly drawn to the one substance that drives three quarters of the Galaxy of Fantasy user base. No flashy dealer, no high-class sand parties, nothing but sleepless nights and soiled mattresses.'

Rima blinked as he realised Listor had curled up into a little ball on the ground and was simply lying there, shivering.

'But it's made with ten per cent tupo berry juice, don't you know?' Listor babbled, his eyes staring at an undetermined source. 'It's good for you, so very good. Commander Shepard drinks Tupari sports drink, don't you know? Don't you want to be like Commander Shepard? I know I do, yes indeed.'

Rima gave the incoherent pile of bones and skin a hard kick before sighing despondently. 'And here I thought addiction and sleep deprivation were solid traits for a writer.'

The frenzied rambling would continue for at least another fifteen minutes, Rima knew and so he took out his datapad. Time was precious and if they didn't produce the goods there would be little payment, or none whatsoever to spend on delicious, refreshing Tupari sports drink or otherwise.

***AFP***

'Take it from me, honey,' Dana mumbled as she balanced a cigarette delicately on her gleaming blue lips, 'you're doing the right thing. Better to start now and make your money, then move on to something bigger; much, much bigger.'

Kia shuffled on the spot, unsure if she should mention that she had no intention of moving on to anything but the Migrant Fleet once Fornax's payment came through. The quarian wrapped her arms around herself, an embrace born of insecurity and awkwardness. Dana Nylendi's very presence was enough to make anyone nervous and the perfect curvature of the asari's figure, made all the more alluring by her tight-fitting costume, brought nothing but revulsion to Kia of her own body. Dana did not notice Kia's sullenness as the younger woman glanced down, mentally measuring the width of her thighs next to Dana, the shining glass of her visor picking out the set lighting as she sadly shook her head.

The asari muttered on, oblivious to Kia's silence. 'Or you could just stay on. This ain't a bad business, 'ya know, especially since the humans came to town. Used to be such a niche industry but the humans, they just love this stuff, even if they don't like to admit it. I've been in front of that fucking camera for almost four hundred years and I've made more money in the past thirty than I ever did in three centuries posing for turian 'art' magazines.'

'You certainly seem to have a lot of experience,' Kia replied meekly. Her mouth-lamp dimmed as her next words were abruptly cut off before they could form.

'I mean, if you think about it, we owe the humans our livelihoods in a way. Only my own kind is anywhere near as debased and that's only for the first few centuries. Once we get out of the maiden stage it's all career, career, career. Maybe spread our legs, do the whole genetic diversity thing, push out a few blue kids, but by that time we're long past getting horny over mandibles and quads.'

Blowing out a thick plume of smoke, Dana shifted her gaze across the studio to where the salarian writers were busily discussing something or other. She narrowed her eyes at them and nodded in their direction. 'Salarians, on the other hand, they have zero sex drive. Nothing. Lamest lovers in the galaxy. Good if you need an accountant but expect to keep a Rampant Rachni by your bed if you want your relationship with one to survive more than a week. Then there are the turians…'

Kia swayed slightly on the spot. Her cheeks were burning beneath her helmet and she was certain the visor could not hide their note of crimson.

'Turians are a funny bunch,' Dana lectured, gesturing with her hands and weaving a thin trail of cigarette smoke through the air. 'They're strong, great reach and flexibility, good stamina but so many pointy parts! Getting rough with one is always risky. As in a "be careful or you'll end up in hospital with a puncture wound" kind of risky. And don't even get me started on elcor; with one of those big boys on top of you, all it takes is one slip and-'

'No!' Kia interrupted frantically, her hands cutting desperate arcs through the air. 'I-I'm so sorry, Dana, but I have to…go talk to Pallo, about our scene later. Yes, that's it! Our scene later, please forgive me but I have to go talk to him! Right away! Now!'

The quarian rushed past and the flow of grey smoke from Dana's cigarette followed in her wake before swirling gently in the air. Shrugging, the asari returned her eyes to the datapad she'd almost forgotten she was holding. Suddenly, a chill reached under her false combat suit and she shivered, the fine sensation of goose bumps rising on her skin. It was nothing to do with the temperature, she knew, and Dana looked up sharply to see a turian fringe disappear behind a distant corner.

Slowly, her lips curled into a thick, sensual grin and she looked back down at the datapad, content to let Ganorn watch for the time being.

***AFP***

Pallo was still tense with the embarrassment of his earlier faux pas when Kia approached him, and it took a few seconds for the hanar to become aware of her presence. Kia stopped behind him and, not wanting to interrupt his reflections too forcefully, raised her hand and coughed gently. The sound was an ugly crackle to her ears as it filtered through her helmet amplifiers.

Pallo brightened instantly at the sound and his body glowed vibrantly at the sight of her. 'Kia! This one did not notice you approach. Apologies for being rude.'

'It was hardly your fault,' Kia responded warmly, glad to finally be in the company of someone she could talk to. 'I didn't exactly broadcast my presence.'

She bowed her head slightly, as if reluctant to continue but quickly found the courage. Her friend had been there for her, after all and she would at least try to do the same.

'I'm sorry to pry,' she began, her eyes turning away from Pallo instinctively in her awkwardness, 'but I heard about what happened with Dana earlier. Are you all right?'

She decided not to mention the exact words Dana had actually used in her complaints, knowing it would burden the already guilt-filled hanar even further. Of course, Dana had shed her own frustration with her first cigarette, the incident forgotten the moment she started reading the notes on her next scene. Pallo, however was a far gentler soul and the hue of his rubbery skin shifted into a lurid purple as the weight of his shame came to the fore once again.

'It made the most grievous of errors, something that has truly shamed this one. Oh, by the Enkindlers, what if she had actually-'

'There, there,' Kia murmured, resting a hand softly on Pallo's flank. 'Calm down, Dana is a professional. She doesn't take this sort of thing personally. You haven't offended her, so please don't think you have, okay?'

'If you say so, Kia,' he responded glumly, 'though it still feels the indignation of making such an obvious error. This one has been in the business for nearly seven years now and this the first time it has ever made such a mistake.'

'Hey, come here.' Kia reached out and took one of Pallo's tentacles in a caring grip before patting it softly with her other hand. 'Do you remember the day we first met, all those weeks ago? When I was just a new girl in a strange place, afraid and ashamed of what she was doing?'

Pallo flushed with sapphire hues. 'Of course. This one remembers as if it were yesterday.'

'Then you remember what you told me?'

'Yes,' the hanar replied solemnly. As understanding filled him, he laid a long, soft tentacle on Kia's shoulder affectionately. 'This one told you that it is all right to be afraid, to make mistakes and to feel regret. But one must not dwell on it. Only by moving forward can we escape the darker times of our lives, with our heads held high and looking to the future.'

Kia beamed happily under her visor. 'Exactly. I…I admit, when you first told me that, all I could do was wonder if hanar actually had heads to hold high.' The pair chuckled and Kia's hold on Pallo tightened, ever so slightly. 'But your words have carried me this far, and so has your friendship. You just need to believe them yourself.'

Pallo sighed, a deep sound of weary resignation. He knew the young quarian was right and, as he had come to discover, this truth was only becoming more constant as time went by.

'You are correct,' he said, finally, 'Thank you, Kia. Sometimes it is easy to forget one's own words. At times this one thinks you truly carry the wisdom of the Enkindlers within you.'

'I don't know about that,' Kia said. Tenderly, she released Pallo's tentacle and allowed it to return to his side. 'Now, I think I'll take that advice you gave me yesterday and get something to eat. Would you like to join me?'

It was difficult enough to differentiate between the moods of the hanar, considering their complete lack of facial features but Kia knew that if he had a mouth, Pallo would be smiling. The rounded tip of his body flared briefly with enthusiasm.

'That would be most agreeable, my friend,' he said, and together the pair made their way to the buffet table that had been laid out at the edge of the studio.

***AFF***

'This is the last spirit-damned straw!' Ganorn bellowed, his barking voice bringing all involved in the re-shoot to a complete halt. 'It's totally unprofessional and a…a heinous breach of character! I won't do it, Freeman!'

Freeman closed his eyes and stepped forward across the set, gingerly stepping over the loose chains and torture implements strewn across the deck of Captain Fisty's private quarters. He leaned in close, unwilling to be drawn into an undignified shouting match across the studio. Or perhaps he simply didn't want to give the turian the satisfaction of a public capitulation, Freeman couldn't be sure himself.

'Calm down, my leathery, skull-headed friend,' he said with no small amount of condescension. 'I know it's a bit extreme but what can I do?' he asked with a light shrug, 'It's in the script. Do I look like a writer?'

'It wasn't in the script yesterday!' Ganorn hissed back. Suddenly, he seemed to snap into paranoia, and took a quick look around for eavesdroppers before whispering harshly once again. 'I want to know why in the name of the spirits, General Maximus suddenly insists on being spanked by the Justicar until he turns purple! How exactly is that supposed to be 'in character'?'

As a strong gust of lotion-scented air enveloped him, Freeman raised his eyebrows sardonically and reluctantly turned his gaze down in appraisal of Ganorn's appearance. No longer was he wearing a turian navy uniform or comfortably luxurious suit. Instead he had been presented with a kinky set of thick leather straps and buckles, an outfit that would require great agility to actually don and would no doubt prove extremely painful to wear. In fact, Freeman surmised, it was at that precise moment Ganorn had come storming out of his dressing room in rage, his revealing new costume jingling with each step.

Freeman briefly toyed with the idea of simply telling the turian that he had written the extra scene himself and slipped it in in a moment of irresistible, delicious spite. No, he assured himself. Better he know that after the scene had actually been shot and they had something to work with.

'It's no fault of mine, Garn, I assure you,' Freeman lied smoothly. 'Now if you'll kindly get back to your mark, we can get this farce over and done with and you can go soak yourself in whatever foul over-strength, barely-legal beverage you consider appropriate for this time of day.'

'No,' Ganorn said firmly and crossed his arms in open defiance. 'I refuse to do this, Freeman. I have spent my entire life honing my craft. I didn't go through all that just to be suspended from the ceiling in this ridiculous attire while an asari warms my backside with a rubber paddle! I am Ganorn Firaxis and I do not deserve this!'

'It's a wooden paddle, not rubber,' Freeman retorted. He could only imagine Xantar's horror as the elcor's requests to cater to Ganorn's ego were roundly ignored. 'And I'm certain your landlord will be more than happy to look upon your critically-acclaimed filmography when he's turfingyour possessions out into the street. I know how much you need this pay check, so don't pretend you have any choice in the matter. Now, are you going to be quiet and follow the bloody script, or are you going to descend even further into that cess pit of whiskey-drenched poverty you call a life?'

Ganorn seethed visibly, his fingers clutching the air at his sides while his mandibles flexed convulsively, aching to tear apart the arrogant human before him.

The silence stretched as even the crew stopped to take in his answer in a sudden, powerful moment of absolute stillness. The rattling of overhead ventilation ducts, the steady hum of the station's engines and life support systems, everything seemed to subside to allow him the honour of making his decision. It felt far more significant than it should have been and Ganorn knew this was a moment that would define his future and his honour. He felt the eyes of the spirits upon him, judging his worth as he made his choice.

Snatching up the paddle, he scowled. 'Rolling in five, yes?'

Hiding most of his obvious satisfaction at the victory, Freeman smiled thinly. 'I'm glad to see we can be professional about this, Garn, now hold on while we fetch Dana from her dressing room. She's refused to come out until it's been confirmed you'll do the scene.'

Pausing, the human scratched his head, ruffling his dark hair. 'Actually, come to think of it, you should tell her yourself. She might not believe me.'

'And why not?'

'Well, it's not so much she doesn't trust me, more that she seems to think you'd rather die than shoot this one scene. Perhaps she overestimated your resolve, or simply underestimated your love of being spanked, but either way I get the distinct impression she'll only believe the words from your own mouth.'

'Fine,' Ganorn grumbled. He stalked off-set, mumbling all the way.

'You know, perhaps it's the sight of Garn in kinky black leather, but I feel my luck is starting to change for the better.' Pleased with himself, Freeman turned to find Moxi waiting patiently just behind him and his expression fell instantly. 'Until now.'

The volus' stomach wobbled as he spoke. 'Mister Freeman, I just wanted to bring something to your attention.'

'If that 'something' was the fact you're a bloated moron with the intellectual agility of a boiled egg, you're far too late.'

'No, Sir,' Moxi answered and Freeman's brow furrowed at the exceptional heaviness of the alien's breathing. Something had evidently gotten the idiot worked up, though in Moxi's case it was as likely to be an itch beneath his suit as a true emergency.

'I'm sorry to disturb you, Mister Freeman, though I think it's my duty to bring these matters to your attention.' Moxi continued breathlessly. 'It's about the deep rumblings of discontent I've been hearing over the past couple of days.'

'I'm not interested in the results of your twice-fried batarian curry,' Freeman snapped. 'Yesterday morning should have been more than enough to discourage any future experiments.'

'Yes, Sir, your threats were well-heeded, I assure you! No, these rumblings have been from the crew.' As clandestinely as any asari huntress or salarian STG operative, Moxi glanced about before leaning in close. 'It's been said that Xantar is on the warpath! Apparently, sums of credits have been disappearing from the budget. Not huge sums in of themselves but added together, they're quite a large amount.'

'I see,' Freeman replied sceptically, 'and where, pray, did you learn this top-secret information?'

'I overheard an extranet call between Xantar and Milana Orenya this morning. She made him swear to find the culprits at any cost. If he doesn't find out who's stealing from the company, she'll bring a criminal enquiry down on the entire studio!'

Freeman froze, his features set in panicked shock. 'Did…Orenya mention any suspects?'

Scratching the dome of his head with a stubby finger, Moxi shrugged after only a few moments. 'Not that I can remember.'

'Yes well, that doesn't exactly fill me with confidence, you know.'

'No, but Sir, I do remember Xantar was suspicious of Rima and the other salarian, you know, the writers? He's been questioning them all afternoon.'

'I see,' Freeman responded, a trickle of nervousness leaking into his voice. 'I don't suppose you know what transpired between them?'

'Oh no, Sir, though they're both still here, so I can only assume Xantar found no evidence of foul play.'

Slowly, Freeman's lips broadened into a cunning grin and he slapped a hand on the shoulder of Moxi's suit.

'You know, my revolting little friend, after weeks of incompetence, putrescence and general idiocy, I think I may finally have found a use for you. Seeing as how we're unlikely to get Pallo back 'up and running' before we knock off, I deem it necessary to give you a simple task.'

'Yes, Mister Freeman!' Moxi replied gratefully. 'I'll be glad to help any way I can!'

***AFP***

Ganorn neared the door to Dana's dressing room with trembling reluctance. He raised a hand to the bright green control panel but stopped suddenly; his rough, brown skin a mere hair's breadth away from the glowing button. After several long seconds of indecision, he shook his head and swore, snatching away his hand.

'Spirits, what's wrong with me?' he whispered. 'I've acted alongside some of the most beautiful women of stage and screen. This should not be so difficult.'

He tried to rationalise his awkwardness but knew there was little point in doing so. What he felt transcended simple notions of lust or infatuation, his curse as an artist being that he let such feelings run wild through his heart, savouring them whenever he could. That knowledge angered Ganorn, and he paced the width of the empty corridor in his frustration. He didn't notice the door open with a sibilant rasp, and Dana's smooth voice rang out behind him, making him jump.

'I see Freeman actually got to you,' she said, matter-of-factly as her shining eyes drifted over Ganorn's revealing outfit.

Suddenly, the turian became very aware of his appearance and fumbled with his arms as he was caught between wanting to cover himself and placing them firmly by his sides. After a few moments, he came to realise that the first option was an impossibility and so he clamped his twitching limbs securely behind his back.

'Dana, I uh…' he mumbled. The gentle clink of his outfit's strap buckles interfered with his speech and he grew nervous very quickly. 'I just wanted to uh…say that um…I've decided to go ahead with the scene after all. It's only a short one. Painful, maybe,but it's necessary.'

Dana quirked a brow at the stony sense of duty in his tone. 'You turians really like to make everything sound like a military operation, don't you?'

'N-no, not at all!' Ganorn stammered, raising his hands. 'I'm simply saying that without this scene, we won't…that is, I…'

'Will get fired?' Dana finished. Her eyebrow was still raised in severe appraisal at Ganorn and the turian shuffled on the spot, suddenly uncomfortable.

'Yes,' he answered, dipping his head solemnly. His voice hung in the air for many long seconds before Dana lowered her eyes and looked away, biting her lip gently.

'I see,' she said thoughtfully before returning her clear, brilliant eyes to his. She held Ganorn helplessly in her gaze, though her voice held a strong note of disapproval. 'Shame. I thought you cared more about your artistic integrity than the money.'

Ganorn opened his mouth to reply but could not form the words. They had fallen from his lips, into the deep, yawning chasm his stomach had become. He was sickened by the truth in Dana's remark and could only stand mutely in the corridor, his cheap bondage gear softly clinking as the asari strode away. Her eyes lingered on him for several moments before she brought her head forward, holding it up confidently as her shapely hips swayed hypnotically.

Ganorn watched her leave, though it was without passion. He blinked hard, trying to force his senses to awaken once more but Dana's words had left a burning mark on his heart. Was she right, he wondered? Of course she was, and that she knew his own shame better than he did was a crime unforgivable. Clenching his fists, Ganorn came to a decision and walked away from her, back in the direction of his own room. He took in a deep breath of sour sweat and fresh leather, the stench firming his resolve. He was Ganorn Firaxis and he did not deserve this.