FACE PAINT
It takes an ocean of trust if you are going to survive long hours traveling between solar systems.
Moments between Garrus and Shepard before the Omega 4 Relay mission.
The turian specialist returned from a brief conversation with Dr. Mordin about mission expectations. The salarian scientist was nervous (A rare and frightening thing), and his words snappier than usual as he briefly detailed Garrus about Tuchanka's terrain, fauna, and - more specifically - how the Blood Pack, a Krogan gang, operated within their home world. The salarian doctor's nerves eased as Garrus expressed prior experience with the Blood Pack, sharing details that surprised and even comforted Mordin despite his agitation. "Sometimes I think Shepard has a sick sense of humor," Garrus laughed. "Bringing a turian to accompany a salarian doctor responsible for mutating the genophage."
"Indeed," Mordin responded quickly. "Krogan not keen on salarians nor turians. Hot headed. Angry. Likely we will face the brunt of their attacks while Shepard stays unscathed." It was at this point both specialists shared a smile - an odd one, where both used their lips (or in Garrus's case, his mandibles).
It was then that they both realized... dear spirits. We have been hanging around humans waaay too much lately. Garrus made his excuse to leave the awkward moment quickly, and disappeared back into the elevator.
Garrus Vakarian was in his private quarters, standing in front of a large mirror he had personally installed against the wall. With the exception of a bed and mirror, the room was pretty bare. He rarely used the place unless he needed to rest, preferring to spend countless hours in the Normandy's core or training with Jack in the engine room. Which was rare, since sparring sessions with Jack were becoming more popular among the crew.
For whatever reason, she had to start a waiting list.
Garrus stared at his reflection, studying the fresh scars across the right side of his face. The blue tattoos painted familiar patterns across thick face plates, but were beginning to fade, leaving a dull grey over the metallic exoskeleton. Gingerly, Garrus opened the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out an azure jar of ink. One finger dipped into the open container, testing its consistency. Eyes trained on his reflection, the turian reapplied the paint over the bridge of his nose. He desperately needed a professional to redo his tattoos, but for the time being, this temporary solution would have to do.
Bom bom bom.
"Come in," Garrus replied, brow ridge raised at the interruption.
The door slid open, revealing Commander Shepard who-never-visited-his-quarters-in-the-history-of-the-Normandy-and-why-is-she-here-now?
"Huh," Garrus said, surprised. "That armor is new."
"Not entirely," Shepard replied, rolling her shoulder. Dark maroon plates that dully shined under fluorescent lights replaced her typical grey ware. For whatever reason, some plates were missing. And there was dried turian blood stains across the chest plate. "Wrex gave it to me awhile back. Suppose to reflect the colors of his clan. Thought when we stopped by, I'd pay some respect. He'd probably be able to help us."
The turian nodded, then returned to the mirror, reapplying the ink, "Wrex and I never got along, not until after you died. After that, Wrex and I found some common ground. However, I haven't seen him since.."
"It takes a while to warm up to Wrex. He doesn't tolerate assholes or bullshit, probably why we work well together," Shepard answered. "You'll see him in a few cycles. We're already in the system, just closing in on Tuchanka now."
The human crossed her arms over her chest, "Garrus, I just came by to make sure you were prepared." Her eyes glanced down at the face paint, then back to the turian, "... Maybe you should have put your make up on a while back, instead of... a few clicks before we land?"
He chuckled, dipping another finger into the dark paint, "But that would be against the ritual. Turians always apply their face paint before the eve of battle. The ritual reminds us who we are, where we come from, and the people we stand for."
Garrus drew a long line across his mandible as he spoke gently, "It is done so we may carry these qualities close to our skin. The fresh ink shows respect and preparation."
The commander raised her brow, stepping closer as her gaze shifted from Garrus's profile to his reflection. There was silence as he traced bare fingers over his tattoos, spreading the azure blue under his eye, meeting the bridge of his nose.
"I read on the Alliance's codex that the tattoos are suppose to represent your colony," Shepard started, carefully watching the turian. "That true, or human hogwash?"
Garrus hummed, pausing for a moment as he considered the question, "Its... ah, deeper than that, really. The color, the markings, even the way you paint the strokes across your face represents something completely different. On face value, the tattoos are a symbol of our colony. But... ah, they also express your history. Your character. Your rank."
Shepard shifted her weight, twisting her lip as she evaluated this information, "So... what if a turian changes colonies? Or what if a turian abandons his title, history, and rank and wants to identify with a new one? What happens then?"
"That's a strange question, Commander," Garrus responded quietly, turning his head to watch the woman in full, finishing the ritual.
She merely stared back at him, challenging his inquisitive look, "Answer the question, Vakarian."
The turian sighed, shifting his weight backwards. He placed the ink at the table, pressing both hands at his back as he replied to the human's command, "Indeed. Well, turians who are not tattooed are commonly referred as 'Barefaced'. My culture typically looks down on the barefaced, since it suggests they are hiding a dishonorable past or living in secrecy. We don't believe in deception, and to hide your face is considered incredibly.. ah... worrisome. The only reason you would conceal the colony of your origins is if you committed a disgraceful act."
"I see. But..." Shepard started, leaning her hip into Garrus' night stand. "... Let us say, theoretically, that the turian was born and raised into slavery. And then, let us say, that this turian escaped and came back to the home world, demanding an identity. Or, in the case of two turians from different colonies, how does that couple determine the traditional colony of their child?"
Shepard was asking some very strange questions. He raised both brows thoughtfully, though he did not voice his opinions, "Well, in the highly unlikely case that a turian didn't have an identity or wanted one, or if that child was not born in a colony... which is, again, very highly unlikely, there is a precedent that suggests a turian born into a colony can adopt a Bareface. But this rarely happens, since it tends to destabilize our principles. We are a military society, our rank is typically predetermined by our colonies. So... yeah."
Garrus stood there, somewhat nervous after delivering this information. The human paused, eyes narrowed and gaze turned on her foot. She was weighing the information, and for what purpose, the turian had no idea. Then, as if delivering the answer, Shepard reached for the jar of azure ink and handed it to the turian, "Adopt me into your colony."
"Wh-...What?" Garrus blurted out, mandibles extended and nearly dropping the paint as his body bristled with nerves and surprise. "Commander, I don't kn-"
"Garrus Vakarian, I am your commanding officer. And I request a face," Shepard said seriously, one finger pointing at her nose then back to his. "I request yours. I will not be running around Blank Faced-"
"Bare Faced."
"...Whatever."
"I don't know if this is a wise decision, Commander," Garrus replied calmly, cocking his head to the right in a turian expression of resignation as he dipped a finger into the paint.
Shepard shook her head, pushing back loose threads of dark brown hair behind her ear as she prepared for the marks, "What are you talking about? You told me yourself. You have no one left in this cold hard galaxy except for me. Pity you. And lord knows that the last time we spoke, you tricked me into admitting that I needed you as a friend and partner. You are all talk and no action. You said you have no one left in this whole damn galaxy that gives a shit about you, and when I ask for something simple like a face, you won't give me one."
The commander peered up at Garrus, square in the eye. "You wanna run around and act like me? You claim I'm your moral compass? Your guide? Well, then, I want a face. If you admire me so damn much, then we go by my rules. Don't be daft, Vakarian."
The turian stepped backwards, mandibles slightly drawn open and revealing his teeth as eyes shifted from Shepard's intense gaze to his hands. It was true. He did admire her, and he was quite vocal about how much he admired her. She was pushing his buttons, pushing how far Garrus might go - where his loyalties lay. With family and tradition, or...
Garrus's shoulders slumped, and he moved forward in resignation. One clean hand raised to her chin, a nervous expression meeting Shepard's defiant one. He swallowed carefully, "I.. ah.. Permission to adjust your head, sir?"
The Normandy commander nodded once, "Permission granted. Now stop acting like a nervous school girl and show this tradition to me, Vakarian."
Garrus groaned, the deep rattle vibrating his chest as he gingerly clutched the human female's fleshy jawline, the fingers of his other hand descending slowly over her face. Grey eyes intensely studied him. She did not smile, nor speak, nor respond beyond that stare, making Garrus even more nervous as he worked. Hell. From their proximity, he could even see the glinting red of her cybernetics behind those dark pupils... it was unsettling.
"This pigment of blue.." Garrus started, raising stained fingers between them. "Represents Palaven, homeworld of the turians. More specifically, the coastlines. There is a mineral in that region we crush to create this ink. By wearing the paint, we are wearing our home."
Calmly, the turian draws his thumb over the bridge of Shepard's nose, from left to right in one slow swipe. "Left to Right... West to east. Palaven's sun sets in this direction." He dipped his finger into the ink, pausing as he tried to determine what the human substitute would be for a cheek plate and mandible... Observing his own reflection for reference, Garrus decided to brush the ink over her jaw line, starting under her ear, flicking his middle finger out to paint a Y shape that outlined the bone and stopping at the midway point. He repeated this pattern, gingerly turning her head as he changed leverage. "Two great rivers run from the mainland into the coast, signifying the continent."
Garrus visibly relaxed, his voice reaching deeper recesses as he worked methodically and carefully. He let go of her chin, carefully cleaning his hands with a liquid solution on the stand. "The final step requires concentration," He explained as he dipped his thumbs into the ink. The turian's clean fingers gently cradled Shepard's face, cupping her cheeks as his thumbs rested at the sides of her nostrils. The commander breathed evenly, her glare subsiding as Garrus drew the paint along her nose, stopping at the bridge then sweeping the ink under her eyes. "Where I live, beetles migrate from the capitol to the coasts. They leave husks of their exoskeletons, that we crush with the minerals. They migrate in a swooping line, above the rivers and under the sun... the eyes are suppose to represent the sun and moon, the lines those migratory routes." He paused just at the woman's temples, lifting his thumbs then resting them carefully above the painted horizontal lines. His fingers combed back her hair as his thumbs stayed, locked in place.
"If you were turian, I would have traced your head fringe. But.. you are not, so I had to.. er.. imagine where it would be," Garrus explained carefully.
Shepard nodded once, her gaze softening as she watched the turian from their proximity. It was still deeply unnerving, and the turian didn't have the courage to explain his obvious discomfort to the woman. In his culture, touching the face was reserved for family members and intimate friends. The face reflected history, experience, and the individual. Garrus hadn't touched another's cheek in years, and that was when he last saw his family face to face in goodbye. It was, for lack of better words, a bonding ritual.
Her smaller, multiple appendaged hands braced over his, intelligent grey eyes searching his face. Garrus paused, admiring the fresh blue ink across her face, proud of his handiwork despite her lack of important anatomical parts like fringes, mandibles, and cheek plates.
"So I'm one of your clan now?" Shepard spoke evenly.
Garrus nodded. He combed her hair back a second time then leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers to complete the ritual before stepping away. The commander drew both hands up before he could move, pulling the turian closer and keeping their foreheads in contact.
"What does this mean? I've never seen this before," Shepard asked thoughtfully, peering up at him from their close proximity. "Do turians typically headbutt one another instead of answering simple questions?"
Vakarian snorted, mandibles fluttering under her hands. He pulled away from her grasp, shifting his weight backwards. "I can't say for sure what the equivalent is in human culture. An embrace? Acknowledgement on intimate terms? I don't know," He shook his head, running stained fingers over a cleaning solution and drying them with a towel. "But I have a strange feeling that what was done here has broken many creeds and principles in my colony. And, you maybe the first human to ever be adopted into a turian clan. Though, who knows? The Citadel is pretty cosmopolitan."
Shepard rolled her eyes, waving the acknowledgement aside. She leaned into the mirror, examining the deep blue paint across her face, admiring her reflection. "Can't wait to see the turian councilor on the Citadel in that case. I love ruffling his dim feathers," She touched the drying ink, brow raised thoughtfully. "Thanks, Garrus. This actually means a lot to me."
He mirrored a human expression as he smiled, lifting his mandibles and revealing a line of teeth as he scratched the back of his neck. "You're welcome."
Bouncing on her heels for a moment, the woman turned and patted Garrus' shoulder before she picked up her pace and sauntered towards the exit, "We'll be landing shortly, Vakarian. Put your makeup away and get ready. I get the feeling this might be a tough one."
"Following right after you, Shepard."
"Good," the commander replied curtly. "Wouldn't have it any other way."
Author's Notes ::
"Rules are meant to be broken."
