PATCHWORK GIRL
LADY NOH
Kasumi Goto's Story
When Shepard requires a tattoo artist for multiple sessions, Jack finds herself stitching together the commander's unspoken history. Pre Omega Relay - End
She walked in circles, feet pounding metal bands that comprised the cramped space's floor. Jack tried sleeping, but would turn over and over, eyes trained on the rails above her bed. Then she'd pick up those data pads and read. Again. And again. Memorizing the clinical information, sterile in its simple outline.
Project Zero.
Teltin Facility shut down, Solar Calendar March 2, 2174 CE.
Subsequential damages to property and loss of research.
Illusive Man cuts all funding and future inquiries, requests all search parties return to headquarters to prevent further loss.
Cleaning teams required to investigate any remaining data.
Coordinates: Nubian Expanse / Dakka System / Pragia / 34°37′4″N 117°50′1″W.
There were images of the facility, the poisonous flora that strangled the building inside and out. Jack flipped to another data pad, eyes fixed on Pragia's detailed information, licking chapped lips and gorging her starving mind on minuet details.
Choked by the hyper growth of non-native plant species, Pragia serves as a galactic reminder about the imperative for careful regulation during colonization.
Two centuries ago, batarian agribusiness chose uninhabited Pragia as their empire's breadbasket. Colonization authorities introduced non-native, industrially-mutated plants that flourished in the world's fertile volcanic soil. Synergizing with Pragia's natural geothermal conditions and chemotropic microbes the imported species soon became a nightmare. Mutant strains of poisonous and even carnivorous plants arose, overgrowing colonies in days instead of years and causing the batarians to abandon their holdings. Because the planet's small animal population is insufficient to check its plant growth, Alliance ecologists predict soil exhaustion in 400 years.
Due to its relative isolation and lack of population, Pragia has become a regional haven for drug-runners, weapons-smugglers, pirates, mercenaries, terrorists, and intelligence agents seeking secrecy.
And like a chain reaction, Jack would flip through codexes explaining Pragia's fauna, batarian agribusiness history on Pragia, colonial reports over the past two centuries, scientific studies using Pragia as an example of invasive-species gone awry, the future of Pragia, and environmental concerns over inappropriate care of life supporting planets in the Milky Way - Pragia as an example of sentient species mishandling native environments.
Jack would read, hungry for more. The data lacked further information about the Tetlin facility or even 'Subject Zero', only those four sentences describing the project's failure, abandonment, and facility site.
Then she'd get up, walk in circles, lay in bed, exercise, eat, and read again. Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat. It was obsessive.
As the hours passed, Jack lost track of time and of consciousness. Unable to keep her eyes open any longer, she fell asleep.
The dreams returned in strange patterns, a quilt patched by nightmares and subconscious fears. The anger came, bracing over her body... and then she'd kill. She'd kill the dream walkers that occupied her sleep, skinned knuckles pounding the people occupying her head into bloody pulps. Again and again and again.
"Jack?"
The sound lulled her, the voice was all around, sweeping her and pulling her away from the violence like a riptide.
"Jack?"
The ex-convict blinked, the darkness and dreams slipping past her, receding in the back of her mind as a strange voice guides her back into the small, familiar room below the engineer's deck. She frowned, brows furrowed as eyes scan the lair. She could've sworn the voice was coming from directly above her...
"Hey," the bodiless voice continued. "Nice to see you up!"
The voice moved, traveling above her and towards the stairwell, the tone piping and charming, welcoming and friendly. "I hope I didn't startle you. I've been waiting for an opportunity to talk and... well... I guess this is as good an opportunity as I can get."
Jack blinked, sitting up in her bed as a strange woman quietly stepped down the stairwell. Dim light gave shape to a figure swathed in dark clothes, the head-dress and skin-tight jumpsuit hinting at higher quality fabrics. She almost looked quarian, minus important anatomical and cosmetic details such as bird-like legs or the tell-tell helmet. The ex-convict deciphered few recognizable features, regarding the woman's pale skin and the painted lower lip.
"Who the fuck are you?"
"A co-worker," the woman responded in easy charm, crossing her arms under her breasts and leaning against the wall a respectable distance. "My name is Kasumi Goto, and I'm your biggest fan."
Jack blinked. One brow cocked suspiciously as she digested this strange woman and her strange greeting. "My biggest fan?" The ex-convict repeated. This stranger did not look like one of her biggest fans. Jack had met some "fans" after she tore apart a new crater on one of the Hanar's moons. They were often snot nosed kids who'd band together in their united wish to rebel against the rules and their strict parents by robbing two-bit civilian shuttles, claiming they were the infamous Jacqueline Nought.
This Kasumi Goto did not look like any fangirl she had ever seen before.
"Listen, Kasumi. I don't know what you are trying to fish for down here, but I ain't biting. Unless you have something important to say, go fuck off and play with Cerberus."
"Ooooh... Shepard was right. You are angry," a smile painted mischief across the woman's face. Jack's eyes widened, nerves pricking. Kasumi responded by quickly waving both hands in front of her, gesturing peace, "No, let me clarify. I am absolutely in love with your work."
Jack blinked, still confused and doubly irritated. "What work?"
"Your art, silly."
The ex-convict's jaw dropped, feeling a bit like a toad with her mouth open stupidly.
"I've watched you work ever since we picked you up from Purgatory. I've never really been a fan of human body art... Always cheap tattoos traced over boring stencils or 'inspired' by poor Japanese motifs. Silly identity monikers that people throw on their skin like graphic T-shirts to impress a certain shallow aspect of their personalities. But you, Jack... You are a master."
Kasumi gesticulated, hands weaving in the air with great animation, smiling widely as the words spilled from her lips. She sounded like a pious hanar describing her favorite enkindler story, though less formal and more descriptive, "When you first came onboard, I was very, very impressed with your body art. I know that someone else helped you put the ink on your skin, but there is no doubt that your designs come from a single artist - you. I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself earlier, but I've met moody artists before, and I know better than to be pushy. And... Oh my god, watching you work..."
"Wait... wait..." Jack blinked. "... you've been watching me work?!"
"Oh yes," Kasumi continued. "I followed Jacob and Shepard down here..."
"Followed... You mean stalked..."
"You say stalked, I say followed," Kasumi whistled off-hand. "Anyways, watching you work... And Shepard. That's your work, isn't it? The purple quarian sleeve, the dog tags twined into blooming and dying flowers... your style is so distinctive. Thick lines, a perfect balance of shade and color, oh and the way you use human skin..." Kasumi sighed, "Watching you work with Jacob... what a dream. And the disconnect between the smooth elephant tusk, contrast with Shepard's broken, twisted icon... What inspired that?"
"I..." Jack swallowed, brown eyes shifting from Kasumi to the ground, feeling rather put on the spot. The wave of excitement and adoration that poured from this odd woman flattered Jack. But then the nerves would come. What did she want? Obviously she wanted something. No one just approached her with high words and mighty compliments without wanting something in return. Jack felt buttered up, "Why? What do you want from me?"
"Oh, right..." Kasumi coughed, finger tapping the corner of her mouth. "Well... frankly, I want a tattoo."
"... what?"
"No, I mean it!" The woman raised her hands, universal human expression of 'No harm. See no weapons. Please calm down' before she explained herself. "I really do admire your work. You really are a master, Jack. The features of the women's faces across your left arm? Breathtaking... self portraits I take it? You know, Van Gogh did a series of self portraits... Always revisiting himself, redrawing himself, reinvestigating his time and his place, though mostly because few people wanted to sit down long enough with him to have their own portraits taken..."
Jack growled, fingers digging into the palms of her hands, "Is there a point to this story?"
"Well, he lived such a tragic life," Kasumi continued, "And... he saw so much sadness. So much heartbreak. And yet, despite all the pain, no other artist has ever perceived beauty the way Van Gogh did. He lived such a lonely existence, and is still one of the greatest artists to ever have lived. And... your work... your left sleeve... Shepard's tattoos. Especially the one of Tali's headdress? You see the same beauty he did."
"What does it matter to you?" Jack snapped.
"Jack, take it from me. I've seen a lot of art in my life... You haven't reached your pinacle yet, but you have a lot of potential and a gift. People aren't born understanding beauty. You have to see the real ugliness of life to understand the beautiful parts of it. You are... profoundly talented," Kasumi placed one hand over the other. Jack could see the soft spheres of light reflecting from her eyes, the woman's gaze fixed on hers. "I will pay you whatever you want."
Jack pursed her lips, "... What if you did me a favor instead?"
"Well... that depends on the favor..." Kasumi carefully stated.
"Tell me what you know about Commander Shepard," Jack finished. "Tell me, and I'll ink you."
Kasumi flinched.
Jack smiled.
Author's Note ::
:)
What. You thought Shepard was going to get a tattoo every chapter? Nah. Some characters like to get inked too.
