Shepard hesitated at the invitation, unsure if she trusted the yahg or not. While he had been civil with the three of them up to that point, almost to the point of apathy, she was not sure she trusted his base intentions. She felt uncomfortable without her gun, incomplete almost, as if she were missing an important part of her arm, and as soon as the yahg turned to start heading back towards the fireplace again, she quickly dove down, scooping up her Avenger off the floor, before hastily tucking it into her maglock, hoping the yahg had not heard the telltale sliding and clicking noises of the magnets rotating into place. Looking up towards their host, she hesitated again, expecting the yahg to turn around and object. However, he seemed either to have not heard the sound of the maglock or to have purposely ignored it, and so, taking another chance while his back was turned, Shepard leaned slightly into her in-helmet comm, attempting to link back up with the Normandy, but found she could hear nothing but the sound of static over the shot connection. "You can take off your helmets, by the way," the yahg informed them suddenly, causing Shepard to look up again, quickly, afraid he had caught her trying to communicate with the outside, but he seemed just as disinterested as ever before, his back still turned to the party. "We all breathe the same air here."
At this prompting, Shepard reached up towards her helmet, starting to unlatch it from her neck-guard, before suddenly stopping, realizing that she was not quite sure she could trust the word of a known predator. Waiting a moment to ensure the yahg would not turn around again, she quickly pulled up her omni-tool program, running a short atmospheric check, watching as the program trilled for a moment as it processed the surrounding air. Then, finally, it popped up with a reading confirming that the air was safe for oxygen-breathing life forms. Collapsing her omi-tool again, she unlatched her helmet, pulling it off, before shaking out her matted hair, sparing only a moment to try to smooth it down before tucking her helmet under her arm, looking up to await instructions from the yahg as to what she was supposed to do next.
The yahg, seeming satisfied with his unceremonious introduction, shuffled over towards the crackling fireplace, picking up the lid off the massive, bubbling teapot hanging on a hook over the blaze and peering inside, checking whatever was boiling there. He considered the contents for a moment, his ridged brow furrowing in deliberation, before he finally gave an unimpressed, offhanded sniff and dropped the lid back down again, clearly dissatisfied with the state of whatever it was inside the kettle. "Please, take a seat," he offered his guests, indicating a nearby table surrounded by what looked to be crudely-formed stumps or stools. It took Shepard a moment to realize that all the seats around the table were uniformly fashioned, meaning that someone had taken the time to make each and every one as misshapen and ugly as the next, and this yahg had then thought it charming to intentionally put these monstrosities in his house as decoration. "I don't mean to keep you standing around," the yahg added, taking a civil step forward, causing the travellers to grip their helmets tighter in response, all three resisting the knee-jerk reaction to reach for their guns. "You must be exhausted. Please, sit."
Shepard hesitated at the proposition, unsure if she wanted to let herself get too comfortable around this creature, but then, realizing that it would be better not to make him angry until she had a real plan of action, she began to move tentatively towards the arrangement, setting her helmet down on the table before pulling herself awkwardly into one of the offered seats. She watched as Rahma and Vega settled cautiously into the other seats situated around the uneven table, Vega trying to find room for his legs while Rahma tried to keep her hump from getting crushed up against the too-close wall. Watching them struggle, Shepard could not help but wonder who the table had been set up for, as she could not imagine a space too small to fit two humans and a krogan would be large enough to fit one or more yahg. "I'm not sure why you doubted my invitation to remove your helmets," the yahg suddenly spoke up again, causing Shepard to look up, startled at having been caught. "It seems fatuous that I would have bothered saving you from danger if I only intended to suffocate you immediately afterward."
Shepard flushed bright red at the sensible argument, feeling the tips of her ears start to burn at having been called out, but quickly forced the blush back down again, clearing her throat instead. "Why did you save us, by the way?" she asked, hoping her curiosity would not prove to be the insult that turned his temperament. Vega looked up at her at the question, his eyes wide at her boldness, but she kept her expression impassive, polite, not allowing the yahg to see her squirm. She did not see a surface issue with asking such a pertinent question, considering the circumstances, but she also had little experience with yahg, and so could not be certain whether that would or would not upset his predatory sensibilities.
The yahg seemed less surprised by the question, as if he had fully expected her to ask it, and he let out another low, rolling, grunting noise, as if he were adding extra sound to his sighs in an effort to fill space. "Would you have preferred I not save you?" he asked, bluntly. "I could very easily deposit you all back outside… if it's really that much of an issue." Shepard instantly clenched her jaw at the straightforward answer, sitting up a bit straighter in her seat and pressing her hands flat on the table, trying hard to ignore the pointed look Rahma was giving her, as if she had known from the start that asking such a question would be a bad idea. Moving over to his misshapen cabinet, the yahg pulled down a small, clay jar full of black and purple leaves, considering the contents for a moment before giving them an offhanded sniff. Then, seeming satisfied with his find, he picked up a large wooden spoon from his counter, moving back over to the tea kettle and opening the lid again, before tipping a few of the leaves inside, watching them boil into the water for a moment before starting to stir the pot, meditatively.
Realizing the yahg was not going to say anything else on the matter of their rescue, Shepard glanced over towards her crew, unsure what she was supposed to do, before finally clearing her throat again, softly, hoping to get the yahg's attention. "We appreciate the offer of shelter, uh… sir… but unfortunately, we can't stay here overnight," she informed him, frankly, hoping he would respect her straightforwardness more than he took offense at her refusal of his hospitality. "We have to get back to our pickup point before it gets too late. There's no comm reception down here in your… house… and if we don't get back to the pickup point, they're going to think we died down here—"
"That's too bad," the yahg returned, insipidly, pulling his stirring spoon from the tea kettle to tap it against the side, getting rid of any stray drops still attached to the end. "So many people do die down here." Shepard stiffened at the ominous comment, wondering again if this yahg had trapped them down in this hole with the intent to kill them, but he made no move to intimidate them further, only bringing the stirring-spoon up to his mouth, testing the flavour of the tea, before muttering something and shaking his head, starting to stir the pot again. "Generally visitors dally around for too long, not realizing there's barely half an hour between low sun and nightfall," he went on, as if there had been no interruption. "The worst wildlife on Parnack comes out at night. That's when the prey animals are sleeping, and the predators can catch them off-guard. It's a coward's sport, really, but… they're only animals." Staring down into his teapot again, he gave it another few thoughtful stirs, seeming preoccupied with his task, before letting out another short, soft grunt. "I suppose we're all only animals, in a way," he added, musingly, more to himself than to his guests. "Doing what we must to survive."
Shepard frowned at the bizarre addendum, before shaking her head, deciding it would be best not to draw attention to it. "Speaking of which—what was that thing?" she asked, attempting to change the subject, still trying hard to get comfortable in the too-high chair. The seat was hard and lumpy, likely made out of wood or clay, but it still felt good to rest her tired legs after her mad dash through the thick jungle.
"What thing?" the yahg asked, turning to glance back at them from the fireplace again, giving his ears a short flick as he did so.
"That… thing," Shepard repeated, unsure how else to say it, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. "That big thing. The thing that was chasing us."
"Oh, that," the yahg returned, seeming only half-interested as he shuffled away from the hearth again, holding the grip of the massive teakettle in one meaty hand. "Yes. That. That was a yaarex. A brutish sub-species of the yahg. Totally wild. They're something of a… a distantly related super-yahg, I suppose you might call them. Like gorillas would be to humans." Turning to face his visitors then, the yahg held up the teakettle, causing the three of them to lean back in their seats, not wanting to be splashed with any stray hot liquid. "Tea?" he asked, pointing to the kettle with his free hand.
"Uhh… sure," Shepard answered, not wanting to offend him.
The yahg nodded in satisfaction at her answer, crossing back to his cabinet, before pulling out three matching black mugs and setting them down on the table in front of his guests. The mugs looked reasonably sized in his large hands, but as he brought them closer, it did not take long to realize that each one was nearly the size of Shepard's head. Still, she bit her lip, saying nothing, only watching in uneasy anticipation as he poured them each a nearly-full cup, sliding the steaming liquid to each of them as he finished filling the mug. Once done pouring tea for his guests, the yahg turned away from the table again, moving to the cabinet to fetch himself a mug and pouring some tea for himself. Shepard brought her mug in closer, wincing as she looked down into the murky black liquid, before blowing on the steaming cup, hoping to buy time without actually having to drink the mystery brew. The tea smelled earthy, like topsoil, the scent so overwhelmingly strong that she could barely stand to keep it near her without tearing up at the intensity, and she slowly pushed it a few inches away again, just far enough to give the illusion that she still intended to drink it.
"I've never heard of a yaarex before," Shepard commented, returning to the original conversation, causing the yahg to glance back at her again in interest as he finished pouring his own cup of tea. She hoped that by distracting the yahg with discourse she might take his mind off attacking them, if that was his intent, but she also found herself admittedly curious about the strange and frightening fauna of Parnack. She had never really given the planet any sort of thought before, which she realized now was likely foolish on her part, as any world that served as a homeworld to an intelligent lifeform was probably one best kept on the radar, if only for safety's sake.
"Some people claim that the yaarex are a new species to Parnack," the yahg answered, informatively, turning around to face Shepard again and resting the base of his mug against the rough palm of his opposite paw. "Relatively speaking. They've been here for hundreds of years, of course, but since the planet is millions of years old…" Trailing off, he gave a small shrug, taking a sip of his pitch-black tea, before looking down into the mug in his palm and frowning, seeming a bit perturbed by the taste. "Bitter," he commented, offhandedly, before turning back to the cabinet again, this time pulling down a yellowed cylinder of liquid that seemed too watery to be jam and too thick to be juice. Setting his tea down on the counter, he unscrewed the lid from the flavouring container, carefully tipping the liquid into his tea and watching as a dribbling of whatever it was trickled down into the massive mug. Finished adding the mystery liquid to his tea, he then turned back towards his guests at the table, picking up the same large spoon he had used before and holding both objects up for the three of them to see.
"Would any of you like some calak plant extract in your tea?" he asked, courteously. "It's quite good once you get past the initial flat taste. Quite sweet at the back of your tongue. Just have to avoid it at the front." Then, before Shepard had a chance to protest, he dropped the soupy dollop unceremoniously into her mug, stirring it in with a cheerful smile as he watched it dissolve into the tea. Seeing this, Vega and Rahma quickly pulled their mugs in towards themselves, protecting them from being given any extra flavouring, and, in return, the yahg gave a faint, understanding grunt, before turning away from the table again, screwing the lid back onto the cylinder and returning the extract to the cabinet. Now having finished flavouring their tea, the yahg picked his own mug up from the counter again, making his way back towards his large fireside chair and settling down in it with a hefty sigh. Setting his tea aside on his armrest, he stuck the spoon he had used for the calak into his mouth, licking off what extract still remained with a faint slobbering sound, and Shepard could barely keep from making a face as she watched him, wondering how often – if ever – he cleaned the spoon he had just used to stir her drink.
Finishing licking off the last of the calak from the spoon, the yahg wet his lips, cleaning the last traces from the serrated exterior of his tri-cut mouth, and Shepard had to look down intently at her own mug of tea to stop herself from staring. His tongue was long, black, and tapered, and seemed to have the same tiny hooks on its surface as a cat's tongue – a precautionary evolution, she supposed, to keep the yahg from hurting their tongues against their own sharp teeth. "Nobody is quite sure where the yaarex came from originally," the yahg finally spoke again, returning to the previous conversation, breaking the agonizing silence. "There's been no real scientific conclusion as yet on whether they were the result of a terrible mutation somewhere along the line that breeding has blessedly exacerbated over several years of natural evolution… or a horrific experiment that was dropped off on our planet when the ones who made them realized they couldn't control them. All we know for certain is that they came from us, not the other way around."
Taking another tentative sip of his black, murky tea, he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, considering the taste, before giving another deep, dissatisfied grunt. "Cold," he muttered, perturbed, making Shepard wonder just how hot it had to be to satisfy him, as her own drink was still quite warm to the touch. "Regardless – they've been here since before my time, the yaarex. They've been here since before any of our times. They're a staple around here, more or less. But that doesn't mean we like them." Having said this, the yahg paused, considering, giving his ears another subconscious flick as he tried to think if there was anything else about the yaarex he had neglected to say. Then, seeming satisfied that he had explained all on the matter he needed to, he took another sip of his tea, pensive, staring intently into the fireplace, before suddenly seeming to realize something and setting his tea aside once more. "I'm afraid I haven't asked your names," he told his three visitors, glancing back at them over the top of his steaming mug sitting on the low side table. "How rude of me. What should I call you?"
Shepard hesitated at the question, unsure how best to respond. She knew it would likely be unwise to give this alien their real names, but the thought was quickly pushed aside as she realized that it would probably not make any real difference if he knew them or not. Yahg were pre-spaceflight, so she figured the possibility of this yahg using his knowledge of their identities to chase after them after they left his planet were slim to none. "I'm Shepard," she finally answered, indicating herself, before moving on to her teammates in turn. "This is Vega, and this is Rahma."
"Shepard?" the yahg asked, seeming suddenly intrigued, his webbed ears vibrating as he perked up a bit at the mention of her name. "Any connection to Commander Shepard, the fabled war hero?"
Shepard frowned in response, gripping her tea mug tighter between her hands as she tried hard not to let her discomfort show too plainly at the pointed question. She had not expected word of her accomplishments to have reached the residents of Parnack – they had been mostly unaffected by the Reaper War, as far as she knew, so she could think of no reason for any of them to have specifically sought out information concerning her. "None that I know of," she finally answered, cagily, before pursing her lips, making it clear she had nothing more to say on the subject.
The yahg grunted at the short return, seeming untroubled by her coldness. "Well. It's good to meet you, Shepard," he answered, simply, before turning to look at her other two companions. "And you, Vega… and Rahma. My name is Mov. It's good to meet all of you, even if it is under… such unusual circumstances."
Shepard's expression instantly cleared at this, and she hesitated, her fingers itching around the edges of her massive mug, unsure how to ask him about his name without offending him. "Your name is Mowve?" she finally asked, forgoing her attempt at delicacy. "As in—Mauve? The colour mauve?"
Mov gave a heavy, weary sigh at this, but nodded his massive head in response, regardless. "Yes," he said, his tone sounding strained, as if he were too used to entertaining this question. "Or, well… not exactly like the colour. M-O-V. But close enough that people always assume that's what I was named for. My mother didn't know what the word meant when she gave the name to me, or so it goes. She merely liked that it was a short, effective name, and she was rather fond of that hard 'o' sound." Giving a short, deep chuckle at this, he flicked his ears back once, before nodding pensively again, more to himself than to Shepard, hardly seeming to notice that Vega had gotten out of his seat during the course of the conversation and was starting to curiously explore the compact house. "I have a brother named Kovak and a sister named Kota, so I suppose I can believe her on that," Mov added then, an almost conspiratorial sort of humour in his black eyes as he said it. "Kovak and Kota are my older siblings. I'm, of course, the baby of the family." Shepard frowned even deeper at this addition, finding it difficult to parse the idea that this nearly eight-foot-tall, likely half-ton-plus alien could be considered the baby of anything, but she was spared having to respond as Mov quickly cleared his throat, preparing to go on.
"The yahg are very adept at picking up new languages," Mov explained, this time glancing back towards Shepard as he spoke. "I myself know thirty-four. My mother knew sixteen languages, but Sol-English just happened to be one of the ones she never quite got the hang of." Then, sipping at his tea again, Mov fell silent, allowing for a moment of thought to hang heavy, in the small, neat hovel, hardly seeming to notice as the two visitors still sitting at the table exchanged anxious glances behind him.
"If you don't mind me asking," Shepard finally spoke up again, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Your Sol-English is… impeccable. Have there been human visitors to your planet before now?"
"Oh, yes," Mov answered, giving a slow, knowing nod of his broad, horned head. "Absolutely. Dozens. Most of them crash-land here on accident and are quickly eaten by the yaarex, or are brutalized by the less socialized of my kind. Not many come here voluntarily like you three." Taking another sip of tea, he hummed musingly to himself, staring intently into the fireplace as his webbed ears gave another meditative quiver. "I suppose that makes the three of you either very foolhardy or very brave," he added, almost as an afterthought. "Or perhaps you have another, more secretive ulterior motive I'm not yet aware of. It wouldn't be the first time."
Shepard frowned at this unusual addendum, exchanging a quick, curious glance with Rahma before turning her attention back to Mov again, intrigued. "What do you mean, not the first time?" she asked.
"I mean it's not the first time someone has come to Parnack claiming one motivation when they really had another," Mov repeated, bluntly, turning to look at the two of them in almost irritated candour. Then, seeming satisfied that this explanation was all he needed to give, he turned back towards the fireplace again, taking another sip of his tea as he stared pensively into the flames.
"Hey, cool," Vega's voice suddenly piped up from across the tiny house, causing both Shepard and Mov to turn at the sound, only to realize that he was holding up what looked to be a very old, hardcover comic book. A wide, pleased grin lit up his face as he cracked the book open, flipping the pages, before starting to skim over the colourful panels, scanning his armoured fingers eagerly down the glossy folios as he read. "I love the X-Men!" he added, excitedly, pointing to one of the panels. "And this one has Beast in it! He's the bomb."
No sooner had the words left Vega's lips when Mov suddenly gave a massive roar, turning away from his peaceful fireplace to lunge towards Vega across the room, using one muscular arm to springboard himself over the floor before quickly snatching the worn comic away from Vega's hands. The webbed spines at his jaw flared out, vibrating defensively as he held it protectively against his chest, and Vega quickly reached for his weapon in response, drawing it and pointing it at the yahg. Shepard and Rahma were swift to repeat the motion from their positions across the room, but Mov only clutched the book even tighter, protecting it from Vega's grasp, seeming to not even care that he now had three guns pointed at his head. "Don't touch that!" he bellowed, snarling at Vega. Then, after a moment, his defensive spines began to settle down again, and he turned, placing the book carefully back on the shelf, before taking the time to make absolute sure it was tucked as neatly into place as it had been before it had been disturbed. Then, once the book was safe again, Mov gave a heavy, weary sigh, turning away from his bookshelf again, before lumbering back towards his chair and dropping himself heavily down into it, picking up his mug and taking a long, settling draft of tea.
After a moment of awkward silence, broken only by the faint slurping sound of Mov sipping his tea, he finally set his mug down on the side-table again, folding his clawed hands over his chest and taking a moment of meditation. Then, looking over towards his guests again, he paused, an expression of loath world-weariness on his grizzled features. "I apologize if my behaviour startled you," he finally said, glancing pointedly towards Vega again. Vega still held his gun at the ready, his resolve wavering only slightly at the apology as he stared at the yahg with wide, wary eyes. "But you must understand how difficult it is to get anything of any intellectual value on Parnack. The majority of the yahg… they're a warring race. Brutish. Unsophisticated. Ever since being barred from Council Space – due to their own barbarous actions, might I add – they have no interest in anything beyond that which they have already managed to figure out for themselves." Sneering a bit at the thought of the incompetence of the others of his species, Mov stared back towards the clay firepit again, his gnarled, toothy lip curling as he let out a low, buzzing hum. "They don't take the power of suggestion kindly," he added, nearly spitting out the words as he said them. "They prefer to discover, rather than be taught. So whenever a foreign ship crash-lands on Parnack, the yahg who find it almost always destroy everything in it without a second thought as to its potential scholastic significance."
His brow furrowing over his eight black eyes again, he paused again, thoughtfully, before letting out a deep, sharp grunt, considering his explanation. "That's why I chose to live out here," he told his visitors, shrugging a bit as he took a deep breath in, causing his hands to move forward with his ribcage before falling again as he let his breath out once more. "Away from civilization. It serves me better in my efforts to find educational materials from visiting starships, you see. Whenever an exploration vessel lands on Parnack, they never land in the populated areas, oh no. They know better than to try to interact with the yahg directly. When people come to Parnack, it's generally to study the wildlife… and, relatedly, when they crash, it's usually out here in the jungle." Pausing again, Mov stared over at the line of books on the shelf for another moment longer, before turning to glance back at his three visitors again. "That's what I was doing in the forest this evening," he told them, almost conversationally. "Searching for the most recent reported crash site. I have exterior monitors set up that tell me whenever ships crash within a fifteen-mile radius of my home, you see. I've had to restrict myself to that tight radius, unfortunately… attempting to travel any further than that alone in the jungle would be suicide."
"The research ship crash site, you mean?" Shepard asked, surprised.
Mov hesitated a moment at her question, thinking back, his ears giving another few distracted flicks as he did so. "…No," he finally answered, slowly. "No, I already found that one. That was days ago. This one was smaller. It seemed like a drop-off vehicle more than a research vessel, really. But when I got to the place where my monitor said it would be, it was gone." Frowning again, he shook his head, turning to look back towards the fireplace once more. "Bizarre," he added, sounding disappointed. "Most unfortunate. An entire day's journey, wasted."
Shepard instantly perked up at the remark about the vanishing drop-off vehicle, feeling her whole body stiffen with anticipation. "Do you remember where the spot was on your monitor?" she asked, hopefully.
Mov let out another soft, buzzing hum, as if the strange sound helped him gather his thoughts, before finally shaking his head and glancing over his shoulder towards the far corner of his abode, where a jumble of dim-faced electronic panels sat whirring quietly, so quietly that Shepard had not even noticed them up to that point. "My monitor keeps a record, but… it's so much trouble to check it," he answered, sounding suddenly much more tired than he had only moments earlier. "Perhaps later, once I've had a chance to rest. It was a long journey coming back, you know. I'm not as young as I used to be." Shepard frowned at the brushoff, disappointed, but kept her resolve firm, determined to come back to the subject in a little while, perhaps when the yahg was better warmed up to the three of them. She knew that the vanishing shuttle he was referring to had to be the Kodiak, which had likely pinged on his crash radar when it had dropped them off several hours ago, and if he had coordinates to the exact location where Cortez had left them, that meant he might be able to help them get back to the pick-up site through the dark, treacherous jungle.
"Why don't people try to interact with the yahg directly when they come here?" Vega suddenly asked, frowning a bit, causing both Shepard and Mov to look up at him in surprise. "Wouldn't that be more beneficial to studies of Parnack?"
Mov hesitated at his question, as if trying to determine for a moment if he were being serious or not. Then, realizing he was being sincere, the yahg gave a soft, pointed clearing of his throat, before looking back over towards his books again. "The yahg see alien interference as a threat," Mov informed Vega, solemnly. "Ever since the salarians started trying to uplift other species, the yahg have been on high alert in regards to trespassers to our planet. They have a tendency to become… uncivilized, if they feel their way of life has the potential to be threatened."
"I remember seeing some yahg on Sur'Kesh," Shepard agreed, nodding along, attentively.
Mov paused at her comment, turning to look at her, his gaze penetrating and pensive, and for a moment he sat in odd, thoughtful silence, the only movement his webbed ears giving a few short, preoccupied flicks. "Yes…" he finally answered, slowly. "That did happen, I suppose." Then, turning his attention away from her again, he frowned down into the fireplace, seeming to be trying to remember where he had been before she had cut him off so rudely. "Most of the yahg are opposed to uplifting," he finally went on, matter-of-factly, returning quickly to the subject at hand. "They think it's cheap. Dishonest. They reject all discoveries made by lifeforms outside of yahg societies. As a result, what few enlightening alien specimens I do manage to salvage are precious to me. You understand." Turning around in his chair again, he pointed towards the display of books, raising the ridges of his brows above his top set of eyes and puffing himself up faintly in pride, his webbed ears giving another flick as he showcased his impressive collection.
"Those are the result of several years of painstaking collecting," he told them. "A majority of them, including the colourful one your friend Vega was just looking at, I got from the ship of a human collector of rare and unusual oddities. He kept them in a display case in his private quarters. The oldest of them has to be at least three hundred years old." Looking back over at Shepard again, he picked up his mug, before clearing his throat, faintly. "You're welcome to look at them," he told her, giving a short nod of his head in the direction of the bookshelf. "Just as long as you don't touch anything. They're fragile enough as it is. I don't want them falling apart on me." Pausing here, he lifted his tea-mug towards his tri-cut mouth again, effectively hiding the lower half of his face with it, before his beetle-black eyes shifted back to Vega once more, trapping him with a cold, glistening stare. "If they did happen to fall apart, that would be… unfortunate," he added, his voice a slow, meditative rumble now. "For everyone involved." Vega shifted uncomfortably at this telling comment, stashing his gun back at his belt, but Shepard quickly pushed her mug of tea away from her, glad to have an excuse not to drink it, before sliding out of her chair to move over to the shelf of books. Leaning in, she began to inspect the neatly-arranged spines, noting with some interest that all of the books were of differing sizes, some of them short and slim, others tall and thick, and while some of the titles were still readable, others had been rubbed off over time, making the books almost unidentifiable.
As she combed the shelf, admiring the ancient books, her eyes were quickly drawn to one title in particular, and she instinctively gave a soft, sharp intake of breath as she realized it was an old dusty copy of Ray Bradbury's Martian Chronicles. "You've got an old Bradbury in here," she commented, reaching forward to touch the mid-sized book, before quickly remembering the outburst that Vega handling the X-Men volume had prompted and retrieving her hand again. The book was bound in peeling red leather, with most of its gold-embossed title rubbed off along the spine, and from the yellowing visible on the exterior of the pages, she figured it had to be at least two hundred years old. "My son loves old science fiction," she added, turning to look back at Mov again, hoping to distract from the fact that she had almost handled the fragile tome. "That's the only reason I know it. I'm not much of a reader, myself. At least… not of that kind of stuff."
"Oh, you've got a son?" Mov asked, sipping idly at his tea, seeming wholly content not to move from his seat. "What's his name?"
"David," Shepard answered, quickly, unable to help wondering if she had already said too much. She had no idea what this yahg's interest in her son was, but she figured with David back on the Normandy, he was at least safe from harm by proximity alone. "He just turned three. He doesn't know how to read yet, but… he loves to be read to."
"David," Mov mused, nodding along. "Well, there are worse names for a child, I suppose."
"Like Mauve, you mean?" Shepard returned, deadpan, barely missing a beat.
At this, Mov choked, nearly spitting out his tea, before quickly looking up at Shepard again, his ear- and chin-spines flared and vibrating, his eight black eyes wide, as if he could not believe what he had just heard. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he let out a deep, assenting chuckle, giving a nod of his large, horned head and turning to look back at the fireplace again. "Touché," he answered, honestly, flicking his ears in surprised amusement. "Very bold. I like you, Shepard."
"Thanks," Shepard answered, flatly, unmoved by his approval. Moving back across the tiny house, she stood beneath the opening she and her crewmates had been originally pulled down through, observing the nearly-perfect circular shape carved out of the stone. It was so well camouflaged that it could easily have been mistaken for part of the wall, and she figured it probably blended in just as well from the other side, a precautionary measure to keep passing predators from suspecting anyone lived there. Thinking about this, she quickly realized that it being so well-hidden also provided another, rather more glaring problem – if Mov were to kill them down here in this hole, or otherwise try to keep them prisoner, then even a search party sent from the Normandy might not be able to find them so well hidden underground. "So do you think you might be able to pull up those coordinates for us?" Shepard asked, tired of beating around the bush, turning away from the door again to cross back to the table where Vega and Rahma were still sitting, shifting uncomfortably in their seats.
Mov sucked his teeth for a moment, considering the bold question. "Hm," he finally answered, giving his ears another thoughtful flick. "Perhaps." Picking up his tea again, he took another long, deliberate draft, forcing them to wait for him to finish before receiving the rest of his answer. Then, finished with his drink of tea, he let out a soft, satisfied sigh, tilting the mug to inspect the last dregs still clinging to the bottom, before deciding they were not worth fooling with and setting it aside on his chairside table again. "But first… you have to do something for me."
Shepard bristled at the inevitable catch, feeling her teeth clench and her hands curl subconsciously into fists in front of her on the lumpy table. Mov seemed to notice this reaction as well, as his bottom four eyes flicked down to her hands before turning back up to her face again, glinting wickedly in the firelight as he watched her, as if enjoying the turmoil she was trying so hard to keep from showing all over her face. "What do I need to do?" Shepard asked, trying her hardest to keep her tone civil, though everyone in the room could tell she was feeling anything but.
Mov paused, staring at Shepard another moment longer, seeming to be considering the possibilities of his request. Then, finally, he grunted again, the sound seeming an almost unconscious reaction at that point, before his black eyes slid away from Shepard to settle on the crackling fire cove. "Allow me to join your crew," he told her, simply, his tone incredibly blasé, as if he were asking to have something different for that night's supper.
Shepard instantly blanched at his appeal, her hands and teeth unclenching immediately as the shock of the demand hit her like a ten-ton weight. "What?" she insisted, sharply, hardly caring to keep her tone polite, hoping she had heard him incorrectly even though she knew she had not.
"Your crew," Mov repeated, unaffected, turning to look at her again. "On your spaceship, where you live. Take me aboard, let me join your crew, and I'll help you out."
"I… I can't do that," Shepard told him, shaking her head, quickly. "I'm sorry. I'm not comfortable letting people I just met join my crew." Having said this, she pursed her lips, pointedly not looking at Vega or Rahma, hoping they knew well enough at this point not to say anything about her hypocrisy. Both seemed to receive the message loud and clear, as neither one said anything in response, merely sitting in wary silence as Shepard faced off with the yahg.
Mov seemed less convinced by her resolve, his ridged expression slowly folding into a suspicious, censorious frown, before he gave off another deep, rolling, rumbling sound, low enough that Shepard could see the surface of the tea in their still-full mugs begin to ripple faintly in response. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of disapproving bass, Mov turned away from the three of them again, staring indignantly into the fireplace and taking in a deep breath, before letting it out in a long, drawn-out sigh. "Then I suppose I can't help you find your disappearing crash site," he told them, matter-of-factly. "I'm simply… not comfortable guiding people I just met through the jungle. Especially at this time of night."
Shepard swore inwardly at the smarmy retort, knowing full well she should have expected something petty like this from Mov. He had given them nothing but trouble so far, so she had no idea why she had expected him to change now. "Listen, it's not you," she told him, trying to be reasonable despite her frustration. "I just don't have the resources to take on any new crew members at this time. We're already spread thin enough as it is – in fact, the only reason I'm here at all was because I could barely afford to support the crew I have—"
"You said you needed to get off Parnack tonight," Mov cut over her explanation, bluntly, turning to look over at her again with piercing, sunken eyes. "Either you do this for me, or I don't help you. There's no more discussion to be done on the matter. Take my offer, or leave it." Turning his gaze to the firepit again, he settled down lower into his lumpy chair, the bony brow over one set of eyes arching ever so slightly in pedantic thought. "If you leave it, you're still welcome to stay here," he added, as an important afterthought. "I'm not going to go back on my original offer. And whenever morning comes, you're welcome to take your chances again in the jungle on your own. But without me, you'll never get out of here alive at night." Having said this, his ears gave another thoughtful flick, and he paused, considering the flickering flames, before turning to look back at Shepard again, much more pointedly this time. "That's all there is to it," he told her, frankly. "…Commander Shepard."
Shepard glowered at this last comment, feeling her hackles rise sharply at the way he said her name, as if he had known much more about her all along than he had let on to this point. If he had recognized her as Commander Shepard early on despite her claims to the contrary, then that meant he knew about the Normandy, and though it made sense that anyone who followed her career closely enough to be able to recognize her three years after the War would want to see her famous ship, it also made her extremely nervous that this yahg knew so much about her. Being familiar with her ship meant that he might also be familiar with her crew, or at least the ones from before the War, which also meant he had an idea of who was waiting on board for Shepard's return. She knew that several untrained, unarmed members of her crew would make for easy targets for a yahg, including her own son, and she found herself cursing her eager mouth, wishing she had simply told Mov his book collection was nice without revealing anything about her personal life. Now that she had said it, however, it was too late to take it back, as yahg had excellent memories so the possibility of him forgetting she had mentioned David at all was slim to none. It seemed her only option now was to do whatever she could to protect her son, which at the moment meant taking every measure to prevent this eight-foot eviscerater from setting foot anywhere near her ship.
"Is this why you rescued us in the first place?" Shepard asked, testily, now unsure if she felt more frustrated with the intentionally futile back and forth or angry at having been deceived by this yahg up to this point. "So you could blackmail me into letting you on board my ship?"
"'Blackmail' is such an ugly word," Mov answered, cool as ever, his expression unchanging as he looked back into the fire again. "But to answer your question frankly – no. I saved you because I was, quite honestly, bored. Plus, I was tired of seeing the yaarex kill travellers… especially right on my doorstep." Making a face then, he scrunched up his flat, high-perched nose, the jagged corners of his tri-cut mouth pursing in censorious thought. "Messy," he muttered, disapprovingly, more to himself than to them. Then, returning to his train of thought, he cleared his throat, raising his ridged brows, before looking back over at them again, giving them his full attention. "I never intended to harm you, if that was your question," he told Shepard, candidly. "That would be pointless, after I went to all the trouble to save you. But on the same note, I'm not about to risk my neck out there against the yaarex again unless there's something in it for me in return. You must understand where I'm coming from… a pragmatic woman like you."
"He's got a point," Vega observed, causing both Shepard and Rahma to turn to look at him, a bit bewildered. Vega shrugged at their reactions, seeming unaffected, before leaning in a bit closer to the two of them and lowering his voice to speak more confidentially. "Besides, I don't think we have much of a choice," he added, matter-of-factly. "He's the only one out of any of us who knows anything about this planet. Plus he's been to the pickup site, so he knows the way without having to guess. Without his help, we could be wandering around in the jungle for hours."
"Commander no," Rahma countered sharply, leaning in and speaking in a low, anxious hiss. "We cannot allow this creature to join our crew. He is a yahg! They are dangerous and unpredictable. How do we know he will not attack us once he is on board?" Glancing up towards Mov again, she paused, anxious, expecting him to have heard and object, but he seemed to be ignoring the three of them completely, staring intently into the fire cove. "We do not know his true motivations for wanting to join your crew," Rahma went on, speaking even lower than before, turning her attention back to Shepard again. "All we know is what he claims, though he could very well be lying to you simply to falsely gain your trust. You do not know him nearly well enough for him to be allowed on board!"
Shepard glanced up at Rahma at this last remark, tempted to comment on the irony of her objection, but decided it would benefit no one to bring up technicalities at the moment, no matter how glaring. "Vega's right," she finally decided, hating the words even as they were coming out of her mouth. "Without Mov's help, we'll never make it back to the Normandy. I don't like it any more than you do, but…" Letting out a deep, regretful sigh, she frowned, glancing over towards Mov still sitting comfortably in his fireside chair. "We're just going to have to hope for the best and trust he won't turn on us once he's on board," she said. Sitting up straighter in her chair, she cleared her throat, turning to look over towards Mov again, still silently trying to convince herself she was doing the right thing. "Mov—" she started to say, but found herself quickly cut off again.
"You're taking me up on my offer," Mov answered, simply, still sitting restfully in his chair as he spoke. "You've decided to trust me for the time being. Good. We should get going then." Shepard frowned at his nonchalant response, feeling her stomach turn a flip. She could not help wondering just how long he had been listening in on their conversation, and how much of it he had heard, but she did not have time to get her answer as, pushing himself up out of his chair with a deep, tired-sounding grunt, Mov shuffled across the den towards the machines in the far corner, pulling up a holo-keypad on one of them and starting to input commands into the console. The scanner gave a soft, drawn-out beep in response, before projecting a blue screen marked with a flashing white light, the clock in the lower corner showing the time it had been recorded on the radar. Mov nodded approvingly, picking up his omni-tool sensor from beside the machine and sliding it onto the back of his meaty hand, before matching it up to the sensor on his machine, uploading the corresponding data. The machine gave another short, soft beep as the information finished transferring, before Mov turned away from it again, giving it one last, almost subconscious pat on its dimly-lit face, as if assuring a beloved pet he would return from a day at the office.
Shepard watched, captivated, as the yahg moved almost reluctantly between the familiar fixtures of his house, as if he were making one last, melancholy sweep of the life he was about to leave behind. It seemed odd to her to see such apparent sentimentality in a creature as vicious as a yahg, but she figured she had likely let her previous experiences warp her perception of the species, and she could not help feeling a bit ashamed by her knee-jerk stereotyping. Anyone would feel sad with the knowledge that they were about to leave behind the only life they knew for something as yet unknown, even someone as alien as Mov. Crossing over to his shelf of books, Mov knelt down, opening a pair of cabinet doors below the shelf, before pulling out a large, leather-looking knapsack from the cupboard. Then, setting the rucksack on the floor of the den, he began to remove the books from the shelf, stacking them neatly inside the pack as slowly and carefully as if he were dealing with sugar-spun glass. Shepard huffed at the sluggish process, glancing back towards the door of the den, anxious about the amount of time this was taking, but decided it was not worth saying anything for fear of their alien guide taking offense and backing out of his part of the bargain again.
Once the books were neatly stashed, Mov tied up the rucksack securely, making sure the strings were double-knotted and the flap was safely fortified. Then, sliding the pack carefully onto his back, he began across the floor of his house again, making his way over to a large, dusty metal box sitting in a corner of his shack. Shepard wondered if perhaps this box was where Mov kept his sentimental keepsakes, the things he wanted to keep best protected and would miss the most once he was gone, exploring the galaxy with her crew, but the feeling of romanticism was quickly forced from her mind as he pushed open the box lid, reaching inside, only to pull out an enormous, well-loved semi-automatic rifle, half Shepard's height and almost half her width as well. Popping the empty heat sink out of the massive gun, Mov let it roll away across the floor, unattended, before grabbing a handful of fresh sinks from the bottom of the box and shoving them into his side pouch pockets. Pushing a fresh sink into the barrel of the gun, he listened as the weapon whined to life, before slinging the well-worn strap over his colossal shoulder and turning to look back at Shepard and her bewildered crew again.
"Well, let's get going, then," he repeated, offhandedly, as if speaking about a casual trip to the cinema. "It's not getting any lighter outside." Then, patting the massive gun now hanging at his side, he indicated with a jerk of his huge head towards the door of the warren. "Might as well get this over with."