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"Mass Relays interact with Element Zero contained and utilised by ship-board Mass Effect drives." Legion explained for her while he sat in his pilot's seat, taking readings of the glowing orange Relay thousands of miles away. She couldn't see it from inside the ship, of course, but the quarters that Legion had bought them were exterior facing and gave them a wondrous view of it, regardless of its low cost. A cost explained to her as due to the risk of asteroids hitting the dingy little apartment, given they were on the outside. "This interaction induces the Mass Effect. A phenomenon that artificially lowers an object's mass, lowering its gravitational field and thus allowing for it to be moved at exceptional speeds over long distances."
"And the relays themselves are pointed along clear lines of space so ships don't hit anything on the way. Like massive rifles firing ship." She guessed, giving the machine next to her a quizzical look and grinning widely when it nodded to show she was right.
"You seem pleased, Pyrrha." The machine observed, causing the woman to flush.
"A-Ah, well, yes… I am pleased that I am learning what you are so kind to teach me so quickly." She answered, fighting to keep her humility, she coughed into a hand to hide the smile and spoke, to cover the action more than anything. "I doubt I will ever understand the physics and mechanisms of the entire procedure, but I do need to know generalities, at the very least."
"We are pleased that you are learning so adeptly." Praise she was used to, from fanatics and sycophants mainly, but this was praise from a machine that didn't care about earning her good graces. And so it had to be truly genuine, or it wouldn't have said it, and that made her preen ashamedly, her humility fighting with her pride at it.
"T-Thank you, Legion…"
As though sensing her internal conflict and seeking to draw amusement from it, the machine turned its head to her, speaking as its fingers flew across the holographic interface. "And your presence has facilitated in large part more close studies of organic species on Omega. We are truly grateful for this assistance."
"O-Of course, Legion. I do not mind in the least." Even if it meant being on the rancid smelling station and dealing with angry aliens often twice her size, and with sour attitudes to boot, she was happy to be of help. "I only wish we could do something to help people on Omega…"
"The people of Omega are not ones that readily accept help, unfortunately." Geth responded, pressing a few keys and standing suddenly, the woman pushing off the wall beside the console and raising her eyebrows curiously. Seeing the question on her face, a skill the machine was steadily learning, it turned to her and explained, "We have completed our scans of the Omega Relay, and found a few anomalies. The data is being uploaded to the Geth collective and will be studied in more depth by them."
"That's, uh…" Disappointing, uninformative and anticlimactic… All apt descriptors, and none of them polite enough she would ever say them out loud. Not to her friend, whether he had feelings he expressed the same way she - or organics, rather - did or not. "Good. I hope you find information that helps you find out what you want to know about Shepard."
Shepard was… Odd, to say the very least about the woman, in as many ways as she herself was almost. Which ought to have been impossible, given her death and godly reincarnation. But the woman was an enigma at the same time as having literally ninety percent of her life on the Extranet, which was an extraordinary feat. One could find out her cup size and her favorite food, on the same site oddly enough, but if one wanted to know her opinion on something? Or her beliefs? Her training, Brothers forbid? Anything that might be of value to understanding the woman under the black, bloodied armor she saw plastered across web banners and threads?
Nothing but silence and static, beyond rumor filled threads and conspiracy fuelling videos.
"Do not forget your hardsuit, Pyrrha. We are going to meet Aria once we arrive, which means traversin" The machine added as it stepped into the hallway and the wall slid open, letting it take some time to arm itself. Nothing fancy or new, just its semi-automatic marksman rifle and a blocky Predator pistol, which meant she couldn't distract herself.
Seeing her hesitation, the machine turned to her, "Please get dressed, we will be docking at Omega shortly, and you do not want to risk attack by the gangs there for being underdressed."
"And I know, I'm attractive, and there's… Unkind people that would seek to make money off it, if they could." Slavers among them, Legion and Aria had explained when they'd come to get the form fitting thing.
She was strong, smart, and attractive, and walking around with as much bare skin as she did drew that to the fore. Whereas on remnant, that had been purposeful, a style of herself as a Huntress and a show of her confidence, here it had none of that cultural inclination and information.
None of these people knew what a Huntress was. Or rather, what her kind of Huntress was, as the Asari apparently had an order of warriors who held the same name, or some such. But still, it didn't make her feel better to wear the thing, even as comfortable as it was.
"Protection isn't something you have to enjoy, Pyrrha, but you still have to do it. You agreed to this as part of protecting your friend." The mantra was one she had to repeat often now, whenever this kind of irksome thing came up.
She'd done it at Beacon, too, when Jaune's obliviousness had left her in the cold. Or, somehow worse, spending long hours alone with him under a romantic sky with nary a romantic sentiment from him for it. Grimacing, she chided herself, "Don't think about that, Pyrrha, you need to focus. Not get upset and lose your cool. Just focus on the hardsuit."
That chiding reminder always worked.
She hated her hardsuit, after all, so it was an adequate distraction.
It felt like something out of films meant for less than savory purposes, to her at least, though Aria had barked a laugh at the murmured statement and explained it was simply Asari style. They were a sexually confident species after all so they didn't largely have much to hide physically. And mono-gendered as well as strange as that was to consider even now a week after Aria had explained it to the 'ignorant colonial' as she'd been dubbed, which could be technically true so she'd let it go.
Every Asari looked similar, even by Aria's admission, thus the face paints and skin inking they had adopted from the Turians, and even beyond that they were practically ageless. She wasn't prone to such things, but she felt certain that after fifty years, a woman's behind in tight armor would grow stale. Familiarity robbed a thing of uniqueness, after all, which was why her first battle with a beowolf had left her quivering and the hundredth had been entirely without ceremony.
For all her vitriol, disquiet and embarrassment in wearing it, it was a rather simple thing though.
Hers was of a lighter bent than some Asari, at Legion and her own request alike when Aria had talked about it, to let her wear her armor and skirt over it. Legion's explanation, and the one she'd gone with, had been that she needed the extra armor, while the actual explanation was that she didn't like the way it accentuated her behind and bust. Aria had of course asked why, and Pyrrha had explained what she was and how she fought, albeit without the mentions of Aura, Semblances or her origin point. Aria had chuckled amusedly and then given her the armored suit, on the added condition Pyrrha return to 'show off' those skills sometime soon.
Which, Pyrrha supposed, was why they were on their way back now to go and see her.
The armored suit came in dark grey-black across the entirety with inbuilt shoes, of sorts, with soft, white soles and sides that could fit into her armored boots comfortably. It fitted to her form through means that had been partially explained - some sort of automated suction feature to adhere it to her - but, thankfully, didn't do so in a way that inhibited her movement. And though it hugged her tight enough she almost felt like people were touching her, there was no other adequate comparison for it to her mind, and while she could wear things over it she couldn't wear anything under it.
Including her shorts, thus her embarrassment if she didn't wear her skirt and sash over top of the ensemble. And her cuirass besides, of course, though that she had the honest argument of protection for.
The gloves were a piece she enjoyed, though, with a textured grip meant to help maintain a hold on an automatic weapon while firing. She'd already tried it, but nothing short of letting a weapon go outright tended have her lose her grip, which made the white-palmed piece a nice addition. Her neck was more protected now as well, with a thick fabric wrapped around it that capped the base of her skull, just under her hair at the back and under her chin at the front. It, too, she'd tested herself, drawing the edge of her blade along it and not managing to damage it beyond some surface scrapes.
From her palm, at the juncture of her thumb and forefinger, and the outside of her ankles both, a finger's width white line climbed smoothly along the outside of her limbs and around her neck's fitted collar. It then dove down, between the curve of her breasts, and opened on her stomach in a wide white swathe that looked to her like a lizard's underside, with the small almost scale work that made up the suit.
In her armor as she was now, one couldn't tell, but without the armored greaves and leather cuirass, she looked rather like a lizard.
"But you don't look like on in your armor, so no one will know." She told herself, stretching in her quarters with her armor on, as much to limber herself as to check the straps of her equipment and ease out the undersuit. Grimacing, she realized, "Except Aria… Who got this for me and knows exactly what I look like."
"Are you clothed?" Geth asked after rapping a metal knuckle on her closed door the way she'd taught it to. There'd been a few incidents that had led up to that, once she'd had her own room and wanted some privacy.
Thankfully, between them, she was the only one that cared about whether or not Legion saw what was under her shirt.
"Yes, I'm decent." She answered, putting aside the memories of her awkwardly explaining what knocking was and why it was important. Adjusting a greave, she added, "You can come in, Legion. I'm almost ready to go, I just need to check a couple things first."
"If you are ready, we must depart." Legion answered as the door opened and the ship shuddered. Its flanges flicked and it added needlessly, "We are at Omega, and Aria is waiting on us. It would not do to make her wait, she has a history of impatience and we need her permission to operate on Omega."
"I know, Legion, and we won't make her wait." She stood with the words and flicked her arms, summoning Milo and Akouo to her hands and rolling her shoulders. With a smile, she shrugged and finished with, "I'm ready now. Aria wants a display of my abilities, for her own amusement or for whatever other reason, and I do not mind giving her it."
"I believe she means for you to fight one of her guards."
"I had anticipated as much, yes." A spar would, after all, be the easiest way to get a measure of her capabilities. Stepping past legion, she spoke over her shoulder while they walked to the cargo bay and, beyond it, to their quarters on Omega at large. "Do not worry for me, Legion. I have fought monsters that dwarf anything anyone on this station as likely seen."
"That is unlikely. Thresher Maws are common beasts for mercenaries to run into on missions and Aria T'Loak's forces are entirely made up of-"
"It's a turn of phrase, Legion." She chuckled, using her Semblance to wrench open the old, rusted and marred hatch that let into their quarters. It screeched its protest as usual but let them through and Pyrrha gave the machine a small, amused smile as they stepped through the empty, rusted brown colored, one room apartment. "All it means is that I can fight well enough that I am not worried about a little spar between her own guards and myself."
"Acknowledged." The machine agreed quietly, walking a step behind her as she looked over the apartment.
"People use them to make points more quickly than spelling it out would cost. It's… About efficiency, I suppose." There wasn't even a proper bathroom, just a small bowl set against the outside wall that would vent into space at the press of a button. Not that it mattered, with the ship attached and having its own facilities. Still, she went on "Maybe she would agree to some prize money? We could use it to decorate."
"...Acknowledged." The machine finally answered, sealing the hatch behind them. It didn't specify which statement of hers it had acknowledged exactly, and she didn't ask. Instead, before she really could ask, it offered a chipper, "We wish you luck in your spar regardless, Pyrrha."
"I thought machines wouldn't believe in luck."
"We do not." The machine answered, an edge of… Humor to its voice, somehow, as its flanges twitched. "It was a 'turn of phrase', Pyrrha."
Outside their so-called apartment was a veritable maze of winding, catacomb-like tunnels made of alternating slabs of asteroidal stone, grated metal and a litany of different floors besides. Metal tiles, ancient, cracked and ruined stone tiles, pipes encrusted by dirt after doubtless centuries of passersby treading on them. The doors that led into the housing units varied equally as much, from recessed hatches with pipes around them like a spider's web to smooth stone buildings, and rusted sheet metal constructs that looked more cobbled together than built, per se. It was as though every compartment, floor and section had been assembled over centuries by a thousand different empires, companies and peoples.
Which, to her knowledge on the matter, was actually rather close to the truth.
Navigation way blessedly simple with a Geth around, of course. It had simply downloaded a map of the station, and they used it to navigate the various walkways, impromptu marketplaces, stairs and elevators. Some of the people they brushed by, or had to squeeze past with their hands on their weapons in some tighter and more packed avenues, stared at them. Some gazes were curious, some leered at her, some glared at him, but none made a move against them.
Geth instilled fear and hate, and the former kept the common man in line.
When they reached Afterlife near an hour later, the club was, for the first time since she'd first walked up to it over a week prior, silent. For the briefest moment she worried the place had been attacked and she paused at the end of the accessway, after they'd passed the mad Batarian preacher on their way up the elevator system from their much lower, exterior docking point.
But the worry, ingrained deeper in her psyche than she'd ever admit from Beacon's fall, vanished in the same moment it appeared. There was still a trio of guards in front of the doors, and a line of those who wanted into the club in front of those guards, arguing, pushing each other, and generally heckling for entry into the vaunted club. Oddly, she noticed a distinctly higher number of Krogan, some sporting uniform colors and insignias, among the lined up waiters.
They only held her gaze for a moment, though, before it was ripped away to something else. Along with her breath.
A blonde young man among them turned to his Turian friend, smiling a wide smile and grabbing the lithe alien's talons in his hands, bouncing on the spot excitedly. Her own eyes widened at the gesture, a Krogan laying a hand on the young man's shoulders and holding him still, speaking too quietly to hear but earning a good natured eye roll from the Human regardless.
"Jaune…" Her heart clenched, even as she catalogued the dozens of differences between the blonde and her blonde. The height difference, the lack of a sword, the energetic Nora-like exuberance, all told her that this was someone else.
It didn't stop her heart thrumming in her breast, or her hands shaking, or her eyes watering, or-
"Pyrrha." She flinched and turned at the voice, Legion's level gaze meeting hers plainly. The flourescent bulb that was its face twitched and rotated, taking her in while its mandibles flicked and flinched expressively. Finally it pushed her away from the door and against one of the windows that looked out on the station's insides spanning far and away and, voice low, asked, "Are you well? You appear to be in distress."
"I-I am quite alright, I just…" Saw a blonde person and had a panic attack? What was she supposed to really say about that, really? Instead she sighed and, gently, pushed the machine back a step, smiling so it knew she wasn't angry. "I had a moment, Legion. That is all."
"Due to what happened to you on your homeworld?" It asked, carefully constructing the question to avoid prying ears no doubt. Legion was surprisingly adept at considering those kinds of things.
"Yes, I…" Didn't know what to say, really. Forcing another smile she shrugged and sighed, "I saw someone that looked like someone from my home." At Legion's surprised turn, clearly searching the crowd for someone like her enough to distinguish, she giggled quietly and added, "I was mistaken, Legion."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes, they…" She sighed, leaning against the low piping and hoping that no one was paying them too much mind. A hard ask, with a Geth standing in front of her, but still a hope she held out for nonetheless. Though she would not be checking to see, for the same dark blue and black reason. "They looked similar enough to shock me, but they are here with friends. Alien friends. And once I looked closer, a thousand differences sprang up. I just…"
"It is common among Human psychology for those suffering from traumatic stress disorders to suffer from panic attacks when exposed to triggers." Its flanges twitched and it turned back to her, adding in a grave tone. "We believe it likely that blondes are such a trigger for you. Perhaps we should avoid them in future, Pyrrha."
"Legion, I don't think the hair color is what mattered, really." Or maybe it was a part of the problem, she mused, unable to be sure on the matter. Regardless, she pushed off the piping and sighed. "It's a combination of things, really… And I'm a warrior, Legion. I can get past this, I just need time."
"Pyrrha, you have been through what virtually no other organic could claim to have been through." Legion argued gently, or as gently as a machine could do anything really. Which wasn't a slight, it was actually… Rather good at being kind, as it was now. "If you are in ways damaged as a result, we will offer no judgement. Instead we would like to endeavour to find you treatment as we are-"
"No, Legion!" She snapped, harsher than she meant to. The machine flinched, eye rotating back and flanges flicking and then halting suddenly around its head like small flower petals, and she grimaced. Sighing, she spoke slowly and deliberately, hoping not to hurt Legion's feelings, such as they were, any more than she already had, "I'm not broken, Legion. I don't need some doctor rooting around in my head, I can get over this my self."
"But-"
"I appreciate the concern, Legion. I truly do, and can't explain properly how grateful I am for it." She cut him off again, smiling gently and offering a small, firm nod. "I am more than adult enough to deal with my own emotions, I assure you. I just need you to trust me, alright?"
"...Acknowledged." The machine answered simply, turning and resuming its walk towards the club. "In that case, we must be under way. Aria T'Loak has already been made to wait, and she does not like being made to wait."
"Yes, let's not keep her waiting any longer… Not over me, at any rate." She agreed. But… Was she crazy, or did Legion sound almost angry? Its voice was lower and warbled differently, almost like an inflection.
The reason for the club's lack of music in the main club at least had an easy, readily seen explanation..
As always when she'd needed to come to Afterlife, the round tables that surrounded the raised platform in the middle of the room were full to brimming, with those unable to sit instead standing around the table. Some leaned against walls, others sat on crates and even more had climbed up on the boxy walls and compartments that ringed the club's main room, where even more crates had been set up in rings of seats and tables, lower crates for the former and taller ones for the latter. Here and there, women moved carrying food and drink and lacking various amounts of clothing, the dancers that normally stood on the tables, along the walls and on top of the tall central platform serving as waitresses now rather than dancing, though they walked mostly nude regardless and Pyrrh tried to ignore it.
And the confusion over that lasted only a moment, before her eyes landed on the platform itself, where no dancers stood plying their, er, wares as it were.
Instead, from the floor of it to the ceiling, thick chain link fencing had been fixed into place, the lights at the apex of the room over the bar bright and shining down on the platform. Every few feet, the same poles the dancer's used, as far as she could tell, had been moved to the edge of the platform and used as anchor points for the fencing. A massive, reinforced and iron seat sat in one corner of the very roughly octagonal arena, with another far smaller stool on the opposite end clearly intended for her.
All in all, the night club looked less like a seedy bar and exotic dancing venue and more like… Well, like a tournament ground, she supposed.
"Ah, the woman of the hour has finally arrived!" Pyrrha jumped at the sound and looked to Aria's little VIP room, the woman standing with her hands on her hips and narrowed eyes. With a wave of her hand, she directed everyone to where the young redhead was and added, "And you brought your robot friend, too! Awesome. We've all been waiting for you, Little Red."
Inside a second, every eye in the club was on her. Some oggled her like she always had to deal with from the crowd while others considered her a mere curiosity they soon grew bored with, and still others looked at her judgingly. Analytically more like, she supposed, looking her up and down and gauging her abilities ahead of the coming fight. The latter she was used to as well, though she was not used to it coming from a veritable horde of aliens that looked mildly like a cross between lizards, turtles and an encounter with a large, angry cat.
One of those Krogan, old looking and wearing dark, ruddy orange armor pitted with bullet scars and crossed by what looked almost like claw marks, began climbing up and into the improvised arena. His skin was a pale yellow, almost to match the armor, but his scarred crest burned a bright red like a raw wound. Beyond that, though, he looked like any other Krogan mercenary, with the same heavy, thick armor they all wore, albeit more heavily scarred and weathered.
Seemingly tired of waiting, or wanting eyes back on her Pyrrha could never tell with Aria, the woman called out for attention.
"Now that our guest of honor has finally arrived, we can begin! Some introductions and then we can watch a real, Omega branded brawl ladies and gentleman!" The woman beamed a vicious smile, letting the crowd roared its approval for a moment before raising her hands to either side of herself in a request - demand, really, Aria didn't request anything - for silence. "Now, on the one hand, we have an eight hundred year old, battle hardened, Krogan warrior right out of Tuchanka, paid for my personal protection, Kralt Taratog."
For a moment, the crowd was lost again in distinctly Krogan roars of approval, the warrior grinning ferally and pounding his fists together for the attention. The action sent tremors through his armor, his shoulder pauldrons shaking, but the young Huntress ignored it.
Boastful flexing and posing was meaningless, she knew from experience, and the more someone did it the more likely they were to lose as far as she could tell.
"On the other hand, we have a young woman hailing from a far away, backwater world that isn't even on any of my charts. A tournament champion, according to her own words, who fights with a spear and a shield! Like something out of a movie, isn't it?" Aria laughed and the crowd joined her, every eye watching her climb up into the ring herself. Some even hurled various bits of detritus her way, but she dodged them as deftly as she would anything else and pulled the fence shut behind her. "Give us a good show, Nikos."
"I intend to." She called back, earning another feral smile from the woman.
"You had better." Aria sneered imperiously, "Because the one who loses this fight gets banned from Omega for the rest of their lives."
Her eyes widened, but it was far too late to back down now. Instead, she flicked her arms and called her weapons to her, sword unfolding into its spear form in her hand. She let it rest against the ground and sighed, murmuring a simple, "Well, I hope this is entertaining enough for you, God…"
It certainly wasn't for her.
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Side note, when Pyrrha mentions prize money, it is meant as a remark on her having participated in tournaments which, no doubt, had prizes for their winners to take. Just to clarify.
Further, Pyrrha's refusal to get help for her problems is not in any way an insult to anyone. Many people, myself included, are brought up in an environment that precludes seeking help for emotional and mental problems. 'Just be a man' is a saying that furthers this, for instance. Why would the Goddess of Victory, the perfect warrior, Pyrrha Nikos be raised to accept being broken inside?
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Omega Ultima :
I love all the ideas and brainstorming. Keep going, I enjoy reading it.
Mecharic :
Your poor keyboard~!