|7|
It was either eat standing up indoors or dine under the stars with a hot fire going, so the remaining house guests—resident war hero included—sat by the fire and enjoyed the small meal of leftovers Casnar had put together for themselves….The fire was good on their faces and feet, and Casnar's chair was turned towards hers which she had recovered from across the lawn. Turning her spoon over to catch the light and watch the glances of orange and yellow flame over the convexity of its bowl, she asked him what made him come to Earth, to live there out of all places for a drell, "…I didn't have much of a choice…Reapers scatter everyone and you do what you must to survive."
She turned her spoon into the plate, empty of a starch and protein concoction from the local market, and she turned her face to him, "…Colorado's not a bad place to pick…Arid climate for the most part, and I hear drells aren't fond of places with lots of rain."
"I didn't care much for Kahje, and my home—Rakhana which I've mentioned—has a similar aridness, but the land touched the ocean and there was a constant give and take of air phenomena…I would go back there, would have….But you came along and weren't going anywhere for a time, so I stayed."
"You didn't know me," she put her plate down with a click on the slab and leaned over the arm, "…You couldn't have stayed for someone you don't know….That doesn't make any sense."
"You fought for millions of people you didn't know…Why does one individual get treated differently, I might ask you," he cleaned his spoon with his lips and set it down, "…If you went to such odds and lived for some miraculous reason, then why shouldn't we all take care to watch after the one person who pulled us out of the fire…Millions, billions, trillions…..Or one single individual….What does it matter so long as we….Do our part to say thank you and give back one person at a time."
She bit her lip and leaned back, Casnar dropping his eyes to her feet, and she had changed into what could only be considered comfortwear—soft sweats with the anklets that showed the taper of her legs, and the shape-hiding sweater with the word Berkley across its chest. He smiled, knowing Berkley was in California, which had in fact fallen off at its fault line when the Reaper now crossing the U.S. had finally gone off line and collapsed.
"Did you actually go to that university or did you pull it off someone's body."
"Arcturus….Naval Academy, then N7 training….This," she plucked the shirt, "…Like everything else was pulled off thrift store racks as I made my way here from London."
"I don't know if that's a relief to me—that you are the product of an other worldly education, or that Earth's high standard schools were not corrupted by your faith in moonshine and height of experience….There are probably more human children still alive because your kind never went into their classrooms," he started to laugh as she shook her head, the hair falling down as her nose pointed to her lap.
"I'm telling you—and Kaidan—the moonshine works….I don't know how it works but I can sleep at night without…."
"Without what?"
She raked her hair out of her eyes, "…Under normal circumstances—and believe it, I'm not normal circumstances—not in the slightest, that moonshine should have killed me within two years of drinking it as much as I do….My body only seems to quiet with the stuff—I don't get this excitement in my head….That's not a good way of explaining it…Let me try—I've always seen things….Visions….From the Prothean beacons that are scattered around, maybe all but annihilated now after the Reapers invaded and tore through this galaxy like paper…I—it didn't start until the third week after I'd been waiting in London for people to find….To bury," she paused, touching her nose and indelicately rubbing at it as if something were itching her septum, she blinked, went on, "…I had dreams I guess, and the places seemed real to me like I'd been there—so real," she reached suddenly towards his knee and put her hand on it, then jumped her fingers back, "…Like that…Tangible."
"Do they have a connection to your episode on the floor when I found you?"
"They became more intense over the years, like….I can only describe it as someone trying to ask for you to listen and then they start yelling at you….I can't do anything to answer a dream, and so the dreams get louder, angrier, more violent….I find myself lying down in my kitchen when a second ago I was standing, or on the rug when instead before I was on the couch, and I started drawing the dreams—that seemed to help for a little while….With the moonshine, it was almost gone—the dreams I mean, but then they come back and it's worse….But the alcohol inhibits it for a while, and that's why I drink before I lay down," she started to cry and covered her mouth, "…I worry….I can't get control of it….And I used to be so unbreakable, Casnar."
He moved his plate aside and to the slab next to hers, then stood up, a somber expression in the green eyes, "…Do you feel the Phedyl will help with the condition?"
"Phedyl is meant for biotics who suffer from intense neural-biotic episodes they can't handle while they're sleeping….Kaidan still takes them which makes me worry about him, but the effect only lasts a few weeks….I don't know if it will stop the next vision or dream I have from hitting me—or if it will make it worse," she looked up from her hands, "….I would feel really good right now if I had some of the Moonshiner from Verne's."
"I'll go and get you some more," he said as he turned, stopped and looked at her, "…You're going to be okay if I leave right now?"
"I think so….It's after eight and I'm not tired….I won't fall asleep until you come back and I'd like at least two bottles' worth—Verne has my card on file, just charge it to my name."
Gnawing on the fore of his mind was the fact he was indulging her habit, but at the same time, the woman was not prone to exaggerations—she had only predicted the Reaper invasion based off visions she'd had at the time, when everyone laughed her off the Spectres and sent her into missions meant to keep her quiet and complacent, so why would she be making it up now….He came back to her and looked her in the eyes, "…I'll buy it for you, but we're going to moderate it and see how much you need to sleep or go through the day without an issue…Maybe you should reconsider going with your friend, Kaidan, to get some help, or I can drive you into Nederlinds to find someone up there since the hospitals all went underground."
"Just please get me the Moonshiner….from Verne's bar…" She stood up and walked by him, heading not into the porch but towards the drive, "…Or I'll just go right now—I'm not going to bed without a bottle on the stand."
It was a nice change of plans—he walked with her and they finally shared a stroll to the bar in the dark hours of the evening.
The scent beside him smelled more like the cheap shampoo from the general store towards the other end of town, and Casnar preferred it over the smell of liquor and the scent of gunpowder, or burnt coffee, which was Kaidan's fault at any rate.
There were some sulfur lamps charged by the solar brackets on the sides of the poles lighting the way opposite the Crater impact, and both could be seen walking together clearly as a car rumbled passed, leaving from the direction of the bar.
Outside the bar, some of the congested drinkers had spilled onto the dirt and were milling about on their car hoods, several glancing towards Casnar's tall form and then to the woman at his left. More than a few nods were meant to be suggestive, Hey—look at that…and Casnar made forward through the small throng. They made their way into the port bar and squeezed through the shoulders surrounding the counterspace, then Casnar raised his yellow hand to catch the bartender's attention…
"Hey, two bottles of the Moonshiner," he called when the kid had his order to take.
"You need shoes to be in here," someone pointed out her feet were uncovered, Casnar looking back to see the guy at the door to the bar, "…She'll have to wait outside if you're not going to follow the rules—it's unhygienic."
"We're not staying," he should have let her answer for herself, Braith giving him a look as if to say I can handle my own.
She rose to the ball of her foot to tell him in his canted earhole that she would wait outside, "…No need to worry. I should have known better."
"You should have, and I should have realized, but I guess that's what happens when I'm distracted….Things go wrong. Don't smile at me like that, now everyone thinks we're—" he clenched his jaw and the violet-silver folds at his throat and above his jawline flattened, "…You be careful outside….Watch out for glass and idiots."
Someone was patting him on the back after she had gone out the door and the man holding it open for her had shut it with a lingering peer through the upper window. "Someone was bound to get in her pants—drunk roughing it from behind I bet," Casnar turned towards the voice and snarled.
"Shut your mouth—if I ever hear you say that about her again, I'll cut off your tongue and cook it for the husks in Piorla."
"I was just….cheering you on, man," the guy behind him who had patted his shoulder drank his beer and turned away…Casnar cast his livid stare towards the bar and tried to calm down his temper.
"Here's two bottles of what you wanted, Mister Soterios," the bartender slid the bag down with him towards Casnar, along with a shot of corn whiskey, "…And compliments of the house…For keeping an eye on Miss Shepard," he nodded his head of brown hair towards the back of the bar and Casnar saw the salarian in the office looking out at them. Glancing at the bag's contents to check all was there, he downed the two and one-half ounces before picking up the bag, nodding to Verne, and stepping through the crowd watching his shoulders push through them.
She was standing down the road by the fence along the end of it, away from the cars lining out from Verne's place, and her hair—black and orange what with the sulfur light overhead—fell back from her face as she looked up to his coming by…
"How'd it go in there?"
"Excellent work," he rasped out at her in reply, shifting the bag to his other arm, "…You've succeeded in convincing everyone through one simple smile at the wrong drell that we're fucking…" He looked at her smile, which had been called by his mention of it back into existence, "…Sorry…I'm not always as smooth as these crests on my head."
"I take it you're not the type to brag or boast about what didn't happen….yet."
"What," his arm had curled tightly around the paper with the bottles inside, issuing a squeak and shrill of glass clinking together and rubbing from the grip, "….What did you just say?"
"You wouldn't happen to have a condom, would you?"
His lips parted into a smile, "…You're messing around….That's not kind."
Down the road they went, his arm a little looser around the bag, and her hand sliding into his palm hung between them.
"No, don't do that," he took his hand out of her grip.
