Pop-pop's visits usually entail quite a bit of arguing between himself and dad. Very much like they're doing now. Damocles sighs and tries to turn the vidscreen volume up to drown out the two's argument, but he can still manage to make out the words said when they think neither he nor his sister can hear.
"They are still turian, Garrus. They deserve to know their heritage," pop-pop says, humming in frustration, and Damocles can hear his dad sigh with a slight growl to his vocals.
"I told you, already. They do know about their heritage. At least that which can be of any importance to them."
"Like?"
"The Unification War, Hierarchy laws, the concepts of Spirits-"
"Do they know the war hymns? The history behind our people's art?" pop-pop interrupts and dad makes another annoyed growl under his breath.
"Do you?" When pop-pop is silent, dad snorts. "Right, because there isn't any real world justification for knowing those things. I let them learn what they can in their teaching lessons and I fill in what I think they should know. I'm not forcing them to memorize something that will never come in handy when their lives depend on it."
"That's not the point," pop-pop hisses and Damocles rolls his eyes, flicking his mandibles in exasperation. Why pop-pop always has to question dad's raising of them, he'll never know. "The point is showing them the good of the turian people, values outside of fighting some battle or another. They deserve to know all these things even if they will never draw on that experience in life."
"Then why don't you show them whenever they visit Palaven? If there were anywhere where they can learn about our people, it's there!"
"I do the best I can, Garrus!" Pop-pop takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "I try to teach them everything I taught you, everything I tried to make you understand."
Dad scoffs. "I understand plenty. I understand that, while you were making turian history a punishment I didn't deserve, I learned absolutely nothing that has aided me any in my life. What good did war hymns do when I was bleeding to death in Jane's arms? What good did knowing the paints of every turian colony do when I was pinned by a tank, losing blood and dying, all while watching my wife most likely running away to her death? And what about the Spirits? What did memorizing every Spirit in existence do when krogan were trying to sacrifice my children to bring about another war?" Damocles hears his dad snarl and imagines him stepping closer to his dad in the way that always makes him look like he towers over everyone, even if he only stands a few inches above pop-pop. "What did they do for me all those times? I'll tell you. Not a damn thing."
"This isn't about you," Pop-pop hisses and dad rumbles angrily, warning clear in his subvocals. "Think about your mother. What would she have thought if you told her you didn't think it important enough to teach your kids our people's culture?"
"Don't you dare bring mom into this." Dad snarls before a long pause falls between them both. "I know one thing, mom wouldn't want you trying to guilt me into doing what you want by using her. I let you show my kids everything you want when they visit, and I don't owe you anything concerning what I do and don't teach them."
Pop-pop exhales heavily. "I do it for your children's well-being, not out of some vendetta to undermine your parenting."
"That's exactly what you're doing by insinuating I don't know what's best for my own damn children. You have no right to feel justified saying anything to me about it because you were far from the best father." When dad stops speaking, there rests a long, uncomfortable silence after which he sighs. "Fine. I'll do one thing you expect, but I do it my way."
"And what's that?"
"Despite it being irrelevant, I'll show them how to paint my birth colony's pattern. They may not have been born where you or I was, but it's the closest thing-"
Pop-pop makes a disbelieving scoff. "You haven't shown them that already? Spirits, Garrus. Do you want them to be barefaced?"
Dad growls. "I want them not to feel pressure to pledge allegiance to a people that doesn't even know they exist. And, if the Hierarchy did, one that would make them feel wanted and not like some pariah. I'll teach them out of principal and to show them the importance to turians, but it's going to be their own damn decision to wear them or not."
Pop-pop sighs and it seems to be the end of the conversation as Damocles hears a pair of footsteps approaching from the entry into the living room. His sister tenses and lifts her book closer to her face as if trying to make it more obvious she's reading and not eavesdropping. Damocles merely turns his attention back to the vidscreen and whatever he managed to find earlier, but lost track of long ago.
"Damocles, Cassia." Dad steps into the living room, irritation written plainly across his features. "I have an errand to you to run." He opens his Omni-Tool and begins to type. "Do you know where Lieutenant Jemna Diosk lives?"
Damocles takes a moment to go through the list of names of Wraith fighters, having taken the effort along with his sister to try and learn the higher ranking mercenaries for when they become old enough to take jobs. The Lieutenant, especially, made an impression when Cassia found out she works with the combat vehicles and surprisingly fell in love with shadowing the asari woman to learn her work. Damocles stuck to watching the combat operatives practice, trying to commit their tactics and movements to memory to practice later, but he knows the woman enough to know what dad's asking.
"Yeah," Cassia answers, lowering her book and chirping in question, but not asking aloud.
Dad nods, not yet looking up from his Tool. "I need you to head to her house and talk to her mate, the Wraith artifex. I'm sending a list of supplies I'd like you to pick up from him." He glances pop-pop's way and narrows his eyes. "We'll be learning how to paint on my and the Wraith colony paints."
Pop-pop pulls in his mandibles into a look of distaste. "The Wraith's? That's far from an example of the importance-"
"Isn't it?" Dad flicks off his Omni-Tool and turns to face pop-pop directly. "The mere fact that it was our men that developed and decided to wear it without orders tells me the insignia is pretty damn important to them. Colony paints point to loyalty and, even if we don't require our men to wear them to prove their loyalty, I know it's that very concept you are so adamant about me teaching the twins. It's not paints that make someone loyal, but if they want to be proud of the Wraiths, then you better believe I'm going to teach it to them."
Pop-pop scoffs. "You might as well save yourself the work and remove your own if where you came from means so little to you."
Rubbing his forehead, dad sighs loudly. "Here you go again. Like always, you're only hearing what you want to hear and toning out what I'm really saying." He drops his hand and looks to Damocles and his sister. "You already know the history behind insignias and their reason turians still wear them even though there no longer exists any separate colonies."
It's said in such a way that sounds like dad wants an answer, so Damocles nods with a rumble as Cassia says, "It's to show loyalty to your home, even if it's not your birthplace. You are proud of your home and what it means even though you fight for the Hierarchy together. To not wear any would make people think you are loyal to no one but yourself or hiding something about your intentions. Those turians are called 'barefaced' and nobody really likes them." Thrumming in confusion, she tilts her head. "What colony insignia are we supposed to wear?"
Pop-pop glances at dad with a pinched expression, but dad smiles as he answers. "Either, princess. If you choose to wear a Hierarchy insignia, you don't even have to wear mine. You can choose just as any other turian can when they finally come of age and decide where they want to consider 'home'. But if you want to wear the Wraiths' one, then you can do that too." Humming, he looks directly at pop-pop. "Or you can even choose not to have them done permanently and only paint them on when you choose. Or are pressured into," he adds, inflection accusing. Returning his eyes to Damocles and his sister, he purrs and smiles. "I wear mine because it reminds me of my childhood, but also because I don't want you to ever feel like I wouldn't want you to establish any possible relationship with the Hierarchy. I know that you know about why we live here on Virmire, but, when you're an adult in a few years, you can choose a legitimate life with the turian people."
"But they wouldn't want us," Damocles says, narrowing his eyes. "They didn't accept you back then when you started the Wraiths."
"True." Dad nods. "But the Hierarchy doesn't hold the parent's actions against the child. You earn your place just as much as anyone else without any factors besides your ability to serve." Stepping to them, he lays a hand on each child's shoulder. "Will I lie and say I want you to do that? No," he says, shaking his head once, "but you know I won't stand in your way or talk you out of something if it's truly what you want to do."
Damocles knows he wants to stay with the Wraiths when he reaches adulthood, and he knows his sister wants to as well even though she sometimes wonders what it'd be like. The Wraiths is a family. Virmire is home. Even if she wants to wear the colony paints of their father, pop-pop, and aunt Sol, Damocles knows it would only be because she wants to feel closer to them, much like why she'd ever think about the Hierarchy, but not because she wanted to serve a people that doesn't want the two of them. Even if Primarch Victus doesn't believe mom and dad are criminals, Damocles and Cassia are still something that was never supposed to be born, more a curiosity than turians wanted to serve with the rest of their people.
He's fine with that and knows his sister is too. Just like their parents and a lot of their aunts and uncles.
He'll still learn how to paint insignias, though, because that knowledge could prove very useful when he and Cassia begin to work jobs. Being able to apply colony paints could let them disguise themselves as members of any colony they want, and that could get them into places being 'barefaced' or wearing Wraith paints couldn't.
"I can't believe you're willing to warp our people's traditions just to contradict me." Pop-pop growls softly and moves to stand before dad, a scowl on his face. "Do you always have to make a point of going against everything I say? Must we always fight?"
Dad doesn't completely face pop-pop, only glancing his way out of the corner of his eye. "You made this a fight when you questioned the way I raise my children. You want me to teach the concept of loyalty to their people by painting insignias, then I'll include the one my men have designed. Not to do so would just make the lesson pointless, a denial of any acknowledgment of the Wraith company being more than just a merc company. Virmire is our home," he says, finally turning to pop-pop, "and I'll show them the way to use turian customs to show that." Pop-pop sighs, mandibles pinched tightly to his jaw, but doesn't press further. Seeing his father's reaction, dad nods once with a dip of his chin. "Good. And as for all the rest of complaints you have about my parenting, it can wait until my children are gone." Glancing down to Damocles and Cassia, dad smiles and thrums lowly in his chest. "You can stop by the markets if you want, get yourselves something to eat. There's a credit chit that'll pay for it, and I've already transferred credits to the Lieutenant's mate. His name is Arin Taskis, he'll be waiting for you two."
"Okay, dad," Damocles answers as Cassis nods, leading the way to the door. She grabs a chit off of one of the small tables in the entryway they all usually use to store items that could be needed outside like umbrellas, spare credits, a few keys to some of their families' homes, and other various junk.
"Really, Garrus," pop-pop starts just as Damocles and his sister reach for the front door. "Is it so hard to imagine I want what's best for them?"
"Oh, I don't doubt that. What I doubt is your ability to agree with anything I choose to do-"
Damocles notices Cassia's shoulder droop and shakes his head at how ridiculous his pop-pop and dad can be. He opens the door for his sister before they manage to hear anymore of the argument and it seems that there's no way she would have been able to move any faster to escape. Following her out, he pulls the door shut a bit forcefully to alert his dad and pop-pop that he and Cassia were still there and having to hear more of their shit, heading down the steps quickly to catch up with his sister. With chit in hand and Damocles already imagining what he plans to get at the market, they make their way towards the residential sector of the Wraith compound in silence.
"I hate when they fight," Cassia finally says, her head down and brow plates furrowed. "Why do they always have to?"
Damocles knows she isn't really asking him, but he shrugs anyways and answers her as best as he can. "Pop-pop always starts the fights."
"No he doesn't." From the corner of his eye, he sees her frown at him.
Huffing in frustration over having to argue about an argument, Damocles glances to her and pulls in his mandibles. "Yeah, he does. But what's the point? Dad is right, you know."
"You can't say that." She growls at him, stepping forward and in front of him, glaring into his eyes. "We shouldn't get involved in their arguments."
Damocles huffs and crosses his arms, lifting a brow plate. "Why not?"
"Because then pop-pop would be outnumbered and that's not fair. It's two against one-"
"Fine. Then you take his side and it'll be even." He pauses and a smirk slowly spreads across his mandibles as he sees her stern expression falter. "Right. Because you want to take his side."
"I don't want to take anyone's side," she hisses at him, balling her hands into fists. "I told you, it's none. Of. Our. Business." Before Damocles can respond, she growls and spins, stomping down the path.
Damocles speeds up his walk to catch her. "If it's none of our business, why'd you bring it up?"
"Because …. Just because." Exhaling a huff through her nose with an agitated rumbling in her vocals, she throws him a glare from the corner of her eye. "Just shut up."
He snorts, just finding the fact that she's been caught contradicting herself amusing. He knows he should be nice, but he also knows when she's wrong and isn't going to just be quiet about it. Plus, sometimes it's just fun to irritate her and get to relish being right. "You know I'm right, Cass."
"Shut up." Her voice is low as her gaze stays glued to the ground just in front of her feet.
Damocles' victory suddenly seems hollow and reaction doesn't sit well anymore, instead like an ache he once had when he snuck drinks from uncle Grunt's ryncol. Shoulders drooping, he rumbles in apology and nudges her side with a hand. She grunts and swats at him, but doesn't look his way. "Cass…."
"No. Just be quiet. You're right, I'm wrong. There. Happy?"
He wants to answer her with the truth, but he's starting to get really frustrated with her. He was definitely right about her going against her words from before, and he sticks by what he said about pop-pop and dad fighting. Pop-pop didn't have to tell dad what to do, didn't have to make him feel bad, and really didn't have any say in what he taught Damocles and sister. Damocles didn't feel like he was missing out and, sure, he liked the trips pop-pop took them on when they visited Palaven, the things they learned pretty cool, but he couldn't just boss dad around.
What's worse is that pop-pop had to make dad feel bad my bringing up their dead grandmother. A grandmother Damocles have never met and one that dad never talked about, but it wasn't hard to figure out that dad had a reason. Judging by dad's reaction, Damocles can guess that his grandmother meant a lot to dad. He knows he'd be really defensive if his mother was dead and someone tried to tell me what she would think, as if it was just ammunition to guilt him into doing something because of the question 'What would your mother think?'. He'd get pissed too.
Purring softly, Damocles leans over and butts his head to Cassia's. "I'm sorry."
Cassia sighs, but he sees her mandibles relax against her jaw and tension fall off of her body. "It's okay…. I just get upset when they always fight. I like when pop-pop teaches us, but he treats dad like he's wrong. As if they can't do things differently." She wraps her arms around her midsection. "I see both sides, and it's hard to have to choose."
"Then don't," he says and, when she looks up to him in question, he smiles, tilting his head. "Who says we have to get into their shit? I say we worry about that when they make us be a part of it."
Cassia returns his smile and nods happily, wrapping her arm around him to get close enough to bump him with her head. "You're right. And, if we do have to get involved, then I'm going to get them to stop bickering like kids."
He chuckles and shifts to squeeze her to his side in return before they part. "Definitely. And I think it might be pretty cool to be able to disguise ourselves with the insignias pop-pop shows us, but still have one specifically for the Wraiths."
"You think … that dad might tell us about grandma one day?" She frowns, trilling in sadness, before looking to him. "Dad seems like he really loves her."
Damocles hums in agreement as they cross the street in front of their destination. It's an unassuming house, uniform like all the others on the street save for a small sign in the yard that advertises artifex Taskis' services, apparently able to satisfy all species' needs requiring some sort of paint and flesh. For a human, he'd be considered a 'tattooist', and that piqued Damocles' own interest.
The artifex must be who mom has come to for her own tattoos, repairing the one of dad on her back that injuries mostly destroyed and getting a handful of others. On her chest, just below both collar bones, two colorful 'traditional style swallows' - as she called them - held a ribbon with each his own and his sister's names as the birds seemed to be in flight. She didn't have any more, though,because she claimed that it wouldn't be the same to cover her prosthetics with painted on images and her arms were mostly covered in scars. That, and she said a tattoo should have meaning and relevance - and easy concealment in certain cases - in someone's life. Damocles knew his will each get special to him, maybe even helping him be proud of his own body instead of despise it and trying to force it to fit with the turian standard.
Unconsciously twitching his toes in his boots, Damocles feels the extra toe protest at having been forced into a shoe built to fit only two. He knows that special shoes have been made for himself and Cassia, but wearing the wider boots just made him stand out as if he wore flashing lights all over his body. He's relieved that, so far, his parents haven't decided to introduce shoes with individual toes into his wardrobe. That design would make it much more difficult to force his three toes to fit, even if he would bind his extra to the one beside it as he does now. So far, at least, no one has questioned him, perhaps not really aware of what shoes he wears since his walking isn't affected.
There are times in his own bedroom, alone, where he'd bind his fingers as well to imitate possessing only two and a thumb. He knows he'd never hear the end of it if anyone found out, but his parents and sister tend to give him privacy when his door is shut. Once he's an adult, however, he won't worry about needing to hide his need to pretend his body is natural in hiding, because he'd be at the age where no one will have any fucking say in how he presents himself. If mom and dad really don't like it, he'll just end up working towards getting his own place. Then he can even wear a binder around his waist as well and get himself proper turian clothes, not the stupid custom made clothes that always needed to go to a specialist to alter.
"Come on," Cassia says, nudging Damocles out if his thoughts before she makes her way up the path. "Let's be sure to get blue and black paints. I actually want to learn how to do the Wraith insignia."
"I'm surprised." Damocles pushes his hands into his pockets and follows, but stops in his tracks when his sister huffs in annoyance and swings around to face him. "What? I didn't think you liked the Wraiths all that much."
Cassia snorts and steps closer to him to bump the flat of her palm against his forehead. "I love being a Wraith, dummy." Crossing her arms, she cocks a hip. "And someone will have to rein you in on missions."
Damocles' eyes widen in surprise and he flutters his mandibles with a trill. "Really? You want to stick around? Take contracts with me?" he asks and has to clamp down his embarrassed mandibles when she nods, proving his assumption absolutely wrong. "But… I thought you didn't like the idea of combat."
His sister shrugs. "I won't start a fight, but I won't let you go it all alone." She grins and adds, "And you can't fly worth a damn. Someone's gotta get you out of tight situations." Softening, she closes the gap between them and wraps her arms around him, hugging him as she purrs. "And you're my brother, my twin…. Where one goes, the other follows." says as she gives Damocles a nudge and a look that feels pointedly aware of his inner thoughts and secrets.
Knowing her, that's a very likely possibility, even if he wishes otherwise. Of all the people, his sister is the last one he wants to see his unhappiness with his body, because that's just like her body. Cassia just seems both more emotionally and physically comfortable with herself, and the last thing he wants to do is make her believe he doesn't think she isn't because he sees nothing but abnormalities in himself.
Cassia just plain looks better than Damocles, like she could truly belong without needing to hide.
Beside the door to the home sits an intercom console with the text 'Artifex Services Available Every Cycle from 0900 to 2100. Feel Free to Walk Right In' displayed above the call command. It's still early in the afternoon, but it still feels rude not to call ahead for permission, the idea conflicting with the idea of not just barging into people's homes without either knowing and having given a heads up or asking permission from non-family.
Moving to press the button, Damocles doesn't expect his sister to lightly swat his hand and shove in front of him to press the button. He snorts, trying to push her away just as she manages to hit the command with the very tip of her talon. Chime echoing through the home, she steps back, chest puffed, a victories glint in her eyes, and sticks her tongue out between her mouth plates. Rumbling in amusement when her expression shifts into a warm smile, Damocles considers that, yep, she is too damn observant for him to every have any privacy in his thoughts without her butting in and trying to distract him, and yet, the feeling of having someone just like her washes him clean in these small moments.
"First," she states, poking him in the chest. "You're slow, Damo."
Snorting, he pokes her back with a smile and purr. "Fastest doorbell ringer in the West," he says, adding a hint of the weird, twangy accent from human vids full of horse riding lawmen and training robbing bandits.
"You're darn tootin,'" she responds, breaking into a giggle when Damocles pokes her again and she tries to swat at his finger. "Quit that!"
"You started it." He pokes her one last time just as he hears the sound of the door swishing open.
A turian easily older than even pop-pop stands at the door's threshold, looking them over before his eyes warm, plates relaxing. "I didn't expect you two so soon," he says, stepping back and waving a hand to enter. "You'll have to give me a bit to collect up the things your dad asked for. Come in and relax. Shouldn't take too long."
As the door closes behind Damocles and his sister, Mr Taskis leads them through his neatly designed living room and down a short hall into a room made into his studio, a leather chair that reclines next to a small desk chair and rolling side table. Pictures of what must be old tattoos and art line the walls and locked cabinets line the larger sidewall of the room. The entire room smells faintly of antiseptic and cleaning products, and gives the feel of cleanliness among the seemingly disorganization of so many varying images and ideas of what Mr Taskis had painted into skin and plates.
"Wow," Cassia says as she steps closer to a framed image of a gathering of vivid flowers on copper skin. "These are beautiful."
Mr Taskis stops a step from the locked cabinets and looks to her, ducking his head. "Thank you, young Vakarian."
"Do you do these on everyone?" Damocles runs the tips of his talons on the glass of an image of some kind of orange and white fish jumping through illustrated waves.
"If by everyone, you mean every species, then yes." Mr Taskis hums as he opens the cabinet and Damocles watches as he searches through what has to be hundreds of jars and bottles of every color imaginable. He takes out two jars of blue that, to Damocles, look identical, but Mr Taskis examined each in the light, holding it up to let the overhead light shine through. He hums in thought before lowering them and checking the label.
"Here we go," he says as he places one of the jars back in the cabinet and walks a counter along the other wall. "Cobalt 11-8665." When he sees Damocles glancing his way, the older turian smiles with a soft thrum. "Most aren't as specific with insignia colors, but it's in my nature and profession to be very insistent on staying to tradition."
"How can you tell?" Damocles follows Mr Taskis to the cabinets, watching as the man starts to examine jars of black paint.
Mr Taskis chuckles. "Years and years of experience." He holds a black to the light, clicks in disapproval, and replaces it before tapping a talon on a few others with a considering hum. "I've been doing this since I was a young child, learning from my mother. Ater I finished my service, I stayed with the military as a civilian contractor, engraving recruits with their markings of choice while they stayed on the training grounds." He huffs a laugh, shaking his head and looking down to Damocles. "Some kids liked to take extra time off when the military used to let them go off site to find their own artifex. Instructors would often have to hunt them down to bring them back."
Damocles chuckles, once doing something similar with his parents on a day that he just didn't feel like training. Dad tracked him down to the beach, and because dad was mad about having to wake up early to train, made Damocles perform his instruction in the wet sand. That definitely made every movement much more difficult, even with dad training in it too right beside him, but Damocles hasn't missed another morning session since. Or, he at least didn't warn his parents the night before that he wanted to sleep in or have some time to himself instead of train. It seemed like they enjoyed those days more than he did. Cassia too.
Fluttering his mandibles as Mr Taskis sets down the apparently correct black, Damocles lowers his voice and clears his throat to attract the older turian's attention. When he gets it, Damocles asks the question nagging at him since seeing the sign in the yard outside. "Can you … give me a tattoo?"
"When the time comes, absolutely-"
"Right now?" Damocles asks, interruption Mr Taskis and stopping him in his tracks. The question even gets Cassia's attention as she looks at him with raised brow plates and her mouth slightly agape in surprise.
"Right now, right now?" she says, not letting Mr Taskis speak.
When Damocles nods, the older man finally gets his chance to speak. "You're still under your parents' care, but you can do whatever you want at fifteen."
Shaking his head vehemently, Damocles huffs and squares his shoulders. "Mom and dad don't think like that. They'd want me to choose for myself what I want." He glances his sister's way and she rolls her eyes, crossing her arms but not contradicting him. Good. "And mom gets them all the time. I can pay for them."
Mr Taskis narrows his eyes and looks Damocles up and down. "How old are you?"
Surprisingly, Cassia speaks on Damocles' behalf. "Fourteen." When both males turn to her, Mr Taskis with a skeptical look and Damocles in shock that she's backing him up, she nods. "We're short for our age." She chuckles, flicking her mandibles in embarrassment. "We got it from mom."
The old turian glances down to Damocles and, as if for any contradiction, but Damocles nods instead, confident in Cassia's lie. Technically, he and his sister are short for their age. Even with dad's assurance that it's not uncommon - and even known in his lineage - to be short until a miraculous growth spurt shoots them to an above average height, Damocles hates still being the height of other turians two years younger than him.
Mr Taskis sighs and turns to the cabinet once more. "I actually trust your sister, so that makes you of age to choose and consent for yourself. Let me get the rest of your dad's list done before I get into your work and forget."
Damocles grins and, when the man isn't looking, throws a silent 'thank you' to his sister. He knows this means he owes her big time, but he can't deny that she seems to have an interested look on her face when she waves him over. He gives Mr Taskis a final glance and walks over to her, unable to contain his giddy grin and chirps.
"You better not get someone really bad," she warns, her voice a whisper as she glares at him.
Damocles rumbles reassuringly and speaks normally. "No, it's not. I'm going to get this," he says, opening his omni-tool and pulling up the symbol all over his comics that stands for his favorites, the X-Men.
Cassia lifts a brow plate, and despite her exaggeratedly critical expression, he knows she recognizes the image. "It's just an 'X' in a red and yellow circle."
Nodding, he thrums happily and lowers his tool while still having it activated do he can show Mr Taskis. "On a blue background." He shrugs. "There's a lot of them in the comics, but I like this one best."
"You're a dork," she says, but her smile and warm purr are the support he really wanted from her. "I think it'll look cool. Where you getting it?"
Damocles hadn't considered that. Looking himself over, he hums in thought. He can't really get it anywhere where it'd be seen if he wore a short sleeved shirt because he has no idea what mom and dad would say. He's sure they wouldn't care about what he gets so much as when he's gotten it, and even then, he's pretty confident they wouldn't punish him too bad for it, just maybe for not clearing it with them first before doing it. His parents are pretty damn laid back, not punishing him and his sister too bad unless they really fuck up, so Damocles figures they would be more frustrated at not being included than anything else.
They always say that they'd rather teach the bad and why not to do something than simply command it and punish when strict rules are followed without question. That, and they wouldn't expect Damocles and Cassia not to do something mom and dad have done before and punish them for it. He's heard his mom say something about the idea of 'do as I say and not as I do' shoving it before going to hell. He's sure that's a human saying he hasn't learned of yet, but can guess the gist of it well enough, and wholly agrees. It's a reason he loves his parents as much as he does, admires their lenient - yet instructional - way of raising Damocles and his sister. He knows they put up with a lot with how Cassia and he entertain themselves and get into trouble.
Still doesn't mean he wants to make it obvious that he got a tattoo by lying about his age to the artifex. That would just be stupid.
"I think I'll get it on my leg somewhere." He examines his leg. "But where?"
"It's a circle, right?" Cassia crouches down and pokes his calf. "Get it here. That way you can always cover it with pants or boots and I don't have to watch you get it without your pants on."
Damocles laughs and nods, smirking at his sister when she rises to her feet. "You didn't have to stay, you know. I think it's pretty weird I have to pick somewhere so you aren't uncomfortable."
Snorting, Cassia smacks him in the chest. "Like you'd want me gone. Besides, you can show off better like this, just lift your pant leg."
He hums, feigning consideration. "It would be quite the hassle to have to take off my shoes, then take off my pants just to show anyone." When she scoffs at his obvious attempt to make it sound like the placement was his idea all along, he grins and adds, "I have some pretty good ideas, don't I?"
"You're an ass," she retorts with a matching playful grin.
"You wouldn't know what to do without me."
"Not have an annoying twin brother?" She laughs when he growls with feigned insult. "I think I'd rather have a twin sister. Imagine how much better that'd be!"
Damocles snorts and lifts a brow plate, crossing his arms. "Boring, more like. I have all the fun ideas, and you know it."
Rolling her eyes, she looks up when Mr Taskis as he approaches the two of them. "I've gathered all your father's supplies," his green eyes flick between Cassia and Damocles. "Your tattoo will take a while. Expect to be here a few hours before it'll be complete, but I can't give you an exact until I see what you want."
Damocles understands the cue and opens his tool to show the older turian his chosen image. The man hums, deep in thought, as he tilts his head and leans closer to the screen to examine it. Flicking his mandibles, be glances into Damocles' eyes. "And this is what you want?"
Damocles nods. "With blue behind it. On my calf."
Mr Taskis sighs and crosses his arms. "I'm still unconvinced of your ages, but I trust your sister more than you," he says as he points his thumb over his shoulder to Cassia, "and I trust that your parents wouldn't have taught you to lie about something permanent like this. They obviously don't care about it judging by your mother's frequent visits, so I won't get them involved." He growls and points at Damocles. "If you're lying to me, I'm not responsible."
Damocles rumbles and nods once, straightening his stance. "Yes, sir. It's my responsibility."
Mr Taskis sighs before turning away and walking towards the lounging chair. "Take a seat and get comfortable. Take off your boot and roll up your pants."
Suddenly realizing he hadn't thought about what hides beneath his boot, Damocles hesitates. Mr Taskis doesn't notice, working between the cabinet and small rolling table as he retrieves and lays out supplies, but Cassia definitely picks up on the weighted pause. She lifts her brow plates, crosses her arms, and cocks her hip, definitely well aware that there's something he's hiding. Damocles' vocals buzz in discomfort before he fidgets in the seat, but the sound only attracts Mr Taskis' attention on top of Cassia's.
"I can't work if you're still covered up," the older man says, rumbling in expectation. "I need to have plenty of room to work. I won't do this if I you won't follow my instructions, I take pride in my work and won't settle for what you're comfortable with." He waves a hand at Damocles' legs, voice stern. "Now do as I say and show me the calf you want tattooed."
Damocles swallows heavily and nods, reaching down to unbuckle his left boot. It takes a rough tug to get it off around his bound toes, but he can't breathe a sigh of relief at the lack of pressure when he sees his sister stand straighter to see. He ducks his head at being caught with two of his toes bound to seem more normal, barely seeing Mr Taskis glance at his foot before moving away to gather more supplies. Damocles does, however, see Cassia's feet step into his view and feels her glare against his plates.
"Look at me," she says softly, her voice low to keep between the two of them. "Damo…."
Rumbling in embarrassment of being caught because he hadn't thought about needing to reveal himself for this tattoo - but not because he's ashamed of his binding - Damocles lifts his head high enough to look his sister's way out of the corner of his eye. He has to admit to being happy at not seeing disappointment or judgment in her eyes, but he does see fury written all over her face. Stepping closer to him, she smacks the top of his head and he grunts.
"What was that for?" He hisses softly and rubs his still growing crest.
"'What was that for?' What was that for?" She takes a deep breath, shoulders lifting and lowering as she closes her eyes. When she opens them again, a calmness has cooled some of her anger as she quiets back to a tone barely above a whisper. "I know why, and I won't say not to, but would you please not hurt yourself?" She frowns and leans closer to press her cheek to his. "I don't like seeing you hurt, Damo." Stepping back, she glances to Mr Taskis, who seems to be making himself busy for their benefit. "Talk to me before you begin to hurt yourself, okay?"
Damocles keeps quiet at the times he tries to remove the nub of an extra toe on his inside of his lower leg - much like the extra toe Xero has on his front legs. No matter how he's tried, he could never manage to get it off because of a pesky little bone attaching it to his leg, but there are plenty of scars around it, visible enough if Cassia looked away from his toes. He also tried to pry off plates from his extra digits, but those scars are mostly hidden at the edges of where plate meets hide. Still, he nods in agreement to Cassia's request, considering that maybe talking it over with her can stave away the urge to try and cut pieces of himself out or pry them off. Apparently satisfied, his sister purrs and hugs him tightly, pressing her mouth plates to his cheek and making an exaggeratedly wet noise in a mock kiss. He rubs at the spot with a grimace and gives her a soft glare, but she merely grins before stepping back.
Mr Taskis gives them a moment longer before returning with a tray of small cups of colors, a strange looking handheld machine with tubes attached to one end, a pump bottle, and paper towels. "I'll draw out a stencil on your hide to work off of. Be still," he says as he sits on the rolling chair and presses commands into Damocles' chair controls, lowering Damocles into a lying position. "Left calf, correct?"
Damocles nods, rumbling as he smiles at his sister. "Yes, sir."
Cassia smiles and looks to Mr Taskis as he grabs a marker from his supplies, leans forward, and begins to draw on Damocles' calf.
"You'll need to roll over during this," the older man says as Damocles glances down to watch him freehand a perfect circle, adding the 'X' and smaller circles within. It's impressive to watch, the man obviously skilled in his work and confident after so many years. "Are you ready?" he finally asks as he leans back and looks up.
Damocles nods, rumbling happily. "Yes, sir."
Mr Taskis smiles softly and turns to Cassia. "Make sure no one is expecting you within the next few hours."
Cassia nods and opens her omni-tool, stepping out of the room as Mr Taskis begins to plug the tubing of his machine into the large base of Damocles' chair. Once done, a sound of buzzing fills the room for a moment before Mr Taskis grunts and shuts it off. Next, Damocles feels the cool chill of something across his hide before the older turian looks him in the eyes.
"Last chance to reconsider."
"No, sir," Damocles says, grinning as his body fills with energy and excitement. "I'm ready."
Mr Taskis hums, but the machine quickly drowns out the sound. The first touch of the machine stings a bit, but doesn't hurt badly enough for Damocles to worry about calling a stop before it can be complete. Soon, though, that sting begins to build into a burn, his hide tingling with a sensation like touching a heatsink too soon from ejection. He rumbles in confusion and glances down to see if anything is wrong.
"Feel it?" Mr Taskis asks without looking up from the thick black lines he's writing into Damocles' hide.
Damocles nods, but speaks in order to give the older turian an answer. "Yes, sir. Feels like a burning."
"You'll get used to it. Just let me know when you need a break."
"Yes, sir." Laying his head back, Damocles smiles up at the ceiling, actually enjoying the sensation for the result he'll be left with. What's a little pain for a piece of his inner self on his skin for everyone to see?
Cassia returns sometime later and, at Mr Taskis' instruction, leaves again and comes back with a chair. She sits by Damocles and watches Mr Taskis with a fascinated glint to her eyes. Occasionally, she will look down to Damocles and grin, nodding in encouragement or lean down and whisper about how cool it looks so far with excitement of her own. After a time, she begins to talk about anything and everything, filling the hours with entertainment for both Damocles and Mr Taskis during the slow process of injecting ink into Damocles' hide in a permanent image.
When the machine stops, Damocles feels a chill wash over the burning sensation in his hide and sits up on his elbows, gasping when he sees the crisp, vivid image as Mr Taskis wipes it down. The older man chuckles, the sound full of proud vocals, and Damocles chirps and trills in joy, loving the final product. He looks to his sister and sees her grin, bouncing on her toes and clasping her hands.
"It's beautiful!" She says and Damocles can merely nod, too happy to remember how to talk.
Mr Taskis rumbles in amusement before he smiles at Damocles. "What do you think?"
The man scoots his chair back, lifting to his feet and offering a hand for Damocles to stand. Damocles' leg is a bit wobbly, but he manages to walk to the mirror on the wall and twists his leg to get a good look. The red, yellow, blue, and black causes a warmth to spread through his chest and he lifts his head to see Mr Taskis watching him and nods emphatically.
"Thank you, so much, sir. It's incredible. More than incredible. Perfect," he says, purring as he drops his gaze to the mirror and stares, hypnotized.
Mr Taskis thrums happily and lays a hand on Damocles' shoulder. "Come on, let me show you how to care for it while it heals."
Damocles pays a good portion of his savings on the tattoo, but the joy in having it outweighs the disappointment of now being broke. The soreness has dulled to a mild annoyance beneath the bandage Mr Taskis put on his tattoo, but Damocles is confident that his walk and stance doesn't reveal what's hidden beneath. Cassia even seems happy, and though he has no idea what she told mom and dad about why they took so long, he's grateful for her support in it all. She even talked non stop about it on their way home, swinging the bag of the supplies they initially went to the artifex for as she bounced. Damocles knows he's excited, but still laughs at how much she seems to have enjoyed their afternoon and early evening.
They're quiet when they step inside the house and the smell of mom's cooking washes over them the moment they close the door. Damocles and Cassia both growl at the scent of their mom's amazing cooking, Damocles suddenly very aware of his how little he has eaten and already halfway up the entryway stairs by the time Cassia has moved from the door. She snorts and runs up the opposite stairs, pushing his side as she makes for a run towards the kitchen.
"There you are," aunt Sol says from the couch, standing and chuckling at their urgency. She's wearing a really pretty dress and that artificial scent humans - and some asari - like to wear to make themselves smell strong enough for other less sensitive species to pick up on surrounds her. Cologne, Damocles remembers, and distinctly notices how it smells a lot like uncle James, even though he was supposed to have left early this morning. "I was just about to send your dad out to find you."
"Hi, aunt Sol!" Cassia chirps and drops the bag on the other couch before hugging their aunt. "You smell pretty."
Sol snorts and waves her hand. "You can admit it, the scent is really strong, but I think James is getting better at not wearing so much. I think it's just habit, though." She chuckles and shrugs, stopping and turning towards the hall when they all hear footsteps coming. "Garrus! They're here!"
"About time," dad says as he steps into the living room carrying one of the smocks he wears when mom makes him try to paint. He smiles at Damocles and Cassia as he sets them over the back of a couch. "We'll have to work on them either later tonight or tomorrow." Walking to them, he reaches down and riffles through the bag. "I don't know why he didn't have everything in, but I'm happy he could mix it. He's always so particular, but whatever makes him happy, I won't complain," he says, chuckling as he motions to the dining room. "Come on, you two. Let's make the table."
Damocles glances Cassia's way, their secret kept hidden so far, but her attention is on talking to Sol about her time with uncle James. Following dad into the kitchen where mom cooks and pop-pop shuffles around making a cold vegetable dish sort of like human salad - obviously something like fusion cuisine he's learned or taught himself. He still seems a bit irritated, most likely mad about some other fight he and dad had, but doesn't do anything besides make a point in avoiding any interaction with dad. It's actually pretty funny to see the two act like kids, making Damocles and Cassia seem like the adults in the house.
Just as dad begins to stack up plates to take to the table, Xero comes bounding into the room, tongue hanging out and barking shrill yips of happiness. Dad steps out of the way, avoiding Xero's excited jump up, and pop-pop groans while mom lifts her steaming pan high over her head, but Damocles doesn't move. It's just habit to accept attention from his varren, but when Xero stops to smell his legs, Damocles tenses up in anticipation, worry filling him.
"Could it be?" Mom snorts as she sets down a large casserole dish full of sauced dextro meats mixed with noodles. "Has Xero finally learned how not to greet people?"
"Uh … I guess so …."
Dad glances to Damocles out of the corner of his eye as he gathers dishes from the cabinets, and Damocles hears him hum in that way that dad does that usually always ends in him finding out about something despite every attempt to lie. Damocles quickly brushes the examination off as he grabs the plates and heads for the dining room and past his sister. He feels the weight of dad's stare on his back, but fights to act nonchalant, shushing and pushing Xero away from his leg before the varren touches his sore tattoo. He doesn't manage to get away for long before the others follow, Cassia and aunt Sol carrying glasses and utensils while dad brings in mom's dextro dish, pop-pop his dish, and mom a smaller platter of levo food very similar to the other. Dad still has that curious look on his face and Damocles knows it's only a matter of time before he finds out.
An awkward silence fills the room as everyone looks between dad and Damocles, mom's eye brow rising, Sol - ever the one to encourage Damocles and his sister no matter what - grinning, pop-pop narrowing his eyes in his own evaluation, and Cassia clearly avoiding everyone's eyes. Food lies untouched in the center of the table before mom makes a show of sighing, lifting her shoulders on a long inhale and dropping them as she tilts her head and exhales with a sound in her throat. Sol rumbles under her breath, trying to cover her amusement, and Damocles makes a point in looking away from dad, rearranging his utensils.
"Why exactly did you decide to wait at the artifex while he mixed the colors?" dad asks, lifting his hands to thread his fingers beneath his chin. "You aren't usually ones to sit around and do nothing, and there certainly wasn't anything to do around the residential district. Did you give him your omni-tool address so he could contact you so you could head to a different district?"
"Of course," Damocles says, shrugging. "Cassia and I went to the beach."
"Did you go swimming?" Now pop-pop is starting to get suspicious and Damocles nods, keeping his expression relaxed.
Unfortunately, mom gets into the conversation and looks to Cassia. "Do you need me to wash the salt out of your clothes, then?" She huffs a laugh. "Because I'd rather not get sand and salt all over the rest of our clothes."
"Uh huh." Cassia pointedly avoids everyone's eyes and Damocles inwardly curses at his sister's flaw of not wanting to lie to family unless it benefits them. Not that this wouldn't benefit Damocles, but he has a very good concern that she might not be able to keep quiet about something as trivial as a tattoo unless Damocles' life depended on it.
"Uh. Huh," mom repeats before looking to aunt Sol. "Sol? Would you like some food?"
"Yes, please." Sol smiles, looking at Damocles out of the corner of her eye as her mandibles flutter in barely contained amusement. "That'd be great. Dad? Garrus?"
"Cassia," dad finally says, dropping his hands to the table as he addresses Cassia directly. The look might as well be Damocles' death sentence. "What did you two really do during all that time at the artifex?"
"I … Uh," Cassia starts, glancing to Damocles with a plea in her eyes. "We …."
Sighing, Damocles saves her and looks to dad. "I got a tattoo."
"What?" pop-pop hisses and Sol snickers, going quiet when he looks at her in scolding, yet still grinning when he looks away. "Damocles, explain."
Dad growls and looks to his dad across the table. "I highly doubt you have any right to demand answers from him when his mother and I are sitting right here. That's overstepping boundaries, don't you think?"
Mom puts an elbow on the table and rests her cheek in her palm as she snorts. "Oh, boy, here we go-"
"Are you really going to disagree with me about this? You really want to approve just to prove you'll go against anything I say, even when I'm being logical?" Pop-pop shakes his head once, his expression stern. "Fine, Garrus. Show me how you would discipline your children."
Dad growls under his breath, glaring at pop-pop before he turns to Damocles. "What did you get and where?"
"I got an X-Men tattoo on my calf," he says, voice gradually building from a whisper to a confident rumble. He won't be embarrassed. He loves his new tattoo and he won't deny or regret it no matter his punishment. "On my calf."
"A what?" Pop-pop trills in confusion, but dad relaxes some.
"Did you pay the artifex what he was due?" dad asks, humming and pointedly avoiding pop-pop's gaze. "Out of your own credits?"
"Yes," Damocles says, nodding. "It was all my own credits from when I help around the compound. I didn't even ask Cassia for any of hers. I only used the credits you gave us for the paints you ordered."
Dad nods once as mom leans closer. "Did he tell you how to care for it?" She smiles when Damocles nods. "Good. I expect you to follow that to the letter."
"You can't possibly think this is okay behavior-"
"Oh, it's not," dad interrupts and Damocles flinches. "We should have been consulted first, but what's done is done. Damocles can't go back on it." Dad looks to Damocles and lowers his brows, pulling his mandibles to his jaw and shifting his vocals into his authoritative thrum. "We could have approved if you had only asked, but because you didn't, you will be given a proper punishment. You need to learn to get permission for things while you're still young, Damocles." Sighing, dad relaxes and huffs a laugh. "At least you didn't get something worse. That sort of thing will definitely wait until you're an adult."
"Yes, sir," Damocles says, dipping his head once in apology, but dad waves it off.
"None of that. Out of all the things you could've done, this is far from the worst." Motioning everyone to start setting their plates with food, he says, "You'll go to Taskis' and help him around his shop for the next two months without pay. Should you two of you choose to actually continue the work and he actually pay you, then that's okay, but this punishment comes with no credits. I'll even tell him not to pay you. Understand?"
Damocles nods, purring. "That's fair."
Hell, it might even be fun.