"You had fun? Then why is the planet still in one piece?"
Tali|Jeddah|Davisson
The Normandy had touched down on the Citadel only ten minutes prior, and Davisson was already confused. He'd expected trepidation, veiled threats, orders, maybe some angry stares or such, but he definitely hadn't expected to be immediately a first choice for ground team rotation. From what he gathered, anyone not on that rotation would stay aboard for missions at a moment's notice, while the rest of them would be on sort of a permanent break.
Well, not permanent. Apparently it was something of a trial run; no ideas as to whether Shepard would keep it up. He certainly wasn't complaining, but it did seem odd. He looked around at the others gathered around the docking area as it was explained. He counted Tali, that geth, Garrus' kid, the krogan who apparently had the hots for him (he gave her a wide berth) and the surprisingly sane salarian doctor.
The head count let him realize who was staying behind, too. The turian scot (that one still made his head spin), the flexible turian (he held back a chuckle), Garrus and Shepard, the head honchos themselves, and T'Soni (he held back a cheer). He informed Shepard immediately that he'd prefer at least a short break to being thrown right back into the fire if anything came up. He didn't say it aloud, but that banshee gave him the need for some therapy and a new pair of pants, too. She didn't look too happy about it (he couldn't blame her - life must be pretty empty without him around), but she let him off like the rest.
He'd made up his mind for location before he stepped into the elevator with those thoughts; he needed a drink. Surprisingly, he apparently wasn't the only one with that thought.
"I hope you don't mind the company until we get to the wards." Tali said.
Davisson raised an eyebrow. "Not so much, no. Where are you headed?"
"Dr. Michel's office." She held up a box she'd tucked under her shoulder. "Dr. Chakwas asked me to pass along some supplies if I got the chance."
"Neighborly of you." He commented.
The three of them piled into the shuttle, with Jeddah ending up behind the wheel, somehow. Davisson couldn't quite help but be impressed. It was a chauffeur too, huh? The cramped quarters made it a little bit uncomfortable, though; Quarian or not, this was definitely an invasion of personal space. But Tali didn't bring it up, so neither did he.
"What about you?" She asked politely. "Do you have any plans?"
"Get blind drunk, get in trouble, avoid C-Sec and check in with some old acquaintances." He paused, and amended hastily: "Not necessarily in that order."
The Citadel skyline passed below them in a blur, buildings flashing between bright and seemingly empty as they went to and from areas lit by artificial sunlight. The streets were crowded, but it wasn't exactly rush hour. And since the geth was driving, it gave them a decent opportunity to sightsee. Davisson, for his part, couldn't hold back a little smile. This was one of those places that still amazed you, no matter how many times you saw it.
"Somehow, I wouldn't be surprised if you're one of those people who knows everyone wherever you go." Tali said.
"Nah." Davisson shrugged it off. "I'm not that outgoing. Odds are better that if they're shooting at us, I know them."
"Somehow, that doesn't reassure me." Tali quipped. "You don't make too many friends?"
"I make plenty of friends." Davisson protested. "Most of them just want to kill me."
"I think you're missing the point of having them."
"Creator Tali'Zorah, we are in the process of landing." Jeddah alerted them.
The pair of them only had a few seconds to stew in the relative meaningfulness of their brief conversation. Neither brought it up, for which the other was mildly grateful. Jeddah stayed in the shuttle, leaving them to admire the building. Davisson had only been to this part of the wards a few times, and was thus impressed at the strides forward that the clinic had taken since he'd last seen it. It was nearly twice its old size, with two entrances and even a copy of Avina on standby.
Various patients - from the poorer districts and back alleys, it looked like - shuffled in and out, but there didn't seem to be a particular overabundance of them. There was, however, an argument brewing just inside.
"I know that, Stanley." A woman was saying. When they got closer, they saw it was an Asari who was apparently trying to talk down a young human man with some kind of fever. "But there isn't a way for you to work in the factory with this strain."
"Please, doc, you gotta do something." Stanley sounded desperate. "The boss made it crystal that I'd lose my job if I missed any more days."
"Stanley," The asari asked, turning exasperated. "Have you been taking time off for red sand again?"
"No!" Stanley all but shouted. "I'm clean, doc, you know that. But this is my last shot, see?"
"Where's Michel?" Davisson muttered.
"She should be in critical care." Tali motioned to a back room.
"I'll just stand around awkwardly, huh?" She shot him an unseen look, but relented. It was just as well, he thought, his hand moving unconsciously to make sure he still had his pistol. After all, he did need to have a conversation of his own.
The critical treatment section was host to a wide variety of commotions. There were gunshot wounds, beatings, wasting diseases, horrible poisons, intense amino reactions, and many more. The only commonality, in fact, was the apparently low probability of survival. The hastened steps of the doctors reflected this; all of them were rushed and desperately trying to help who they could.
In the middle of the chaos stood an auburn-haired woman wearing the outfit of a senior medical officer. Her voice was unshaken as she called out orders to the others, and she was operating at her peak even split between the commands and medical reports.
"Ashley, get Zak some more morphine, thirty milligrams. Lily, see to Ganor, another infusion of G-6, on the double. Ah, Tali." She turned and nodding slightly. Now that Tali was close, she could see that Michel had weary bags under her eyes, and her hair was beginning to turn gray from stress. In short, she didn't look absolutely terrible, but it was clear she was strained. Despite being responsible for millions of lives rather than a few dozen, Tali could relate.
"This isn't the best time," Michel continued. "But what can I do for you?"
"I'm here to deliver some supplies from Dr. Chakwas." Tali explained, handing over the box. "She sends hugs, too, but you can't pack those."
Not even a smile. "Unfortunately one of those are in short supply, but medical equipment we have..." Her eyes widened. "Ah. Upgrades. These will help quite a bit. Thank you, Tali."
"It's the least I can do." Tali told her softly. The doctor has probably saved her life, all those years ago, from Saren's goons. Scratch probably: definitely. It was worth being there just to see some of the burden lift off her shoulders. Some.
"Doctor Michel!" A nearby quarian medic ran to them urgently. "Mr. Burns is..." He saw Tali and quickly lost his train of thought. "Ad...Admiral Tali'Zorah! Wha..."
"If he's crashing, take him off of life-support and let him sit for three seconds." Michel told him absently, checking over her new supplies. "Then give him some deiproxy and let it sit."
"What?" He asked in shock. "But, Doctor, he would be technically dead f-"
"I will accept technically over permanently." The quarian looked like he was about to protest again, but Michel took her eyes off a report just long enough to give him a withering glare. "Now, Werren."
"Y-yes, doctor." He ran in the other direction.
"Is there anything else I can do?" Tali asked helplessly. Seeing all these people suffering around her, the doctors at the end of their tethers, made her feel like a worthless bystander. She hated feeling like that.
Michel shook her head, and Tali's stomach plummeted. "No. I'm sorry, Tali, but this requires a very specific kind of training." Apparently she judged body language well, because she relented slightly. "But...I'll send a message to Erranya out front. I'm sure there's something you can do."
Tali felt relieved, both because it gave her a way to kill the time and that she'd be making a difference. Just walking out of a facility in this state would have been criminal, never mind awkward.
Unfortunately, that was the least of her problems. When the door closed behind her, she began to look around for who she should see. That alerted her to an odd problem. Both Stanley and his asari doctor at the front were gone.
So was Davisson.
Renar
The shadows produced by a passing shuttle flying through an artificial light above him cast an almost unnatural darkness across Renar's face. His feet moved forward, one in front of the other, producing momentum with minds of their own. He barely even knew where he was going. It didn't matter to him. He needed something to occupy his time, but it didn't matter what it was. That he had a general heading was enough.
He barely even registered passing the markets, nor the signs that indicated he was in the Lower Wards. In fact, he was so absorbed in his thoughts that he only stopped when a hand made him.
"Hold up there, hatchling." Someone growled.
Renar looked up. He noted that there were two krogan flanking a door, that they both had shotguns, and that he appeared to be trying to walk into a place called 'Chora's Den'. The one who had just spoken, a larger male with a yellow plate, held out one hand like he was waiting for something.
"I.D." He said.
Feeling as stupid as he thought he must look, Renar asked, "What?"
The other krogan sighed and covered his face with a hand. By contrast, his compatriot actually chuckled and softened up a bit. "You need I.D. to go in there, kid. Basic access is fine."
Renar shrugged and brought up his omni-tool, transferring the relevant files to a handheld data card and passing it to the bouncer. The krogan nodded. "Looks legit. 'Course, you're just barely old enough for this." He opened the door and motioned with his weapon, and gave Renar his card back. "Careful in there. Place can be rough."
Renar didn't say anything. He just went inside and sat down the first chance he got. The club itself was a testament to the attitude of the Lower Wards. Strippers in every corner, a fully loaded bar, loud music and bright lights. The perfect place to sit down and forget. Or get lost, maybe.
One of the waitresses leaned forward against the 'U'-shaped bar in front of him. He looked up. She was human, maybe his effective age or a little older. He gathered that she was fairly pretty by human standards. What little he knew of them.
She gave him a sympathetic look. "Down in the dumps, huh?" She had an odd accent...but he couldn't place it, and felt like it would be almost insulting to ask.
He shook his head. "Just...pensive."
She chuckled. "Well, Mr. Pensive, let me know if you want a drink or somethin', huh?"
She walked off, and the clink of a glass alerted Renar to another person sitting right next to him. Conflicting alarm bells went off in his head; the hood and dark trench coat on the man screamed 'bad', but for some reason his physical manner was almost comforting. Reminiscent.
Renar didn't realize that he was staring, but the figure stopped what he was doing and slowly turned in his seat. He must have had a miniature tactical cloak, because absolutely nothing was visible under that hood. He motion to the back of the waitress. "She was trying to show interest, you know." His voice was deep and rasping.
"Not my type." Renar said.
The man nodded and drank. "I can understand that. But a type is almost required here. Either so you know what to look for, or so others know you aren't theirs. It's especially important for someone like you."
"Someone...like me?" Renar asked.
He nodded waved his hand. "Young primes out to pasture. You...don't know where you are, do you?" He sounded amused.
"Apparently not." Renar sighed. "I'm guessing somewhere that people go to forget. Or lose something."
"Right in one." The man raised his glass, and Renar realized exactly why he was so inexplicably comforting to be around. His manner felt like a war-weary C.O. of some kind, like the kind of person just looking for a reason to tell you about 'the good old days' of warfare. As a turian, he'd grown up appreciating and respecting those kinds of people.
"Your abstinence being the case, would you mind enjoying yourself some?" The man went on. Renar thought about this, then shook his head. The man motioned a different waitress forward, this one a tall asari who must have had some krogan blood in her, because she looked like she wanted an excuse to punch Renar in the face. "Can you get him something light, on my tab?"
"Sure it won't knock him on his ass?" She asked sardonically, but she produced a drink anyway. Renar wasn't quite sure what to make of it. The asari gave him the impression that she might have been giving him ryncol just to get him to hurt. But he drank it anyway. It didn't taste half bad, but it was clearly only designed for one purpose, that purpose being intoxication.
"Welcome to the galaxy, kid." The man went back to his drink. Maybe it was just the alcohol, but Renar was suddenly in higher spirits. He turned to ask for another when someone behind him whispered.
"Mr. Vakarian?" They asked.
And just like that, the good mood was gone. He didn't necessarily hate his surname, he just felt that those who needed a first impression tended to judge him by that instead of him. He turned around in a mildly heated fashion. A pleasant-looking salarian was standing there, smiling.
Renar sighed. "Yes, what can I do for you?"
"If you wouldn't mind..." The salarian pointed to the exit from the bar. "I have a message for you not exactly intended for public areas."
Renar grimaced; he had a hunch as to what it was about. And if he was right, there wasn't a reason to keep it waiting. His head turned away briefly, and he noticed the hooded man had disappeared, drink and all. He should have taken it as an omen. Instead, he walked out of the bar.
No sooner had he and the salarian turned a corner out of sight of the krogan bouncers than Renar was surrounded.
"Our boss wants to have a little chat with you." The slimy-looking salarian finished, smiling. The human and batarian flanking him were packing predators, and Renar didn't like his chances.
"Ahem." The four of them turned. The hooded man was standing at the entrance to a nearby alley, still holding his drink. "How nice." He said. "Because I want to have a little chat with your boss."
"Back away." The salarian snarled. "This is no business of yours." Both of his companions turned their weapons on him.
The man sounded unimpressed. "You're going to need at least five hundred and ninety seven more people to charge into my jaws." His tone was off, somehow, Renar noticed. Like he was quoting instead of speaking.
Great. Renar thought. This old drunk is about to get himself killed trying to help me. Way to go, Renar.
The salarian glared at him. "I said back away!"
The man did several things in quick succession. First, he threw the contents of his drink straight into all four of the batarian's eyes. He collapsed, howling in pain. A glowing omni-tool encircled the man's other hand, and when the human when to shoot at him, his gun refused to respond. Then he dropped the drink and punched the salarian's lights out.
In one smooth movement, he deactivated his omni-tool, drew a pistol, and shot the human right in the leg. He holstered the weapon and stood up. His hands reached to his hood and pulled it down. Only pure discipline kept Renar from jumping back with a gasp or maybe a scream, which is exactly what the human did. In fact, the pain combined with the terror made it sound almost comical.
The man's face had been reconfigured to the point where he looked only vaguely human. Lights lined his muscles and flesh, from his cheeks to his eyes, flaring a bright blue. In all but expression, he looked like a husk that hadn't been quite finished yet.
He glared at the human who was still hopping around like a maddened rodent, which only served to make him more unnerving. He raised both an arm and a leg, and smashed them both into the faces of the human and batarian, respectively. They dropped cold.
The salarian screamed girlishly and drew a firearm of his own. Shots bounced off of walls, forcing Renar to dive for cover. Incredibly, the husk-man merely moved his body however much of a distance he needed in order to not be hit. He quite literally dodged the projectiles being shot at him.
He slammed a heel into the salarian's hand, breaking it audibly, and picked him up by the throat, slamming him into a wall. Except for the frightened would-be assailant's breathing, the area was silent.
"You work for Gadschalk?" He asked. When the salarian didn't answer immediately, he shook him.
"Yes!" The salarian gasped. "Yes! Please, don't kill me!"
The man nodded. "Of course. Where is he?"
"What?!" He sputtered. "I can't tell you that!"
"No..." The husk agreed. "But you can lead me to someone who does know, yes?"
"Agkh! Yes! Yes!" The salarian rolled his eyes around the room in terror before continuing. "I have a contact, in the Wards! Morlan! He knows people, things!"
"Hm." The husk nodded. "That'll do."
When he didn't relax his grip, the salarian started shaking. "You...you said you wouldn't kill me!"
The husk nodded again. "That I did." Then he headbutted the salarian, making him crumple to the floor. "I didn't promise I wouldn't hurt you, though."
To Renar's frustration, the husk then looked straight at him. Rather than trying to kill him, however, he sounded positively jaunty. "All right, kid, let's take a walk."
Renar weighed his chances. He didn't like the thought of taking this person on, even with his biotics. That, and he was curious as to who this Gadschalk person was who apparently either wanted him dead or quiet. He just had one burning question that needed answering beforehand. "Who are you?"
"Bob Crazz." He said simply. "Your new best friend."
Deshayla|Kerrin
Honestly, Kerrin thought to himself idly as he scanned the row of outfits in front of him, this type of thing might not be so bad after all.
Against the protestations of his companion, they had both elected to engage in a citadel shopping spree, both to acquire some necessary items and to remove themselves from stressful situations. His first choice of locale was purely incidental, of course, but he knew Deshayla would be wondering if this were a 'gender thing'. He didn't think that way. Both of them knew it, and she would of course deny having the thought. But it was still there.
While being watched like a criminal in a police station was nothing new to him when she was around, Kerrin couldn't suppress the thought that perhaps Deshayla was being a bit overprotective, even for her. He reasoned that it was merely a precaution given his recent proclivity for almost being killed. But there was something else behind it, and unfortunately it wasn't all familiar.
"Do you feel guilty for not being on the Lesuss when the Blue Suns attempted to capture me?" He asked, so casually that he might as well have been asking whether the color of the tunic he was looking at went well with his eyes. This was their dichotomy, as it was - he knew she preferred he ask his questions bluntly, rather than skirt around the problem. It was relieving, in a way, to not have to observe so many social niceties in order to get your point across.
She growled softly, but in a low sort of way, like a youngling placed in an uncomfortable situation. Which, actually, was exactly the case. "Yes." He wanted to cut her off right there; she sounded so pained that it was hard for him to listen. "I should have been with you, not in some damn bar."
"I assured you of my safety." He said fairly. "You time was yours to spend as you saw fit. I assumed I would be fine, and that you should have the ability to...what is the phrase? 'Live a little'. I had a justicar with me, remember?"
"A lot of good she did you..." Deshayla said haltingly, like she knew she shouldn't be saying what she was saying.
"Logical reasoning?" He asked, not taking his eyes off the tunic.
"Certain actions or activities are infeasible." She recited in monotone. "And should be considered after eliminating other courses, not before."
"Further analysis?" He inquired.
"Post-incident internal debriefing is useless until altering of the time/space continuum has been invented." She elaborated. "And needless emotional trauma should be avoided."
And at last they were arriving. "Conclusion?"
"In vernacular, don't worry about shit you can't change." She sighed. "But my emotions keep getting in the way. I still don't get how you do it."
"Practice." He smiled. "A large amount of practice." He replaced the tunic and turned around, carefully examining her state of physical being with a doctor's eye. "You're doing very well, Deshayla. Account for your successes, for they are numerous and impressive. Avoid overthinking mistakes, for while also numerous, they pave the way for success."
Her shoulders slumped even as they moved around in erratic motions under her 'civilian' outfit. She was clearly still uncomfortable outside of combat armor. "Yes, Doctor."
"Don't forsake your emotions, either." He reminded her. "That would be my shortcoming. They are a foundation of who you are. Rather..."
"Balance and moderation." Deshayla finished.
"Just so." He nodded.
"You make it sound so easy." She remarked.
"Perhaps, after a fashion." He admitted. "But then, it is not a particular issue for me. Perhaps it's just a racial stigma in logical form."
"Or maybe you just it as well as everything else."
Kerrin waved a finger. "Now now, I am by no means perfect, remember? I just try to be...better."
"For him?" She didn't need to elaborate. They both knew full well who was being referred to. How could Kerrin, of all people, not know? He'd spent his life in that warm shadow.
But he nodded. "Yes. I hope you don't think you are the only one trying to attain a seemingly impossible standard."
"I..." She hesitated. She wanted to say something, damn it, but the words were beyond her.
The apparel shop they were in was on the Tayseri ward. It was artificially the late afternoon. The building was at the corner of Apoto and Lomanstd, and was not particularly different from any other location of its kind on the Citadel. But for some reason, a certain man chose this exact place to enter.
Mere moments after their conversation had paused, Kerrin and Deshayla heard the sounds of screaming from the entrance. Turning, they saw a pale human holding a small red device in his hand. He looked shaken, but resolute.
"I have a bomb!" He shouted. "Everyone get on the ground or I will destroy this building!"
[Author's Note: I cut this chapter a little short so I could give each perspective a proper cliffhanger, because I'm terrible. And yes, Bob is exactly who you think he is. No, none of these people are going to catch a break on the Citadel. Next week will begin the single-perspective chapters, which should end the 'vacation' in three chapters. Mind, needing more chapters to finish a semi-arc may be possible.]