Disruption
Shepard was flirting with a turian. And the turian was flirting back. The concept was so completely… well… alien, that her mind hadn't finished processing it yet and was letting her mouth run on autopilot.
Her mouth didn't seem to need her brain in any case. Her inner-voice would have told her she didn't use it much to begin with. A rational mind wouldn't have sat down next to a recent enemy race and started hitting on them. A rational mind also wouldn't have met a fascinating man who was eying her up with an intensity that made her want to shiver.
"And yet what?" She leaned closer and he rested an arm on the counter as he put his drink down, now empty. His second? Third? His arm stayed on the table and the distance between them lessened for it.
He had a gleam in his eye that translated across any cultural barrier. They'd abandoned any concept of personal space, enough that when he exhaled she felt hot breath on her face. He smelled exotic, of hot peppers and a hint of cinnamon, and it was enough to mask the stale odor of dozens of sweaty bodies and piled on perfumes that marked any nightclub.
The words 'Do you want to get out of here?' were on her tongue when he opened his mouth to reply. She imagined if he were human she would have silenced him with a kiss then and there. As it were, with no lips to speak of, she simply waited for him to continue, then wished she hadn't.
His eyes darted away from her face and he stood up, forcing her to do the same. "Nothing," He placed a hand on her shoulder and maneuvered her out of his way. "Excuse me,"
Blinking, Shepard stood dumbstruck where he had left her. Several jostles from the crowd finally kick-started her brain back into action with a muttered "Figures." She sunk back into her seat, trying to pick him out in the crowd, and caught a glimpse of red as he left the club.
He hadn't even pulled the Restroom Card. Just up and left. Turians. Men. Turian men? Well this whole evening had been entirely counter-productive. The bartender moved to refill her shot-glass with an 'Oh, Honey' look on his face. She shot him a glare for his pity and snarled, "Leave the bottle."
Contrary to most she'd encountered, Shepard liked tequila. You drank it straight, and it was straight up with you. It was an all too uncommon way to drink it, but at Basic in Macapa, Brazil, they'd sworn by it.
Shepard sighed and stared at the bottle. At the moment, she wanted to swear at it. Shepard sipped idly at her drink, and let her eyes sweep over the bar again. No one else looked remotely interesting. Grinding against one another on the dance-floor, attempting (and failing) to look inconspicuous doing red sand in the booths…
A hand with too many fingers fell heavily on her shoulder, "Woman like you needs a real man," The hand, rightly fearful of being permanently altered to the correct amount, retreated as quick as it came. The man it belonged to unfortunately did not do the same, and took the now-vacant seat beside her.
"Sounds great, you know one?" She sneered, barely looking him over. He looked vaguely familiar. She attributed it to him being human, or what passed for one, and ignored the feeling.
"Don't be like that," He grinned at her. His mouth had too many teeth. She could fix that… "You play hard to get, it's prolly why he left."
"And it's why you're going to leave too." It wasn't a question.
"Come on," He whined. Like a child. Shepard hated children. "This late, you're looking at a boring night otherwise. Don't want that do you?"
"Why not? S'how my shore-leaves usually go." Well, except that one time…
"I can think of other ways this could go," He leered.
"So can I," Shepard glared at him and shifted in her seat, turning her back to him. It took all the restraint and tequila in her not to punch him.
"I knew it! I told the others you liked 'im cause he was a damn cuttlebone! Fu-" Shepard punched him.
He stumbled back from the force and the shock and crashed into the salarian behind him, who squeaked "Hey, watch it!"
"You watch it, fishboy!" Her unwarranted solicitor spat. Literally, spat. Blood and saliva sprayed across the salarian's face, who's wide mouth split into a grimace of disgust as he backpedaled and scrambled for the napkins lining the bar. "You're gonna regret that," He growled at her through a mouthful of blood and humiliation. "Shouldn't have come into Red territory, xenofucker."
At the word 'red' Shepard stood up abruptly. So fast, in fact, that her momentum caused the entire station to spin, or at least that was what it seemed like when the bar spun in a 360 around her. She sat - fell back into her seat with a thud. "Damnit, tequila, I trusted you."
As the world came back into a bleary focus, Shepard finally noticed why the man-child had seemed familiar. His hair was dyed a gaudy red, and there was a distinctly gutter-trash feel to him. She didn't recognize him specifically, but she knew all the signs of her old gang, and she doubted it could have been a coincidence.
Her mind swam with tequila and questions. Since when had the Reds gotten enough power and influence to get off-world? Did they know she was here? Would any of them know her? Recognize her? How many were there?
All of these paled in comparison to her primary question: Where was her turian? The man continued to rant and rave at her, drawing more than a few stares. Shepard ignored him, and with slightly more care and determination than before, surged out of her chair and towards the door.
Or rather she would have, had a five-finger hand not clamped down on her arm. Shepard stared at the offending appendage, and followed it up to its source. He'd progressed from insults to a full blown monologue, about aliens restricting humanity's place in the galaxy and alien sympathizers helping them to do it. It seemed so out of context that for a moment she wondered if he was serious.
Despite his grip on her arm, his face was dead-serious and red with fury and blood. Shepard was vaguely aware she was an example he was using for his speech, now directed at the entire bar. She let her gaze sweep over the other patrons, who watched the gang-member with expressions ranging from mild-disgust to outright horror.
Was this what she'd sounded like when she was a Red? Was this what she'd been like? Shepard glared. She hated him very suddenly, for being a mirror she wasn't ready to look in. She called him an idiot. He called her a whore. She punched him, and a bar-fight started.
The bouncer reacted immediately. A massive krogan, he charged through the crowd and put an end to the fight as swiftly as it had begun. Humans and aliens alike were tossed aside like ragdolls, some of them, sadly, just for the misfortune of being in the way. "No fighting!" He bellowed ironically as his war cry.
Patrons skittered back along the floor whimpering pitifully, but his great head swung away from them all and settled Shepard and the Red with a steely glare. He picked both of them up by their collars, and carried them limp and unresisting through the crowd, like a wild animal holding its children by their scruffs.
With a huff, he tossed them bodily outside, which is where Shepard wanted to go in the first place. "Fight well, but not in here," He grumbled, retreating back into OmniTonic.
The two of them sized each other up, then quickly took the krogan up on his offer. The gang member dove at her, and with a reaction time that would have made Drill Instructor Ellison proud, Shepard screamed and smashed her elbow into his face. It was dirty, it was bloody, it was Red, and the Reds always brought out the worst in her.
The blow sent him crashing to the floor, and the rush of adrenalin sent a primal thrill up her spine. She stared down at him in triumph, not caring if he was unconscious or dead. Standard military procedure was to check for survivors, and restock ammo and power cells from the fallen. Standard Reds procedure was a double-tap and rummage for creds. Shepard shook herself out of her memories and did neither.
She had to check on the turian. Just because he'd walked out on her didn't mean he deserved whatever the Reds would do to him. You know what they'll do to him. You'd have done it too once. "No I wouldn't have," Shepard growled at the body at her feet. It was still and silent. Unconscious or dead. Human or turian…
A yell from down the hall followed by a thud drew her drunken-focus away from the body. A hate-crime because she'd wanted to talk to get to know an alien. It'd be her fault if something happened to him. It'd be her gang if something happened to him.
"No, not my gang, not anymore," Shepard mumbled to herself, and took off in the direction of the yell, "Please be okay. I'm not a Red. Red's not my color."