The sound of boots on the metal steps was muffled but distinct, and would announce anyone's arrival clearly enough. Shepard ducked her head a little as she reached level ground, her face bathed in a dim red light.
The maintenance sub-deck was the lowest part of the Normandy, if one disregarded a few small crawl-spaces. Directly below engineering, it allowed access to the heavy power systems of the mass effect core for routine maintenance and in case of catastrophic emergency, but it was neither made for aesthetics nor permanent occupancy.
Shepard was not the tallest of woman, but even she could not stand straight for all the pipes and power access-ways lining the ceiling. Head lowered a little she took a few more steps, rounding the corner toward the core.
Jack stood illuminated in the ruby light emanating from the core-drive's base, facing it with her back toward Shepard. She was in the process of changing, that bare back showing a diverse map of tattoos etched over sinewy muscle.
She had traded her thin, torn prison fatigues for a pair of cargo pants and heavy boots. As Shepard caught sight of her she pulled up the dark vest she'd been putting on, settling it over her shoulders. She half-glanced around as she began to lace it up.
"This pit the best Chambers could do?" Shepard asked, disbelieving.
"No," Jack replied. "I wanted to be down here. No traffic, close and dark…at least, I thought there wasn't any traffic."
She gave Shepard a punctuating glare, finished lacing the vest, and turned to sit on a small cot that had been set up. "Fuck you want, anyway?"
"Yeah, fuck you too," Shepard said casually, then flung her arm out. Something silver glimmered in the ruby light a moment before Jack nimbly snagged it out of the air. She looked suspiciously at the flask before she spun the top.
"What's this for?"
"Figured you've been on that ship a long time, and could use a drink," Shepard told her, leaning on one of the struts and making no move to walk further into the maintenance space. "It's whiskey. From my own stash, which I guard like fucking gold, so you're welcome."
Jack tipped the flask against her lips, taking a swallow, and then giving a shuddering sigh of almost ecstasy a moment, before lowering it again. "Good shit," she approved.
"Thanks," Shepard told her.
"Now where are my fucking files?"
"Miranda Lawson, my XO, is putting them together. You don't have them by tonight, you let me know and I'll put them in your hands myself."
"The Cerberus cheerleader I saw earlier on deck," Jack snorted bitterly. "Looks like she'd cry if she broke a fucking nail."
"Miranda's tougher than she looks," Shepard told her.
"Whatever, I ain't here to be fucking friends. You get me those files, I'll do the job, and then as far as I'm concerned you all can go fuck yourselves."
"You're not even curious why we're going after the Collectors?"
"No. I'm just glad to be out of that pit." Then she eyed Shepard. "You said you weren't Cerberus, right? So why the fuck are you here?"
"Long, complicated story," Shepard said. "Short version is I'm using whatever money and resources the Illusive Man wants to throw my way to achieve my own goals…and when I'm done, they can go fuck themselves too."
Jack snorted, taking another shot of the whiskey before spinning the lid back on and pitching the flask back at Shepard, who caught it.
"You talk a big talk…Shepard, was it? Act like you got balls. We'll see if you really do, or if you're just a pussy who likes to front."
{Commander Shepard, Kasumi would like to see you in the observation room,} Kelly's voice filled the air. Shepard nodded.
"On my way." She tucked the half empty flask into her back pocket, then looked at Jack. "I'll talk to you later, after you get those files."
"Yeah, can't fuckin' wait," Jack said sarcastically, laying back against the cot.
Turning, Shepard headed back up to engineering, then toward the lift. As it rose, she pulled the flask out, opened it, and took a belt of her own before tucking it away again.
Emerging on the crew deck, she headed toward the starboard observation room where Kasumi had bunked. As she entered, she noted the woman had done a bit more unpacking and settling in. Light but spirited music was playing, and several strange objects were scattered about.
Seeing Shepard glance at them as she turned away from the tiny bar, Kasumi smiled. "A few trophies from my more interesting jobs. You don't mind, do you?"
"Not at all. I was never really into art and sculpture myself. That was more Lia-…well, not important. You wanted to see me?"
"There's a story there," Kasumi stated, then shook her head. "But I won't press. I received a message from one of my contacts. It was waiting for me when we came back aboard. Looks like we'll be able to get Keiji's greybox back sooner than I had expected. Donovan Hock is having little get-together at his home…him and fifty of his dirtiest friends. It's in four days time, on Bekenstein. It may just provide the perfect opportunity to sneak in and get into his vault."
"Lots of people around, lots of distractions to take advantage of-" Shepard started to nod in approval, then paused as something registered. "Wait…you said 'get-together'. Like a party?"
Kasumi smiled. "Not just a party, Shep…a formal dress party."
Fumbling for her back pocket, Shepard pulled out the flask again and took another belt of whiskey. Kasumi's smile only grew slightly wider and more devious as she folded her arms, regarding the look on Shepard's face.
"You can walk in heels, can't you?"
The groan Shepard let out as she dropped into a sit on the small sofa almost sounded like one of pain. She looked up at Kasumi, her forehead wrinkled. "Can't Cerberus just…just pay you?"
The other woman straightened, walking over and sitting down beside her. "C'mon, Shep. You know what this means to me. It won't be all that bad. I can have an invitation and a cover identity for you by tonight, and it'll be so rock-solid by the time of the party that it will take Donovan years of working to find proof that it's fake. I will be with you the whole time, under cloak."
"Well, why can't I be the one under cloak, and you can wear the heels?" Shepard protested. Kasumi shook her head.
"Won't work. If there's even the slimmest chance that Hock has a picture or even a solid physical description of me, we'll be gunned down before we get out of the driveway."
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Shepard huffed, slumping. She rattled the flask, hoping to hear more whiskey inside, but she had drained it. "Fuck twice!"
"Anyone ever tell you that you're adorable when you swear?" Kasumi teased. Shepard looked at her balefully.
"Fine. So what do we do?" she asked in weary resignation.
"I'll hammer out a concrete plan to a polished finish by the time we reach the planet. The Normandy can stay in orbit and we can shuttle in toward the opposite end of the colony, then rent a limo to take us to Hock's front door. Oh, after I pick you up something appropriate to wear. Hopefully we can get in and out without a shot fired but just in case…I'll come up with a contingency to- oh! Yes, that might work…"
Her eyes went far away and bright at the same time, as a thought occurred to her.
"What?"
"A few years back, a sculptor on Palaven made a gorgeous statue of a turian. It was supposed to go on display at the Regional Center in the city of Kalavet to honor the turian's status and achievements as a Spectre. Unfortunately, before it could be moved to the site and unveiled, some naughty little thief made off with it."
"Wonder who that was?" Shepard smirked.
"The thing is gorgeous, Shep. Almost solid gold and seven feet tall. How could I resist?" Kasumi winked. "It has a marble base with a secure slot. It was supposed to contain the armor that turian wore during one of his more famous missions…turians like to do that with their statues, they think it adds honor. The drawer is perfectly concealed. Had it fulfilled its original purpose, once it was closed with the armor inside, a plaque would have been affixed over it and it never would have been opened again. We can use it for the same purpose. Conceal your hard-suit and some sturdy guns inside along with a small masking device that will prevent all scans from detecting them."
With every word she spoke, her eyes got brighter as the plan formulated in her head. "Yes, you can present the statue as a gift to Hock…he'll be getting several from his more slimy compatriots, tributes to his greatness. He'll take it right to the vault, and once we get inside, you'll have your armor and weapons ready, in case things turn bad. Not to mention, I love the irony."
"Irony?" Shepard asked, confused.
"That turian Spectre I mentioned? The one that statue was made of? It's Saren Arterius."
Shepard stared at her, and Kasumi shrugged. "Granted, I stole it a year before he went rogue and the entire mess with the Citadel went down. Probably a good thing I snagged it, otherwise it'd be in some garbage heap somewhere, covered in graffiti and spit…if it was lucky."
Shepard sat back. Kasumi was right, it was a strange irony. The man she had chased and fought so hard to bring down would now be helping her…if only in effigy.
"And how do we get in to the vault?"
"That I'll have to figure out once we've seen it," Kasumi told her. "I need to get a look at it in person and see what security systems it has in place. Once we figure that out, we figure out the best way to bypass it."
"What if you can't?"
Kasumi laughed. "Please, I'm the best in the business. There isn't a vault made I can't get into."
Shepard wiped a hand over her face, then nodded. "All right. I did promise," she said. "Make the arrangements, and I'll tell Joker to head in that direction. It's going to take us a couple days to get there, anyway. Might as well get it over with."
"Excellent. I'll contact my friend and have the statue moved and waiting for us. Thank you, Shepard. This means a lot to me."
"Yeah well, I'm not sure you helping me chase the Collectors is going to be payment enough for having to wear a fucking dress and heels but…you're welcome. Hock better hope he behaves himself, because I guarantee that by the end of the night I will definitely be in the mood to break some necks."
Muscles corded rhythmically, tauting to steel beneath damp ebony, damp tan. Sweat glimmered along a dark scalp, glistening amongst tight black curls shaved close to the skin, as Jacob grit his teeth.
Wet locks also clung to tan cheeks, shoulders, forehead, perspiration trailing down temples, and dripping from her chin to the metal floor of engineering.
"He hasn't got a chance," Donnelly declared.
"Are you kidding me, Ken?" Daniels scoffed. "Look at those muscles!"
"I try not te look at the muscles of other blokes, if ye don't mind," he teased.
"Why, afraid you might like them?"
"Wench! C'mon, Commander! Teach hem a lesson!"
The two engineers weren't the only ones gathered in the room. Whistles, cheers, and friendly bets were passing around several of the crew. Neither was theirs the only argument. Mordin and Chakwas stood shoulder to shoulder, just beside a silent Miranda who was observing with her arms folded.
"Physical impossibility," Mordin was shaking his head. "Muscles still not to optimum performance. Further month of intense training, could possibly come close."
"Shepard makes a living on impossibilities," Chakwas sniffed. "She hasn't come upon anything yet that can put a stop to her, even death."
"Irrelevant. Battle-field strategy, survival instinct, different. Loser here does not die, no lives at stake, nothing to protect. No overstimulation of adrenaline. Matter will be decided by simple biology. He pushes daily, top shape, suffered no set-backs. She is still recovering, starts from a position of disadvantage." He stopped and took a breath, folding his arms. "Odds in his favor."
"I can't wait to see you eat those words, Mordin," Helen smirked, then called out. "C'mon Shepard!"
The pair were in the middle of the deck. Shepard wore her yoga pants and a black sports bra under a loose gray tank, her dripping hair only loosely tied back. The gold cross around her neck hung toward the deck, pooling on the metal with every downward arc, swinging slightly with every upward. The red scarring from her dermal regeneration had finally faded, only a few tiny lines remaining on her back and shoulders and around her temples, and her color had returned to a healthier shade. Her muscle tone had greatly improved, finally showing definition but still a distance away from where she had been before her restoration.
She was shoulder to shoulder with Jacob, the two doing push-ups in almost perfect sync. Jacob was in tip-top condition. Bare from the waist up, his torso seemed almost carved in ebony. Though he had a good three inches on the commander and followed a strict and rather heavy exercise regimen daily, so far she was keeping pace with him push for push.
The count had reached well into triple digits already, both competitors grit-toothed and streaming with sweat, yet neither showed signs of stopping.
A few minutes later the strain finally began to show, each now clearly struggling to continue on. As it became obvious they were slowing the cheers and calls only grew louder, each crewman urging on his particular choice.
Then, it happened. Both were hefting frantically, uttering muffled cries of determination between their teeth. Shepard got halfway up a final time, then slumped back to the deck with a surrendering cry of frustration. Jacob barely managed to complete a final repetition, sealing his position as victor.
The uproar from the crew was thunderous as Shepard groaned and gasped for breath, before weakly looking over at Jacob, who was also now laying on his stomach in exhausted misery.
"Fuck," she declared. "How many…fucking push-ups…do you do every day?"
He smiled. "Let's just say…I think I reached my quota…for the next week…"
Rolling onto her back she lay there limp, one hand draped over her stomach as several crewmen came over to help Jacob up, lauding over their winnings and raining praise down upon him. Shepard's free hand waved in weak circles in the air before it, too, dropped down to her stomach. "Huzzah huzzah," she mumbled. "No…it's ok…I'm just gonna die right here…thanks for caring…"
Chakwas moved over to her, crouching with a sad smile. "It was close, Shepard."
"Yeah," the panting woman grinned, looking at her before her gaze shifted to Mordin, who was standing behind her. "Which one…of you…bet against me?"
"He did," Chakwas betrayed with a smirk at the salarian.
"Ok…you're fired…Mordin…damn traitor…"
The man just smiled, and Shepard managed a weak laugh.
Her mirth vanished into a groan as another form crouched in front of her, a hand lowering to offer her help up. "Oh, no…" she lamented. "You're back."
"I am," Kasumi smiled. "Sorry I missed all the fun. Your things are up in the Nest, Shepard. You have time to shower and change."
"Can't…" she protested weakly. "Dead…."
"Never stopped you before. C'mon. Up we go."
Shepard took the offered hand, allowing Kasumi to pull her to her feet. Chakwas passed her a water bottle and Shepard took a healthy swig from it before dumping half over her the back of her head, then wiping her face.
"All right, shower and…clothes," Shepard grimaced.
"There are cosmetics as well," Kasumi offered. Shepard groaned again, and the small thief laughed. Shepard managed a grin at her, slapping her lightly on the shoulder, before lumbering out of engineering and onto the lift.
Almost the instant that the doors closed, any hint of amusement or levity on her face vanished. It was an act that was getting harder and harder to maintain. She hated every second of it, always having to pretend around the crew, to act like nothing was wrong when it felt like she had a huge rent in her very heart and soul. But she couldn't risk behaving any other way. If any hint that she hadn't put Liara behind her reached the Illusive Man it might put the asari at horrible risk…more risk than she might already be in.
Soon. Zaeed or Garrus have got to come up with something soon. And this trip will, at the very least, give me a chance to talk to Kasumi, get more eyes out looking. Please…whatever god or goddess or weird pan-dimensional karma-beast might be listening…let it be soon.
The shuttle was waiting, powered on and idling in the Normandy's cargo deck. The ship was in orbit around Bekenstein and the plan was to have Joker pilot them down to the far end of the colony, where a rental limo complete with chauffer was waiting to take them to Hock's place.
Kasumi was waiting with Miranda as Joker did a final exterior check of the craft, the thief glancing at her omni-tool's chronometer, and then toward the lift just as the doors parted.
"Good, right on time. And it fits," Kasumi smiled. "I was worried I didn't have your size exactly right, even with the body scan."
"Wow. Not bad, Commander," Miranda commented as Shepard stepped off the lift and walked toward them. "I'd have hardly recognized you if I didn't know."
Despite Kasumi's concerns, Shepard actually walked rather elegantly on heels. Miranda, however, was right…she looked like a completely different person.
The dress was black and shimmered faintly as the light moved over it. It was off the left shoulder and ankle-length, split almost scandalously high on the right hip. Form fitting, the dress showed that Shepard actually had a rather alluring build, outlining her waist and her hips and perfectly framing a hardly-shameful cleavage. Her long hair was elegantly draped over her shoulders, pulled slightly back on one side with a diamond clip Kasumi had acquired. As well she wore a pair of tiny diamond studs, a bracelet, and stunning necklace. Her makeup was flawless.
"You did all that on your own?" Miranda asked, impressed. Shepard lifted a brow with a slight tilt to her head.
"I'm not entirely unfeminine, you know," she said dryly.
"Kelly helped, didn't she?" Miranda asked, not buying it.
"Maybe," Shepard hedged, then smirked. "I have to say, whoever the bastard was that invented heels should be fucking shot. These are outlawed torture devices in some sectors, you know?"
Joker, who had come around from the nose of the shuttle out of curiosity, was standing nearby, staring unabashedly, his mouth hanging open. As Shepard glanced over at him he slowly drew his hand out of his pocket, lifting it to reveal a slim camera in his palm a breath before he snapped a picture.
As the flash went off Shepard's eyes narrowed dangerously and Joker gave a nervous grin, taking a step backward.
"I'll just be…uh…inside," he said hastily, and disappeared into the shuttle before she could get it into her head to murder him.
"Well, we'd best be going," Kasumi said, drawing Shepard's attention away from the pilot. "You do look great though. You should wear this stuff more often."
"Never again often enough for you, Goto?"
"I'm just impressed she's not armed," Miranda stated. Shepard gave her a lopsided grin.
"Who says I'm not armed?" she asked, before turning and striding into the shuttle.
In the back of the shuttle, and away from Joker's gapes and teasing comments that likely would have gotten his nose broken again, Kasumi passed Shepard a data pad. "Your new identity," she said. "You are going to be Alison Gunn, an up and comer who leads a small but talented group of mercenaries. Some of my contacts seeded intel through several different channels…you are on the guest list and Hock will have heard of you. Not that it will matter. The moment he sees you he's going to be tripping over his own tongue."
Shepard snorted, glancing over the intel. "Guess I'm going to have to watch the swearing. And the drinking. Fun times all around."
"I do really appreciate this," Kasumi said softly. "Even the hope of getting that greybox back…"
Shepard nodded her understanding. Possible classified weapons-tech or not those memories were precious, and she couldn't say that she'd be any different were it some part of Liara.
By the time the shuttle landed, Shepard had memorized what she needed to know from 'Gunn's' profile. As Joker took the transport back up towards the Normandy, Shepard and a cloaked Kasumi entered the rented limo, the former blinking in surprise a moment when the chauffer offered his hand to help her into the air car.
Once inside, she closed the divider, sealing the back passenger area and making it not only impossible to see in, but soundproof as well. With no chance of the driver realizing she was there, Kasumi uncloaked again.
Shepard felt tense, uncomfortable in her own skin. She hated gowns and make-up, both installing in her a sense of almost paranoia. They drew too much attention, and despite what others might think, Shepard was generally one to avoid attention whenever she could.
Her fingers kept brushing at the ends of her long hair, rearranging them and then rearranging them again.
"Relax," Kasumi urged gently. "It's only for a little while."
Shepard nodded, then looked at the small thief. "There was something I wanted to talk about, now that we're away from the Normandy. Something kind of…under the table."
"My favorite kind of something," Kasumi replied. "What is it?"
"I know this is the only payment you asked for but the Collector mission isn't the only operation I need your help on. I want to hire you on for a secondary objective…pure research, nothing more."
"Intriguing…what kind of research?"
"When you asked me before, if I had lost someone…I didn't answer completely," Shepard admitted. "I did lose Nan and Paul but…there is someone else. Someone I'm trying to find. Cerberus is trying to keep us apart. They sent me a fake 'Dear Jane' letter hoping I wouldn't keep pursuing it but…well, let's just say I wasn't fooled."
"Why would they do that?" Kasumi asked in concern.
"I don't know, but I'm afraid that if I keep looking for her they'll take more drastic measures to make sure I don't find her, if you get my meaning. I don't dare discuss this aboard the ship…the Illusive Man probably has it bugged a thousand ways to Sunday-"
"Oh, he does," Kasumi affirmed. "Hard to fool a thief used to spotting the tiniest cameras and listening devices. I found three in the observation room alone."
"Exactly. I just want to find a location, find out where she is. Rumor is that she's working for the Shadow Broker, that he's keeping her under cover but I don't know that I trust anything that comes from Mr. Illusive's mouth. Garrus and Zaeed are both using their contacts to try and find her and I would appreciate it if you would as well. I'll pay you anything you want-"
"No need, Shepard," Kasumi held up her hand. "Star-crossed lovers kept apart by evil forces of darkness…the romantic in me is absolutely steaming. Of course I'll help. What's her name?"
"Dr. Liara T'Soni."
"Really?" Kasumi looked pleasantly surprised. "Well, Shepard…I can't tell you where she currently is, I don't have that information, but I can reassure you she is most certainly not working for the Shadow Broker."
Shepard sat forward, eyes widening. "You know Liara?"
"Professional basis," she said. "She's provided me with intelligence a time or two. We met in person just once, briefly. Sweet girl, very lovely. Seemed a bit sad though, lonely…I guess now I understand why. I can see why you're smitten."
"What's she doing?" Shepard asked. "You said intelligence, but…she's not a broker agent?"
"No," Kasumi replied. "She is a broker herself, though on a smaller scale than the Shadow Man. Seems to hate him, actually. Seemed rather spirited on the subject."
"Hate him? Why?"
"No idea. Like I said, our meeting was brief and professional. It was on…Kadavas, if I remember correctly, but she was only passing through, as was I. I doubt she's there, but I'm certain I can get in contact with her again, given enough time. With Cerberus lurking about, sadly I won't really be able to work from aboard ship, but if we get a chance to go groundside for any length of time I'll be right on it."
Shepard closed her eyes a moment, nodding as she sat back. "Thank you. If she's moved on or…found someone else, I can accept that, deal with it somehow. I just need to make sure she's ok, talk to her again, the real her…if even just for a few minutes. I need to tell her I'm sorry."
Reaching forward Kasumi took Shepard's hand, clasping it gently with a squeeze of comfort, before she felt the shift in the air car's engine. Sitting back, she looked out the one-way windows, nodding.
"We're here. Time for me to go dark. You have your ear-bud in?"
Shepard nodded, touching the all but invisible bud nestled in her ear canal. "Check."
"I won't be able to talk much above a whisper once we're inside, but I'll have you in my sights at all times."
The limo settled with a faint bump, and Kasumi touched the cloak on her belt. "Good luck," she said with a final wink, before shimmering into non-being.
During the following morning's hunt, Eír was unusually cooperative, following Shrive's lead and direction perfectly, and never once attempting to light her biotics. They tracked a small pack of wild varren for a short distance before flawlessly singling out and separating one of them. After that, it was only a matter of a few minutes before they had it down, Eír achieving her first kill as she shot the beast in the head, dropping him in his tracks.
Hauling him back to camp was hard work and though the hour was not yet noon, both women were damp with sweat when they finally arrived. After the beast had been skinned and gutted, Shrive directed Eír to put its tongue, eyes, livers and hearts into a large pot, while she packed the rest of the offal in a cryo-box. With the skin laid out to dry in the sun, its head propped up outside the cave in a grim trophy, the pair of women speared the body and hefted it above the fire to roast. They would not, of course, be nearly able to eat the entire beast but the cooked meat would keep until they returned home the following evening.
The pot of delectables boiling, varren roasting, the cave was soon filled with mouthwatering smells. As it had been Eír's kill, she had done most of the bloody work, and was filthy as a result. Shrive, by contrast, didn't have a speck on her though she had hardly been idle.
Eír went outside to the well to wash up and change while Shrive continued to tend to the food. She took her dagger with her, fulfilling her vow to continue to have the weapon on her at all times until she was able to defeat Shrive…a goal that the young girl could not have guessed would be accomplished as quickly as it was.
Redressed in cleaner and cooler garb than the beige wraps, she blinked a little as she stepped from bright sunlight into the dark cave, waiting a moment for her eyes to adjust. Shrive was crouched over the boiling pot of offal, the rich smell of blood-rich meat filling the air. She had added something to thicken the blood and water it was boiling in to almost oatmeal consistency, and was narrow-eyed with concentration.
She half turned her head as Eír came in, then gestured idly with one hand toward her bedroll. "It's time to take this off the heat and let it cool. Can you bring me the powdered tibla please?"
Eír nodded and turned toward the bedroll, eyes at first fixed on the small assortment of dried leaves, powders, and other spices that Shrive had laid out nearby. After only a step or two, however, her eyes landed on Shrive's open pack and a thrill of nerves sang through her.
The cinch was there, half-buried among the other items. She could see just a few links but it was unmistakable.
The cube? Where is the cube?
Hoping her split second pause hadn't betrayed her, she crouched and began to rummage through the spices, doing her best to visually search the open pack out of the corner of her eye as she did so. She did not see the cube.
Maybe she has it on her, she thought, and risked a look over at the older girl, still busy with the pot. She had only a few seconds left before Shrive would wonder why it was taking her so long to get the requested herb, and glance over. Her gut still in a knot, Eír glanced her over, then looked back at the pack. The cube was not on Shrive. She would've had to have it in hand, or in a pocket, given its size and shape. There were no pockets in her leather trousers, nor in her vest, and her hands were occupied with the stew. It had to be in the pack.
Now was the time. Eír had to take a risk now or let the opportunity slip past…an opportunity that might never present itself again.
Reaching into the pack, she gripped hold of the cinch and drew it out. As she did, she spotted the cube and her stomach leapt up, her throat almost closing in shock. Snatching hold of it she tugged two of the cinch links apart even as she straightened, turning back toward Shrive.
The loop opened easily, leaving the length of silver links in her grip. She took two steps toward Shrive when the girl abruptly straightened to her feet, turning around. "Eír? Where's that-" she started to say, then broke off as Eír's hand flung out, the cinch whipping around and closing.
Just that fast, Shrive was not only cut off from her biotics but also the use of her arms, the cinch binding them tightly to her sides. To her credit, however, she did not gape in fear or gasp in shock. Shrive was every inch a cunning fighter and her reflexes were second to none. The moment she realized what had happened, the moment Eír's smile had even started to begin, Shrive danced up and landed a flutter kick firmly to the other girl's chin.
Eír saw stars as her feet left the ground. She crashed hard enough to the rock to feel her air erupt from her, and instinctively rolled to one side, narrowly missing the heel of Shrive's boot as the other woman kicked at her face.
Darting to her feet Eír knew she could not flag. Shrive was half-hobbled but far from gentled, and wise enough to not even attempt use of her biotics while cinched. To do so would only charge it, leaving Eír open to shock her senseless.
Whirling just as fast as Eír leapt up, Shrive sent a roundhouse kick toward the side of the girl's face, nearly sending her off her feet again. Eír lightly tasted blood from the strike as she darted away, around to the other side of the fire. Her trousers did have pockets, and she jammed the cube into one as she drew her dagger.
"I am greatly weakened and still you run away?" Shrive goaded lightly, her eyes fixed on Eír's through the dancing flames, past the roasting varren.
"I don't run," Eír said in a low, venomous tone. Walking back around the fire but not within kicking distance, she lifted her hand, the handle of the dagger gripped tightly with the blade laying against her forearm, cutting edge out.
The two moved toward each other almost as if obeying some telepathic cue. Shrive whirled another kick toward Eír's head but the girl ducked beneath it, close enough to feel the wind pass over her crest. Leaping forward she rolled past the older asari girl, planted her hands, and mule-kicked backward, striking Shrive hard in the belly with both feet even as the woman landed from her kick. A loud bark of expressed air punctuated Shrive stumbling backward. She barely managed to maintain her feet but even as she reoriented, Eír was upon her.
A fist lashed into her face. Having grown up with krogan half-brothers, Shrive well knew how to take a hit but she was still off balance and the hit only kept her so. She stumbled back a few more paces, then more as Eír hit her again.
When her back slammed into the rock wall of the cavern, momentarily stabilizing her, she hooked a foot out, the back of her heel colliding with the back of Eír's before she pulled and twisted. The younger asari fell back, instantly rolling to her side, bracing her hand on the ground. Her abdomen tensed and her foot lashed out into Shrive's gut again.
Slammed by the boot back into the wall only an inch behind her, Shrive's bark this time was ragged. She barely managed to keep her feet.
Then Eír was there. The heel of her free hand pressed hard to Shrive's forehead, arching the girl's head back slightly and keeping her skull pinned to the rock, her body similarly pinning Shrive's body tightly to the stone to prevent her escape or attack.
As sharp and gleaming as ice, the dagger pressed close to Shrive's throat, and for a moment they simply stood there. A thin trickle of blue blood ran from the corner of Eír's lips where Shrive had kicked her, the younger girl's teeth bared ferally.
"So," Shrive panted. "You were listening to me all along, after all. You used your cunning, not just your strength, and not once did you use your biotics. I was afraid I was failing you as a teacher…I suppose I can die knowing differently."
Eír said nothing, the dagger moving a hairsbreadth closer, touching blue skin just a shade lighter than her own. Shrive's blue eyes were unafraid as they fixed to Eír's lavender.
"Go on," she relented. "I am bested. You have defeated me, fairly and with honor. I know that you have wanted this for a long time, Eír. Do it. Take your rightful trophy."
Another heartbeat, and the dagger moved, tumbling away from both Shrive's throat and Eír's fingers, clattering unheard on the younger asari lunged in, claiming the only trophy she wanted as she kissed the older insistently.