CHAPTER 34
The salarian secretary at Oliver's school studiously avoided her gaze when she dropped by two days later to drop off clean clothes for her brother to wear. Oliver met her in one of the empty classrooms, almost completely covered in neon green paint.
"This happened in an Art Appreciation class?" Rosemary groaned as she inspected her brother's green curls and scalp. "Do you have any idea how long this stuff's gonna stay?"
"At least a week," Oliver told her cheerfully.
"Ooh," Rosemary continued to groan. "How... did this happen?"
Her little brother shrugged. "Some local artist came in to do a demonstration. He was touching up this abstract... completely shit sculpture."
"Ollie!"
"Sorry, sis – but it was really bad."
Rosemary tried to look stern. "Then what happened?"
"I bumped into his worktable – and here ya go."
Rosemary sighed and gestured for him to change. He did so, as she turned her back and started bundling up his dirty clothes. "That's not like you, Ollie. You're not the clumsy type."
"I've been... distracted."
"About?"
"I'm done," he announced. Rosemary turned back around and gestured for him to come close again. She inspected his green curls, which were now dry and hard. That won't do. She looked around the classroom. Judging by the cabinets and equipment, this was a room designed for students of the culinary persuasion. Perfect.
"Come over here to the sink, Ollie. We're going to tackle your hair." She started rummaging through the cabinets until she found what she was looking for: a full bottle of shampoo. Her brother obediently sat on a stool and bent his head over the sink.
Rosemary turned the water on and started massaging his curls with her fingertips to soften the paint. Oliver sighed with satisfaction and continued to talk, "I've been worrying about you, Keeya... those kids at Bridgeton. My future..."
She applied a liberal amount of shampoo to his head and massaged it in. "It's a little early to worry about careers," she teased her brother.
Oliver shrugged, letting his sister work. "You know me. I like to plan. It's my thing." A second later, "Well, I guess it's a family trait, Ms. Super-Secretary."
Rosemary snorted. "Ass."
"Yep. No, I mean – I think I know what I want to be."
Rosemary decided to humor him. "Just... stay there, okay? We need to let the shampoo sit. So what do you want to be when you grow up?"
"I want to be the next Shepard."
Rosemary sighed. "Yeah, okay."
Oliver sighed back. "No, I'm serious, Rosie."
"It's okay, Ollie," Rosemary said apologetically. "I know she's your idol..."
"No! I mean, yes, she is..." Oliver sounded flustered. "But I've been thinking about it for a while. Ever since we were on the Normandy and talking with CARD... The structured lives the Normandy crew leads... The discipline, the comradery... holds a lot of appeal for me."
Rosemary could sense that Oliver was being very serious right now, but... "Ollie, you're not even a teenager."
Oliver sighed. "I know. Just thought you should know – since it's never too early to get started."
Rosemary suddenly felt wary. "What do you mean by that?"
Her brother hesitated. "I'm going to ask Balint to train me... and any of the Normandy crew when they're docked. Like I said: I want to be the next Shepard. I want to be out there... saving people, kicking butt... making a big-ass mark on the galaxy."
Rosemary suddenly felt... so proud. Oliver... was going to make one hell of a man. She startled Oliver as he had his head bent over the sink, his curls sopping wet, when she hugged him. "Oh! That's my boy!"
"Roooosie – I'm trying to be grown up here," Oliver whined.
Rosemary squeezed her brother tight. "Yeah, I'm still going to be hugging you like this when you're fifty."
"Roooosie!"
Rosemary grinned and let go. She squeezed his cheek with wet fingers before she started washing off the shampoo. "Big-sister privilege. I'm... just SO proud of you, Ollie."
Oliver cleared his throat, embarrassed. "So, um... you'll be okay with Balint teaching me how to shoot, right?"
Rosemary didn't answer until she'd fished out a comb from her purse and gently ran it through his curls, removing most of the softened paint. When she was done, his dark brown hair only had a slight green sheen to it; his scalp would stay green for a while, though, like his teacher had said. She kissed him on the cheek when he straightened. "Aw, so cute. No, I'll kill both of you if you even try," Rosemary said cheerfully.
XOXOXOXO
While business appeared normal on the surface, Rosemary was actually keeping up-to-date with the news of the Citadel's underground. After Veracia had approved of her plan (much to everyone's surprise), he had put a team together to scout out all of Divide's outposts. The locations varied in terms of transparency and environs – from the stereotypical 'abandoned' warehouse in the Wards to a set of real estate offices in the Presidium.
Once all five outposts had been located and confirmed, the C-Sec captain had put Nuni in charge of the subsequent operation. The following week had all five outposts experiencing minor power fluctuations; Nuni sent out a squad just the previous day to raid one of their armories. All the while, her team was passing out whispers of Divide weakness to the lowest-ranking goons of the local gangs – confident that it would take little to no time for those whispers to reach the ears of their superiors. At that exact moment, though, Nuni was dealing with a shipment of tuho-legs – invasive, multi-legged insects that had once plagued quarian ships.
"They're allergic to concentrated biotic bursts," Nuni assured Rosemary. "By the time they figure that out, though – they'll make a hell of a mess."
Rosemary eyed the crate containing the pests with not a little revulsion; the insects were emitting a nauseating, slurping, clicking noise through the wooden container. "What do they do?"
"They eat metal," Nuni told her simply.
Rosemary looked at the dead tuho-legs on her desk; it had been treated to a panicked, biotic burst from a freaked-out Ossuri, and sure enough, it had died from the contact. It looked intact, though, and extremely revolting. It looked like a boil the size of an eyeball – covered with boils and with ten spidery legs. She'd seen it when it had gotten excited; its boil-like form had rippled and pulsed in a most foul manner. UGH. "WHY did you bring them here again?"
The quarian shrugged. "Aurel didn't want them at C-Sec."
"Aurel?"
"Veracia."
Rosemary wrinkled her nose. "Ew, you call him by his first name?"
Even without seeing her face, Rosemary knew Nuni was rolling her eyes at her. "Get over it, Rosemary. Under all that gruff and misplaced hatred and bigotry... he's one sexy turian."
Even with her turian fetish, Rosemary... just didn't get it. "But he's... Veracia."
Again, Nuni shrugged. "Yes, he's racist, but he's just – frustrated at his core. He's not a bad guy."
"Uh-huh." Rosemary had known her captain for too long to believe that. "Anyway, these... things need to go. People EAT here, Nuni."
"Where else can I put them," the quarian sputtered.
"I don't care – they need to go. NOW."
"Fine," Nuni grumbled. "No need to yell..."
