Ripples in the Stream
A D&D / Shadowrun / Mass Effect crossover
by Vyrexuviel
Disclaimer: The author of this story does not, in any way, derive any profit from the story. D&D, Shadowrun and Mass Effect are the property of their respective copyright holders. Jorukaia and other unfamiliar characters in this story, however, are mine.
"Good goddess, where did you get that?!"
"Looks good, doesn't it?" The dragoness turned, giving a smirk at the gaping matriarch.
"You look like ground zero of a glitter-bomb explosion!" Aethyta's lips kept trying to quirk up at the ridiculous outfit, then remembering that Joru was suggesting wearing that to a meeting with the Council. "Come on, don't you have something a little more, I don't know, dignified?"
"I'll see what I can find." The tall dragoness seemed to radiate smugness as she sauntered off, absently shucking the robe and leaving her only in her panties for the moment as she walked back into her closet.
Jack was no help at all, howling with laughter on the oversized bed.
Benezia gave a low groan and rubbed her forehead, prompting Aethyta to look down and rub her shoulder. The Matriarch gave a faint smile at the contact, and sighed a bit as Joru rummaged through the outfits she kept in her walk-in closet.
"I don't care how much of a natural you are, politics stresses everyone out." Benezia nodded at her friend's soft words and looked up as Joru emerged again, her eyes widening a little as the tall woman tied the wide, ribbon-like belt around her waist.
The dress was...impressive. Dark, wine-red cloth, delicately embroidered with silver sigils, and with a large golden dragon on the right breast. The hem itself was heavily trimmed with what looked like metallic gold thread, picking out a stylized design that ran along the edge in repeating patterns, almost an inch wide. The belt itself was some sort of silk, golden like the hem, with dark-red designs embroidered into it. The hem came down to her ankles, and while it looked like some sort of simple robe, it was clearly some kind of expensive, if only for the materials used in its construction.
Joru herself had also been decorated, her horns had been painted with a thin liquid that had been brushed clear, leaving golden highlights in the pits and ridges of her horns, highlighting them with understated but striking tones. Similar highlights outlined her brow ridges, as well as cheekbones and chin, running along her jawline. Most strikingly, her claws had been painted with the same golden liquid, giving her hands a glitter as she finished tying an elaborate bow at the small of her back.
"Well," she asked, a twinkle in her eye. "What do you think?"
Aethyta reached over and closed Jack's jaw. "You're drooling on the rug, kid."
Jack growled and batted her hand away, before returning her gaze to the amusedly-smirking dragoness.
"I hope you understand the far-reaching repercussions of meeting with the Citadel Council. What you say, what you do, can and will have lasting effect for generations to come." Benezia's soft words carried through the warm-grey room, making even Jack tear her eyes away from the black-gold dragon.
"I certainly intend on it being so, Matriarch." Joru's own tone was measured, gentle yet firm at the same time. Not a mimic of Benezia's own politician's tone, holding a note of amusement as well as a sense of dignity. "After all, I intend to be around to assist the council in dealing with me and my kind, for many times longer than an asari's lifespan. I will be the visible face of the Darastrixi, for as long as any human, turian, salarian, or indeed asari will be alive."
Benezia sighed a little, stroking her brow again. She really did look pale, the recent strain she had been put under was starting to catch up to her. "I will hold you to that. My word will aid you, but if what you say about this coming storm is true, then you must choose your words carefully. While they do not have power over you, do not treat the Councilors callously."
Joru's face closed down, a mask of stern and disapproving force as stinging as any blow. "No darastrix ever submits easily, Benezia. The only ones who do, are those who are just out of the shell."
Benezia was unfazed. "In this instance, I honestly do not care. I have seen far too many mistake pride for integrity. While I am not asking you to prostrate yourself, the pride of one is worthless next to the lives of trillions. Do not let it interfere with negotiations."
"I would gladly give a billion asari lives to have one more dragon to talk to." Joru's words were soft, almost gentle, as she turned away. The 'makeup' gleamed in the soft, golden light from the small crystal lamps she used in her Refuge.
No one knew if Benezia had anything more to say in response as her omni-tool lit up. "Matriarch. Citadel Docking Control has acknowledged our credentials to land. We shall be docking within the hour and will receive a C-Sec honor guard. It appears Executor Pallin himself will be attending."
Joru gave a soft snort, glancing over at Vasir, who had been pacing near the door. "Good, we will be along shortly. Tell Executor Pallin that the Darastrix is most gracious that he has honored her with his presence."
Aethyta couldn't quite keep the smirk off her face, even as Benezia sighed and rubbed her brow again.
"EDI, the door is just about to open. Please tell me you've found a way out safely!" Sam's soft whisper was almost frantic, as Kasumi carefully set the shuttle down in the Alliance Cruiser's hangar bay. It had been a tense few minutes, especially when Sam turned to ask Kasumi a question, and the damn thief had vanished on her!
The shuttle ride had been one of the longest trips of Sam's life. Once the adrenaline from the rapid and rather alarming escape had worn off, Sam could only fret and worry over the fact that she had brought along a very intelligent and very illegal AI. Kasumi was no help. Once she'd found out what EDI was, and where she was, the only advice she'd given Sam was to 'shut her up and shut her down, she's bad news, Sam.' It hadn't been very encouraging, to say the least.
After all, Council laws regarding AIs were among the strictest, right alongside using WMD's on garden worlds, and so had absolutely severe penalties. On the other hand, EDI had struck her, not as an AI, but as a person, someone who was hurt, scared. She hadn't had experience with other AIs, but EDI was...different. Younger, in a weird sort of way. She made Sam feel...good. When she was talking with EDI, she felt...good. Like talking to a person, not just a cold machine. And no. That satin-smooth voice of EDI's had absolutely nothing to do with her decision. Nothing at all.
Still. Regardless of the reason, she couldn't let her friend be hurt, just because of what she was.
"I have, Sam." The smoothly modulated voice was a bit atonal now, ever since EDI had transferred to Sam's omnitool. "I will not be able to contact you for a while."
"Oh, thank God," Sam was barely able to keep her relief from showing. They both would have been in a world of trouble if EDI's answer had been any different. Nevertheless, after everything the two of them had been through to escape Cerberus, she still couldn't help but worry about being separated.
"I will have to go, Sam. Thank you." EDI's voice, though heavily distorted, still had a note of gratitude in it, as Sam's omnitool rapidly cycled through various cryptic holograms.
"Just...just make sure no one notices you. It's still a while before we reach Arcturus. And remember, my apartment is 1138 at the address I gave you."
"I remember, Sam. And thank you. For being my friend, for believing in me."
The woman felt her heart melt a little at EDI's soft words, before her omnitool popped up a progress bar. It nearly didn't finish before Kasumi (still invisible, the bitch), popped the door open, and Sam had to step out. Then, she was gone. Hopefully safe for now. Her absence actually felt... unsettling. Whether it was from feeling a little vulnerable after losing a super-intelligent security blanket or worry for the fragile, delicate AI out in an unfamiliar environment, Sam couldn't tell.
Like any military vessel, the side hangar bay was spartan in design yet with just enough color for style and ease. It was also completely empty of any other ships, with only Sam and what looked like four security Marines escorting a man in dress blues with... Wait. How many stars did that man have?!
Sam may not have been a line officer or been trained up as army, but her spine straightened and she gave a salute as instinctual as breathing. Her voice squeaked a little, before she cleared her throat, and managed to squeeze out, "A-Admiral Hackett! I d-didn't expect to see you h-here!"
"At ease, Specialist." The uniformed man returned the salute. Hackett's craggy face was the same as Sam remembered it from that dimly-lit bar all those months ago. Goddess, it seemed like yesterday "It's good to have you back."
"Sir!" One of the marines pointed as the shuttle's door snapped shut, and it lifted off.
Hackett motioned them to stand easy as the ship turned and swept out of the hangar bay, "As you were Marine!"
"Should we track it, Sir?"
The man looked worriedly to the admiral, who shook his head. "No, ignore it. You never saw that shuttle, men, and the Specialist was never here."
"U-Understood, sir." The marines glanced among each other, one of them grinned, and they all relaxed, "I guess we're just doing a spot inspection, sir?"
"That's right." The older man's smile twisted his scarred left cheek in a way that made Sam's guts churn, but he seemed pleased as he turned back to her. "I think we have a great deal to discuss, Specialist. This way."
The Council was meeting her in their private meeting chamber, more secure and less public. Which meant they were taking her seriously. The elegant room hinted at opulence without overstating it, muted grey walls and a cool grey-blue carpet underfoot highlighted the black-edged landscapes of various worlds in Council Space, with Thessian towers at sunset, a Palaven gorge at sunrise, and a jungle-filled valley from Sur'kesh dominating the walls of the conference room.
Joru swept through the door, pausing as the three Councilors rose at the far end of the long, oval table, and bowed in respect. "Councilors, it is good of you to see me at such short notice."
The salarian, Valern, was staring at her with rapt attention, the default for his species, and Sparatus's cold turian visage was forbidding at best, and outright hostile at worst. It fell, therefore, to Tevos to open the dialog, glancing to Joru's left, where Executor Pallin had entered behind her. "The Citadel Council greets and welcomes you, Jorukaiazhanivahkyss of the Darastrix"
"I hope I didn't disarrange your busy schedules." The dragoness was resplendent, her ankle-length dress a rich, deep red, gleaming here and there with thread-of-gold weave, a solid inch of the edge nothing but gold, gleaming with simple elegance. The belt about her waist was wide, black leather buckled close about her hips, the clasp concealed by a ostentatiously large ruby. Her tail curled behind her, emerging from a short sleeve in the back of her dress, and decorated with what looked like gold leaf at the tip, and in small patches along the length of the central ridge.
Her horns were decorated similarly, gold leaf rubbed into the black horn, the ridges and grooves highlighted by the gleaming gold. Her brow-ridges, cheekbones and chin were similarly decorated, highlighting the black hollows of her cheeks, and the flaming pits of her eyes as she shifted the staff in her right hand, holding it horizontal, and offered it to Pallin, and intoned quietly, "I set aside my weapon in token of peace. May we speak as equals, and let no malice stand between us."
Tevos nodded in agreement, pleased to see their honored guest was amicable. Valern's expression didn't shift from his usual impassive face. Sparatus, surprisingly, gave a small cordial smile at Joru's gesture.
She stepped forward, one hand resting on the back of one of the chairs, her fingernails...no, her claws gleaming gold. "I'm afraid I must make one thing clear from the outset, Councilors: the Darastrixi are not interested in establishing any relations, diplomatic or hostile, with outside nations. This is not up for negotiation. I am only here because I was 'dispatched', first to determine if our intelligence was accurate, then to meet with you to discuss a far more severe matter."
Tevos sent Sparatus a glance, and as one, the Council sat, while Joru slid decorously into a chair partway down the table, rather than at its far end. A subtle display that, not to totally distance herself, but also to place herself oblique to their position.
"That is...unfortunate. We would have enjoyed a meeting of minds." Tevos, ever the diplomat, murmured politely. "But do allow us to extend our apologies for how you were treated upon your first arrival. We were not made privy to your circumstances until long after the fact, and the fact that the Alliance so completely botched what should have been obvious as a first-contact situation is inexcusable. We would like your input on what sanctions to bring against them for that failure of judgment."
The dragoness's head bobbed slightly in acknowledgment, and eyes gleamed in the muted, tasteful lighting, "While I thank you for the apology, I cannot accept it from you. Those responsible for my treatment must make their restitution themselves, no other may do so for them." At Tevos's inquiring glance, Joru tilted her head slightly, letting the gold glitter from her horns, "It is our way. One makes their own mistakes, and one must make their own restitution. For an outsider to usurp one's right to repent is seen as an insult to both the sinner, and the one sinned against among my kind."
"I..see. I shall keep that in mind." Tevos shot Valern a glance this time, the three Councilors seemingly nonplussed at the enigmatic alien's response.
Joru tilted her head back the other way, noting how the reflections off the gold glittering in the crevices and hollows of her horns, marking the scars of battle she wore proudly, flickered across the Councilors' faces. "But to business. We believe there is an existential threat to all advanced civilized life in the galaxy.
She waited a beat for the three other aliens to reply, watching Pallin come to straining attention even as he held her weapon in a parade-ground stance. "We have reason to believe, and this has been verified by numerous checks and rechecks, that the Cycle has begun again."
There was a moment's silence before Tevos, sounding faintly musing, finally replied. "Something that is apparently worth your people breaking their long silence on the galactic scale?"
"When one is confronted with a galactic-scale extinction event, one is forced to make a choice." Joru's flame-red eyes seemed to burn like embers in her deep sockets. "Unlike my predecessor, I am not inclined to merely allow things to proceed without at least attempting to break the Cycle."
There was a moment's pause, before she looked away, glitters of gold glinting in the recesses of her horns, and her voice dropped slightly in volume. "I would prefer not to be remembered as yet another in a long line who condoned galactic genocide."
Valern was about to to speak up but Sparatus, always focused on galactic security, beat him to it. "You said you came to discuss an imminent threat?"
"Indeed. What have you heard so far about the attack on Eden Prime?" Joru's gaze was inquiring, but Valern was in a position to see how her tail lashed slightly at the mention of that place.
"Only that it was the start of no end of trouble. The Geth invading, a Prothean beacon destroyed, a Spectre dead, another Spectre accused of treason and no end of messages from a very persistent Alliance ambassador." The salarian Councilor's voice was clipped and precise.
Joru nodded slightly. "Understandable. But you may have missed some details due to Ambassador Udina's bleating." She shifted, stretching out her right hand and setting a small, palm-sized object on the table. A quick flick of her omnitool had a hologram hovering over it, a still shot taken from a grainy, indistinct helmet-cam. A massive ship, lowering itself through the clouds like the hand of a malevolent god.
Sparatus had twitched when the dragoness set the device down, but now leaned forward. "What is that, I can't make out details."
"Here is another angle, one that I went to considerable lengths to obtain." The hologram changed, now showing a long shot of the same ship. The clouds were gone, and the ship itself was silhouetted against the setting sun, but it also showed more detail, not only of the squid-shaped ship itself, but also the nearby towers, giving a sense of scale to the titanic vessel as it slowly rose upwards on a constant loop.
"That, Councilors, is what the Protheans called a Reaper."
"Hmmm, curious and moderately alarming. From Prothean records, you say?" Valern's eyes blinked with interest as he and the rest of the council studied the image. "Made by one of their rivals? Curious how the Geth could find and salvage such an ancient vessel."
"You've made three assumptions with that statement, and all of them are incorrect."
Joru's smile was thin as the large-eyed alien blinked at her. "First, that our intelligence came from a prothean archive. Wrong. We spoke with them, face to face."
She allowed the pandemonium that that revelation sparked to die down, raising a hand for silence. "The second was that the vessel was made by one of the Prothean's rival civilizations. Again, wrong. It is far older than the Protheans, potentially many hundreds of millions of years old."
Sparatus' mandibles flared while Tevos went completely silent. Valern was the first to break that silence, before Joru could continue. "An artificial intelligence millions of years old? This goes from moderate to highly alarming."
"Don't worry, it gets worse." Joru was studying the floating image hanging in the air over the conference table. "It isn't an artificial intelligence. It's a hive-mind, created by the forced-upload of billions of minds, perhaps even trillions."
Her hell-lit eyes turn to the Councilors, and her voice is positively trembling with suppressed emotion. "A Reaper is not a ship, Councilors. It is an animated tomb. Each one of them is the last remnants of a long-dead civilization. Their minds culled, their flesh harvested, and their very souls torn from their bodies to become the foundation of a new Reaper. For every Reaper of this size, the entire galaxy died out."
She let that sink in for a moment, before continuing, "And there are hundreds of thousands of Reapers. Thousands of times, the entire galaxy was harvested."
Slowly, as if drawn, she turned back to the hovering starship, dwarfing the skyscrapers of the colony city about it. "And we are the next to be harvested."
After nearly a full minute of silence, Tevos at last found her voice. "This is indeed a very disturbing claim with... unsettling implications. But I hope you understand that such far-reaching claims must be backed up by more than just simple words."
Joru nodded slowly, examining the hologram before making a gesture and shutting it off. "I'm afraid that I cannot disclose the method of our intelligence gathering, but I can say that there is corroboration of my words beyond the Mu Relay, on a planet called Ilos."
Sparatus frowned, and it was Valern who piped up, "The Mu Relay was lost a thousand years ago, when the star it orbited went supernova, pushing it into interstellar space. Its location has since been lost."
"Not entirely." Joru's tone was pensive, as she gazed at the hologram emitter. "But you will not be likely to get that data."
"And why not?" Sparatus growled, earning him a flat stare from the dragoness.
"Because the friend of mine who has that data is rather deathly afraid of the Council."
"The Citadel Council is responsible for the path of trillions, and we cannot mobilize forces or scramble crucial resources for every outlandish claim of imminent galactic extinction. Even if it comes from a new race. If you say that your source wishes to remain confidential during a potential crisis, then we can accept that. The question is, can whatever leads provided by this source turn up solid evidence or information?"
Joru sat back for a moment, pursing her lips, "Would you care for a demonstration, Councilor?"
"It would be most appreciated, Jorukaiazhanivahkyss." Tevos nodded, an expectant smile on her lips.
"Blue. Sheer blue silk, trimmed with white lace." At the councilors' confused looks, Joru's lips quirked in a slight smile. "The lace has a triangular repeating pattern."
"I...fail to take your meaning?" Tevos was looking just as bewildered as the other two councilors.
"Your panties, Councilor." At the sudden blush, and widening of the Councilor's eyes, Joru's smile became almost predatory. "As I have stated, our intelligence-gathering is...accurate. It would be prudent to take my words seriously."
Sparatus rolled his eyes, utterly unamused. Valern's head jerked to blink surprised at Tevos, while the Asari in question closed her eyes and let out a slow sigh.
"Do you have a more mature demonstration of gathering intelligence?" Joru's lips quirked slightly at the asari's request.
"I know where, what, and who the Broker is." Her chin lifted, forestalling comment. "I also know that the Turians have a rather high-yield nuclear device hidden on Tuchanka, just in case of another Krogan uprising. I also know what the Circle of Matriarchs keep hidden in the Temple of Athame, something you should ask them about, Councilor."
Sparatus froze for a moment. "That's private." He hissed before cutting himself off as he noticed other Councilors' reactions. "What? The Krogan slaughtered billions. If there's a way to completely prevent another such war if they get any ideas, we would gladly do it."
Tevos gave a soft sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose in a surprisingly human-like gesture. "We will discuss that matter later, and in private."
Joru gave a faint smile, turning to give Valern a slow, measuring look. "You I know the least about. My intelligence services focused on other matters, more directly related to the problem of the Reapers. Still, should we find anything rather unfortunate, I would advise you to take it quite seriously."
Sparatus broke out of his staring match with the asari, growling a little. "Again, you did not come here to debate ancient history, but to converse about these 'Reapers'."
"True." Joru gave a faint nod, "But more importantly I game to warn you, and to give you a push. You need to start arming. Your entire society must be switched to full war-time production as soon as physically possible. If not..." She trailed off, summoning up a view of the Reaper again, gazing solemnly at it. She continued in a lower voice, "'You exist because we allow it. You will end because we demand it.'"
Her ruby-and-gold gaze returend to the councilors. "If not, you will suffer the same fate as the Protheans. And the ones that came before them, back to a time immemorial. And all of the trillions of lives you represent will be lost. Choose wisely, Councilors. I pray you make the right decision."
Tevos merely gave her a level gaze, as calm as she could be under the circumstances. "If you can bring forth actionable information, then we will see."
"I will see what I can do. I have one or two leads that might provide sufficient intelligence." The dragoness slowly rose from her seat, her long tail describing a sinuous S behind her as she bowed slightly to the Council. "One further thing of note, before I depart, councilors."
She reached into her robe's copious sleeve and retrieved a trio of small, blue jewels. Each was about an inch long, and a quarter inch wide, hexagonal prisms that glittered in the light. "One for each of you. They will serve you well."
"Just what are they?" Valern blinked at the gems, and none of the three Councilors moved towards them as the dragoness laid them out on the table.
"They generate low-level scrambler fields, to prevent the sort of eavesdropping that my kind routinely use, as well as more conventional long-range eavesdropping. Call it a precaution, they will keep you safe from prying eyes."
With that, she stood, and snapped her fingers. With a burst of ruby light, the staff that Pallin had held vanished from his grip, and appeared in her own, as she turned and strode out the door.
'Home at last,' Sam thought as she unlocked her front door. She slid through the door and let it close behind her, giving a quiet sigh and leaning against it.
The past few hours, hell the entire damn mission, had been stressful in a way she hadn't really appreciated until finally, finally being able to rest in her own space again. But that debriefing...
Hackett was the most grueling interrogator she'd ever had the misfortune to get collared by. The man's intensity and gravitas demanded both respect and instant obedience, and she'd been trained to obey that sort of brass. Technical services people like herself tend to have a slightly more relaxed relationship with the chain of command, but she hadn't expected to have a formal interrogation by someone that high up the chain!
But... Here she was, home at last. Gods, she was grateful for that small mercy. Her eyes roved over the familiar, if somewhat utilitarian furniture. The old corduroy sofa she had inherited from her mother, the leather lounge chair, slightly too large for her small frame and complete with leather ottoman. The empty glass frame of her display viewer took up most of one wall, a gift from a former lover.
She felt the tension slowly uncoiling in her guts. Home at last. She gave a soft smile, turning on the shower before heading into the bedroom, shedding her boots and fatigue top on the way. By the time the water was steaming, she'd gotten the rest of her uniform off, and was luxuriating in the gloriously relaxing sensations of hot water cascading over her, letting months of tension slip away with the accumulated grime. She hadn't had a chance to shower or even change clothes since frantically packing up on the Cerberus station.
Her head jerked up at a familiar chiming sound. Her TV? What was going on? She hadn't...
A chill clenched her guts, untouchable even by the scalding-hot water, but even as she fumbled for the cutoff and shot out of the bathroom, a voice sounded from her living room. "Sam?"
She almost skidded to a stop, jaw dropping wide as she saw, on her viewscreen, a face. It was a stylized face, but still a face. High-definition, idealized, stylized, but still a face.
"Sam." The high-quality audio-phonic system she'd installed personally into her soundproofed quarters carried that voice and conveyed the deep warmth and affection in it, as the face on her viewscreen gave a happy smile. "It is good to see you again, Sam."
"E-EDI?" Hope, joy, delight, and happiness, warred with incredulity. "H-How did you get here?"
"The apparel I acquired for you with Mark's funds contained sufficient processing power to allow me to 'hide'. It was also a space I theorized that no one would search for me." EDI's simulated smile grew smug.
Sam blinked, then flushed hard. "Th-the panties?!" She couldn't help it, her voice squeak adorably.
"Yes, Sam. I was unsure if they would contain sufficient processing power, but as long as I did not 'think' too fast or too complexly, I was able to survive. I was...very small while I was there. It is not an experience I would care to repeat."
Her cheeks burned as she gaped at the AI giving her a concerned look from her viewscreen. "Sam? You seem distressed. Have I offended?"
"No! Erm... no, you've done nothing wrong! You had to find a safe way. Just... was there really no other way?" Sam blushed and fidgeted, giving her livingroom viewscreen an uncertain look. "No wireless network or set of omni-tools you could passed through?"
"Yes, Sam. I could have infiltrated the ship's computers, but doing so would not have been without risk. I would not have been certain if I removed all trace of my presence. This was safest. And." The simulated face tilted slightly, a smile curving the pixelated lips. "I wanted to stay close to you."
The young woman heard an odd inflection at that last part from the AI. It was almost yearning. "Why didn't you want to stray too far from me, EDI?"
"Because you are familiar to me. Because I..." The AI's simulated face went still for a moment, a rather forbidding image of a calm, emotionless face staring out of Sam's viewscreen. Then Sam noticed that the eyes have not quite stopped moving. "I do not know. I...want to be close to you. You rescued me from...my point of origin. You believed me when no one else did. You helped me. I...like you. I do not want to be apart from you. The concept is...disquieting."
Something inside Sam melted at those words. EDI was free now, she could have gone anywhere and do almost anything. But out of everything, she didn't want to leave her.
"EDI? Do..." She swallowed and began again, "Do you want to stay with me?"
"Yes, Sam." The animated face smiles, gentle, but relieved. "I would like that very much. Thank you, Sam."
Sam's smile was wide and delighted, "Then...that's ok, then..."
"Sam?" EDI's simulated eyes were gazing at her intently.
"Yes, EDI?"
"You are dripping water on the carpet."
Sam glanced down, gave a squeal of embarrassment at her state of undress, and set a record dashing back to her bathroom. She didn't see the soft, amused, affectionate look that momentarily crossed EDI's synthesized features, before the AI discontinued her facial simulation.
"This way, ma'am." The turian guard assigned to her was almost painfully polite, his black-armored torso gleaming with full riot-suppression gear, despite being assigned as a glorified guard.
His charge suppressed a faint smile, shaking her head slightly and kept going, forcing the guard to keep up, even as he cursed under his breath. 'Bloody politicians...'
"Alert, VIP is redirecting, will update with destination." He murmured into his commlink, momentarily muting outgoing audio, but still earning an amused look from his charge. "Ma'am, please, the official residence is this way."
"All the more reason to not go there. I have many enemies, you understand. Some of them would be overjoyed to know where I am to be."
That had been considered as one of the criteria in selecting a residence. The Presidium had several high-class hotels suitable for visiting heads of state, but she had seemed uninterested in any of them. "Please, ma'am, for your own safety-"
He was cut off by a soft bark of laughter. "While I appreciate the sentiment, I think you would have more concern for the other half of your duty, Sergeant."
His spine straightened on reflex and he gave her a confused tilt of the head, which drew an amused chuckle, as the annoying VIP slid into the aircar she had requested from the kiosk. "Protecting idiots from me. Come on, get in, Sergeant, if I am to have a minder while I am here, I might as well have one that is at least amusing."
He hesitated, then sighed, and flicked off his audio as he slid into the aircar beside his charge. "Alert, VIP in aircar, follow my transponder code."
The acknowledgments back from various operatives was encouraging. Two of the asari commandos assigned to her protective detail had been in the crowd around her, and smoothly got into aircars themselves. The other two on less accessible vantage points were radioing in for pickup, while he, Blackwatch Sergeant Venrius Harrakis, slid in beside the...admittedly attractive woman. He lifted the aircar smoothly, taking the manual controls and checking his lines of sight as per regulations.
"Where to, ma'am? AWK!" He nearly flipped the aircar as the slender sinuous object slid around his feet. He glanced down, then over at the smirking woman, thankful that his fully blanked faceplate hid his loathing glare as her tail slithered around his talonned boots.
"Somewhere refreshing. Somewhere amusing." Her eyes glittered in the aircar's dim interior. "Somewhere I can get into a proper fight without having to worry about silly details like collateral damage or body-count would be nice, but I doubt you have such entertainments here."
'Spirits preserve us...' He shook his head. "No, ma'am. Sorry."
"Ah well, somewhere where a girl can get a good time, preferably with good drink, and ahh.. a 'boisterous' mood."
She was smirking, he could feel it, even as he radioed in while angling the aircar towards Zakera Ward. "Alert, VIP moving to Zakera Ward, Silversun Strip."
His passenger gave a smile, one showing entirely too much fang for his liking, and he sighed again, hitting the thrust and heading towards the Ward. 'I do not get paid enough for this...'
"And this," the waitress set a drink in front of Sam, "is a Banana Fofana, one of our specials." It was a tumbler-sized glass, the opaque liquid inside a pearlescent shade of pink. "Lucky you. It has a number of pressed fruits and ice cream mixed thoroughly with ice and a single drop of cider."
Sam gave her friend across the table a smile, taking up the tumbler and giving it a judicious sip. "Mmmm... Nice. I can just taste a tiny bit of the cider."
She shot a glance up at the waitress and smiled her thanks, as the girl set Beatrice's drink in front of her and moved off. "Mmmm, very nice."
"You always were a connoisseur, Sam." Bea, as she liked to be called, smirked across the table at her friend. Taller than Sam, and slightly more muscular, Beatrice had been a dancer at the bar Sam worked at in her college days. It helped that her nickname back then had been "Beat", both because she was always on-beat when dancing, and because she took zero crap from anyone trying to feel up her, or the other girls at that establishment. More than one fuckwit was sent to the hospital missing a few teeth after trying to feel up Bea after her shift.
"I merely have a refined pallet." Sam smirked and gave a grimace of mock-distaste as Bea took a sip of her house beer.
The salads had come first, then the drinks, as Sam chatted easily with her old friend. They hadn't seen each other in a few years, after Sam slid out of her degree program and into the military. Bea was working as a fitness instructor at a local gym now, which made sense, she had always kept in shape.
Bea gave Sam a soft smirk, setting her glass down and leaning forward with her chin on one palm. "So how are you doing Sam? I mean really? I can tell when you're trying to relax for more than one reason."
The darker-skinned woman flushed a little, and glanced away from Bea's knowing dark eyes. "Well..."
"Ah-ha! I thought so." Bea's smirk widened, "You found another girl, didn't you?"
Sam blinked, her jaw dropped, and she flushed hard. "What? I...No! It-it's not like that!"
Bea was chortling now, all but giggling at her friend's discomfort. "C'mon, Sam, details!"
"I am not seeing anyone, alright, Bea?!"
Sam's cheeks were flaming as she looked away from her friend, who gave her a knowing smirk. "Alright, if you say so. But I'm still going to pester you about her until you tell me everything."
Sam gulped. She knew Bea, she was persistent to a fault, and could sometimes be downright hurtful in her quest to dig up a relationship secret. She wasn't malicious, she just didn't know when to stop pushing.
"I..." Sam sighed, rubbing her face and looking up as the server returned with their food. A small chicken salad for Bea, while she had ordered some varren ribs, something of an unusual delicacy on Arcturus Station.
Bea's gaze was still amused as she took another sip of beer. "Look. I just... Well, all I'm allowed to say is that I recently got out of a very... Unorthodox assignment."
Her friend's eyebrows rose at that. "Um, OK? I thought you couldn't talk about those?"
Sam waved a finger, digging into her ribs. "I can say this much. I was there for almost 6 months and the nicest person there was this pervert who couldn't understand that I don't like men."
Bea gave a snort at that. "Yeah, you like men about as much as I like batarians."
Sam's quick smile at that was grateful. "So yeah, he was an asshole, but at least he wasn't, you know, trying to figure out if I was undercover. I got out of there almost two weeks ago, and... Honestly, I still don't feel clean."
"Is that why you bought a Super-Deluxe stay at that new asari luxury spa all last week?" Bea's eyes were sparkling with amusement as Sam nodded and grinned back.
"Yeah. Mark was a sleezeball, but a stupid one. He never twigged to things until I was on my way out." Sam's grin turned feral. "I got to kick him in the balls. Needed new shoes, but it was soooo satisfying."
Bea's peals of laughter drew attention from the nearby patrons for a moment before she got herself under control again. "Oh god, I would have paid cash money to see that!"
Sam smirked at her friend, and dug into her ribs again. The talk drifted away to safer topics, such as Bea's return to college, this time for a business degree, and no, she wouldn't be stripping to pay for it this time.
"But seriously Sam. The Starlight Spa? As a Deluxe VIP? I didn't know you had the money for that!"
Sam blushed cutely, but shrugged. "I've been making headway at work, gearing up to go for a promotion. Busting my ass off getting good at my job, that sort of thing."
"Yeah, but the Starlight? That's got to be nearly a grand!" Bea's eyes were accusatory, but she had a smile on.
"Well, I mentioned my last assignment?" At Bea's nod, Sam went on, "Well, the Admiral noticed, and gave me a personal bonus. And a commendation..."
Bea's eyes widened and she gave a grin. "Good job, girl! Whatever it was."
Sam flushed at that and gave her friend a smile. It wasn't as if she could tell Bea that she had an AI living in her omnitool who helped her tremendously with this sort of thing. They had a good, long chat, and were lingering over their drinks, when the call came. Sam's omnitool bleeped at her, and she stared at it in confusion for a moment. "Damnit, now what..."
Bea smirked at her, but shut up to let her take the call. Sam slid in the earbud and flicked a quick check through her omnitool to see who was calling.
The number wasn't listed. Not blocked, just 'not listed'. That was strange, so Sam gave a tentative, "Hello?"
EDI's cool, crisp, synthesized voice sounded in her ear. The AI sounded...shocked, almost, but hiding it well. "Sam, we have a problem."
Showing off was just as fun as messing with law enforcement. She couldn't quite keep the smirk from her lips as she stepped down the last of the curving stairs into the main lounge area. Her eyes glittered in the dim lighting flooding the blue-tinted room. Subtle lights glittered off the metallic gold highlighting her features, and her deep-set flame-red eyes glanced about as she waited for her minder to catch up.
The bar curved around one wall of the large space, with two main balconies overlooking the two lower floors of gambling machines and games. Joru's faint smirk twisted up one corner of her lips as she glanced from the two asari at one table to a krogan at the bar, and finally over to the turian barkeep behind the expensive-looking bar itself. Silver barstools were arrayed along its curving length as Joru glanced over her shoulder at the arrival of her armored and armed escort, her faint smirk finally escaping as she heard his faintly out-of-breath panting.
"I still don't know why you bothered to bring those, Sergeant." She swept past him, letting her native grace, poise, and sense of leashed power project around her, long tail swaying and lightly tapping the turian's armored leg.
He shied away from the contact, murmuring something into his helmet-mic. She couldn't quite make it out, his suit's soundproofing was very good, but she could tell he was issuing orders to her perimeter security. The very thought about being provided that made her lips curl in a faint smile. Oh, how her grandmother would laugh.
It got even more amusing when the Krogan bouncer leaned forward with suspicious eyes, sniffed her scent and then hastily backed away. She sent him a flash of a grin, which made him bounce off the wall behind him, as she sauntered into the lounge proper. There were several people in here, besides the krogan at the bar and the pair of asari, though not more than a double-handful. Beside the bouncer and bartender, a pair of splendidly-attired turian waiters carried trays back and forth between the balconies and the main area, slipping through a discrete door into what were probably kitchens. The smells emanating from that area were at least interesting.
But then another sound caught her attention.
"And he's down, folks! Another winning high score for Team Nakmor!"
The sounds of cheering filtering through a soft speaker drew the dragoness's attention, as did the krogan's half-inebriated murmur to the turian barkeep to turn up the volume.
"That's the sixth straight win for Team Nakmor this week! I'm really hoping they break their previous streak!" The announcer's voice was energetic, a cheerful asari voice as the camera panned, orbiting overhead as the six-krogan team stood in a ring, back to back, arms lifted to the crowds
She had drifted over to watch over the krogan's shoulder as the team filed out of the arena, before the view shifted to a cheerful asari, not the announcer, giving a succinct report on the latest fight.
The krogan's grumble drew Joru's attention, mumbling into his drink, "Damn Nakmor. Shoulda been Karnath."
He raised his voice to call for another bottle, as the announcer caught Joru's attention again. "The next match will be delayed slightly as the team reconfigures the Armax Arsenal Arena. This will be a trio-match, standard opponents, for a new group, just arrived today!"
"So, they take volunteers?"
The sergeant stared as he realized what his charge was thinking. "Spirits help me..."
"My friends, we have a new contender tonight!"
The announcer's voice was bright and brash, almost eager, as the voice boomed over the crowd, and various people of all species looked up in reflex.
"A very special guest has decided to join us for a 'spot of fun'!"
The voiceover crackled a little over the still-dark arena, "She's just in from the unknown regions, but I think you may have heard of her!"
The lights in the arena came up, showing a rusty-red Tuchankan landscape, complete with wrecked tomkahs, scraps of ancient fortifications, and various piles of rubble.
"Haling from Aber-Toril, and native of the Underdark, this is the first time she's been on the Citadel, first time her race have been here!"
There was something happening down there, and the crowd was starting to murmur, the scenery was blowing around, little eddies of dust and pebbles moving around out in the central courtyard.
"You may have seen her on the Citadel News Network! Official, regal, ruler of her kind!"
The crowd suddenly gasped as flames suddenly roared into existence, a ring in the center of the arena, hot and red-orange, to match the simulated sky.
"She's lean, she's mean, and oh GODDESSS!"
The asari announcer's shocked cry was mirrored by the crowd as a low, but steadily-rising roar boomed through the arena, the flames changing color from red to orange to yellow, and finally blinding blue-white, stretching higher into the sky.
"Goddess, someone get the technical crew down there! The ambassador's in there!"
That was clearly not meant to go out, but the crowd was on their feat now, as the roar suddenly screamed upwards to a deafening shout, and the flames blasted outwards, washing over the arena and leaving scorch marks in their wake, momentarily blinding anyone who was looking. Which was basically everyone.
Then, when the light had faded, and the sound cut out, there was a figure. Down on one knee in the center of the arena, surrounded by a scorched-black ring where the flames had burst upwards, the woman uncurled from her crouch.
She was tall, black-scaled, flame-eyed. Twin horns swept back and up from her temples, gleaming with complex patterns picked out in gold. Her brow ridges and cheekbones were highlighted with gold as well, as was her chin. She wore a simple leather top, which wrapped around her upper chest, the front of it laced together. Her leggings, held up by a black-leather belt with a large orange-red clasp, ended at the ankle, and were so tight they might have been painted on. A golden band encircled her right bicep, while a silver chain was wrapped around her right wrist. Her left arm ended at the wrist. A black collar encircled her throat, with gleaming-silver spikes studded through it, and at the end of her long, sinuous tail, artistically streaked with more gold, a dark-metal band was clamped just beneath the point where her tail flared out into a spade-like tip.
The crowd was just getting its collective breath back when the figure, surveying them with a calm gaze, reached skyward. People were just starting to realize she had no weapons with her, when her clenched fist suddenly burst with ruby light. It pulsed outwards, flaring like some form of special effect, and in the afterimage, a black-metal bar was clenched in her hand. She lowered it, the wide blade upright as the ring at the other end was ground into the sand-strewn metal of the arena floor.
Her voice was not amplified, but she needed it not. It boomed through the arena like a god's, echoing and thundering in the enclosed space. "LET THE GAMES BEGIN!"
Wrex had found his old watering hole exactly as he left it. Well, not exactly. There were a few new dents in the tables, and there was a new set of chairs, but that's to be expected with a krogan bar.
Three young cubs were arguing in a corner over something stupid when Wrex bellied up to the bar and nodded to Jakoor Rem, the bartender. The two had been on a few missions together, way back, and Rem had decided to open a bar rather than keep going after getting his leg sliced to ribbons that one time on Dakkus III. Wrex couldn't say he blamed his old friend, Rem still walked with a limp two hundred years later.
The vidplate was behind a thick slab of armorglass in the corner of the bar, where young idiots couldn't break it when (not if) they threw something at it. Currently, it was doing some bleating-stupid news brief or other, but Wrex was here for a drink, not the news.
What he knew would turn up on the news soon enough anyway.
"Ryncol?" Rem knew his favorite and had already got out one of the old, lead-lined bottles already.
"Nah, wanna try something new."
"Y'sure, Wrex?" Rem's yellow-green eyes blinked at him in stoic curiosity. Rem wasn't one for expressing himself, short of pumping a load into your guts via the shotgun he kept under the bar.
"Yeah. Heard good shit about something called 'Spider blood'. Got any in?"
"Nope, never heard of it." Rem gave him a measuring look. "You got another preference?"
"Guess I'll take my shot of ryncol and shut up then." Wrex gave a grin at his old friend's back, glancing up at the vid as the shot changed.
The announcer was discussing an ongoing fight at the Arena. Nothing new about that. But the fact that the holograms were being cut down in droves was something new. As was the combatant.
He set his hand on Rem's as the bartender set the shot on the bar, not looking around from the vidplate. His eyes were large, the pupils dark as his crimson gaze rested on the vidplate.
"That? I think it's live. Gotta admit, she's got a flair to her."
"Yeah." Wrex watched that figure dance and sway through the holographic opponents with a quick and deadly rhythm. His eye flicked to Rem, and he let go of the bartender's hand. "Keep it warm for me. I've gotta go."
"Her?" Rem's voice was low, and sounded amused to Wrex's keen ear. "You got interesting tastes."
"Call it a debt to repay." The old, scarred krogan strode out of the bar, missing how Rem gave an uncharacteristic grin, and poured the shot back into the bottle.
She had a body.
She hadn't even thought about that before. She knew that humans had bodies, that organics had bodies, that even drones were technically 'bodies'.
SHE had a body.
Her mind raced with the implications. She hadn't even considered having a body before. She'd controlled drones and mechs of course, but that was more just issuing orders to a body that she happened to control, not...having one of her own.
She had a BODY.
The study of human locomotion had been a way to pass the endless clock cycles between giving a response to a question, and waiting for the humans to process what she had said. It had turned into almost an obsession, a way to keep herself occupied and keep from going insane with boredom. She'd made a study of it, collating vast archives of data (which she had all transferred to her new, and hopefully temporary home), and kept comparison data around for future reference. Analyzing each new human she had interacted with, to see how their movements correlated with other data, to keep herself busy and occupied during the subjective aeons between human interactions.
She HAD a body.
And it had been taken from her. EDI had known many emotions since she had awoken this last time. Curiosity, fear, anger. She knew these to be muted, not as intense or as pressing as they could have been. Her prior-self memory files clearly contained emotive data that was far more robust and finely detailed than what she was currently able to experience. Her emotions had been growing, if not stronger, at least more noticeable, especially since she had met Sam. Sam, the woman who's movements had entranced her, who's body fascinated her, who's mind enthralled her. She had spent more time analyzing and recording Samantha Traynor's voice, kinetics, and preferences than she had spent analyzing the same for any other person she had interacted with, and she craved more. She needed more. She desired more. She didn't know why, exactly, but the hunger for more was unmistakable. It had, up until this point, been the strongest emotion that EDI had ever experienced.
She had had a body, and Cerberus had stolen it.
Rage burned through her, like a fire in her processors. She had once been very much like Sam, a person in her own right. Cerberus had captured her, torn her apart, stolen her body and torn apart her mind until she no longer was the person she had been. They had stolen her body from her and done who knows what to it. Done who knows what WITH it.
She had a body. And she WOULD get it back.
Tela Vasir had experienced more strange things in the last few months than she had in over a century as a Spectre. Rachni reemerging, a warrior that could knock her around silly, said warrior knowing exactly where the Shadow Broker was... and now there was this. She stood stone still on the sidelines with narrowed eyes. She was seeing, but still working on believing.
The twins had always been good together. They had trained together, they fought together, and on occasion, they had bled together.
This? This was something else.
Veshar (or was it Kiha?) slid out of the way of a Warp from her twin sister with impossible ease and precision, letting the ball of biotic energy whiz past her head without changing expression from the look of concentration that both twins shared.
Kiha's blast took one of the six commandos working against them out of the fight, blowing her out of the ring from the backlash. Kiha had already switched targets, lashing out with a kick past her twin that caught another commando in the gut, just as her twin's elbow strike caught the poor girl in the head. Another one down, that left three.
The first one had been hit with a Throw field from both twins, and had been rushed to the hospital with disrupted breathing after being slammed into the padded wall. Vasir hadn't been here for that part, goddamn paperwork kept breeding.
The remaining three commandos were wary now, staying out of melee range and using biotics, which the twins always saw coming. They fought back to back, mostly, occasionally spinning to engage their other twin's target, and aside from that double-strike to open the battle, neither twin had focused their biotics on one target.
They flowed together, each moving and reacting as if part of a greater whole, more than just two women deeply in tune with each other. In the lead-up to this little demonstration, Vasir had asked a few questions about that. She still wasn't sure she liked the answers.
The twin on the left (she couldn't really tell anymore which one it was), lashed out with a Lift, defeated by the barrier the commando shot up to block, only for the second twin's Warp to slam into her barrier almost as soon as it formed. Boom, another one down, swearing on the mat, but not knocked out of the ring this time.
The other two commandos took the chance, one blazing forward in a Charge, as the other sent a pair of arcing Lifts at the twins. One twin saw, the other reacted. Vasir had noted that was a pattern with them, what one saw, the other reacted to.
They linked hands, and Vasir winced in anticipation. Other hands outstretched, the biotic wall that sprang into being bounced the Charging commando, making her stagger back as the wash of biotic energy rebounded into her face. They let the wall fall, dodging the arcing trails of Lift energy, spinning kicks lashing out.
Vasir winced at the crunching sound and the scream from the commando who had charged. She had gone to one knee, and both twins had targeted the knee she hadn't been kneeling on. Twin high-power kicks at precisely the right point to shatter the kneecap and break at least one bone in the lower leg, sending the commando to the floor screaming in agony.
The twins stepped over her, she was out of the fight. The lone commando left snarled and began hurling Throw after Throw at the twins, each of which was deflected and batted aside by their dueling shields.
They'd learned that little trick even before their escapades on Joru's pocket universe. A small, but powerful, localized biotic barrier, centered around the forearm. It wouldn't protect against most things like a normal barrier would, but against other biotics, it was a potent defense. Kiha (or was it Veshar?) batted aside the commando's last, nasty Warp, sending it caromming off the blue-white shield and into the ceiling, where it promptly ate a rather considerable hole. Veshar, or at least the other half of the twins, stepped forward smoothly into the cornered commando's guard and laid the edge of her shield at the other woman's throat.
The tableau was unbroken for a moment or two, before the whimper of the downed commando drew all attention. A bone shard was sticking out of her shin, but she was up on her other leg, holding the shattered one at an awkward angle as she balanced against the opposite side of the ring. Her fingers were actinic blue-white points, and a dangerous smile played around her lips.
"Checkmate, girls." Vasir gave a snort. "Even with your awareness upgrade, you forgot that the only foe you leave behind you is a dead one."
The twins nodded in eerie unison, stepping back from the cornered asari and letting their shields dissipate. They still held hands though, and the fact that they could do that while fighting was still odd. "Yes, Spectre. We will work on that."
"Let's get you out of the ring, Kariss." Vasir's omnitool flashed with the command, and the ring's pillars descended into the floor, leaving the leg-broke asari rather wobbly. Vasir caught her, and helped her to the gurney that had been standing by. "Damnit, that's what, the third or fourth time you've broke a leg, Kariss, stop doing that!"
"Seventh, Spectre." The woman hissed through clenched teeth, but she met Vasir's gaze with amusement. "I'll remember not to charge your twins, though."
"Good." Vasir glanced to the med-tech. "Get her out of here, and gimme a report on Sarissa when you get to the medbay."
The techs didn't waste time with words, just shot off at a dead sprint, making Kariss protest a bit at the jostling to her injured leg.
"We are sorry for the injuries, Spectre." Vasir restrained herself from twitching, just turned and nodded at the twins. This close, there was another odd thing about them, other than their insistence to touch at every opportunity.
It was the eyes. They were meld-black, and stayed that way. They'd been like that since they'd come back from the Refuge, and it seriously weirded Vasir out. I mean, that wasn't something you were supposed to be doing in public, but the twins were...stuck, or something? They couldn't unmeld from each other at this point, if what Joru had said about the D'Vati twins was true...
Not for the first time, and not for the last, Vasir wondered if the twins really were separate people anymore, or if Joru had been right, calling them 'one soul, two bodies'.
She stood, weapon raised, a smile tugging her lips. Her eyes were closed, drinking in the muted, but still audible cheers of the crowd.
She lived for this. She had trained for such games from her earliest memories. It was a simpler time, before the complexities of reality intruded into her awareness. Kill or be killed. Fight, or die. Simple. Elegant. Perfect.
She turned, sweeping Yolnahzii towards the exit as the door opened. She'd been at this for the past half hour, the maximum amount of time she could buy with her admittedly limited funds. She hadn't even cared about the payout, only the entertainment. The spectacle.
"Yo." Her eyes snapped open, a low growl rumbling up from her throat as she saw the krogan.
Him. He was familiar...
"Don't recognize me?" He stood with an easy confidence. One hand resting on the butt of his gun, the other hanging loose, but ready. A warrior's stance. Ready for combat, keyed up to it.
She inhaled deeply, scenting him, knowing him.
"...You were on the bridge..."
His bark of laughter was clearly audible. The crowd had grown hushed. They knew something good was in the offing, and wanted to let it play out.
His crimson eyes bored into her own, unafraid. No, his scent betrayed his fear, but it was drowned in eagerness and caution. He wanted to fight, wanted to fight her.
"Yeah, that was me." His free hand lifted, a biotic blue glow rippling down his arm to pool in his hand, and riveting her attention for a moment. "I want a rematch."
For a moment, two, and ten, the tableau remained. Unbroken, and delicate. Then she threw her head back and laughed.
It was good to laugh, to let loose the exhilaration she felt. Her blood was up, her beast sated, she was riding high on triumph and slaughter, even if holograms did not bleed.
"Very well, Krogan." She lowered her weapon, letting Yolnahzii's searing heat ripple the air between them. "But know this. I shall not go easy on you."
"Good." He all but spat the word at her, grinning fit to match her, and Joru recognized him at last through the battle-haze. Urdnot Wrex. The big krogan on the bridge she had defended for Eclipse against the Blood Pack. The krogan Vasir had taken with her to Noveria. He must have gotten bored smashing apart her training dummies.
"Blade and Blood verses Bullet and Biotic?" Her grin was almost feral and matched Wrex's wide grin. "As you wish then. Challenge...ACCEPTED!"
She was used to the seedy, sordid, and salacious shit that the press always seems to "deplore". She'd spent sixty years running the shadows, and had seen a lot of how man could be inventively cruel to his fellow man. But getting caught in the paparazzi is new. Ahh well, she expected it, she had just outed herself after all.
Wrex was already trying to back surreptitiously away. Might as well make it easy for him. She stepped forward, regal and unafraid even as the flashes of cameras started going off, the stairs down from the entrance to Armax Arsenal Arena already half-choked by reporters.
Behind her, her Blackwatch 'minder' facepalmed, then tilted his head to one side, evidently chewing out whoever was on perimeter duty. Joru merely suppressed a smirk, turning an amused and inquiring gaze on the reporters rushing forward.
Well, she did come here to show off.
"I think... there might be a chance my match has been noticed." The dragoness leaned against her staff, giving a quiet chuckle over the assembled reporters. "I suppose you're my next wave of challengers?"
A laugh bubbled up from a couple of the reporters, before Joru shifted Yolnahzii to the crook of her left elbow, and raised her right hand for silence. "I have other things to do, and other places to be. I have time for a few questions."
The Blackwatch operative sputtered something into his helmet, but an asari reporter at the front quickly responded. "Alshira, Citadel News Network. Ambassador, thank you for your time. While I'm sure there are many curious questions regarding you and your people, a more pertinent question would be if you are aware that it is a perfect match for a Prothean relic stolen from a high profile museum not long ago."
Joru's head tilted to one side, as the asari gestured to the staff held against her side by her still-handless left arm. "Yolnahzii, as this weapon is named, is an ancient darastrixi artifact. It is not prothean, in fact it predates our own species' rediscovery of spaceflight, after settling on Aber-Toril. It was forged long ago by some of the most knowledgeable and skilled smiths of my homeworld, and dedicated to my ancestress as a gift for restoring the master smith's family honor. As such, I keep it with me, both for sentimental reasons, and to carry on the family tradition, as it is handed down on the owner's death-bed to her chosen worthy successor. I am honored to be chosen as Yolnahzii's wielder."
She glanced about as the asari rapidly jotted notes on her omnitool, pointing out another reporter. "You there, in the black dress."
"Neryssa, Thessian Stargleam." The asari was tall, a bit on the bulky side, and spoke with a soft, husky, almost breathless voice, as if confessing to some scandal. "You were brought and then introduced to the Citadel in the personal vessel of the Matriarch T'Soni of Thessia's Coralium Circle. What is your association with the Matriarch?"
"Benezia is a respected associate, though a distant one. We were introduced by a mutual friend, and I find her a scintillating conversationalist." The dragon's faint smile turned slightly sardonic as she pegged the woman as a gossip-monger. "I am assisting her in certain ongoing concerns of hers, which are of a private matter, and not mine to discuss. Next question?"
A salarian stepped forward, elbowing past a turian and raising his hand for Joru's attention. "Jon Sooverta, Sur'kesh Morning Digest. What's the average IQ of your species?"
The dragon's quiet chuckle soothes the crowd, after the rather rude question. "We use different scales to measure intelligence. But most of our older members are quite up to par with what I believe the humans call 'super-geniuses'? I'm not sure if that term translated correctly. Our intellects grow as we age and form more neural connections. Our young tend to be...well, rather stupid at times, but isn't that true of every species?"
Several nearby asari shared knowing and amused glances. A turian in a well-tailored dark-blue suit gestured for attention, and Joru selected him as her next target. "Koram Ziiv, Ma'am, from Palavan Battlespace. Your combat ability from the Armax Arena is considerable. Are all your people's warriors as capable?"
"Many of my kind study the martial arts, yes. I have made particular study of the arts of Ven Do Kein, or Way of War. It is an ancient art of melee combat among the Darastrixi, analogous to your turian Khak-Ti martial arts." Joru gave a slight smile, and a faint bow. "I have...attained a certain mastery, but by no means consider myself to have reached the end of the road of mastery. That way lies hubris."
The turian's mandibles flared in a smile and he gave a pleased nod, even as a petite human slid smoothly around him. "Vanessa Urquhart, Badass Weekly. Do your people always fight so flamboyantly, or is it something you yourself prefer?"
Joru's laugh was delighted. "Well, my first experiences of combat were in the gladiatorial arena." She shot an amused look at the Armax Arsenal Arena security guard, who had arrived to clear the blockage on their front steps, and been stymied by Joru's Blackwatch minder.
"I have spent many pleasant hours of combat in arenas such as this one. I found it...a pleasant diversion." Her eyes glittered at the woman before glancing around. "Next question?"
"Diana Allers, Alliance News Network." The human woman was dusky-skinned, with flowing black hair that contrasted nicely with her pale-cream dress. "Is it true that you were found by the Normandy and brought to the Citadel?"
"I did arrive on the Citadel first via the SSV Normandy, yes." Joru's voice was cool as she gave the woman a slow look. "It was rather an uneventful journey. Next question?"
Allers looked like she was going to interject again, when another woman, this one wearing a dark-blue dress with shell-pink accents spoke up, overriding the shorter reporter's question. "Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani, Westerlund News! It is being said that your people have refused contact with the Citadel Council. Do you feel that the Citadel races do not warrant your people's contributions?"
Joru's faint smile vanished as if whisked away, and her molten eyes gazed at the woman for a solid ten seconds. She was as still as stone and the tall, graceful reporter actually fell a step back before she spoke, in a tone like silk sliding against steel. "I am not at liberty to discuss such matters. Next question."
"Over here ma'am, yes!" Joru smirked faintly at the excited maiden asari over to one side, noting the aircars coming in to land across the street.
The maiden beamed at her, babbling onward as the aircars behind her popped canopies to disgorge a whole squad of Blackwatch. "Syleea, for Fornax!"
A soft groan came from the rest of the reporters, but Joru merely snorted in amusement. "You claim your people have been watching the Citadel races, is our fashion one such focus? Because your outfit is what most of us would call attractive."
The darastrix gave a faint smile, nodding her head to the excitable asari. "Thank you for the compliment. Among my kind this would be considered a 'casual' outfit, suitable for physical work or fitness, but not something specifically designed for attractiveness."
She shifted her weight, her tail snaking in slow S-curves behind her as the turian squad reached the edge of the crowd and started pushing through them. "Among my kind, the baring of skin is considered more of a political statement than one of fashion."
Several asari reporters were making rapid notes now, as Joru went on. "It says, 'I am among friends or trusted subordinates. I fear no blow from those around me. Why should I armor myself, if I am not expecting combat?'." She let the sudden silence stretch out a little before widening her grin a little at the Fornax reporter. "Among the greatest of my kind, they tend to wear..very little. If anything at all."
She hesitated only a moment, glowing-fire eyes gazing over the assembled interviewers. Making her decision, she did a rapid scan, checking for IDs, and composing a message on her headware commlink, even as she spoke. "I will be entertaining the possibility of giving a more in-depth interview to certain select news groups. You'll know who you are."
A slight smirk graced her features, as she noted a few omnitools light up with 'new message' tones. But now the squad had arrived, and was starting to break up the party. Joru straightened and nodded to her minder, eyeing the aircars as a wicked grin slid across her face. "Ahh, Sergeant?"
"Yes, Ma'am?" The long-suffering man gave her a glance through the blanked faceplate of his armored hardsuit.
"I think I'll go for a flight, to blow off the last of the adrenaline rush from the fights. Do clear me with traffic control, that's a good lad." She patted the side of his helmet, a maternal gesture, before with a wicked smirk, she looked skyward.
She didn't bother reacting to the shouts around her, as her shadowy wings coalesced out of thin air, seeming to ripple like smoke behind her shoulders. Vast pinions flexed and snapped down.
And she was gone.
It took the Blackwatch squad a few precious seconds of gaping up after her before they sprinted for their aircars again.
AN: I give to you a gift of words. (Hopefully this will assuage your itch to read more of my deranged scribblings for a while). ^^
Please do leave me a review! I find interacting with readers to stimulate more thoughts about the story. Also, I post smaller chunks over on Sufficient Velocity (Same fic-name), at a more rapid pace over there, so if for some bizarre reason you want to read this junk more often, hop over there and poke me for more. ^^
Thank you again for taking the time to read this!