The following saga will contain nudity, foul language, plenty of violence and graphic imagery, and a plethora of cheesy romance and sexual content. Some concepts are offensive and thought-provoking and meant to be that way.
And now…
Siha: Rise of Rakhana
"New Pathways"
| 1 |
"Should we?"
Braith sits in a wide and spacious room full of silver walls and light come in from the day outside her window. The sound of traffic flying by through the intersection she can observe from her seat on the white sofa is silenced by the perfect encapsulation of her apartment there in Lothairaxl, all soundproofed barriers and thick panes of glass, the walls reinforced ten times over with tiny layers as thin as aluminum, but with the strength and capacity to hold out the noise that would disturb one in a typical Human city…She looks beside her, across to the other sofa, a singular form stretched in relaxation across from her…He has black streaks of skin along his crests of green, a soft and immaculate scale that makes one think of tough plastic, and he holds her eyes with the black tinted covers that provide his eyes the interpretation of polarized lines, infrared heat, the bioluminescent language of a fast-communicating species known as the Hanari…He speaks with a voice that sounds irritated by a sore throat, but is his species's natural manner of language.
He reclines on the sofa, his hands behind his head as he offers their topic of conversation. The subject of marriage has been pressing as of late in his mind, and Braith has been doing well in her new role as a consultant for security. They could easily tie the knot, but the subject has been a mute point for years. Now he feels the need to move things along. He is not getting any younger, and she…not any older.
As he lists off his thoughts, she listens, watching his body and its uniqueness that makes her enjoy a drell over a human form…The ease with which their bodies relax, all bunched in defined musculature and looking nice under either the wetsuits the Illuminated Primacy has for most drells to wear in the fashion on Kahje, or the more billowy textures she has seen on those traveled to live in Lothairaxl from Rakhana. There is a breathtaking mixture of diversity to the two worlds, and she has only ever had to deal with Kahjic drells such as Thane and Feron, Kolyat even among them.
But in the years she has been about on Lothairaxl, she has not had the nerve to go out of her way and speak to one of the Rakhïk types. For the most part, they are intimidating…The drellahnas are tall and slender like supermodel athletes, and the drells tend to hide them as well as their own figures under coats and heavy clothes, but that could be due to the fact most of them are packing heat or some form of weaponry.
Braith has wondered at this, but having known Thane all so many years, she is not surprised that drells are so suspicious and paranoid about one and other…There are gangs on Lothairaxl, and among these are the Souledivinie drells and their brothauls, where a lot of the criminal action she typically tries to ignore on the news often goes down in.
They are primarily isolated to the Skin District, and keep to themselves.
Thane has warned her to stay away from the Rakhïken drells, citing his knowledge of the feuds between rival clans and the viciousness they wield against each other.
He says nothing more about them, other than she heed his warning when he is gone on travel and she goes on her runs alone through the city.
#
Along his neck and strongly defined jaw is a series of folds not less than three every inch of width across his throat and these shimmer with a subtle vibration at times when he communicates with his son, or other species possessing the ability of sub-vocal tongue. She has learned the organ is in places hard, and between those places soft. The spines and connective skin, respectively, is what the drell call a tebris…At certain times, particularly during emotional moments, as when they are in copulation, sometimes even a subtle flirtation with those they are attracted to, the organ comes alive. Braith has witnessed its expansion while she is making love with Thane, and when she vexes him, the folds become rather constricted to his neck and buccals behind his patak ridges, the plate of soft skin that contains his facial features.
She has even seen the barbs of venom that hide along the spines of the tebris, which he refuses to let her touch when they are exposed—again during copulation.
She has experienced his anger once or twice, and the barbs do come out then, but for different reasons.
#
Braithlynn Anne Shepard reclines herself against the plush cushions, recently restored by the City's Surr for having been worn out and requested by herself to be replaced. Braith knows she has become accommodated to the luxury of a comfortable bed and some posh, if modernized, living.
She feels guilty for it.
"I don't know." She runs her fingers through the short ends of black, polished hair, recently swept and tidied with a brush, "…I mean," she quickly retracts, sitting up at his pensive stare, remarking of a subtle displeasure with her answer in such uncertain fashion…She rapidly spits out, "…It's a great question—"
"Do you wish to marry and settle down," he asks her, his own future plans in the air, hinging on her response, "...Is the woman in front of me up for such a challenge…" His expression relaxes with the formation of a wry smile, and he settles his patak's ridges against a pair of fingers and thumb, "…Or has she become too lethargic in the lap of comfort and fulfillment."
She chuckles as she shrugs her shoulders, glancing to and from the window at her mate, "…You got me, Krios…I'm too much of a pussy cat now to want anything that would make me dependent on another…I like my job and I like the freedom…Not saying I wouldn't mind marrying you after all these years…" Her gray eyes cast to the window as she presses her palm against her cheek, "…I feel as though it's not quite time for that yet, Thane."
He sighs and rolls his eyes to the same window, looking out at the rising sun and the silent flow of constant traffic, "…Very well, Siha, I will make my plans without you." He starts to stand, but her sudden clearance of throat pauses him from his progress to his feet, "… Siha?"
Braith settles her gray eyes on his onyx lenses. The light from the window bounces a shine off these, back at hers, "…Talk about something else?"
He nods and sits back again, his arm resting on his lap, the other hooked over the back of the sofa, "...How is work."
They have little in common. Braith does not have family as Thane does, and life outside the military is dull, strapped down by the need to make money to live and live well. Though they are in Lothairaxl and one may live comfortably, there are places where financially-burdened do not enjoy the same luxury of her peace of mind, in a sense. Braith is at the precipice of that life, and Thane has less to be concerned with due to his transient nature. He only frequents Lothairaxl to see her, the woman he has dated for ten years after the war.
Most of the duration of that time was spent in a hospital, and it may have affected Braith negatively for a while if not at present. She was sensitive about talking over the subject of further commitment, partly due to the fact he had been sick for so long, but the Kepral's was cured. Braith no longer had to see him so diminished as he was, and if not for her time with Mordin alongside her, the salarian STG doctor who helped create a promising cure for his lungs, she would possibly have moved on…Thane's son had been difficult to deal with, for he saw their relationship as an affront to his mother, long deceased, but still a fresh sore.
"Why are you still here," he comes into the hospital room and puts down his books and bag, "…I can watch him."
Braith stands from her seat by the bed, her eyes tired and her hair lank, "…You could maybe arrive on time."
"I'm in school, sometimes the ride is late," Kolyat snaps.
Braith blinks at him, her eyes red as she stands over Thane's sleeping form, a mask over his face and his head partially turned towards the window view behind her shoulders, "…I'll head out."
"Thank you," he says grudgingly as he moves aside the doorway, Mordin only noticed behind him when he does so…The salarian gives everyone a patient, if not patronizing look that states he is stretching his tolerance for their constant tension around his ailing patient, "…Oh, good evening, Doctor Solus."
"Good evening back," he quickly slips out through his fast lips, then to Braith as she moves between them, "…Get rest, Shepard…You will get sick staying up all night and day without sleep."
He gives Kolyat a pointed look as Braith murmurs a thanks and heads out, Kolyat scowling and moving to take up the chair that smells of the human woman dating his widowed father.
"I think it's wrong that she's here," he mutters.
"Not only is Shepard here because she loves him," Mordin replies curtly, setting out on a tray a number of vials and syringes from his case he has brought with him, "…She is here to support fellow colleague and friend. Be patient, be less trouble to your father."
Kolyat's scowl softens but persists as he pulls out a book to begin reading, pretending he didn't hear.
If it weren't for her, he thinks to himself, …He wouldn't have also been run through with a blade on the Citadel.
#
Thane can see she tries hard to hold onto her sense of who she is and what she has come from, what she has endured. Most of all, he sees a woman struggling to make sense of her life following her service for the galaxy.
She has had to grip to a life she does not want…If anything, she wishes she had died in the final Citadel attack by the Reapers, at her own choosing.
That had been at least up to her, not as the Normandy SR1 when her ship had been ambushed by Collectors, and she had made it out but with a leak in her suit. Landing on Alchera had been the least pain she'd had to endure in that first fate…The memory of suffocation, the eye pain of pressure and cold, the excruciating agony of dying slowly…
The Citadel had been something different, and she only spoke of it when she was superbly cocktailed up with her anti-anxiety pills and alcohol.
Thane, even during his most depressed years following marriage and then the loss of Irikah to Stiv Kay, an assassin, had never resorted to medication or alcohol, noting that the idea of cleansing the galaxy of ill foes was probably not so healthy, but given a choice, he preferred the peace inside him that came with taking care of the latter, less unhealthy options of dealing with death and solitude. He was resigned to die anyway, and his fate had been sealed—Braith had been the one to reopen that sealed envelope he was ready to let send to the gods and Kalahira.
Braith had looked at him, and told him with her own words to be alive…Ironic, coming from a woman who preferred herself dead.
She did not take at first to civilian life so well…When she had been brought back to life a second time, there had been talk of restarting the Spectres, but that was quickly nixed by the Council and Alliance members who had survived the war.
And Anderson was dead, so Kaidan Alenko and the others who had been slated to go Spectre by the deceased Udina and other recommendors had been assigned elsewhere…A biotics division perhaps had been entertained, a new N7 Elite group had been tossed around, but Braith—following several protests by a vociferous batarian audience—was excluded from those thoughts shared by the brass and higher-ups.
She had at least assisted the galaxy with winning the Reaper War, and multiple other missions, then Lothairaxl's divulgence somehow was attributed to her and not Javik, the prothean not caring much for this neglected credit.
She had been pat on the back, given a few stars, and sent off early with a pension and retirement to Lothairaxl.
#
The Spectres having been disbanded, if a new organization of secretive service has come to be in its place, one no longer knows. Braith had often felt to blame for this, and did not speak much to her fellow human officers as a result.
The Spectres faded out of popularity after one too many rogue Spectres—Braith among the two most troublesome—had caused enough tumult and damage to the classification of elite agents.
She and Saren Arterius were a stain on the sleeve, so to speak.
And Braith was only brought back to life as a test for Lazarus plausibility, what with following the destruction of Cerberus Group. The station in which the Illusive Man had operated most of his projects he kept a close eye on was considered salvagable.
Now Braith was a clone or the same woman whose remains had been found floating in the leftover bulb of the Citadel control tower, perfectly preserved once again, and someone had thought they would find out what really happened up there with the Crucible…Enough credits and assets had been invested in the precious project…It would have been thoughtless to not bring her back to life, try and interrogate as much detail out of her as possible, then when all was said and done, let her enjoy the rest of her days in retirement…
"You're no longer necessary, Commander…We appreciate the significance of your ability to return to life and recall the fine details leading to your demise above Earth's atmosphere, but honestly, Commander," the woman shakes her head, "…We can either incarcerate you or let you quietly retire…Which do you prefer?"
"Obviously one is less comfortable than the other," Braith meaning incarceration…She would at least be in the loop, or on a station within the Systems Alliance's jurisdiction.
The lady smiles in that tolerant way that tells her it's not going to be what she wants, but regrown cells don't have a choice now, do they…
She was given retirement. She wasn't happy about it.
#
What does a retired Lazarus project do with herself, her memories, her life, and her skills?
She had no family aside from her battle-mates and Thane, and even that relationship was fraught with tension due to Kolyat wanting her to move on so his father would spend more time with his son—as was apt. Braith could not fault Kolyat for disliking her, she had afterall taken Thane to her bunk and developed a relationship that should have only lasted for a night, one suicide mission…That, too, he might have held against her, and certainly the slap she cocked him with her pistol the day she and Thane had prevented him from completing a hit on Joram Talid, a Turian politician…He was dirty, but Kolyat should not have been the one to go after him.
So that summed up Braith and Kolyat's bonding experience…Hit someone and they never forget it, no matter how mind-waking the tap.
#
Thane has a son and relatives on Kahje, some on Rakhana through his wife's side of the family—Irikah, dead for so many years. He may move between Lothairaxl and Rakhana if he cares to, and he does…Splitting time between Kolyat, and Braith, his current relationship that has surpassed its prime it may seem.
He is content with her, but she has tested him on more than one occasion.
"Work's good," she curls a strand around her finger, thinking about his question, "…I have a steady clientele. Mostly civilians in need of that special feeling they have a war hero watching their backs…Brünner's with me."
"Is he," Thane smiles, "…Still."
She smirks and snorts softly at his reminder of the last time she brought up Erec Brünner, a human tycoon in the after-fuels industry, brought about by the demise of the mass relays—Braith's doing, too, of course.
Was it really a wonder the Systems Alliance and Council did not keep her around after they brought her back to interview her? Lazarus gift or not, she had been able to fill them in on what happened.
That was good enough. "Thank you for your service, Commander Shepard…"
As for Erec Brünner, he was a bit of excitement after the kick-out by the Alliance and Council. Compared to her other clients, Braith found the friendly and exuberant fellow human to be that spark in an otherwise frightfully dulling existence. If it were not for his problematic past and the friends he "kind of" kept, and an asari wife who once worked as a Commando back for the Republic of Thessia, who had also settled to give him five kids, all who needed assurances for their safety…
"Yep," she blows out her lips, glancing down at her bare hands, "…He's hanging tight…Money makes him worth it." And, she admits pleasantly, "…He's a bit of a riot, kind of got a cute thing going with the whole family chaos, you know, Thane…Speaking of family," she ventures as she looks up, "…How's yours, Hot Lips?"
Thane grins, a wide fair grin of white teeth and a handsome mouth at that, "…Kolyat is doing exceptionally well on Rakhana. He is with his uncles, and I may visit him when I am not here with you, Siha…But you know that," he sits forward, eyes to her stockinged feet and traveling up the dark tights to her skirt, "…What may I tell you about him that is different…Nothing since the last time you asked."
Braith puts her knuckles to her cheek, studying him, "…Liar," she wrinkles her nose, "…He's doing something, and you'd never tell me anyway…Always so secretive about Kolyat, Thane…" She pushes at his shin with her heel.
His hand grasps the smooth stockinged foot.
He sets it on his knee and begins to knead her shin muscle, moving his fingers methodically in slow circles of pressure.
"Family," he murmurs, "…Family is important to me, Siha."
Braith inclines her chin towards the ceiling, enjoying that familiar, all-too-knowing touch. "You think your family would be able to handle a marriage of yourself to me…Just saying we play with this idea and kick it around, Krios," she lowers a black wing of an eyebrow, Thane watching her face intently, the fingers of his hands still massaging, "…Don't get your hopes up."
"I would not dare to defy your wishes," he replies sveltely and cool, warming her up with his hands, "…A human woman over a drellahna, more so, after Irikah…" He hums thoughtfully to himself, and then quiets.
He would be lying if he told her the truth, that no one thought he should remarry.
There was enough vindictiveness in his families to annihilate all hope of a fluid marriage ceremony, particularly to a woman branded both traitor, hero, and may as well throw in an ungodly anomaly.
Braith observes her mate, her finger by the corner of her lip as her knuckles continue to make deep depressions in her cheek, "…There's that, yeah." She lowers her hand and moves her foot—Thane does not relinquish it.
"I think," he calms her building worry by rolling out the words carefully on a smooth tongue, "…That I am at the time in my life when I may choose to remarry, all considered. I would not make the decision lightly, you know me well enough," he whispers, then sliding her towards the edge of her end of sofa to move his hands to her knee, his own body stirring at the suppleness of her feel, "…I think, though they might be somewhat surprised I chose to remarry, but they would not condemn me forever…Kolyat is not the same drell he was about his earlier feelings towards our relationship, Siha...Rakhana has kept his mind busy…And while we are on the subject," he lifts her thigh and moves under her leg, taking hold of her skirt and pushing it upwards and out of the way, "…Have you had luck locating the records of your own?" He sees the roll under her upper lashes, her eyelids fluttering as she shakes her head and lays back to allow him the massage he applies to her upper thighs now…Her legs are firm and strong, as if she had never died or aged any since her death at thirty-two.
She simply does not age, not like others do at least…Her cells seem to continuously regenerate. Whatever the phenomenon, her body feels superbly fit to his touch, and Thane understands development of muscle and form…His second Siha has the body of a goddess, and the appetite of a god who knows mortal flesh is weak, but plentiful and desirable.
"None exist anymore, Thane," she looks down along her nose at him, moving his shoulders in a gentle roll as he kneads and applies his strength, "…There's only me and you in this world, my friends who keep in touch…Nothing tying me down besides…" She purses her lips and Thane stops kneading, looking at her before him in that pause. "You know…" She wipes her forehead with two fingers and makes a vain if not futile, frustrated gesture, "…I'm here for whatever reason, Thane…Like a statue that doesn't go anywhere."
He lowers her legs and sets his hands into the seat cushions either side of her, his colored skin bright against the material, "…You are here, Siha…Does that continue to vex you."
"Of course not, it's…" She stifles and looks for something in the room, but through his tints, he sees the lower lids of her eyes are growing wet and beginning to puff slightly, "…I'm stretched thin," she spits out venomously, then focuses her angry stare on him, "…I never thought I could feel that way, simply doing nothing with my life but existing."
Thane gazes patiently back, then after a moment he closes her legs and sits on the pillows beside her, taking her into his arms as he bends to kiss her shoulder through a black sleeve, "…I know why you do not wish to marry me, Siha. It is because you are angry with life."
"No, Thane," she murmurs and lays against his warmth, "I'm a freak…I had to go through this once when I learned I was a biotic," and a powerful one at that, "…When I was brought back to life by Cerberus."
"You would not have met your team, myself," he tries to cheer her with the same excuse, but he may as well be speaking to deaf ears.
"I can't come to grips with it, Thane…I can't get my head to—I just can't get around it!"
"You are afraid of what is to come…to everyone but yourself."
"Thane," she turns her head sharply to glare, "…I'm not afraid."
Thane gazes into her fierce grays, "…Poor choice of words then." He nods at her, "…What would you prefer I call it, Siha."
She huffs, sighs and stands from him, working down her skirt as his hands clasp together on his thighs…Thane looks away, an indication he is certainly irritated by her behavior, "…Siha, please, I did not mean—"
She picks up her glass of water from the table at the end of the armrest and walks with it into the kitchenette, "…Everyone should only want the old Commander Shepard, who wasn't afraid of everything—"
"That is not what everyone wants," he protests, his voice lower, his face lifting to her departing figure around the open-studio frame letting into the kitchen area, "…I want to marry you, but you are concerned you will have to watch me die again…I am not sick—"
"Thanks to Mordin," she says as she throws out the water and sets the glass harshly on the counter, pulling out a bottle from her wine rack, opening a drawer with a frustrated flurry of her hands and snapping up a cork remover with her fingers, "…You're healthy because of him…Everyone can get fixed because of science these days, and why can't everyone just fucking live forever, or at least let me die." The cork goes into the sink and the wine pours.
Thane wets his own tongue with a sip of water from his glass on the endtable, "…Braith," he says with some sternness, "…Enough of your temper."
He has dealt with women before who have had tempers in his experience with them—his wife Irikah specifically, and now Braith…When she goes to the wine, he knows she is slipping her hold on that patience she keeps so strong—so as not to allow the temper to come out, and with it, the dark energy in her mind.
Braith pours her glass down her throat, drinking it fast, "…I need a moment," she says once she is done and sets the glass down again, "…I'm sorry."
"I must go in any case," he stands and picks up his coat on another chair, the darkness of his leathers so stark in that white and gray place, and he himself a beautiful green with softer colors of yellow and salmon from his lips to his chest above his shirt's clasps, "…I will be traveling tomorrow, Braith," and she knows she has worn his patience thin by the use of her first name finally, "…I will return tomorrow evening, and visit you, if you will answer my calling."
Braith's eyes are closed as she stands in the kitchenette, an elbow flared and her hand on her waist as she regrets her behavior, "…I'm sorry for popping off about it again…I'm trying to apologize, Thane."
He comes into the kitchenette to be with her, and places a kiss on her temple, "…I regret having irritated you with my observation, Siha," he gentles her anxiety with the term of his affectuon, "…You are afraid of seeing not only myself, but others die…It is peculiar, what with your career of the past, Siha…I do not understand it. Forgive me for being so candid with you on the matter."
"It's different in war," she whispers pathetically, "…It's less a monster in battle than it is…Than it is here in this…This era of my life…Am I growing soft and stupid?"
"No," he murmurs firmly, "…No…You miss it, and you feel as if the battle will never return, and your skills will all go to waste…Why else work in security…Forgive me, Siha, I understand now," he removes himself from standing before her, their heads bent towards each other's words, "…I was mistaken. What you want is an excitement I cannot provide you…And it unsettles you, especially for the reason you do not want to languish and see others grow old while you remain…Beautiful, enduring, and unhappy with your gifts in this life."
She reaches a weak hand for his arm, but he has already left her and turned away to go to the door, "…It's never so simple," she murmurs as the door to the apartment slides closed behind him, "…It's true and it's never so simple…I don't know what I have to be happy about anymore."
Opening the bottle again and pouring another glass, she walks with her wine to the window out onto Atmore Boulevard, and cupping her elbow in her hand, she wipes at her eyes and her sniffle, sips the wine and stares into the sunshine.
"I hate my life," she whispers, "…Should have let me die the first time."
The traffic outside her window, hundreds of stories down and above, continues to zip passed in silence, Thane's own skyrunner soon to be among these. The sun is rising, and Braith has the day off to think about his proposal, why she doesn't want it, and whatever she's going to do to deal with her unhappiness…She knows she makes it unpleasant for him, what little time they have even after his being healed from sword and illness.
Tomorrow she will be at work, and tomorrow is all day and night in coming…Lowering her glass of wine, she turns and walks away from the view. "What am I going to do," she speaks to herself, and at a glance to the clock on the wall, she shakes her head, "…This is going to be a terrible day off."
#
An hour later, Braith is running along the sidewalk, following the lane on her building's side of Atmore and keeping her breathing in check as she pushes herself to sprint through the divides between the blocks and street lanes…Pedestrians move out of the way as she yells, "…On your left!" Checking her watch, she keeps pace with the time from yesterday and the day before, seeking to bring her record down. Alcohol won't stop her, though she feels it in her throat.
However, Braith does slide to a stop just before a skyrunner skims passed, blowing through the light between the buildings up above, "…Asshole! Look at the intersection, you moron!"
She wipes the sweat off her brow and continues off the curb.
Her athletic physique gets a few whistles from the windows of skyrunners as these zoom by overhead, but Braith ignores them all. She's a civilian…I hate being civilian, she thinks as she grits her teeth and bends her brow forward, hair up in a small ponytail to just clear the bangs off her face.
She needs to exude strength and confidence, these attributes that wane with the passage of time and doing everything less than what she remembers her body was meant for…More importantly, she must keep up the appearance that she's in shape. Nobody wants a lazy, overweight woman wielding her credentials as a competent and capable security agent. Her job is meant to keep her mentally wit-sharp about her environment and the possible situations that arise from client to client. The conditions are always boring, save with Erec, but that's because he pisses everyone off, and he's still likable since people still buy from him even after they've tried to kill him. No, Braith, expects she needs to be nothing less than her best to keep up with what's out there…And then there's Thane…
"What's your workout today, Krios?" Braith enters the training center and sees him already standing on his arms, one leg bent in a perfect triangle while the other points perfectly to the ceiling…She gets no response from him, so pretends to wander over and then try and kick out his arm.
Succinctly, he pushes out her leg from under her, not even tipping his polarities, and Braith is staring at his toes still pointed upright at the top of the hangar.
Thane does not break a smile nor a chuckle until ten minutes later when he is finished. "I highly recommend you strengthen your legs, Shepard."
"Stuff it, Thane." She reaches over and tries to push him, he deftly stepping sideways to let her lose her balance and fall over, catching her by the waistband of her pants to keep her face from landing on a set of dumbbells.
"Perhaps you have overreached your abilities with me, Siha."
"What did you say?"
Uprighting her, he snaps her waistband back into place, turns her by her arm and looks deep into her eyes, "…I said you overreach, Siha…That means a goddess in my culture," he presses closer and Braith begins to smile, "…Don't reach so far when I can easily come to you at your call."
"Provided you're not in the middle of a workout, huh?"
"Not in the middle of one, yes…" And they kissed in the hangar for the first time…Garrus interrupting them with a clap of his claws.
#
And so she trains, and sweats, and pumps those legs and arms as if she is running from bullets, Reapers, or to Thane…Or whatever she can remember in her short-lived lives.
Racing by the windows of a small coffee shop on the corner of Atmore and Bolyn Boulevard, Braith leaves a blur of an impression on the drell sitting inside, perusing a digital paper and drinking his espresso that mid-morning hour…He watches the figure run passed, make it through the next intersection, narrowly avoiding another skyrunner that this time slows to a stop to avoid hitting her, and silently he acquiesces to his opinion—formulated in his permanency of memory—that she is in excellent shape, has a deathwish, and would be about her thirties or in her late twenties by his understanding of the human species's development of form with aging.
He sets down the news and signals the waitress for his bill, tipping the rest of an espresso into his mouth.
"I'll take the tab and pay by chit," he pops the card out of his omni-tool sleeve and hands it to the waitress, "…Thirty-five-percent tip," he suggests easily, "…The espresso was excellent, thank you."
Standing from his seat, he feels for something in his coat, and pulls out a silver case marked with feathering blue details in the shiny metal, "…There's no smoking in here, Sered Soterios," the drellahna states as he glances irritably at her, "…Sorry, I recognized you—"
"Not another word," he grumbles pointedly at her, and stows the case back into its pocket after removing himself a bedi roll, fragrant with dried petals, "…Give me a light now, would you," he has his own, but the drellahna is sweet-looking and attractive, from Rakhana he can see, "…You don't mention you saw me to anyone," he turns for the door after paying her, his bedi lit and trailing a nice floral perfume. Out into the sunny morning, onto the silver and brightening streets, he sets his dapper shoes to the metal and walks south down Atmore. He takes the bedi from his lips, his emerald eyes bright and absorbing everything he takes in of this City Above.
He keeps his eyes alert and moving, searching for other drells and drellahnas, hoping none bother him. He is a rather conspicuous presence on the boulevard of metal and flowered medians. Seven feet tall almost, golden skin and smooth crests that taper to a neck built for powerlifters, and a violet-blue-silver tebris along his throat and jawline, high to behind the eyes in his skull.
He is gorgeous to those interested in his species, and has the surl of lips and green eyes that make women stutter when he looks at them.
He has a habit of enjoying it.
Looking right down the next lane onto Bolyn Boulevard, he takes out his bedi again and exhales a long stream of smoke from his lips. Where are you…His eyes skirt the heads on that lane pairing, going over the numbers above the buildings' doorways, the skyrunners parked along the sidewalks. Not at your usual holes…Need to find out where you'll be hanging out and grab you when you're not looking…He tucks the bedi between his lips, turns once more and heads up-street.
On his right ahead, a shop for firearms comes into view, and taking his bedi out of his mouth, he flicks it to the curb. Heading inside, a small tone sounds at his entrance to the store.
The shopkeep looks up at him from a catalogue diskette in his claws, "…What can I do for you, Drell?"
"I need to make a purchase," he flips his credit chit onto the glass counter over laser lights scanning its legitimacy automatically, and a ping of approval announces the chit is acceptable. "Give me an automatic with sights, a Shuriken will suffice if there's nothing better in the back, kind of smaller than I'd like but I can handle it."
The turian gives him a quick appraisal, "…Will that be all?" he drawls, mandibles loosening from his face.
"Laser sights with the option to turn these on and off preferably, and a big knife I can scare a grown man into pissing himself with," he adds with a glance to the doors, "…Charge the chit when you like, and no more questions please."
"You planning on killing anybody lately," the turian gives him a hard stare.
Casnar leans on his elbows across from the shopkeep and gazes sweetly back, "…Just need to have a serious conversation with someone who thinks he can get away with everything, is all," he brandishes a white, wolfish smile.
The shopkeep plucks the chit up and inserts it into the register to the right of him on the other side of the glass display case Casnar leans upon, his ankles crossed behind him and one of his shoes point down while the other is lazy in the air, "…You'll need something bigger than what I got up front here for those hands, Pal."
"I'm no one's pal," Casnar gruffs and taps his golden fingertips rapidly in a dance on the glass countertop, "…Hurry up, will you…I don't want to be standing here when and if you have the security for this district come by to sting you for selling to the wrong types of drells and clientele."
The turian chuckles and lifts his mandibles, tighter to his face, "…You're a funny guy…Funny guy coming in here and asking for weapons to make a man bleed."
"Whatever tickles you," Casnar looks about himself, at the shelves and stocks, "…Not bad for Bolyn, you been here long?"
"Long enough I know the cops that come here," the Turian replies, unrolling a soft cloth, and atop it laying down six items—three of which are knives, the other three guns that will fit Casnar's grip, "…You want something more heavy-duty than these, you'll have to go with me into the back room."
"This will do," Casnar picks up a blade and a gun, tests the weight of each, looks down the sights in one hand and affects the laser guide switch, his fingers knowing where to go, "…Don't tell me how much. Charge the chit." He hefts the knife and picks out a box of ammo.
"This chit even belong to you?"
"No," Casnar pauses and sets down the cartridge he's removed, the knife next to the gun. He gives the turian a look that would suggest he's been offended by the idiotic question. "It's got the right amount on it. I've done my research and I know how much the funds are for these types of matters," picking up the gun, "…You want to keep this shop smelling clean to the cops who come in passing you contraband for a hookup once in a while with your other hobby collection, take the chit, and stop asking dumb questions." He straightens from the turian's shocked expression, "…Go ahead, charge it—There's credits for the tax, fee, and a Shut-Your-Mouth gratuity."
The turian doesn't move to give back the chit, and watches the drell leave, stashing the gun, a carton of ammo and the cartridge he removed, the knife into the slim blue coat that clearly outlines his broad shoulders and thick arms, "…Hate to be the guy on that drell's shit-list," the turian shakes his horns.
#
Continuing down Bolyn, he searches for a network café hosting live wireless hookup. He finds one within fifteen minutes of walking, smoking a fresh bedi now, and his suit coat a little heavier with his weapons.
Cracking his knuckles as he sits into a booth, Casnar logs into the computer as a guest on the network.
[ Where is Erec Brünner…Please send active listings, schedules, and events. ]
Instantly, the time in milliseconds, the server replies with a listing of all his known addresses, memberships, receipts and outstanding balances, a calendar of events with one specific date in bright highlighting.
Casnar's eyes glow with the screen.
[ It will happen tomorrow night. ]
He closes the program, wipes the interface with a solicited code by the computer itself, and stands to leave. No need to write anything down…He has the infamous drell memory…All he needs is a long, healthy glance, and it's permanently in his mind for as long as he lives…or at least until he gets a solid blow to the cranium to crack his skull inward.
Out on the street once more, he hails a skyrunner cab, and demands the driver take him to the Nurinata Museum of Technology.
He puts his elbow on the door handle and watches the city move rapidly by. His mind is never idle, there is too much to do, and too many mistakes have already been made…But his quarry is close, and he is going to find him in a little under forty-eight hours.
He thinks about where he's come from, and it sends chills through him to realize he is almost done, and soon, he will be able to go back home.
"Are we there yet? Would you step on it? I'm really pressed for time."
"A few more blocks," the driver replies, a salarian with his horns turned slightly outwards at the tips, "…Grid traffic right now is a mess…There was a shooting on Calatin Boulevard, over by the slums…Crawlers should clean it up if the police force doesn't do it by rush hour tonight."
Casnar grimaces, "…Too bad…Hopefully the sap who got shot deserved it."
The salarian lifts his gaze to the mirror and stares at his passenger.
#
At the museum, he stands in the lobby for ticketing sales, and looks about the venue. He notices technological art forms everywhere, and on the wall by the next kiosk is a list of events for the following month or two.
Casnar ambles over to it, across from a line of visitors assembled by a speedy ticket kiosk, and gazing at the printing typefaces on the wall-screen, translating into seventeen hundred languages before settling on his own—after having identified his species—he reads, …Tomorrow night, donor reception, sponsored by The Brünner Corporation. And there I will catch you…He pockets a map for the museum into his blue suit, turns, and returns to the street.
Hailing his own skyrunner by his omni-tool's voice command, it takes a few minutes for the vessel to arrive but the sleek black Aldebaran lowers to the sidewalk and opens its driver door for him to enter. "Ritriny," Casnar commands. The door lowers closed, and off to the penthouse in Ayr Heights, uptown.
He'll catch his little thief…Now to relax.
Everything in Lothairaxl makes him feel a bit more optimistic…So far away from home, his back itches less. As he reaches around to rub the sore spot on his back, he recalls the lashes from his punishment.
There were places in the city where he could have the cuts healed. He would find them only after he was finished, and had recovered what he came to find.
Depressing the accelerator, he blows through the next light and takes a left into the Lux District.
#
At his penthouse atop Ritriny Sky Tower, Casnar walks about the suites with the glass untinted and letting in view of the city around him this level…A few other spires reach the height of his penthouse. Turning into his workshop, he sets out the gun he purchases and disassembles it to clean the piece, not trusting the shopkeep to have gotten around to caring for the gun—Much to his pleasure, Casnar finds the shopowner did get to the gun, and it is in excellent condition…He oils a little of what he thinks may need some additional lubrication, then inserts the cartridge, tests the trigger mods, and sets everything together in a holster.
He moves onto the knife and sharpens it with an automatic whetter.
Casnar fantasizes about tickling the man he's intending to use it on with the curved bladetip, and while he checks the edges with his finger, he also prays the man has what he has come all the way from Rakhana to obtain. Hope it's not too late for his sake…And my own, he admits to himself, thoughtfully pricking his finger with the knife to test the blade again. That's good, he decides and sets it into another sheath attached to a halter that will go around one's waist.
He leaves the weapons for now, pours himself a syver, and walks to the front of the penthouse to put his hips down, his feet up, and watch the news for reports about the goings-on in the City Above.
Arms on the leather rests, stripped with a red cloth over the seams, he flicks through the channels and settles on the local reports for his district.
Gray skies are filling the horizon, and by the doppler from the installations in Lothairaxl, he can see a storm is brewing north and west of the city…If no storm occurs, the air will humidify rapidly and the night will be hot.
He reflects on his plans, and sighs as he realizes it would be likely Erec will be armed at the event or have someone covering him for security…The bastard's going to have someone watching his back, aside from my own eyes, he thinks and sips his syver again, …I'm going to have to do it smooth…Walk right in, not let anyone know I'm not supposed to be there…Then again…He stands and grabs his omni-tool out of the workshop, enters a few site names…
Moving through the screens projected before his face from the device in his palm, he makes a donation to the event tomorrow night, signs it as Aunar Bri'unosa, and closes down the application, having received himself an invitation that will hit his inbox in a second or two.
Casnar returns to his seat, switches the news off and turns on a premium channel of porn featuring drellahnas—switches through to the other species until he settles on something different…Human…Breasts and long dark hair…
He strokes himself as he takes in the action with his eyes recording everything, and releasing a soft huff as he achieves orgasm…
#
Casnar goes next to the shower and cleanses himself off, taking his time with the sudsing.
His strapping muscles of gold are reflected through the see-through wall of glass to the mirror, framed by the condensing mist and water from the showerheads in his standing shower.
He turns, and his back remarks of several long scars, scars that look like whip marks clawing over each other through his flesh.
#
What the hell is this, she blinks once and flips to the next entry, …I need to contact Brünner. Braith picks up the com-dial and taps to her client.
"Erec, it's Shepard."
"Shepard! Braith, baby! What do you need from me."
Braith moves to the bathroom of her apartment, "…Erec, there's a new donor to the event tomorrow?…Want to tell me who Aunar Bri'unosa is…"
"Sounds drellish," his voice is relaxed, "…I wouldn't think too much of it, Braith."
"I'm your consultant, Erec," she replies, "…I think about who these people are..." Passing her hand through her hair and flicking her tresses aside, "…Come in early tomorrow so we can go over what I find out, all right? Promise me? I'll have my friend check it out."
"You worry so much about me, I love it…Eight or nine work for you?"
"Eight," she replies, checking the heat of the shower, "…And I have a meeting earlier, so if I'm late, don't get your feelings hurt?"
"I'll be there and I'll be pouting, promise you…"
Braith chuckles, a little more at ease with having spoken to him…Gods, I can hardly believe people want to kill him…
She ends the call after a warm goodbye, and diverts her attention to her omni-tool display, moving the screens about...
Pulling up as much as she can on the new donor's details, she finds very little to be able to call it much at all…Other than a name, there's nothing tied to the amount.
Follow the funds…
[ NO MORE DATA AVAILABLE. ]
Braith stares at the screen glaring back, "…It's just a money well? That can't be possible…" She tries a few other routes but always comes to the same dead ends. "Damn, who is this guy, or maybe it's a female name I wonder?…"
Braith moves into her bedroom to pick up her personal com-dial, tapping out the call-ID for her colleague, Kasumi Goto.
"Hey, Shepard."
"Yeah, hi, Kasumi?"
"Why are you asking like you're not sure it's me?"
Braith slaps her palm to brow, smiling in the silliness while she shakes her head, "…I know it's you—Geez, Goto," dropping her hand, "…You busy?"
The thief snorts, a delicate noise from her nostrils over the channel, "…Not lately…Give me something, Shep, I know you're in need, and I am…at…your…service—but I'm billing by the hour, okay? Girl's gotta make ends meet."
"Fair," Braith walks in a slow circle, "…I need you to pull up what you can on Aunar Bri'unosa…I sent the name to you…Can you get me something by the end of day?"
"Probably…Hey," Kasumi's voice grows suspicious, "…Aren't you supposed to be relaxing today?"
"Yes, it's my day off."
"I asked if you're relaxing, 'cause this doesn't make you sound to me that you're relaxing, Shep…I don't care if you come from cosmic energy or not—The day of rest means you must relax, Shep."
"I am relaxing…This is my day off, and I'm doing what I do to relax."
A deprecating chuckle, "…I'm not buying it…Is this an emergency?"
"High importance, close but not really," Braith replies, standing still and watching the steam come from her bathroom.
"You owe me a day off for yourself, an actual day off, Shep."
"Right, Goto, done deal…Do let me know what you uncover as soon as you find out?"
"Yes, yes…Buh-bye."
"Thanks, Kasumi."
Braith closes it, and wipes the dried perspiration off her neck. Grimacing at her fingers' collection, she finally heads in for the shower, grabbing a fresh towel from the closet on her way to dividing the rolling steam with her bare ankles and feet.