specialdelivery.2

SUCH BELOW IS AN AUTHENTIC SLICE OF FANFICTION.

ANY DUPLICATE DISPLAYED NOT HERE WILL BE FOUND TO BE PIRATED.

specialdelivery.2

"ARASHU'S DEPARTED"

specialdelivery.2

An Assignment At Stop-X, Skyllia

Casnar perched himself at the margin of the countertop, palm pressed into cheek as he leaned listlessly against it, bored out of his mind and whisking a pipette within the plastic confines of an empty water cup. He kneaded his scruff, glancing impetuously toward the back outlet of the watering hole—the aforementioned conducted one through an additional deck that opened into an area brimming with habitations belonging to the tourists—hoping Thane would be quick with his business so they could withdraw from the site early on as opposed to later in the day when there would be too many people for Casnar's own comfort. He swiveled his greens to renew a stare upon a female tapper—Human, sporting a blank white tee, causing her skin's bronze to appear dark enough she seemed to blend with the bar backdrop…Were it not for the white material—so taut over her breasts her nipples could be seen as little white-peaked mountains—she would have merely been a moving shade against the blue-glowing background. He glided his gaze toward the anterior of the bar—facing the area where patrons enjoyed simple dish fare (from the local catch as well) with "beachy" beverages under sun, biotic shades, in a wind that eased itself over its cross of the land from the undulating sealine…They could all appreciate the famous views afforded by their high location on Skyllia's resplendent bay, and shorelines of rose-hued sands with their eroded stone sculptures.
A lady came into view, emerging from a ladder that opened onto the lower seashore, and set about walking among the crowded tables toward the bar's interior, after crossing the boardwalk on the far side of the diners. She walked directly to the bar—in the vicinity of where he sat himself, she secured a seat while massaging her forehead with her fingers over a distinctly vexed expression.
He realized he was goggling a wee longer than was considered well mannered—or advisable—to do outside his own culture norms. She looked toward the tapper while this woman approached her, "…Braith, what happened to your buddies," the tapper inquired while pushing a piece of damp cloth over the wood counter in the newcomer's direction.
"I think I'm in trouble," she answered, gliding her fingers between her jet black fibers of shorter hair—as compared to the bartender's, "…Well, the one with the spiky hair that stands up is pissed at me, I feel."
"That's no surprise," the bartender shrugged a shoulder, "…He seems like the officer hopeful type—the kind who doesn't mess around and…well…you do."
"I think I embarrassed him," Braith chortled between her smirk, "…You should have seen how beet red he was when he got back on the skim, Chelse…Redder than his sunburn, and livid as Hell."
"You think they'll ditch you now?"
"Probably," Braith breathed out gloomily, "…No big deal—Gowitze has me 'lotted to Little Bastard already, and he won't back down from that position."
"I thought you'd jump ship for the Normandy," the tapper tipped her hair to the side.
"Me too," Braith dipped her head, "…I'll go if they still want me—and it's worth it to them to argue Gowitze into transferring me." She thrusted away from the counter's border and peered to the other end of it.
Casnar's neck folds thickened at the sight of her face. She was arresting, fit—what's more, intrigued with him. Tapping the relay transformer on his nape, Casnar hesitantly found his feet and drew near her angelic face, "…May I buy you a drink?"
Braith focused on Chelse, "…He's okay," Chelse prodded her elbow toward him, "…Been haunting the bar for a few hours drinking waters, but he's been quiet and polite."

Hear tell Braith was apprised of antiquated consorts' tales pertaining to soulmates that could discover each other through staring in another's eyes—and at the same time she beheld Casnar's own emerald gaze, she caught something that startled her with an unease…That such tales could be trusted to extend beyond her unique Humanity, "…Sure, stranger," she ducked her chin at length, "…I could do for a beer if you're buying." Casnar dipped his crests toward Chelse—by this time, she had acquired a bottle from her foot-stand icebox and untopped it for the lady—and Braith witnessed Chelse skim yet one more bottle over the seta counter to the golden-faced drell.
"Thank you," he looked briefly at the bottle—didn't lay a hand to it—then toward the ladies, "…I don't drink this…Kind of not allowed."
Braith and Chelse took a quick look at each other, "…So what do you drink?" Braith inquired.
"Just so happens you have Syver," Casnar gestured toward a slim carboy—stashed onto the topmost shelf above the stand on the other side of the countertop, "…I've had my eyes on that since I noticed it when I sat down…Surprising to see you have a label here."
Chelse stood on top of a stepladder to extract the hefty carboy—with a dusty label consisting of a duo of malacopterygian creatures twisting about a vine and sprig—her body drew a deal of notice on account of her bottom being at the whole world's eye level, "…Huh," she moved back down to the floor and carried the carboy to Casnar, "…I've never opened this one before…Always wondered why it was up there untouched—looks like you get to pop its cherry," she batted her thick lashes teasingly at Casnar who admitted a stifled grin.
The flaxen bartendress was refining her sense of humor with him—about to broach a high-priced carboy of Drell firewater with his as yet nonexistent tab…Casnar gazed from Chelse toward Braith, the other walking within reach of the receptacle, skimming her brew on top of the bar counter, "…That's an interesting logo," she turned the sizable bottle to better glimpse its particulars, "…What are those things, sea monsters?"
"Asthurs," Casnar rotated the carboy toward himself, his eyes hanging heavily upon the ideograms of his clan name, "…Old beast-devils that roam Rakhana…" He looked back to her face, Braith sweeping a bang out of the way of her eyes with a perfunctory flip of hand.
"They look unfriendly…What's it called," she aimed a pinkie at the label on the container.
"Soterios Estates," he replied uncomfortably…She contemplated his reaction with Chelse, who was examining her omni-tool at that point in time, "…It's pretty popular where I'm from."
"What's this Syver taste like?" Braith's eyes detained his from turning away.
"It's strong, sweet, hard…Kind of takes your breath away, at first…Then you're not sure if you want to, but you start to wonder if you can take another lick, maybe the whole bottle…" Chelse's eyes oscillated between Casnar and Braith's…Casnar cleared his throat and straightened, "…Drell whiskey—in a sense…It's made with…It's…filtered."
Chelse gazed down at the carboy—dissatisfaction written in her expression—and with her hands, hefted it enough to turn the slender but fat bottle on its bottom round to seek information off the handprinted label, "…No ingredients listed in our language, not even Universal," she glimpsed Braith's look at the other side of the carboy, "…Sounds like he knows what he's talking about though—maybe trade secrets," Chelse winked at Casnar.
"You touring the Terminus alone," Braith asked, simultaneously coming together with the opening of bottle mouth and her bottom lip, angling the vessel upward to draw a slow sip.
Casnar's throat along with his buccal rhakhis floated outward to display violet and sapphire-silver widths of skin—an indelicate betrayal of interest for her femininity. Braith was unaware of the social taboo he had involuntarily made. "I," he execrated himself for the arrant reaction occurring below his jawline, to say nothing of letting slip the chance he lived at the syver's locality of manufacture…Brusquely, Casnar swept his skin folds down with his fingers, "…No, I'm…I'm waiting for someone actually…He's supposed to pick me up soon, I think."
Braith and Chelse partook in a glance, "…Too bad," Braith murmured.
Casnar caught hint of the subtlety uniting their reaction. "What's that?—What's too bad?" he asked Braith, specifically. Chelse and Braith joined gazes once more, hushed interaction in progress—maybe as complex as the "Silent Song" on Rakhana, in Casnar's view of it all…Braith canted a few degrees from his physiognomy, Chelse supplying a fast jiggle of her head to warn Braith from answering his questions…All of a sudden Casnar realized what it was the women were communicating to each other: that they believed he was with someone—furthermore, about to depart with the "he" in question onto some sort of romantic adventure…Cock's sputum! he cursed behind a forced grin. He tilted above the carboy, "…I'm not seeing him…We have a meeting—he's not well known for keeping punctual, at least when one's encroaching (in his opinion) on his time…like I am," Casnar seated himself and tapped his indexes on the bar counter…Braith beamed on Chelse with a gape attributed to amusement and set down her beer.
"Right, sorry," she apologized, "…round here, two guys…"
"I get. You received the wrong impression, my fault," Casnar attempted not to grouse…It occurred to him what sort of partner he would rather have.
"Let me buy you a drink to say I'm sorry," she bobbed her head to Chelse, "…Open it up, put it on my tab."
"Like Hellwater, I will," Chelse huffed, "…When are you going to pay yours."
At the moment, Chelse had resolved the situation concerning Casnar's embarrassment…He put his chit plastic upon the bar top, "…I said I'd buy you a drink."
Chelse tipped her countenance, starting at Casnar's charming smirk, toward Braith—the latter sloping against the counter with a lip pulled in by two top-row teeth, and a sheepish simper, "…He wants to pay for it, Chelse, I won't overburden my dues."
The chit was snatched up into Chelse's fingers—the cork for the carboy was pulled out, and within a matter of seconds Chelse had dribbled the sweet-scented syver into a shot, passing the glass to Casnar who in turn passed it to Braith, "…Ladies first."
Collecting the shot to herself, Braith tested the smell of it—woody, and citrusy, too—then she tasted the syver, "…Mmmm, that's nice."
Casnar sloped himself against the bar, happy to have some action instead of talk at long last…He signaled for another shot. Chelse opened a tab to be used in connection with his chit piece, "…This is pricy stuff," she remarked, sliding the chit back to him while he drank his glass, having made a note of the name connected to the chit's account. At this time, she would keep it on file in her omni-tool to easily charge each eighty-five credit shot…She garnered this guy was apprised of his expensive liquor, "…How is it," she asked him.
"First is always the best," he beamed following his quaff, "…Not bad for collecting the dust."
"Where are you from," Braith proffered her glass, "…I'm Shepard, by the way."
Casnar's glass met hers, "…Name's Cas—" and he recalled he wasn't supposed to give his name out to any…Hoping the mistake would not be critical, "—nar…Don't spread it around…"
"Why," Braith chuckled, "…you have enemies, Casnar?"
He grinned, "…N-no…Not really."
Braith tasted a subsequent shot of Syver, favoring its flavor over the tartness attributed to her beer, "…You hesitated."
"It's…My partner wishes to keep a low profile…We don't like to advertise our presence. Drell don't leave Kahje often, nor Rakhana—hardly ever—and when we travel…"
"Which one are you from?"
"I…" He was going to divulge too much, "…Well," maybe a vague planet wouldn't hurt, "…Both," that really narrowed it down.
"Really…I don't think I've seen a drell in real life before…I know of them but, yeah, they're kind of rare sighting. Are they all as big and bright as you?—You're tall like me, must be hard to find dates."
Casnar laughed quietly with respect to the flattering remarks, mindful of Chelse's grin just as she left toward the alternate end of the counter, in assistance of customers recently come on the scene, "…I don't have a hard time."
"You must have a lot of admirers to be that confident." One more group of tourists—mostly dazzlingly suited within the confines of their thongs together with tops, beach shifts, also female—proceeded toward a table not too far from them…A small number gave their curiosity to Braith, but one or two clearly checked out the drell to the other side of her—in his finery, his aureate skin, his glossy and smooth crests that attenuated into broad neck and shoulders, and the indigo luminosity sending out a patina over his strong facial lines. Braith turned her eyes from the women and, along with Casnar, bent confidingly toward one another, "…You have a few fans," she mumbled with a tip of her temple, he glancing in the table's direction before fixing his gaze on her face once more.
Casnar happened to be conscious of the trivial quarrels that came out of socializing with a female sibling—who was frequently overrun by her same gender peers on Rakhana, "…I'm picky," he declared with a smile intended only for the woman before him, believing the indirect compliment was one of the better choices he could pay court to her with.
"What kind of 'picky'?" she asked, teasing him with a mystified expression.
He allowed his eyes to linger on hers, flawless phantasmagoria boasted by his memory bank—from the second he'd set eyes on her through the moments after, "…Eyes are important," he pronounced, gazing straight into hers while thinking Wow. "Skin," he was dying to glimpse where those speckles on her neck went after they passed under the straps of her wetsuit, cinched tight over her shoulders and back, "…Body," okay, he was coming across as slightly only-so-skin-deep…With what alternative was he able to advance?—They'd come across each other in a bar on a beach, he in voguish duds while she within such a piece, sharing her assets. "Pre-tty picky," he peered down at the middle finger tickling his neck rhakhis, furthermore picking up the smell of sunburnt skin, marine salt mixed with sunlight on her epidermis…He was growing rigid. "Ah-hem," he intentionally emptied the knot building in his throat and repositioned himself to be more comfortable, "…You were, eh, talking about something with Chelse when you first came in."
Braith drew her hand away, but he captured it, fondling her skin with forefingers over her knuckles, the ring and pinkie fingers pinching gently to stay her with him, "…I was being assessed by a few reps from a ship I wanted to transfer onto," she replied, checking out his coupled index pair after considering his expression, "…I didn't realize the guy with me wasn't feeling my choices, so I kind of blew it…" She shut her eyes—a disappointment to Casnar—but reopened these toward the table of women eyeing their coquetry, "…He and I bumped heads…He said yes to a few things he shouldn't have ought to…We'll see what happens."
"I can't imagine why they wouldn't want you," he eased on a velvety grin, "…What would one have against you."
She glided her eyes toward his own, and with a grin from ear to ear, "…You like to skim?"
With no knowledge of what she referred to, he ducked his head, "…Sure."

Accompanying an about peek concerning the hindmost doorway, Casnar arose, coming out of his lean on the chair to follow Braith from the inn. "Where do you, um, 'skim'," he asked—seeking to acquire a better understanding over what it was she spoke, and where it might occur would offer him a greater advantage in grasping whatever it was, this "skim" she had introduced in their conversation.
"Right down there," Braith aimed her arm over the boardwalk's palisade blocking folks from tumbling over the ledge to the low-lying sands…Casnar pulled in a great breath at the sight of the navy blue and white variegated skimmer bobbing on the water not more than eighty yards from the shoreline, and he advanced in the company of his escort to the other side of the promenade to see closer. "That's an Alliance academy skimmer," she declared, training her index finger at the watercraft buoyed in the number of peripheral crafts facing the shore, "…And that up there is the Stop-X station where I go to class and work every day," she subsequently aimed her pinkie toward a tipped arc on the east side of the lookout, higher than the headland at the bottom of its interior airy annulus, and in it existed the institute in furtherance of N7s such as her persona—a modest fortress of striking mathematical making…It represented nakedly—moreover being a reminder here was viable hostility within the bounds of the Terminus Systems—high and present within the sky.
He lifted his sight in track of the imposing curve, "…That's an N7 facility?…" His gaze came back to hers, "…You train there?"
"I'm an N7," she beamed, dimples materializing, "…More accurately, a recent grad."
"No wonder your body is in such a condition," he remarked, beholding the station once more.
"Thanks," she chuckled, her smile laid out just as she observed his countenance restore to facing hers…Whatever was it like to sleep in the company of a different race, she pondered…Presuming that she had to handpick a lone option above some other, he would fetch her preference…She took her inspection off his physique, furthermore moving it toward the installation—speculating about by what means he would join with her anatomy, "…It's stressful work, challenging," she murmured, lost in thought, "…Good…I made it through…Biotics was the hardest to gain mastery over, but now I'm what Humans call the 'cream of the crop'," she turned to him, his cast brimming with profound comprehension as regarding all that she was—within her stature based on unusual distinction in the midst of the balance as concerned her kind, "…That's of the best of what Humanity has to offer military-wise, Casnar…And I've been tested," she tagged on, "…There's no doubt in my mind, I agree with how they've ranked me."
Casnar chuckled smoothly, picking up her palm in the wake of his gaze resting over her pentad of fingers supported by the rail, "…There is no doubt in my mind," he tugged her with him, angling into her earhole, "…Walk with me…What do you train in up there besides biotics."
She effortlessly turned into step at the side of him, "…Oh, stuff like thwarting off bad guys here, defending our national interests over there, things I can't really share with you because you're not in that inner circle of who's to know, or who's to be used," she smirked toward his face.
"I hear you," he took a gander in the vicinity of her sandaled toes as well as rising up her sylphlike shanks, ascending the bodice she sported—facing her eyes, "…I once was a worker for Kahje, and before that, Rakhana…I'm versed in two distinct dialects and," he touched his communication equipment resting on the rear side of his nape, "…This opens me to the rest of the worlds."
Braith touched a bump beneath the dermis supported on the sinistral half about her nape, "…Mine's here."
Casnar pulled up unhurriedly, changing direction to go over her nodule by his sight, subsequently by his double digits—resulting in her pleasing sough between her dentition, "…How often do you have to upgrade it," he sank his nose including his mouth to inhale and exhale her smell, accepted through the laying open of her neck toward him.
"Often enough," she lamented with a gesture, "…It's like being plugged into an outlet."
"How often is that," he chuckled to the inside of her limb, palm settling in contact with his ridge, "…Every night?"
"Sometimes three in a row," she cleaned mane from her face just as he brushed his lips against her throat.
"How frustrating," he planted a kiss on her nape.
"I don't have to always have it," she grinned from ear to ear.
"Won't you get in trouble for missing out on every new tidbit of data that gets uploaded to the mainframe for distribution," he murmured throughout his attentiveness.
"I do know Universal," her arms crisscrossed below the bulge attributed to her breasts, "…and I can apply the linguistics I've learned in my classes."
"Any Rakhïk or Kahjic?"
"No…We don't really study that in the courses or the books."
"I'll teach you a few handy phrases if you'd be interested." His gaze together with his grin swung around, facing the tavern.
Eagerly, "…You have a room?"
"I have a suite, come on, you'll love it," he took hold of her palm and went back to the inn. They commenced into a race, sprinting as they maintained every intention to discover his language and patois—while undertaking a brisk frolic in the middle of his bed at the beach.

Syver: a drell spirit distilled from grass and berries, especially trusneey'k (a tall, slender-leaved reed) and vinotrauta (a climbing, trailing woody-stemmed plant) which are found on Rakhana.
Universal: a system of communication consisting of pre-approved marks, symbols/unique characters, and gestures, that was initially implemented by races throughout the Milky Way galaxy (typically between trade-engaged groups or individuals) to aid in the setup of commerce. A written, visual, and spoken medium, it does not require relay transformers — for which a surgical procedure is necessary for implantation. It is common for military as well as civilian colonists, merchants, and intermediaries that are stationed/settled/traveled beyond homeworld territories.

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