Dreaming Downtown

redfirelight — Fri, 08 Jul 2011 19:14:48 GMT

Comment here with a pairing, and any of these prompts, and I shall write you a drabble based on the prompt and pairing.

Feel free to pick multiple prompts, just don't double-up. If someone picked the one you wanted, sorry :( There's bound to be another one though!

Canon or RP pairings are awesome. So are shippy or platonic ones.

I like doing this, so whatever works! |D And yes, I probably will post them out of order, so there.

Fic: Hold

redfirelight — Thu, 23 Jun 2011 10:53:45 GMT

Title: Hold
Notes: Set in the end of ms_elegante , before the big battle with The End.
Warnings: Very strongly implied CLANG CLANG CLANG ~~robosex~~. Of the Ironhide/Ratchet variety.

(And here it is.)

redfirelight — Mon, 14 Mar 2011 19:17:32 GMT

I started toying around with my Optimus account yesterday, mostly because of my friends arguing something silly about Twilight -- and then me interjecting with "TEAM PETER", thank you Ro.

And now... I have a sudden desire to write more for that 'Verse. Like, little vignette type things again. So...

Is there anything anyone wants? |D

-- Info and stuff about this 'Verse

-- Other drabbles for this 'Verse

REQUEST SOMETHING I HAVE A WRITING BUG.

A BREAKTHROUGH??

redfirelight — Mon, 07 Jun 2010 01:54:36 GMT

Okay so.

As some/many of you know, I'm currently working on a novel project involving men kissing and skinwalkers. Unrelated events, but still. For some reason, I am absolutely fascinated with the whole skinwalker mythos. Partially because it's like the dark side of animal transfigurations. And partially because I love legends and shit like this. This isn't your typical "Man turns to wolf" story, this is evil. This is the stuff Native Americans don't talk about. The Fight Club of the supernatural world.

So of course, I think it's the neatest thing ever. And naturally the amount of information on the subject is minimal, because, according to what information there is, talking about skinwalkers, or yee naaldlooshii ("with it, he goes on all fours") in the Navajo tradition*, is extremely taboo. You don't talk about it. Especially to outsiders.

The book I do have on it, is Hunt for the Skinwalker: Science Confronts the Unexplained at a Remote Ranch in Utah. Stupidly long title, but, basically, it details the experiences of a rancher family in the Utinah Basin region of Utah.

Their experiences entail:

-- Sightings of two giant wolves
Their shoulders reportedly reached to the chest of a 6' man. One silver (sighted twice) and one black (noted for a grossly enlarged head). The silver wolf was, reportedly, shot at close range with both a magnum and a "thirty aught six" rifle used for elk hunting. Neither weapon managed to kill the animal. When tracking it after the original encounter, the animal's tracks simply stopped, as if it had vanished into thin air.

-- Cattle abductions, mutilations, and general harassment.
In one case, a cow vanished in the same manner as the wolf above. Several others were found with the hallmarks of general cattle mutilations. One, however, was discovered with a "brown, goo-like substance nearby, which began to evaporate under normal temperature conditions". In once instance, a calf was mutilated (dismembered, I think) while the ranchers stood not more than twenty feet away. No one heard or saw anything.

-- Strange lights and shapes in the sky.
Most of these centered around what witnesses felt was an "RV-shaped object" with headlights and a red "taillight". Whatever this thing was, it liked to bobble around the property, apparently observing things without actually damaging anything. Except for the family's psyche. There was, however, one instance in which it appeared "20 yards from the kitchen window". In this instance, the witness was able to see inside the "craft", and observed a sinister figure in black (~~not Lord Vader~~) watching her right back. Needless to say, the woman was disturbed.

-- Orbs. Yes, orbs.
According to reports, said orbs came in a variety of colors, and all danced around as if under "intelligent control". One such orb was blue, and while it wasn't Navi by any stretch of the imagination, it instilled a great amount of fear in witnesses, a fear which they later felt to be brought on them by an outside force--i.e. someone making them feel this way, instead of the witnesses being genuinely fearful. Although this changed when the same blue orb lured away and then incinerated three ranch dogs. Their remains were discovered as "charred and greasy smears with the lingering odor of burning hair". Orbs were also responsible for draining power from the home, and causing havoc among the cattle and horses.

-- A large, unidentified creature
This only happened once. A stranger came to the ranch with the intent to meditate on the property. When he began to do so, the ranchers observed something moving in the nearest clump of underbrush. They were unable to accurately describe the "creature", except that it was large, and the image of it, once it actually emerged from the brush, was blurred and difficult to see, even in broad daylight. Similar, they said, to the effect of the Predator in the movie of the same title. It emerged from the brush, and roared at the meditating man. Who promptly dissolved into complete hysteria and fled the property in a panic.

SO. What does all this have to do with my new theory?

The so-called UFO phenomena, lights, and cattle mutilations, are all connected to the skinwalker. In order to illuminate this, I present some of the known facts on said creatures. The information in italics is taken from the wiki page, here:

According to Navajo myth, the only way to successfully shoot a skinwalker is to dip bullets into white ash. Often people attempting to shoot a skinwalker find their weapon jamming or frozen. Other times the rounds fire but have no effect.
Skinwalkers possess the ability to get into their victims' heads. Legend has it, skinwalkers can have the power to read human thoughts. They also possess the ability to make any human or animal noise they choose.
Some Navajos describe them as a mutated version of the animal in question.
The skinwalkers are described as being fast, agile, and impossible to catch. Even flying...

In the case of the Chippewa, they have a similar legend, of bearwalkers, who are of the same sort of evil, cursing, breed as the skinwalker. These stories, in addition to cursing and bearskins, include sightings of, of all things, lights in the sky during attacks by the bearwalker.

My theory concludes that all of the bizarre phenomena encountered by the residents of "skinwalker ranch" were the result of the yee naaldlooshii, the witch or spirit of the witch, still cursing the land. It wanted the family gone. And so, it started to try and frighten them.

The wolves are obvious, as is the strange, large animal. The vanishing act the animals pull can be seen as part of the skinwalker's ability to fly away from danger, or otherwise escape the scene undetected.

The lights, were the next step, as the family was undeterred by the wolves. Same with the shapes. It would be relatively easy for a witch to get into their heads, and convince them they were seeing these things.

When this fails, it moves on to attacking cattle. What rancher doesn't worry about things happening to his/her cattle? Their livelihood? Or the animals protecting that livelihood? This is also where the brown substance mentioned earlier comes in. It's my belief that this was not an alien chemical, but an ectoplasm-like substance, created from the manifestation of something from the spirit world. It's usually clear, but there's been reports of it being brown as well. And what's a skinwalker, but a spiritual being of great power?

...

So that's what I did with my afternoon.

Thoughts?

*Or "Shagnasty" if your name is Harry Dresden.

redfirelight — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 01:21:56 GMT

Like the banner says, bitches.

Comment to be added. Maybe. If Prime decrees it.

Since apparently I can't go 24 hours without harassing my LJ.

redfirelight — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 07:14:17 GMT

Also because I'm way too proud of myself for this. Stupei made the code. And has seen this already. As has Ro.

BUT. ANYWAY.

NAME; Ironhide
CANON; TRANSFORMERS (movieverse)
JOURNAL; show_my_cannons (Axiom Canon)
heavyweaponsbot (Elegante Canon)
letme_rest (BadEnd AU)
A walking gun turret.

NAME; Sideswipe
CANON; TRANSFORMERS (movieverse)
JOURNAL; stabbywheelfeet (Canon)
weaponsparked (Human!form)
future_weapon (BadEnd AU)
unf_corvettes (Freak!Verse)
Damn, I'm good.

NAME; Soundwave
CANON; TRANSFORMERS (movieverse)
JOURNAL; inursatellites
tentacles_exe (Freak!Verse)
ALL HAIL MEGATRON.

NAME; Jetfire
CANON; Transformers (movieverse)
JOURNAL; behold_theglory
"This is how they brought the PAIN in my day!"

NAME; Seymour Simmons
CANON; TRANSFORMERS (movieverse)
JOURNAL; onemanaloooone
There are no words.

NAME; Garrus Vakarian
CANON; Mass Effect
JOURNAL; turian_honor
Boom! Headshot!

NAME; Tali'zorah vas Normandy
CANON; Mass Effect
JOURNAL; overload_this
Go in peace. Keelah Se'lai.

NAME; Vash the Stampede
CANON; Trigun
JOURNAL; mayflyhunter
Om nom love and peace!

NAME; Tulio
CANON; The Road to El Dorado
JOURNAL; rowbacktospain
It's tough to be a God.

NAME; Abe Sapien
CANON; Hellboy
JOURNAL; bprd_blue
We lead a charmed life.

NAME; Sarah Kerrigan, The Queen of Blades
CANON; StarCraft
JOURNAL; infestedqueen
I am the swarm.

NAME; Garrett
CANON; Thief
JOURNAL; is_the_stealth
Screw your morality.

NAME; Mewtwo
CANON; Pokemon
JOURNAL; mew_ver_ii
Emo-mon.

NAME; Draco
CANON; Dragonheart
JOURNAL; chewedindefense
I am a dragon :|

NAME; Alex Roivas
CANON; Eternal Darkness: Sanity's Requiem
JOURNAL; savior_backward
My house was built on an ancient city of evil. Seriously.

NAME; Midna
CANON; Twilight Princess
JOURNAL; ladyoftwili
Ehee~!

NAME; Cybil Bennett
CANON; Silent Hill (Movie)
JOURNAL; gditrose
I was three days from retirement

NAME; Hector Barbossa
CANON; Pirates of the Caribbean
JOURNAL; onlyguidelines
WHAT ARRRRRRR YA DOIN'?

NAME; Gimli
CANON; LoTR
JOURNAL; and_myaxe
I don't need no stinkin' box.

NAME; Cliffjumper
CANON; Transformers (Movie)
JOURNAL; allsparkguardrd
I have canon now!.

NAME; Saren Arterius
CANON; Mass Effect
JOURNAL; barefaceagent
I never kill without a reason... however, I can always find a reason.

NAME; LEGION
CANON; Mass Effect
JOURNAL; wearegeth
We are geth.

NAME; Sanya
CANON; The Dresden Files
JOURNAL; swordofhope
Atheist knight of God.

NAME; ~~ARNHAID~~ Ironhide
CANON; That weird IDW one where he's alone on Cybertron. Fck if I know.
JOURNAL; arnhaid
I kill bugs.

NAME; Gavin Voelker
CANON; Original
JOURNAL; gunsandhonor
Goddamn, I hate werewolves.

NAME; Jack Taylor
CANON; Original
JOURNAL; nicotine_iodine
I ain't no damn savior.

NAME; Aleksandra Fyodorevna
CANON; Original
JOURNAL; lil_ladylondon
Careful near fine ladies in dark black hoods.

NAME; Kara Makenna
CANON; Original
JOURNAL; salamandher
World's on fire, and it's more than I can bear.

NAME; Live-Wire
CANON; Original
JOURNAL; totallyurspawn
Only canon OC I think I've ever made.

NAME; "Optimus Prime"
CANON; Transformers
JOURNAL; notrobojesus (Freak!Verse)
Optimus the Super Spy!

NAME; Prowl
CANON; Transformers
JOURNAL; crimescenebot
YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

NAME; Samara
CANON; Mass Effect
JOURNAL; thejusti_code
Your morals are my morals. Your code is my code.

NAME; Commander Jane Shepard
CANON; Mass Effect
JOURNAL; i_shouldgo
"I should go."

NAME; Sideswipe
CANON; Transformers: War for Cybertron
JOURNAL; idkmybffairraid
I should sign my work!

NAME; Cho Hakkai
CANON; Saiyuki (Reload Manga)
JOURNAL; knowsvinewhip
MONOCLE SMILE

NAME; Zevran Arainai
CANON; Dragon Age: Origins
JOURNAL; mmmleather
"Ha! Let's see... When was the last time I slipped my hand into some dark hole? Hmmm... Long story, that."

NAME; Sunstreaker
CANON; Transformers: IDW (Pre-Headmaster)
JOURNAL; gditsideswipe
You're a bad-hearted boytrap baby, but you're so damn hot.

NAME; Anders
CANON; Dragon Age 2
JOURNAL; 3wayforjustice
Justice is never happy. Justice is hard.

NAME; Thor
CANON; THOR: The Movie
JOURNAL; mjollnirtime
MIGHTY THOR.

NAME; Aaron Harding
CANON; Original
JOURNAL; stillacaptain
I may have made this purely to use Ray Stevenson again.

NAME; Kenneth Ellinson
CANON; Original
JOURNAL; onceprotector
I play a lot of young male jerks

NAME; Owen S.
CANON; Original
JOURNAL; nalo_ahi
Distant cousin to a shark God. Giant derp.

NAME; Charles ~~fucking~~ Xavier
CANON; X-Men: FC
JOURNAL; knowsyourmind
Ceiling Charles is in your head, readin' your minds.

redfirelight — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 10:45:04 GMT

So... Thanksgiving was good. Second Thanksgiving was its usual writing mass of innuendos, terrible jokes involving subjects I shouldn't mention lest I inadvertently upset someone I like, and crazy ass food served up in all its leftover glory.

Regular Thanksgiving would have been wonderful had it not been for the sudden, abrupt medical bomb that was dropped upon me and my unsuspecting brother.

As luck would have it... my maternal grandfather recently has had a, and I quote, "series of strokes".

Plural. Strokes. Plural.

So that... put a damper on the evening.

I'm overreacting, I guess, as I do to most things. He's doing fine, aside from some memory loss and vision issues. Hell, my brother and I never noticed anything was out of the ordinary until it so casually came up over pie. And I guess I should take this as a testament to the fact that my grandfather is a badass, or... something. But God. It's scary.

I've been extraordinarily lucky in my life to have never lost a family member that wasn't a feline. I'm grateful for it. And the thought of losing one of them scares me, as I'm sure it does anyone.

I know I don't exactly have a right to complain or be upset. But I am. So... I'll just be selfish for a few minutes, and go under my desk.

Picspam

redfirelight — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 19:52:51 GMT

Not nearly as awesome as travelista 's picspam, because she's infinitely hotter and more awesome, but.

I dyed my hair recently, and people wanted to see. So... excuse the lack of photogenic-ness. I hate photos of myself so much.

BEFORE (just don't ask, really, this was when my contacts were acting up so badly):

~~AUGH MOUSY BROWN AND HORRIBLE OH GOD I'M SO PALE MY GLASSES MAKE ME LOOK LIKE A TOOL.~~

AFTER:

Not that much difference, but eh. I like it.

FLOP

redfirelight — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 02:55:52 GMT

Another con over with. *SOB* And another Firo/Aya leaving me. Taking her to the airport today was depressing as hell. And she forgot her little Graham standee DX

But overall, it was a good convention. Only two people under the age of thirty knew who I was--come on people Trigun isn't that old. But we delighted a lot of Asian tourists wandering the streets of downtown. Plus it was nice to be in a cosplay I could actually move in.

Took Aya to the Baccano! photoshoot, which was AMAZING. Two Issacs and Mirias. Two Firos--Aya's was the best. A Graham, who could fit her wrench into her jumpsuit, which was epic. A Jacuzzi, an Ennis, and a Ladd. One of the Issac and Mirias brought Baccano! bars for the cast XD I think Aya still has hers.

Let's see... Masquerade was fun. Had the Autobot symbol painted on my boobs for all to see. Actually managed to attract a lot of attractive male cosplayers. SCORE FOR ME. Except now my legs are in agony thanks to the heels. Scored an Altair, an Abel Nightroad, an Umbrella agent, and a couple guys just in suits and masks. Abel put on a fake English accent, which he did fairly well! I win.

Got... couple dollar Transformers comics, an Autobot pendant, chibi Abe Sapien, Hellboy, a Dark Horse comics bag, and a present for saffire_persian which I intend to oggle a big more before I send it off to her. Was tempted to run back and grab a little poster thing with Komui on it, but it had Kanda too, so I vetoed THAT idea.

Aaaaand... Oh yeah.

Placebo won Best Drama.

Good Con everyone.

redfirelight — Sun, 26 Jul 2009 06:02:28 GMT

Today's Retail Quote:

"Starscream gets to live with the toilet tissue, okay? I promise he won't eat it."
-Me

redfirelight — Sat, 23 May 2009 23:16:48 GMT

So, for Christmas, I received the entire G1 series of Transformers. You know, the horrible, plot-hole ridden 80's series with the glorious voice talents of Peter Cullen and Frank Welker. Where Starscream constantly undermines Megatron's authority, and Megatron is just badass enough to disregard him each and every time... yet still come out making Starscream look like an idiot.

But when I put the first DVD in today, I came to a horrible realization.

The entire thing... was in... CHINESE.

Of all the languages, it had to be in CHINESE. Japanese, I could have gotten by. Chinese, I have no bloody clue WTF anyone is even remotely saying.

I was about ready to cry, but my Roommate saved the day with the Audio option on my DVD player. I think I need to like, bake her a cake or something. Now I can enjoy all my beloved robots before the 80's movie killed them off.

sdfdskj Ironhide was such a hick XD A gun-toting hick. God I ♥ him so hard.

fdshfkjadsf

TWO HOURS UNTIL NIN.

Adventures On The Citadel: Head Shot

redfirelight — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 21:17:45 GMT

“And what’s that?”

“Public extranet terminal.”

“Did you see—”

“They’re called elcor, Allen, you saw one yesterday. Don’t stare, he’s an ambassador.”

“How do you tell them apart…?”

“Ambassadors all have the same ‘I’m important’ look. It’s universal. Come on, keep up. We’ve got an appointment.”

To emphasize that statement, he set a hand on the boy’s shoulder, propelling him with a practiced ease through the milling throngs of the Wards. Much to everyone’s relief the Council had called a recess, enabling both officers and refugees to finally have a day to where their brains weren’t constantly being taxed for solutions and upset by memories. Ordinarily, that would have entailed him wandering up to the docking ring, and slipping off to the Normandy’s engineering bay to fix the stabilizers on the damned mako once and for all. Probably with Tali hanging over his shoulder, absorbing everything and adding her opinion exactly where he did not want it.

However, today the curious quarian’s attention was fully on a man called Tony Stark, one of the many refugees who had thrown in with Shepard and managed to escape. There’d been no prying them apart after their discovery of a mutual love of all things mechanical and technological. Chances were Stark had charmed—or bullied--his way into one of the machine shops, with Tali ever-present, and they wouldn’t be seen until well into the next Council meeting.

Alenko had promised Shepard some much needed downtime, and it was better for all involved if he kept his mind off of what those two were up to. He had no idea where Wrex and Liara had gotten to—though he’d seen the asari speaking with Mustang earlier. Chances were the Colonel was as taken with the young doctor as most human, and turian, men seemed to be. If he saw the other man again, he’d have to wish him luck. As it turned out, he and Liara had similar fixations as far as their nonexistent love lives were concerned.

As for himself…

He was busy hauling a half-grown boy around the Wards on a mission of sorts. You would think that a full two weeks on the Citadel would be enough to accustom people to the level of technology, and the denizens. Apparently no one had informed Walker of this assumption. Every few minutes, he had to tighten his grip on the boy’s shoulder to keep them moving, or avert his eyes from a particularly… embarrassing advertisement he’d never bothered to notice before. At this rate, they were never going to make their appointment, and, special circumstances or not, they couldn’t miss it.

“Garrus? Where are we going anyway?” Walker finally asked, after he’d hauled his attention away from a rapid transit landing of all things.

“Meeting an old friend,” was all he had time to say before he had to coax Walker that no, the escalator was not going to hurt him.

Marching through the all-too familiar doors of the C-Sec academy was a lot easier than he’d thought it would be. There weren’t a whole lot of faces he had to avoid now. The attack on the Citadel had seen to that. But the layout, right down to the pair of salarians on guard duty beside the doors, hadn’t changed a bit. He felt Walker move closer to him as they entered, probably a bit uneasy with all the hardware the officers carried. It was one thing to move through a crowd of alien civilians, and another thing entirely to be surrounded by those who were trained in the use of deadly force—and who carried the right weaponry to carry out said force. Hardly noticing the ebb and flow of so many busy men and women, he headed unerringly for the lower parts of the sprawling complex, checking his stride so Walker could keep up.

The more floors they went down, the quieter it got. Odd—he’d have thought there would be more recruits and officers down here, getting in some practice. It was probably for the better though, he reflected, turning down familiar corridors. He didn’t want to scare Walker too badly. Stopping outside a pair of double doors, he motioned Walker in first.

“Where are we?” the boy asked, cautiously edging forward.

“C-Sec ranged weapons training, boy,” said a new voice, inside the room. “What are you doing in here? Looking for a job?”

Startled, Walker whirled around, just in time to see the doors hiss open automatically, revealing the neat rows of what looked for all the world like cubicles inside, as well as a uniformed turian officer. The officer regarded the boy coolly, arms folded, before his mandibles worked into a much more friendly expression. Walker visibly relaxed, although his face showed much more irritation than it did relief.

“Still like scaring kids, Chellick?”

Now the officer’s expression schooled. “Still watching out for the helpless humans, Vakarian?”

Moving to stand reassuringly behind Walker, he retorted, “Well, someone has to.”

“Maybe it should be someone who’s got two good legs.”

“Says the blind man.”

Chellick broke character first, smirking again and holding out a hand. “What took you so long?” he asked. His good eye gleamed wickedly in the overhead lights, while the other had a much duller sheen. Their color didn’t even match anymore. One was brighter than the other by far—the price Chellick had paid for surviving the Citadel attack. “You’ve been back over a week and you’re just now making the rounds?”

“It’s been a busy few weeks…” Garrus answered, shaking the offered hand gladly. “They finally let us out. Thought I’d drop by and blow off some smoke.”

The other turian rolled his eyes pointedly. “Even I know that one—‘steam’. Not smoke.”

Mandibles flared, Garrus pointedly ignored the correction, instead calling attention to the overlooked human. “I told you about this already on the message,” he said awkwardly. “But, anyway, this is him. Allen Walker. One of the refugees I worked with. I’ve been named his guard while he’s here. Allen, Detective Chellick.”

“We worked together,” Chellick said, now moving to shake the boy’s hesitant hand—and thankfully overlooking any and all oddity thereof. Though he did shoot Garrus an inquisitive glance. To which the younger turian just shook his head slightly.

“Nice to meet you,” Walker murmured, obviously wondering just why he was being brought here of all places.

“I heard you showed some impressive skills back there,” Chellick continued, moving towards one of the cubicles. “So…” he added slyly, glancing over his shoulder at them. “Come to see what your friend here can do when he’s not playing Executor to a bunch of lab rats?”

“Actually,” Garrus cut in. “I wanted to see what he could do… I--”

The detective snorted. “You’ve been out of practice too long, Vakarian. Off-force or no, it’d be a waste to let skills like yours rot.” He removed a weapon from an otherwise unseen rack and tossed it to his former co-worker. “C’mon, Walker, I’ll take you to the good seats while Captain Headshot gets himself set up.”

Walker stared, hopelessly confused. He looked between the two turians before finally settling on the more familiar of the pair. “What’s going on here, Garrus?”

Busy with the weapon, Garrus didn’t look at him when he replied. “I was going to teach you how to shoot—like I promised, for the poker game,” he said. His mandibles flicked when Walker sheepishly looked away, but didn’t comment. “But apparently the detective has another idea…” He trailed off, staring at the rifle that now sat unfolded in his hands. Even though it was just a training tool, he couldn’t keep down the familiar thrill of excitement that came from holding a real weapon. And damn, did it feel good.

“Go on,” he advised Walker, giving him a careful shove in the right direction. “Chellick’s bound to have some good lines up there in the booth. I won’t be long.”

Slinging the sniper rifle over his shoulder, he headed for the nearest cubicle. It was intimately familiar. He’d been there so many times before, he could have drawn a schematic for the place in his sleep. Moving to the center of the room, he smartly snapped the rifle up into position, letting the targeting systems take over one eye, while he sighted along the scope with the other. It wasn’t long before the room disappeared, and he crouched atop a building on some unidentified planet. He was briefly thrown, trying to figure out just where the hell he was.

“Commander Shepard mentioned you wanted a look at Earth,” said Chellick over his com-link. The detective sounded smug.

“Thoughtful,” was all he said in response.

The target’s image flickered over his eyepiece, and the device lit up, scanning every face that meandered down the narrow streets below. Thankfully, Chellick had enough tact to program in nonhuman targets. Neither of them thought Walker should see his reluctant guardian unloading rounds into the heads of holographic humans, apparently. Locating the target—a salarian holding a few hostages in some kind of vehicle—he turned all of his attention to the scope, settling himself on the “edge” of the “building”, barrel pointed slightly downwards, tracking the target’s erratic motions. Only a block away. Not the furthest shot he’d ever made, but not the easiest either, with the wind and milling civilians. He lined up, aiming for the space between the salarian’s horns, where the shot would cause the most damage.

Still, he didn’t fire. The hostages were jostling the vehicle too much for all but the steadiest hand. He waited, purposefully taking deep, even breaths, feeling the slowing of his heart rate. Even the smallest of twitches could knock the angle off. And those people couldn’t afford that. Everything but the view inside the circle of the scope faded. For the first time in weeks, his head was clear, mind not thinking of anything, except the moment he was clear to fire.

In the space between breaths, between heartbeats, the salarian moved his head clear. Not hesitating, Garrus squeezed the trigger. Bracing himself against the kickback, he didn’t budge until he saw the target’s head erupt in gore, and the body slump to the ground, lifeless.

“Neat as ever, Vakarian,” said Chellick, approvingly. “I’d have waited until he was clear of the transport, though…”

“Just give me another.”

They ran through several more drills, each taking less time than the last—save for the krogan warlord, who had to have the regular rounds swapped out for a fast-acting nerve agent, due to the situation. And when he dragged himself out of the cubicle, pleasantly fatigued, he was shocked to see how much time had gone by. It was a lot later than he’d expected. Still, he’d promised the boy he’d teach him something today.

“I’m sorry that took so long…” he said, addressing both the detective and Walker as they approached.

The boy looked a little… uneasy, and Garrus mentally cursed for letting himself get so carried away. This wasn’t a side to him he’d really wanted Walker to see—the cold, calculating officer who did what he had to in order to get the job done. Sure, he accepted it, embraced it even at times, and was surrounded by people who understood and did the same. Walker wasn’t one of them. He’d have thought Chellick had more sense than to let the civilians see the dirtier side of the job. Then again, Chellick was also the one using a waitress as an informant for Chora’s Den of all places.

Before he could say anything, or apologize further, the boy looked up at him, breaking into a smile. “You’re good,” he said. “I… those targets were… pretty far away.”

Mandibles working, he glanced at Chellick, who just shrugged, swapping the rifle for a pistol. “You didn’t input the video feed?” he asked.

“What video feed?” the detective shot back, smirking knowingly. Before any further accusations could be made, he’d changed the subject. “Your boy still interested in getting some training in before I have to close up?”

Much to their surprise, before either of them could ask again, a human hand closed around the grip of the pistol. Both men looked down, and Garrus noted with smug satisfaction the brief look of surprise on Chellick’s face when he met Walker’s eyes. The boy wore a look he was all too familiar with—one that said he was doing this, and you would have to be crazy to try and stop him.

“I am.”

So, back into the cubicle they went. Chellick stayed out, as before, going back up to the programming station. A short time later, the regular walls were replaced by a long, rectangular hallway that caused Walker to start, gawking at the change. Garrus didn’t even notice. He handed Walker the protective ear-wear, and, once the boy was properly prepared, moved closer to set him up.

“Both hands,” he advised, watching carefully. “It’s got a kick, small as it is. Brace yourself with your feet. Sight along the barrel. Just like that—no, up more.”

“Like this?” Walker asked, holding the weapon gingerly, almost limply, in hand.

“No, here.” He stepped behind the boy, reaching around to position his hands on the grip. His talons were long since clipped, and he had no reason to hesitate in putting his hands over his charge’s. “Right like this. Hold onto it. It’s not going to hurt. Now plant your feet. Sight…”

The target rose into view, nothing more than concentric circles projected into the air.

“And squeeze the trigger.”

Predictably, Walker hadn’t braced enough, and would have staggered backwards, had Garrus not been standing behind him. The target lit up, indicating the shot had hit the mark, near the center. He stared, mandibles working. “Good shot,” he said. “Very good shot.” Looking down at Walker, the stunned expression turned into one that was far more… well… gleeful. “Ready to try another?”

Craning his head upwards, Walker met his gaze, nodding. “Okay.” He didn’t look unhappy with the results either, not really. But there was still some hesitance there.

That hesitance didn’t stick around long. They ran through the basic drills, with Garrus gradually backing off his assistance, until Walker was firing on his own. He couldn’t help but feel some amount of pride when the boy pegged a target square in the center for the first time, and then several more.

“Kid’s good.”

Knowing Chellick could probably see them on the monitors, Garrus just nodded, not wanting to throw off Walker’s concentration.

“Then again… You said he was something like a soldier didn’t you? Against something like geth?” The pause that followed that thoughtful question suddenly made the younger turian uneasy. “I’m not surprised he’s good. Think he’s ever fired a weapon before?”

He shook his head, stepping in to correct his charge’s stance—Walker was pulling his shoulders up too far again. To his knowledge, Walker had never mentioned using firearms against the things he fought. Something about the boy’s hand.

“Now you’ve got me wondering, Vakarian….”

Confused, he cupped a hand over the com-link, wondering if he hadn’t caught all that. A startled yelp drew his attention back to the boy, to where the harmless target had suddenly become an awfully familiar shape, right down to the mechanical chattering of a language from an inorganic larynx.

Metal gleaming in the light, the geth moved smoothly towards them, powerful limbs clutching what had to be an assault rifle. The light in its head did not waver from its focus—Walker—as it marched, its steps far too even for anything natural. Synthetic muscles, nothing more than bunches and clusters of cabling, rippled fluidly beneath too-shiny skin. Garrus instinctively went for his own assault rifle, only to belatedly remember that this was no real threat—this was a simulation.

But Walker didn’t know that. He tore his gaze away from the synthetic, focusing on the boy, who had seemingly frozen in the face of the new danger. At this angle, Garrus couldn’t see his face, just the sudden tension in the boy’s body. “Fire!” he ordered. “Calm down, breathe, and fire—”

The snap of the pistol went off before he finished. His head whipped around, attempting to follow the flight of the slug as it tore into the geth’s slender throat, ripping through vital cables and circuits. Pale, gleaming fluid bubbled out, coolants probably, and the creature toppled with a metallic whine. It hit the ground about the same time the pistol did.

“What the hell, Chellick?” Garrus snarled into the com-link. “A geth! What were you thinking!”

Abruptly, he shut off the link, putting a steadying hand on Walker’s shoulder, just in case the boy was going to faint. This wasn’t how he’d wanted this adventure to go. Not by a long shot. He pried the boy out of the cubicle, heading for the door without another word to the detective. They didn’t stop moving until they reached the elevator—Walker in numb silence, and he in anger.

“Are you all right?” he asked, once the elevator doors slid closed behind them. The boy’s head was bowed, and he leaned against the wall, his shoulders hunched. “I’m sorry about that, really. I didn’t think Chellick would be that stupid. He should have known not to push you.”

When that failed to illicit a response beyond a wordless nod, Garrus awkwardly forged ahead, folding his arms over his chest. “I don’t know what I was thinking, taking you there,” he admitted. “I guess… I don’t know.”

“You told me… you were doing that when you were my age too.”

Blinking dumbly, he nodded. “Yeah… Basic training at fifteen. That’s our majority.”

He was surprised when the boy looked up, finally, giving him a vague smile. “I know what you were thinking, Garrus,” Walker said. “Thank you.”

Still mildly confused, he only nodded, crossing the elevator to stand beside the boy. “Glad one of us does,” he said mildly. “You’re a damn good shot, you know?”

“Next time… I’ll do better.”

Next time? Stifling a laugh, he rested a hand on Walker’s head, protectively. “I believe that,” he answered. “I honestly do.”

</div>

Adventutes On the Citadel -- Debrief, Detox

redfirelight — Wed, 11 Jun 2008 09:37:53 GMT

Mwah~! *wanders off to pass out too*

And I thought the debriefing after Saren was intense…

He slouched against the side of the elevator, watching the Wards go by. His brain was really too fried for anything other than just gawking out at the Citadel. Even after a week being back, he still couldn’t believe they’d made it. And alive at that. There was a time when he’d put money on all of them showing up in body bags. He didn’t know how they’d done it, and right now, he just wanted to stop thinking about it, go back to the little hole in the wall he’d been rented care of the Council, and pass out for a few hours before being summoned back for yet another debrief session.

And if he were this tired, he didn’t want to think about how bad Shepard had it. He hadn’t seen her since their abrupt return. Except maybe that was for the best. It gave him a chance to sort though everything before he had to face her again. The others had been easier. Hell, even Alenko had been simple compared to facing Shepard again. After all, they hadn’t done anything to betray his trust.

The elevator pinged, and he stepped off into the ever-present throng of the Wards foot traffic. Turians, salarians, volus, asari… even a few huge krogan stalked down the streets, mingling with the handful of humans. It was nice to finally be invisible again—to be the norm, instead of the thing that everyone stared at. And to not have to worry over whether what you were eating was going to kill you.

Ducking past a pair of conversing asari, he wondered idly how the other refugees—as they were officially being called—were taking the change of scenery. At least nothing here was trying to kill them. And some of them, he thought, smirking, were probably having the time of their lives.

The Council had set up quarters, appropriating a hotel up in the Presidium, until a way home could be found for them. Each had a C-sec officer assigned to them for personal safety, and they were kept as closely watched as they had been back… there, except by much friendlier eyes. In the meantime, they, himself included, were being subjected to endless rounds of meetings while virtually every higher-up in Citadel Space tried to figure out just what the hell happened to them all, and how they could keep it from happening again. Even though the Reapers were a persistent threat, an enemy that could pluck people at random out of otherwise secure locations was something far more immediate. Spectres had been called in, the Normandy effectively grounded… it was as close to a galactic crisis as the Geth War had been.

One last elevator, and then he could collapse. He stopped in front of his building, giving his name and typing in his passcode. It was a fairly nondescript place, nothing fancy or distinguishing about it. Just the way he preferred it. By all rights, he could have been up with the others, enjoying the comforts of the Presidium. But he was much more comfortable down here, where he’d lived and worked. And besides, as terrible as it sounded, spending time around the other “refugees” did nothing to shake the dust of that place from his boots. He’d see them shortly anyway—he’d promised to take Ennis and Firo to Flux tomorrow.

Despite this elevator bearing no resemblance to the ones he’d come to loathe, it was still a task to convince himself to get into the thing. He probably could have taken the stairs, but he really didn’t feel up to tackling that at the moment. It’s not going to kill me, it’s not going to kill me… he thought as it slowly inched its way up the floors. And it was with no small relief to slip out of the doors once it reached the fifth. Giving his passcode again at his door, he finally was able to just shut out the world, and lean against the wall with a quiet sigh.

It was a small setup, built for one occupant with a single bedroom, but was just large enough to remind him less of there and more of life before anything had changed. He couldn’t have asked for anything more.

“You look like something the dog dragged in.”

The voice brought an exhausted chuckle. Pulling off his boots, he turned to face the speaker—a man in casual dress, reclined lazily on the little couch, absently thumbing through vid channels. “I’m going to assume that’s not a compliment,” he said, resting a shoulder against the wall for support while they spoke. He was distantly surprised not to hear the dull thunk of armor—and then never more grateful for civvies. “But I can never tell with you people.”

“You’re right on this one, it’s not.” His visitor flipped off the screen, sitting up to better regard him. “But I thought it’d be better than, ‘welcome back, you look like hell’.”

He just shrugged. “You’ve seen me look worse, Lieutenant.”

Getting to his feet, Alenko grinned. “Yeah, I probably have, haven’t I?” Self-consciously, he brushed off his pants. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair—stop bothering you,” he said, clarifying out of long habit. “Shepard probably looks about the same, if the Council’s been riding you this hard.”

Another rueful laugh. He couldn’t manage much else at the moment. "She’s not exactly in one of her better moods, no,” he admitted, standing aside so the other man could get out the narrow entry. “And… Thanks, Lieutenant."

"For what?” Alenko halted, turning around to better question him, his handsome face screwed up in confusion. It quickly cleared. “Oh, watching him? Hey, no problem, I like kids anyway."

"He's not really a kid...” His turn to hesitate, trying to figure out how to phrase this without coming across like some kind of worried parent. Which, his brain reminded him, was pretty much what he was at this point. “How did it go?"

If Alenko had picked up on his tone, he didn’t comment on it. Just grinned wider, folding his arms. "Couldn't keep him away from the vids,” he said. “But, aside from that, just fine.” One of his eyebrows quirked. “How'd you keep him fed back... there... by the way? Just about inhaled everything I brought with me."

"Hopefully not everything."

"Nah, I saved a beer or two of yours." Alenko paused, his usual smile disappearing. Dark eyes regarded his bright ones. "You're avoiding my question, Garrus," he said, quietly, as if worried they’d be overheard.

He looked away, studying the floor by his friend’s boot. Best to be truthful. Alenko knew him too well to be fooled. And could, apparently, read turian facial expression as well as Shepard could. "I know. I guess...” He took another deep breath. “I'm not as comfortable with any of this just yet. Rattles me to think about it. Especially after the Council’s been doing the same thing all day…"

"Don’t worry about it."

Unexpectedly, the biotic lieutenant set a hand on his shoulder, all understanding. Blunt human fingers squeezed reassuringly into turian hide. "We're all just glad to see you guys back in one piece,” Alenko said, then trailed off, smirking. “Except..."

He tilted his head, deciding to bite. "Except what?"

"Well, I never figured you for a father, Garrus."

He shoved at the human, who only laughed. "Get the hell out of my apartment, Lieutenant," he said, unable to keep his voice stern.

Alenko's good humor was infectious, one of many reasons he liked the man—and why it was damn good to see him again. It was also why he’d asked Alenko to come spare him guard duties. There were officers stationed in each adjoining apartment, all with surveillance equipment, but he hadn’t been comfortable just leaving the boy alone in the apartment all day. A couple of the other crew members had offered, but Alenko was, in his opinion, the best choice. Tali would have just confused him, and Wrex… hell, Wrex might have eaten him. Not that Wrex had offered. The krogan was too busy doing what he did best, playing the big intimidator for some of the more easily harmed refugees—and offering his services as a merc to the more… illegally inclined.

They managed a bit more back-and-forth, it was comfortable, easy conversation, before Alenko finally left. He managed to force his alien friend into promising a return visit, this time to where the Normandy was berthed. The crew still preferred meeting there to anywhere else on the Citadel. It was more familiar, like some kind of home base, to them all. It had been the first place he’d gone to—Shepard too—and, unsurprisingly, it was where they’d been ambushed by the crew. Tali had hit him. Wrex had too, but with much less emotion behind the smack. Liara had been bawling… but that wasn’t unexpected, given that the asari doctor took every opportunity to cry, it seemed.

Despite his exhaustion, the promise of some alcohol-induced relaxation sounded incredibly good right about now. Otherwise, he sincerely doubted he was going to get to sleep, fatigue or no. He paused in the alcove of a kitchen, grabbing the appropriate bottle, before making his way back into the little bedroom. His charge was nowhere else to be seen, so he had to assume the boy was in the other room.

Sure enough, there he was, familiar white head bowed over the computer screen. He didn’t seem aware that anyone else was in the room. With a sigh, Garrus flopped down on the bed, examining the ceiling while he fumbled with the cap on the bottle in his hand. “If you’re on the extranet,” he mumbled, pulling a pillow over his face. “Get off. And if Alenko let you use it, remind me to kill him.”

“Garrus, you have to see this!”

“Allen, it’s a computer, I see them every day—I’m not getting up…”

He heard the chair turn around. “No, I’m serious. This is amazing!”

Inwardly cursing everything he could think of, he dragged himself into a sitting position, taking a drink as he did so. He nearly choked on it when he saw what exactly had attracted the boy’s attention. “That,” he coughed, jaw cracking in an exhausted grin. “That’s a screen saver… How long have you been looking at that?”

The boy grinned back, only he had the presence of mind to look sheepish about it. “Since Mr. Alenko showed it to me,” he admitted.

“You’re going to burn your eyes out at this rate…”

He didn’t see the glare Walker shot him. He’d already collapsed back down, forgoing the pillow over his head in favor of the drink in hand. Despite the familiar numbing spread of the alcohol, there were tensed, coiled places in his brain that just wouldn’t settle down. And who the hell had turned on the AC in here?

“No, I’m not,” Walker huffed, indignant.

“Sure,” he chuckled, trying to settle deeper into the neatly made sheets. “Alenko told me you’d been watching vids since I left. I’m surprised you still have retinas left.”

The chair squeaked again, probably the boy leaning back in it, or shifting his weight around. “There’s isn’t much else I can do,” Walker protested. “You’re in meetings all day, and I can’t go anywhere without being guarded—”

“You don’t like the lieutenant?” Garrus asked, cutting him off.

“It’s not that… It’s like… back there. I just feel like there’s more I could be doing.”

He sighed, flicking off his eyepiece with a free hand. It wasn’t the right time for this conversation. Walker’s testimonies had been taken already, and since he wasn’t registered personnel by the Council standards, they’d dismissed him. Salarian medical officers had been incredibly intrigued by his arm and eye, but intervention on his and Shepard’s parts had kept the boy from the endless rounds of testing that were inevitable with salarian scientists. Somehow, both of them had doubted Walker would appreciate being treated like a lab animal again.

Consequently, Walker, and most of the other refugees were getting impatient with the overall lack of action on the part of the Council. Not that Garrus was one to criticize their view of the bureaucratic debates. As glad as they were to be out of there—they wanted to go home. Which, at this point, didn’t seem exactly doable. He and Shepard had grabbed as many people as they could and just… gotten the hell out of there. It was just pure dumb luck they’d ended up on the Citadel.

“I’m sorry,” he said, after a moment. “There’s just… The Council’s trying. And trust me—acting instead of just talking is new for them. But they’ll listen to Shepard. The last time they didn’t, they nearly died.” Propping his head up on a pillow, he regarded Walker across the room, resting his chin on his chest. “We’re doing everything we can.”

Walker nodded, smiling absently. “I know you are, but…” He trailed off, looking away, back towards the glowing screen.

“We’ll get you home.”

Both of them were quiet another minute, turning over the words in their own heads. The silence was companionable, instead of cloying, as it had been such a short time ago. Such so that Garrus found himself drifting off, despite the chill in the air that he’d grown accustomed to by now. He should really pick himself up and eat something, make sure Walker did to, but he had a whole ten hours to do that. Still, it was his duty to take care of the boy…

Something thick was tossed over the top of him, and both the bottle and eyepiece were gently pried out of his hands. He cracked an eye open briefly to determine it was in fact one of the spare blankets. A glance over to the bedside table showed the location of his missing items. And a familiar, black-clothed shape was slowly closing the door behind it.

Great, now I’m the one getting put to bed…

His last conscious thought, before he rolled over and passed out for good, was a brief wondering as to whether Walker would enjoy learning how to shoot a gun. After all, he was fifteen—an adult by any turian’s standard. And adults could look after themselves.