#alphaofomega

@alpha-of-omega

Continued from here:

Aria comes awake moving fast at the sound of the cry, pale blue eyes glinting in the glow of biotics crackling along her arms. Then she relaxes as she registers the silent dimness around her, the warmth of Morgana lying at her side, the soft tug at the blanket across her legs.

“Rhiannon,” she says, her breathing slowing as she leans down to pick up her daughter and set her on the bed. “What is it?”

The sniffling sets in as she lifted off the floor and away from the demons of darkness she believes are following her. In her mother’s presence, Rhiannon is comforted immediately, but she wastes little time by burrowing herself further into Aria’s side, peering up at her with eyes that shimmer with unshed tears.

“I had a scary dream!” she whimpers. “A giant monster was in my room, so Bubba and me ran away!”

Small hands present “Bubba” to Aria, almost shoving it into her face with her urgency.

He was a stuffed toy varren, roughly half as big as Rhiannon with the animal’s trademark gaping maw and over-sized eyes. Bubba had been with the little girl for almost as long as she had been alive--a gift from one of the guards. He was her constant companion. Wherever she trekked off for one of her adventures of fantasy and make-believe, Bubba was there, dragged along the floor by a tail or paw as Rhiannon toddled off through the penthouse.

As such, Bubba had obviously seen better days appearance-wise. Once upon a time, he might have been a solid purple in color, but he bore the mark of several colored patches where her father had tried to mend him. After one incident where Rhiannon had accidentally caught Bubba through a door, Morgana had looked at the stuffed toy gravely and confessed that perhaps it was time to replace him.

That had earned the human woman the utmost look of horror before wailing erupted throughout the entire penthouse, completely startling and bewildering her father, who began trying to console her immediately. It was to no avail, and heartbroken Rhiannon sobbed for nearly the entire hour it took for her mother to arrive home, greeted to a most humorous sight of her lover desperately rocking their crying child, her eyes--normally so cool and calm--practically screaming, “Help!”

The observation lounge was empty by the time Morgana arrived to spend her off-duty hours there. From the portable stove and bag of ingredients in her hands, it also seemed to be the place where she would be eating dinner. She wanted a better view than what the Omega skyline could offer from her apartment, and the endless sea of stars beyond the impressive floor-to-ceiling windows simply couldn’t be beaten.

As Morgana began setting everything up, she noted how almost... disconcerting... the space was. Though there was nothing she could see within Omega’s immediate boundaries, she knew all too well the war being waged elsewhere in the galaxy, and curiously, she wondered how Shepard had fared in getting the other races involved.

A small unconscious huff of derision escaped Morgana then.

Petra Shepard wasn’t a woman known for her interpersonal skills. It wasn’t necessarily a mark against her prowess to accomplish whatever she chose; Morgana often found solitude to be a constant companion after all. There was no doubt the soldier was impressive, one of the best the Alliance had ever produced perhaps.

...but as a leader--one somehow tasked with the considerable burden of uniting and leading the Council races against the Reapers--Shepard didn’t have the gift of dealing with others. She lacked the charisma needed to inspire loyalty and instill hope; both were desperately needed if she had any plans of convincing anyone to follow her into hell itself.

As such, though Morgana had spent time in the soldier’s company in order to combat the Collector menace, and had even been saved by her, the empath had never truly warmed to her. She left the Normandy as soon as she was able, and when they were reunited again over half a year later when Shepard helped Aria liberate Omega from Cerberus, she had declined joining the Spectre in her latest bid to save the galaxy.

Morgana had no intention of leaving Aria’s side again.

She hadn’t heard of Shepard again after that. Communication from beyond the station had been scarce as the months wore on, a testament to the Reapers’ abilities to devastate anything that stood in their path. The wheels of fate were ever turning, however; whether it was for the better couldn’t readily be said.

It was enough for Omega’s usually hardened citizens to grow nervous. While patrons still flocked to Afterlife, desperate for any illusion of normality, some had taken to causing fights at the drop of a hat. Nothing that Aria’s extensive guard corps couldn’t handle, of course, but Morgana did wonder how long this “peace” would last.

The elevator doors opened behind her, and given there was usually only one individual who ever joined her in the lounge during her private off-duty hours, Morgana found herself smiling without much prompting.

alpha-of-omega

It was quiet as the elevator doors opened onto Omega’s observation deck--unsurprising given how very few knew of it. In fact, Morgana was only aware of the location courtesy of Aria, whom had quietly informed her one evening--seemingly ages ago--of the deck situated at the very top of the station, one that offered the grandest view over the great void of space.

Prior to her long recovery, the human woman often found herself there a few times over the course of a long work week, seeking the solitude it offered her. Nowadays, it seemed almost a rare occasion; she tired more easily. Though months had passed since her near fatal encounter with the raiders foolish enough to tamper with Aria’s shipments, they had left their mark on Morgana. Granted, used to drawing little attention to herself as part of her everyday cover, none would have suspected she still suffered from her injuries, but the tells were there, obvious to those whom knew her well, but such individuals were of a very select few.

Grace came to the empath as easily as breathing, but to the trained eye, her gait was far stiffer, seemingly favoring her left leg more whenever she walked. There was a tightness around the pale, Kohl-rimmed gaze that hadn’t been there prior to the raider incident, speaking of quiet exhaustion and perhaps even minor pain. It was understandable given how an infection during her post-rescue had made an absolute mess of her lungs, taking from Morgana more energy than she could some days more often than not. Anyone within close proximity to her--an intimacy she did not allow for just anyone--would have been able to hear her rasped breathing along with the roughened undertones of illness in a voice otherwise eloquent.

It was a combination of those doctors that led her doctors into restricting her workload. While she recovered, they had recommended to Aria that she was best working away from the constant activity that normally suffused Afterlife, and so she was relegated to spending a few short hours each day helping Aria’s teams sort through intel.

It wasn’t exciting by any stretch of the imagination, but it was the only alternative she had other than spending the rest of the day confined to the walls of her room.

...And it left her away from Aria well enough.

The British woman’s meeting with Shepard some months prior had helped her slowly come to terms with her relationship with Omega’s queen. Nothing good could come of it now--not when Aria had made vividly clear her stance--and rather than burden the other woman with her feelings, Morgana resolved to simply bury them.

Love had no place on Omega. 

Her continual work behind the scenes of Afterlife and her distance from Aria made it easier to slip into the role of simple professionalism. She had little interaction with the older woman unless it was to give a daily report. Otherwise, Morgana offered nothing.

Do not bother Aria. Do not ask her of anything. Do the job she chose you for, had become her mantra over the last few weeks. If she hoped to keep any measure of her sanity rather than succumb to longing, it had to be done, and so Morgana hid herself behind the cool walls of apathy, not unlike those beginning months when she had first come under Aria’s employ.

If Aria desired only that strict line between employer and employee, then Morgana would deny her nothing, for though she loved her, she knew that the other woman was under no obligation to return her feeling nor entertain them.

But as Morgana moved to the closest window of the observation deck--the reinforced pane extending from floor to ceiling--and gingerly sat down upon the cool metal ground, she could not help but think upon her conversation with Shepard. Morgana had imparted how death was more a constant companion than any acquaintance of happiness in her life. At the very core of her, she desired more, but she didn’t know if she could live without some measure of darkness in her life. She had known it for so long after all, but she supposed she owed it to herself and--to an extent--Shepard to find out. However, if she sought to find the answer, that begged another question that had haunted her thoughts more often than not these days:

Aria’s guards were a bit startled at the sight of the woman who had approached the stairs. She looked like some sort of mix between a human and an asari; she had blue skin, but she also had long, black hair that was tied back in a braid. A stripe of silver that didn’t appear to be from age ran from near her bangs, and down through the braid. She stood with her hands clasped behind her back, feet shoulder width apart in a very military-esque stance.

No…although that was a very interesting set of encounters. [distant look] (( :P ))

Liselle’s head is cocked as she listens. This is probably the most she’s heard about her father, even after having weaselled some meagre information out of Aryna decades ago. But hearing it from her trainer--who had an outsider’s view of everything--is much different than hearing it from her mother.