#but lightly

Post-war crew portrait.

++

No one wanted to be there, least of all Shepard, but it was a rare occasion where everyone was in one place again, and the air in the room reflected it. The artist was becoming panicked at how loosely the majority of the crew seemed to interpret her appointment time: Garrus was more than twenty minutes later, and entered impassive to his own tardiness. The artist tried several times to get everyone’s attention, but the old friends had taken to talking in a huddle nearby a refreshment table. She looked at Shepard helplessly.

“Alright everybody,” Shepard raised his voice over the cheerful din. “We’re all here to get this done, so let’s get started now that everybody’s here.”

“How do you want us?” Kaidan asked the artist, coming to stand beside Shepard.

It was for the official portrait—the Normandy crew—which was promised to the Smithsonian once it was completed. The majority of the crew had posed for a photograph earlier in the day, but for the Senior staff it was decided a massive painting was in order.

Hikka Haufika, the artist chosen by several planetary governments, busily arranged the reluctant aliens and humans into formation, explaining under her breath how she didn’t want to do the standard rugby line-up portrait, but wanted to create something dynamic, something that communicated more than simple likeness. All the while, a young intern stalked about the studio with a camera drone: recording the accompanying video which would be played beneath the portrait once it hung in the museum.

“I don’t understand,” Tali crossed her arms, tone threatening at boredom. “Couldn’t you just do a complete three dimensional scan of us? Then we won’t have to hold these poses for so long.”

“I’m an old fashioned painter,” Haufika declared, then quieter when the camera drone approached her face. “I’m not only trying to capture the look of your crew, but the energy.”

“Oh, you’ll get energy from this group,” Liara said cryptically as she was positioned standing at a computer console. The artist brought more laptops and data-pads and artfully strewn them about her.

“So how long is this going to take?” James asked, seeming to sink further into himself as he watched the crew members plucked out a lineup one by one to be placed in the scene

“Never thought I’d catch you afraid to hold a pose,” Steve chimed in.

“Very funny.” James rolled his eyes.

“You don’t have to stand completely still, James,” Kaidan was now standing in the scene, sleeves on his uniform rolled up, gripping a Valkyrie assault rifle awkwardly. “Nobody expects you up here holding your breath for two hours.”

“Two hours…” Javik groaned. He frowned at the artist and she returned the frown in kind, skipped over him to pose the next person instead.

“Yeah, Shepard’s not sweating about it.” Joker was seated on a stool to one side of the frame, the artist taking his hat on and off and on and off before finally leaving it on. “How many is this for you now, Shepard?”

“Two sculptures, fifteen holo-photos, but this is only my second painting.” Shepard stepped into the scene himself and took up a pose beside Kaidan.

“Commander Shepard,” Haufika tapped his shoulder. “Actually, I was hoping you would stand right over here.”

“Oh.” Shepard replied passively, but did not move. “Any way you can put me here instead?”

“I, um… it wasn’t really what I…” she stuttered as Shepard remained impassive. “Um. Sure. You can stand there. Whatever.”

This caused a chain reaction, however, that saw several people’s poses have to be recast and a few people moved around.

“You know,” Garrus droned, standing with one arm on James’ shoulder, a sniper rifle slung over his. “Whenever humans paint a turian, we always end up looking like monsters…” Haufika looked offended, but before she could speak up, Dr. Chakwas guffawed from her position.

“You’ve been on the extranet too much.”

“Miss Haufika recently opened a gallery in Cairo, and was a featured exhibit at the Volus neo-classicism museum last year.” Liara chimed in, and the artist seemed pleased. Took up sketching on her canvas again.

“Well, at least we know she knows how to paint an Evo suit,” Tali remarked dryly, a prop shotgun placed atop a fake console she was ‘reading.’

They continued to chat as Haufika set to work laying down the bones of the scene. A few people were shifted around. James was bored. Kaidan eventually leaned forward, whispered in Shepard’s ear:

“Well, is this about what you expected?”

“Javik hasn’t stormed out, yet, so it’s better than it could’ve been,” Shepard returned quietly.

“Hey there,” Tali’s voice rose, sparkling, above the rest of the chatter. “Shepard, Kaidan… if you two aren’t careful, the painting’s going to have you two whispering to each other.”

“Remember, this is for posterity,” Steve rejoined. “This is going to be the image of the Normandy crew to future generations.” His tone was tinged with irony, but Shepard smiled all the same.

PANICING BECAUSE I’VE JUST BEEN BITTEN BY A VIOLENT URGE TO WRITE A GOLEM!RUMPLE STORY BASED OFF THE GOLEM OF PRAGUE AND AAAAAAAAAAAAH

         Nursey walks into the Haus to a familiar, but still strange, occurrence. Loud music is being blasted from somewhere within the Haus, and typically, during kegsters or when Bitty is baking, this would make sense. But it’s six in the afternoon on a Tuesday and Bitty is visiting Jack in an impromptu I-need-cuddles-from-my-boyfriend trip. So there is, logically, no reason for incredibly loud music to be playing right now.

         Nursey follows the sound of Adam Levine’s voice singing about sugar up the first flight of stairs to the attic. He knocks several times, but the music is too loud, so he assumes that nothing obscene is happening behind the door. He really doesn’t think that Ransom would allow Holster to put on Maroon 5 when they fuck, so he hopes it’s safe (of course, that’s also assuming that they’re fucking, but like half of Nursey’s life is based on assumptions so).

         When he pushes open the door he finds a sight he never could have dreamed of. All the dirty laundry, discarded papers, and stray objects in the attic have been pushed to the outskirts of the room to create, what seems to be, a dance floor. And utilizing that floor is none other than Ransom and… Dex.

         A dance party has broken out in the Haus attic, including Ransom, the typical stressed out ecosystem who definitely has a test tomorrow, and Dex, resident poindexter. Like, literally. And not only that, but the playlist seems to consists of mostly fast-beat pop songs and angry teen music. He’s pretty sure he heard some Black Parade on when he first walked into the Haus. Now he’s drifting into thoughts of Dex wearing eyeliner and ripped black jeans and… what was happening?

         Oh yeah, freak event dance party.