#crazy weekend

Jerry Cantrell was amazing! I’ve seen Alice In Chains 10 times, but never Jerry solo before. It’s like seeing an old friend. He played some of my most favorite solo songs of his as well as some AIC hits. Him and the band sounded great and Tyler Bates was playing guitar with him and was really cute. I used to get something to eat at a food court after a show to give the parking garage time to clear out, but they’ve really jacked up the prices for simple stuff like McDonald’s and Popeyes. So I just got a Fat Tuesday daiquiri in green apple which was surprisingly strong, lol. The tram was already closed so I walked the usual Mandalay Bay/Luxor/Excalibur walk while I had my drink.

When I finally left, I decided to visit my old apartment. I miss the hell out of that place. It took me right back to those days. I also got to visit with a kitty that was in the parking lot. Since I don’t do the food courts anymore, I wanted to go to Jack in the Box. I always go to one that’s closer to home, but that daiquiri went through me and I had to pee so bad by the time I got to that part of town. I drove by JITB, but there was quite a line. So I just went back home and found a some frozen food in my mom’s freezer to fry up.

Today, I slept in quite a bit and my mom made this awesome little brunch dish that was a cheesy egg with chopped up tomato, green pepper and I think onion that was served in a bread bowl. Then we ran a couple of errands, they didn’t have my caramel popcorn at Trader Joe’s. I was almost too tired to drive all the way back home home, but I did it anyway. It was so hazy in Vegas and most of the drive back up, you couldn’t see the mountains.

Sorry this took so long, but I can’t be short about these things.  Plus, I couldn’t resist taking Shepard out for another spin.  (Don’t take this personally; she’s only running on spite and coffee and the occasional 30-second backrub.)

#1: How long can your OC sit still without doing anything? - Evan Shepard 

“Someone told you the ant story, huh?”

Shepard leans back in her chair and eyes you coolly.  This is the first time you’ve spoken since you’ve been serving on the Normandy.  You were a part of the retrofit crew, just a lowly enlisted tech, when the Reapers hit Earth.  And now you’re here, on the most important ship in the entire fleet.  Serving under the most important officer in the entire navy.  And, yeah, you just asked her about fucking ants.

The commander reaches into the cargo pocket of her pants and pulls out a battered, scratched silver case.  It shone brightly at one point, you can tell, but years of abuse have whittled the finish away to almost nothing.  She pulls out a cigarette and lights it, sending a plume of smoke high above her head.  The air recyclers snatch it away.  The sight is somewhat disconcerting, but you imagine if anyone can smoke in the mess hall of their own ship, it’s Shepard.  Even Vega, who is standing in the small kitchenette cooking huevos rancheros, doesn’t seem to mind.

“It’s true,” Shepard begins, still looking at you with hard eyes.  It’s like she knows she could end you at any moment and is just trying to decide how.  “I was on Elysium, just after the Blitz.  Intel had located a group of retreating pirates, one of which was one of the main players in the colony attack.  So I was dropped in a couple klicks away from their camp and had to cross an open field to get close enough for a shot.”

She exhales another cloud of smoke.  Out of the corner of your eye, you see Vega try to inch closer as discretely as possible–a notable challenge for a man of his size.

“There was hardly any cover, mostly brush, barely a meter off the ground.  So I had to crawl.  Slowly, so I wouldn’t give away my position.  The camp was over 1300 meters away.  It took me three days and four nights.”  Shepard leans forward and knocks ash into an empty coffee mug.  “On the second day, I crawled over a nest of fire ants.  Ever seen an Elysian fire ant?”  She raises her hand, and holds thumb and index finger at least five centimeters apart.  “Their pincers are at least this big.  No bullshit.  And they bite hard.”

Your eyes widen involuntarily.  Shepard chuckles, a low, raspy sound.  “I was lunch for those fuckers for a solid day.  And I couldn’t move, or roll around, or tear off my clothes and run away screaming.  When I finally was extracted, I was in shock from the venom and had to be hospitalized.”

She pauses.

“I got the bastard, though. So to answer your question, Specialist: I can sit still for as long as I damn well please.”

Suddenly, you feel stupid for even asking.  For a moment, the only sound in the mess hall is Vega’s eggs, popping and hissing on the stovetop cooker.  But then the door just behind the kitchen opens and Liara T’Soni enters the room.  She’s breathtaking, of course, like always.  It’s almost become boring.  She walks over to the table, all grace and poise and tightly coiled power.  The air turns electric and you wonder if it’s because of her biotics. Shepard tips her head back, cigarette dangling from her lips, watching as the asari approaches.

She’s smiling.  You’ve never seen Shepard smile before.

“Is she telling that ant story again?”  Liara, surprisingly, addresses you first.  You stammer a reply, and she just rolls her eyes and plucks the cigarette from Shepard’s mouth.  “And did she tell you where exactly they were biting her?”  Her eyes sparkle as she stubs out the cigarette.

Shepard grumbles in protest, and you’re not sure of it’s because of the cigarette or whatever Liara is about to divulge.  The commander crosses her arms with a dark look, but she’s still gazing at Liara like she’s the only thing that matters in the whole universe.

“On her ass.  There are still scars.” Liara finally pronounces, and Vega nearly doubles over in laughter in the background. You chuckle, too, now imagining the mighty Commander Shepard, the first human Spectre, Hero of the Citadel, getting chomped in the buttcheek by a bug.

Liara smiles brightly and plants a kiss on the back of Shepard’s head.  The commander waves her away, but she can’t conceal her smile.  Nor does it look like she wants to.  

And then you get it.  You get why it makes sense to put the hope of an entire galaxy in the hands of one person. It was everything: the training, the discipline, the singular determination in the face of an insurmountable goal.  If anyone could save us, it would be Shepard.  But then you realize something else. Shepard’s not doing this for you.  She’s not even doing this for herself.  She’s doing this for one person, and one person only.  

And suddenly you are very, very grateful for Liara T’Soni.    

#15: How does your OC speak? - Everly Trevelyan 

“I am a bloody poet!”

Lady Inquisitor Everly Trevelyan proclaims. Loudly.

She slams down her tankard and is rewarded by a roar of approval from the surrounding tables.  She’s at least three deep, which is unusual, but with what you’ve heard about the recent events in Orlais, you can’t really blame her.   

Nor can you argue when she starts telling the story of what happened at the Winter Palace in Halamshiral.  Even though the tale grows more outlandish with each recounting, the bare facts remain the same.  And are no less impressive.  

Yes, the Inquisitor, with all the charm and poise and confidence in the world, talked her way out of a rebellion.  

Despite the momentousness of her victory, you still get the sense that Trevelyan’s companions are indulging her.  Although, as you look at the Inquisitor, you wonder if she couldn’t use a little more indulging and a lot less work.  Dark circles sit under her eyes and her face is drawn and taunt.  Her smile, ever-present, falters as she speaks.  She looks exhausted.

You suspect the Inner Circle is letting her blow off a little steam, as it were, but they can only hear the story so many times.  Sera is rolling her eyes.  Dorian groans audibly.  Iron Bull rests his chin in the palm of his hand and looks like he might drift off.  Only Josephine, with her insatiable love of politics, appears even remotely interested.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Dorian says, interrupting.  “We are all aware of your prodigious skills as an orator.”  He leans forward and winks conspiratorially at Sera.  “But tell me, Inquisitor: how does the Seeker enjoy your silver tongue?”

A hot, red blush runs up Trevelyan’s face.  Suddenly, all eloquence is lost.

“I, um, I–have no idea what you, um, mean.”

Dorian arches a brow.