continued from here.     ⤷ @dutyworn ✧ wren shepard.

Ashley didn’t miss the alarm in Wren’s voice at the mention of Liara. Interesting; to know that Wren was that uncomfortable with the thought… not that she could blame her old friend. After all, Liara was the one responsible for giving Wren’s body over to Cerberus, of all people. Given what they knew about Akuze, only a desperate person would’ve thought that was a good idea. Now that she considered it, the desperation in the situation was real, after all… but it didn’t change the fact that it was still a terrible idea at the time. As far as Ashley was concerned, even if the outcome had been worthwhile, the idea of giving Wren's body over to Cerberus was questionable at best.

And yet, strangely, she understood Liara's reasoning. There were so many logical reasons to do it--especially if there was the confidence that Cerberus could pull it off. Ashley had no doubt that if Cerberus had other nefarious plans, she might've stormed the facility herself and done something about it. Liara had changed, in ways that Ashley was sure none of them had expected out of the young researcher they'd met on Therum only a few years ago.

“Surveillance mics aren’t the only way to overhear things, y’know.” While she trusted Wren along with Mordin had done whatever possible to ensure surveillance was kept at a minimum, Ashley wasn’t convinced. Not enough to have a private conversation of the nature she intended on the ship. They needed somewhere that was far more secure. Somewhere that wasn't going to be surrounded with prying eyes--or ears--that could listen to their conversation.

continued from here.     ⤷ @dutyworn ✧ wren shepard.

"Without Cerberus, there is no way in hell that I would have been able to get the resources needed to do what we need to do. I'm not saying I trust the Illusive Man; I don't, not in the slightest. But..." Miranda paused, pinching the bridge of her nose. It had been a difficult situation.

Taking a deep breath, she continued. "I chose between the lesser of two evils. Given what happened with Sovereign, and the nature of the colony disappearances, there was no question the Reapers had to be involved somehow. After all, a human posed a threat to them. Why let there be another human that might do the same, right? It wasn't just about... us, when I made the decision. You've beat the Reapers before, and even if they weren't responsible for your death, they sure as hell probably celebrated it. You're their biggest threat, and that means you're also the galaxy's biggest asset." Her reasoning had been more than logical.

“And you and I both know that if it means saving the galaxy, then risks have to be taken. If that means putting my life on the line to make it happen, then so be it. I don’t regret my decision, and I’d make the same decision a second time if I had to.” Yes, perhaps there was a deeply personal element to Miranda’s choices, but it had only served to fuel her determination, not her reasoning. She knew the Illusive Man was likely banking on that loyalty and thankfulness, but Miranda wasn’t thinking about herself. She knew the Illusive Man needed her intelligence to pull it off, and he knew that she needed his resources to accomplish it. It was little more than a mutually beneficial agreement.

“What I did wasn’t without risks. I’m… not surprised there are—issues with your memory. Neuroplasticity is still a difficult thing, even after over a century and a half of learning. But what I can tell you is that the powerhouse that holds all of those memories—your brain—is authentic. It’s the real thing. It’s practically one of the only things that wasn’t heavily reconstructed about you. Because it wouldn’t have worked without it.” She wasn’t about to mention the other part—the fact that they’d had a trial run, reconstructing without the original brain, from scratch—and that it hadn’t worked. The brain was the key to everything when it came to Wren.

@dutyworn asked: you are mine. no one can change that. / arranged marriage verse nihlus

A low growl rumbles deep within his chest, just barely on the edge of the range of human hearing, his mandibles fluttering for a single beat before pulling in tight against his jaw. Emerald green eyes stare intensely at her for a long, silent moment, before he reaches up to gently brush gloved talons against her cheek in affection.

"Of that, there is no doubt," he offers, that same growl underlining his words with a possessive edge, even as he tries to suppress it the best he can. "But they're welcome to try, if they have that much of a death wish."

Don't Remember the Meme But Y'all Should Send Me Things | @dutyworn

"Fiiiiiiiiiine!" Kar finally broke, exasperation in her voice. "I kinda sorta...cutoffhisarmandthrewitinthetrashcompactor."

The last half of the sentence was low and fast, with the hopes of maybe just maybe not being understood might get her out of this. Maybe. Hopefully. Definitely.

Don't Remember the Meme But Y'all Should Send Me Things | @dutyworn

"Mmm." She began with a nod. "Appreciate it. But Bee and I are used to hanging in the cargo hold enough, aren't we?"

The small droid trilled in agreement, head bobbing slightly. Her nomadic lifestyle showing just a little. Once upon a time she had cushier quarters--actual quarters-- on Venators, but that... felt like a lifetime ago. A whole galaxy ago. That Kar seemed to have died the moment she punched the hyperdive into the unknown...

"And besides--I got all this space to practice without worrying about getting underfoot. Less chance of passers by losing limbs and all that."

Kar flashed a small grin before adding. "Though I reckon it'll be more of a challenge than with a training remote..."

[ PIN ]: sender pins receiver against the wall during combat/sparring. / for Ryker. I saw it and it had to happen-

Scuffed, worn boots marked the once well polished floor as he skirted another blow; deflecting his old friend's attack and putting some space between them for a moment as he pushed the hair from his brow. They'd been at this for barely ten minutes and already sweat had began to coat his skin and hold his shirt closer to his chest. I'm not unfit, she's just...

An ever threatening smirk appeared at his lips as Ryker let out a low whistle, dragging his eyes over Wren's body and taking in as much detail as possible. He noticed the way her now slightly crumpled uniform mirrored her dishevelled hair, the way her tattoo peeked from beneath her collar, the way her chest rose and fell with minimal exertion; the minor cuts and slight bruising forming on her knuckles. He noticed the way her eyes shone and felt a familiar warmth spread through his chest as he locked his gaze with hers.

It is... unsettling, to say the least, to realise that the... thing that monster put behind her eye is somehow cutting off her connection to her patron. Even more so when she realises the loss of his presence in the back of her mind also means a drastic decline in the power she has available to her, much of it just out of reach where it came straight from the Prince of Frost. Though at least that which had came from her time spent in Vale of the Long Night seems to be with her still, if weaker than it should be as well.

Uncertain of how long she had been out, she briefly fidgets with a ring on her finger, muttering the Sylvan incantation under her breath to restore the glamour that masks her mismatched eyes, now a pale, icy blue rather than the otherworldly glow the Feywild and her patron has left her with. There is little to be done right now about the rest, feeling as unstable as she does, a faint trail of frost forming behind her with every step. At least that could be explained away between her gear that she thankfully still possessed and just precisely who her patron is.

Walking up to one of the other pods, she's surprised to find someone inside still — someone who appears to just returning to consciousness themselves, but unlike her own pod, the lid seems to have jammed part of the way.

Frowning at the strange, alien construction of the pod, she reaches out for what she can only assume is part of the mechanisms that controls the lid, supercooled ice spreading from her touch into the inner workings, weakening them to the point that they shatter with barely a touch, the lid falling away to clatter onto the floor as she takes a closer look at the person inside.

Human, that much is clear, simply by the shape of her ears. Dressed in things she's never seen the likes of in Faerûn or in the Feywilds — not that that is always all that surprising, particularly with the latter. Still, as the woman seems to recover her senses, Tavares watches her for a moment longer before looking around the rest of the room.

A few empty pods — their inhabitants presumably having got free on their own — and a few others with the burnt remains of those unlucky enough to make it out alive. They were both lucky in that regard, she supposes, as she looks back to the human.

the sterile fluid of the tank envelopes him like a dream. like death. the krogan's body twitches slightly in its sleep, jerking to an unconscious reflex and the muted, electrical buzzing of synapses.

the tank infuses data-information into his body through the nanite-infused fluid. through the water. scores of historical references, combat simulations, weapons expertise. these are his only dreams.

it is jarring, then, when all of this shatters and dissolves into a stark, cold, waiting reality. the tank is opened, the krogan is released, nano-liquid spilling onto the cold metallic flooring. he coughs, expels the fluid from his lungs. it does not take him long to acclimate to the new environment, rising to his feet, towering over @dutyworn like the world was too small to fit him into it.

he attacks. it is not instinct, but programming. barreling forward and pinning shepard against a hard surface. the warlord okeer's teachings are fresh in his mind, thousands of hours of training programs vibrating through his body. he remembers that humans are usually a threat to krogan.

but the press of shepard's pistol against his ribs makes him remember that the human race is tenacious, too. he allows himself to be impressed.

"human," he makes a remark, "female." his voice is coarse from the fluid and from disuse. he glances at her uniform, the hangar bay around him.