[open Turian role play for mass effect] | She was an engineer, smart, brilliant even, but they slapped a useless title on her, said it was an honour and sent her off in a rust bucket of a vessel. She salvages, sometimes she finds more than broken down ships.
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Feron lead them down the spiral staircase towards the main stage. The bar stretched out before them. Recently wiped down and still damp–Feron noted–after leaning against it. The club was empty aside from the dancers warming up, and the barkeep moving stock out from the backroom. There was a drink, half empty and unattended, on one of the tables closest to the bar.
Feron looked about.
Asara’s face turned a bright blue, almost matching the Asari Feron had walked up to. It took quite a lot of effort to keep her jaw locked closed to not look like a complete dumbass.
“Um… Oh, ah, hi,” Asara stuttered after looking at the other woman’s hand for too long. “I’m Asara Orkus. Though, don’t know if it was such a great idea saving his hide.”
She gave an awkward laugh, rubbing down the plates of her head. That joke was a bit out of line. ‘Spirits, fuck, I’ve not improved on the whole humour thing’. Asara’s mandibles flared in embarassment.
An eye brow plate raised as Asara shuffled into one of the empty chairs.
Feron sat back in his chair while Liara leaned forward, perched on the edge of her seat. Hands folded on the table before her. Feron saw her fidget her feet under the table. He dragged her eyes up her body when he thought she wasn’t looking.
Asara eyed Feron. There was a bit to tension between the two. Something she figured she'd never understand.
It was asking a lot. Asara thought a bit, mulling over the places she'd visited recently. Those wouldn't do as she probably had been tracked the whole time. Off the records, huh she remembered something her father had said when he'd moved the family. Off the records. Hm. Where was it he said they moved? It had been quite a big deal. At that point she hadn't talked to them in so long. It was after everything with Dacia. She was in a bad spot at that point. They took a long sip of the drink that'd been brought to them.
The two talked a bit as Asara collected her broken memories. He'd said something about leaving the Heirarchy after some scandal involving him and the war. The family had moved away, left Asara who at the time delved as deep as she could into work, and she'd not heard from them since. However, there was that one message that'd popped up on her dash about a year ago. It had been highly encripted and it'd taken SAL nearly a full salvage rotation to decode it. Even after that, thoughl it was mostly gibberish, her father's name and some co-ordinates.
That sounded very off the records. Asara had never checked it out. Always too busy.
“I might know of a place?” She said, her voice unsure.
Feron lead them down the spiral staircase towards the main stage. The bar stretched out before them. Recently wiped down and still damp–Feron noted–after leaning against it. The club was empty aside from the dancers warming up, and the barkeep moving stock out from the backroom. There was a drink, half empty and unattended, on one of the tables closest to the bar.
Feron looked about.
Asara's face turned a bright blue, almost matching the Asari Feron had walked up to. It took quite a lot of effort to keep her jaw locked closed to not look like a complete dumbass.
“Um... Oh, ah, hi,” Asara stuttered after looking at the other woman's hand for too long. “I'm Asara Orkus. Though, don't know if it was such a great idea saving his hide.”
She gave an awkward laugh, rubbing down the plates of her head. That joke was a bit out of line. 'Spirits, fuck, I've not improved on the whole humour thing'. Asara's mandibles flared in embarassment.
An eye brow plate raised as Asara shuffled into one of the empty chairs.
Asara shook her head flinging her hands up in dismay.
“Oh no it wasn’t… er – you.” She said. “I actually feel… better… in a lot of ways.”
Asara nooded deeply, “This was – good – yeah this was good.”
Asara wanted to say thank you but decided to keep that to herself. She followed Feron down the hall and back into the club. Pulling up beside him realizing she didn’t know who this Liara was.
“Liara?” Asara’s brow plate raised by an inch. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about this problem.”
Feron stopped at the bar. The music of the club throbbed in Asara’s ears and she struggled to keep her focus on the Drell.
Asara woke with a startled snort. When had she fallen asleep? The last thing she remembered was hair, no wait, Turian drink straws. She shook the thought out of her head instantly regretting the decision as a rush of pain overtook her. She relaxed and let it subside.
Fuck, she needed to pee. Asara turned in bed to get her bearings before getting up and was met with an odd sight. It took her a second to parse what it was. It dawned on her. Ass. Colourful ass. Feron’s colourful naked ass.
“Augh, no.” Asara’s neck turned a bright hue of blue. “What the fuck?”
It took her a moment to cover her eyes and turn away. Asara felt a rush of stomach fluids shoot up her esophagus. Sprits, not on the bedroom floor. She ran out the room as fast as she could only vaguely remembering where the toilet was. Asara barely made it in time before she emptied the contents of her stomach.
For a good ten minutes she lay there wincing at the aching in her wounded shoulder and now the burning in her throat. A long groan escaped Asara’s mouth as she lifted herself up. Her legs were weak. Why, in all the spirits good guidance did she let herself get so plastered.
“Such a bad idea,” She said to herself. “Such a fucking shitty idea.”
The image of Feron undressed was forever going to haunt the backside of eyes. She rubbed her eyelids with her palms to no avail. She stood in the middle of the bathroom blinking. The past couple of days seemed so far away, minus the pain and weariness she felt, it was distant and unreal. Right, need to take a piss. Finishing up Asara let out a sigh and checked herself for stray puke. She opened the bathroom door and saw Feron passing by.
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Asara still didn’t know Feron very well, but she couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for the guy. Sounded like he’d had a rough life from early on the exact opposite of Asara’s childhood.
She smiled and snickered a bit at Feron’s comment, “No really… I think I’d end up chasing off customers.”
She blushed blue thinking about even giving it a try, but shook it off with another swig of her glass. Asara finished what was left in it and reached to fill it more having lost count of how many she’d had.
Asara had slipped from the conversation, distracted by the rhythm of bass pounding through her body. She paid closer attention to the vibrations. It was like the cadence of a military parade and the chorus of hundred of feet striking the floor as one. She wasn’t surprised to be counting the beats as she bobbed her head to the sound. One, two – one, two – one, two. Asara’s shoulder ached but she couldn’t much care from all the booze. Though somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she was going to pay for this night in the morning.
She was caught off guard by Evrik’s question and stuttered a bit before recovering.
“Hmmmm.” She couldn’t even remember the last time she gone on an actual vacation, she laughed awkwardly. “I don’t really take vacations– I guess Feron and I actually have something in common. Last time I took a vacation was when… I was introducing my parents to my– Ah … Yeah, I guess I’d just go home. See the family. It’s been awhile.”
She’d forgotten that the last time she actually took time to herself was when she’d taken Dacia to meet her parents on their fourth year anniversary. Asara rubbed the back of her head trying to think of a way to get out of that atrocious answer.
“Not that that’s a very relaxing or interesting vacation. You know it’d be interesting to see more of Omega, someday though.” She smiled at Evrik. “Maybe I’ll have to take you up on that offer, Evrik.”
She hadn’t seen them since then. Five years now – funny how time passed. She took another gulp of whatever was in her glass, and winced forgetting that it was fairly strong.
Asara had never seen a male dancer, except for the one that had been performing in the bar as they walked in. But imagining Feron on the pole was easy, it was so blasé coming from Feron. It should’ve been obvious and she probably should’ve seen that coming. Besides the colours, he was built for the stage. Skinny and probably had a nice ass.
“Why did you ever change careers?” She finally managed finally quieting to a snicker. “I doubt I’d have enough coordination to really wow a crowd.”
Spirits, she should slow down on the booze. Asara’s surroundings were going more out of focus, and she noted her foot was starting to tap to the music downstairs.
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Asara followed suit with Feron. Chucking the glass back with her unslung arm she chugged the liquid. She wasn’t expecting the tang of the alcohol and was only just able to hold back a coughing spurt. She watched the two move into a comfortable conversation, and noted that the older Turian was definitely the dominant one, as she should’ve expected. They squabbled like a father and his son.
Feron turned to Asara. She raised her good arm to gesture and went to reply but was interrupted. She changed her movement to raising her glass.
“I’ll second that.” She said. “Seriously, this is how we relieved stress in the army, well that and…. other better stuff.”
Asara was aware how long it’d been since she drank any kind of hard alcohol and how it tended to affect her. She could feel her fingers already tingle, and the pleasant numbness that went with it. Really, Asara could care less if drinking made the wounds heal worse. At least for now she wouldn’t feel the pain.
She placed her glass on the table, “Evrik was it? Another round!”
It didn’t take her long to get buzzed, then tipsy and before she realized it was hard to stop laughing loudly. Ah, well, the time to worry about it was tomorrow.
“So Feron!” Asara swung to face Feron, “You danced? Must’ve been quite the popular routine! Can’t say I’ve watched many male dancers.”
“What you’d rather me be mad at you?” Asara threw back at Feron.
They fell into step with each other. She noticed though it wasn’t an even rhythm like it had been like with Dacia. She looked down at their legs as they walked through the long corridors. He was shorter, that was probably why.
Asara felt Feron keep himself about half a pace from her. She’d threatened him more often then not, even when she was saving his life, she chuffed inwardly she was very unfriendly these days. Maybe it was for the better.
The thin alley they walked ended abruptly into wide thoroughfare. The place and people smelt of, well, everything. A strong odor of floral perfume with a hint of puke, sweat and every kind of alcohol the galaxy could throw at her nose. She could only guess where Feron was taking her. She let him direct her from behind though she could hardly hear him of the drone of the traffic around them. They were funneled down to a smaller alley.
Asara wasn’t sure what to think at first. She’d once been at a bar with her squadron and given bad booze, after she was told that there was a sort of neurotoxin that had grown in that particular batch. At the time the world seemed as if it were melting, the room, the people around her, herself all becoming a mass of undulating colour. She had a sort of psychedelic breakdown and swore she saw an army tiny robot people swarm over her and take her away. This passage was like that, but more pink and she could still walk mostly in a straight line. She let the flow of people wash over her, and let the moment take over.
And then they broke out of the street into a world of neon pink. It overloaded her senses. The col de sac was hot with the life of people; the floor beneath them vibrated with a steady beat of some far away club music, which assaulted her ears, and the smell of grease and over cooked meat washed over her. It was exhausting. Asara wished for more than anything was some quiet.
Asara locked eyes with a mostly naked Turian man outside the Ivy. She scowled, disinterested in his gaze, It was his interest that bothered her. Her throat churred. Men.
Asara nearly lost Feron in the crowd as he walked in. Clearly Feron was familiar with this particular haunt.
Inside was like entering another dimension. Everything was designed to point inwards to the center stage where a throbbing mass gathered. It was dark and bright all at the same time. All types of surfaces reflected or absorbed the light, fracturing and scattering it like the inside of a crystal. It threw her off balance. But thankfully Feron directed her away from the party and the dancers.
With everything around her Asara should’ve been expecting what ever this Evrik was but she was off her game. She watched the two interact, unsure how to behave herself. The man was older than Asara so she defaulted to respectful but distant.
Evrik held out his hand to her. She stalled for a second gaging his gesture and not sure what to do with it. She decided to shake his out stretched hand, nodding her neck quickly turning a brilliant blue.
“Hi, I’m…” She caught herself stuttering, and took a quick inhale. “I’m Asara.”
Evrik didn’t miss a beat, but she did catch a slightly raised brow plate and a glance at Feron. This just made her more off kilter. She followed into the room and gratefully took a seat on the couch, leaning back into it. Her shoulder was still tender but she welcomed the discomfort of it, letting her stay grounded in the moment.
“So, Evrik you design the costumes for this place?” She said politely trying to make small talk.
“Asara! Wait, Ugh…” Feron stood as Asara made her way to the door and into the alley.
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Asara’s brain had shut off and she was walking on auto. She didn’t keep track of the turns she was taking.
She might have been confused if she’d been paying attention but her thoughts were turned elsewhere. She needed a plan. Anything. She racked her brain, but it all came out in a jumbled mess. Asara was never the planner of her crew, let others decide that for her.
Someone stepped out in front of her and blocked her path. Asara automatically took a offensive fighting stance before she realized it was just a Vorcha begging for a few creds. She shoved it out of the way, and was about to resume wondering the streets, when someone grabbed her from behind.
“Don’t –“ Asara raised an arm ready to strike at Feron in fury, but thought better of it. “Don’t touch me.”
Feron steered Asara a different direction from where she had been heading. She knew Feron didn’t deserve her disgruntled treatment of him but her mood had turned to sour for her to dig her self from it. Asara fell instep with Feron, it was too slow for her and she had to shorten her stride so as to not trip him up.
Asara didn’t like drinking, didn’t like not having complete control of her body and mind – she also tended to make rash decisions when drunk, which added to her frustrations. But at this point she was already screwed so may as well not be sober. Hell, maybe a few rash decisions may help. Or make things worse; at this point she didn’t really care which.
“I’m not mad at you.” Asara managed to grumble through a growl. “But maybe a drink will help.”
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That was it. Dacia’s final words to Asara. She’d taken her last breath trying her hardest to make those sounds. That had made Asara angry for a time. Why not “I love you.” However corny that was. Asara went through the stages bought of grief over this. The fact that those were her lovers last words had hurt her deeply.
It taken a long time to see what it really meant. It was all those soft purrs whispered in the dead of night, the rambunctious laughs punctuated with Asara’s nickname, It was good times, and even bad ones. Those days they had been there for each other. In a way it was Dacia reminding Asara that she loved her more than life itself.
The hurt turned into an anguish beyond anything Asara had experienced, she physically felt a hole in her chest, where the void spilled into her soul.
Asara tasted acid in her mouth and she was pretty sure she had just thrown up a bit. She swallowed, and noticed her hands were grasping the table’s edge, trebling with anger.
Before she was able to get a hold of her anger, she blew up. She stood letting go of the table, her arms falling to her side, and she could feel the flesh under her faceplates get hot. Her neck turned blue, the blood rushing to the surface.
“No.” The word was a hiss. “That’s utter fucking Krogan shit.”
Her head was shaking. She felt worse than angry, she felt trapped, an animal in a cage. Feron had hit the target on this one; it must’ve been a setup, like how three years back. She’d let them take her for a fool. Again. Of course this was going to happen, they were eventually going to want to tie up the loose ends. Shit. She heard Dacia’s final words echo through her head, “Take care of yourself, tumblebum” She should’ve listened.
“This again.” Asara said, “Sorry, but – no, I can’t. Not again.”
Asara brought her hands up to her face and massaged the soft part where her mandibles met muscle. She was tense, she needed out and fresh air. Asara turned and began walking; she didn’t think, just opened the door and kept going, not sure where she’d end up.
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